#implied f reader

[a-sound-sol]

Quirkless Computer Science Major!Tomura Shigaraki x f!implied reader

m.list

Tomura m.list

“What a pain” Tomura Shigaraki quietly groans when his Professor directs the class to turn to a partner and compare answers.

He looks to the right, noting the empty seat beside him, before slowly turning to face you, sitting a seat away from him.

He had noticed you before, you always sat in the same seat, right in the second row, center. You chewed your pencil when you were nervous. He thought that was annoying. It distracted him, that pencil pressed between your lips.

So, when you turn to meet his gaze, his eyes are already resting on your lips before he can realize it.

“Uh, here are my answers,” he gestures to his notebook for you to read, before their professor interrupts the class again.

“Now students, make sure you discuss how you got these answers too. I don’t want you to just show each other your notes”

‘This is hell,’ Tomura thinks to himself before meeting your eyes for the first time that day.

“Do you wanna talk through it or should I?” You ask, pushing your hair behind your ear as you speak.

Your voice is smooth and gentle, exactly what Tomura thought you would sound like. He almost forgets to respond, he’s too busy focusing on you, and that soft sparkle in your eyes.

Eventually, he does respond, clearing his throat, “I-I can talk through it”

As he explains how he reached his conclusion, he has difficulty finishing his sentences without stuttering. He figures you’ll probably laugh at him, mock him for it.

But all you do is nod and smile, as if you want him to continue.

“Thanks for explaining that. I got the same answers but I always like to hear from other people too” you smile when he finishes speaking.

Tomura is shocked. A pretty person who’s being kind to him? Who isn’t calling him a loser? This has to be a trick.

“It’s easy work anyways.” He mutters.

“It is easy, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t like hearing you talk about it. You’re like the smartest guy here.” Your eyes soften as you look at him, noticing the way he picks at his nail beds nervously while you speak.

As the professor requests their attention back, you take a minute to slip Tomura a sheet of paper.

“xxx xxx xxxx

text me if you wanna study or talk (:”

His eyes widen as he reads the note. A small smirk falls on his lips. Maybe Dabi was wrong, maybe he does have game.

[average-kitty]

The Angel’s Demon 💋

p2!!

You let go of the kiss and looked to her, a wide smile on both of your faces “Is that what you were looking for?”

warnings: smut at the end

word count: 3.3k

Summary: You stumble onto Jenna, Giving her a great time as a apology for your behavior to her

————————————————————————

Jenna watched as you sat on the small ledge that overlooked the city, the sun was soft yet radiant with its warmth as you turned to look at her- giving a small smile. Jenna felt her cheeks deepen in a redder tint as you got up from the ledge and walked over to her, your tail softly swaying as you met her eyes at stopped about a foot in front of her. You gently took her hands in her own as her eyes widened as they flicked up to yours, you were still smiling at her… Jenna slowly pulled you closer and hugged you tightly, her face buried in the crook of your neck her wings wrapping around you.

Suddenly she was pulled back and out of the  fantasy, a cold silence filling her mind as she jolted up- slight panic in her breathes as she looked around the room. She had been sent back down on a mission, to protect a certain soul- which allowed her to enjoy the freedom of getting herself a hotel room to sleep in, sure she could just go back to Heaven but- something about the beds human’s used to sleep in was comforting, a safe place for anybody who just wanted to sleep or do anything else that was relaxing- albeit even the weird things. She sighed sleepy as she flopped back down on the bed, her wings hanging off the bed as the feathers from them flew off the mattress, one falling onto her face as she blew it off.

How could someone she was supposed to hate and despise be so good at making her want more of them? It was so unfair and frustrating…! Jenna Groaned and threw a pillow at the wall, pouting furiously as she glared at the poor wall- she then flipped onto her side letting out a soft sigh, eyes softening at the thought of you. She covered her face with her hands as she squirmed about, she didn’t understand it at all- was this some cruel joke played by Cupid?!- She had to just ignore it now, there was no way it would work out at all in the future, she would just have to learn to stop falling face first into your tempting flirts and grow a spine of her own.

———————————————————————

You had just got thrown out of the local bar of the city, the bar owner yelling at a few locals as you were thrown out- hitting your head on the cold pavement as you groaned. 

“AND STAY OUT!” One man hissed as you glared at him, standing up and dusting yourself off as you then flipped him off and muttered to yourself under your breath. You walked off still pretty pissed off, usually you could easily beat a mortal but for some reason you had gotten ganged up on so you- ehem… let them win… As you continued to walk down the street your tail flicked side to side angrily, you let out a deep sigh as you stopped in front of a small store. Looking inside there was a younger woman who was quite beautiful, you stared at her for a few moments before snickering to yourself softly and walking inside. The woman looked up and offered you small smile, you returned the smile before walking over the register she was at and leaned onto the counter. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing working my here so late?” You snickered as the woman giggled softly “Trying to make enough money to feed and cloth myself.” She replied, you have a genuine smile as you chuckle softly. 

After a few minutes of back and forth you walked back out, tail and horns gone as you had of course- possessed her, you weren’t gonna let the opportunity pass you up. You looked through her pockets and found a small key possibly to the shop, you paused for a moment before turning and locking the door behind you- sure you were a demon but you weren’t that evil… You had probably spent all the money that girl had available to her as you continued your midnight mischief, then a familiar face stared at you as you walked down the street, Jenna. You rolled your eyes with a smirk as she approached you with a small cocky grin of her own “Say- do I know you? You seem really familiar.” She cooed out as her wings twitched. You put a finger to your chin, pondering the question “I don’t think so…” you replied slyly, Jenna raised a brow at you as you try to keep yourself from laughing. “Come on let the girl go.” She finally said as you groaned, releasing the poor woman from your possession as she fell to the floor. She softly panted as she looked up to both you and Jenna, You leaning down to look at her.  

A angel and a demon- looking at both of you… the panic this girl felt as she quickly stood up and ran off, your eyes following her as your tail curled. “What’s up with her?” You snort as you looked over to Jenna with a small toothy grin, Jenna returning it with a smile of her own as you cross your arms at her. “Am I in trouble oh powerful one?” You snicker as Jenna softly chuckled “Not this time don’t worry, just had to make sure you didn’t kill another person for the what- 15th time this month?” You gave a sheepish grin as you shrugged “Who’s to say…?” Jenna gave a roll of her eyes as she giggled “Whatever…” She began to walk off which honestly surprised you, you waited a few moments before quickly following after her “Wait wait wait-“ 

Jenna turned to look at you as her wings ruffled a bit in anticipation as you slowed your pace and met her side “where are you going? Don’t we usually like- do the back and forth…?-“ you asked in a bit of a embarrassed tone, you weren’t completely sure why you were being so- concerned with why she was leaving, usually you didn’t get two shits… “I didn’t know if you were up to it.” Jenna shrugged with a small smirk before giggling “What? You wanna be around me?-“ “Hey- what?” You were puzzled in her sudden boost of confidence, but then it made sense- she was attempting to toy with you the way you did. You gave a light chuckle as you slowly began walking as you made your way behind her, your fingers likely trailing her neck “Maybe I do…. Maybe I’m just starving for you…” you whisper with a giggle- those few words made all of that confidence Jenna had built up disappear in a instant as her wings unconsciously fluttered from the sensation of your fingers, making you chuckle. “Cat got your tongue?” You tease as Jenna’s face turns red with embarrassment, turning her head away from your hand, which you respectfully allow.

Your Tail flicked as you tilted your head to her, snickering softly. Jenna crossed her arms as you yawned and stretched out, shaking your head as you looked over to her “So- what are you doing here? Protecting a soul from me and my friends?” You scoff playfully “Actually I am, I don’t need you possibly interfering.” You roll your eyes at her as you smile and shake your head “you think so lowly of me, I’d never do that to you…” you coo slyly with a cheeky smile, Jenna’s cheeks warming a bit at the sight.

You both walk for a little bit before you meet the entrance of her hotel she had been staying in “Okay- this is the only time I’ll let you possess someone so they don’t ask why you have horns and a tail-“ Jenna suddenly spoke up.

“Oh the Angel is allowing me to do mischief! My god are you turning against the Heavens?!” Jenna covered your mouth with her hand suddenly with caught you off guard, causing you to look up at her eyes “I’m not letting you do it because you’re getting to cause problems, I’m doing it because they can’t see my wings and halo- but, they can see your- features…” you gave a unamused look as you roll your eyes and push her hand off your mouth “okay okay…” You look around and see a small black figure moving in the alleyway right next to the hotel, you lean your body to the side to look over and see what it was- a small black cat. Almost instantly you took possession of the cat, trotting up to Jenna as you sit by her feet “Is this acceptable Miss?” You purr out, Jenna trying to hold back her laughter as she nodded, then picking you up- which you hesitantly allow. She walked into the Hotel lobby and up to the front desk “Just checking back in.” She softly told the man at the counter, him giving a nod as he looked at you “We don’t allow pets-“ “oh they’re my emotional support cat…if that’s a- thing…” You gave a fake meow and climbed onto Jenna’s shoulder, kneading at it as you curled up and snuggled into the crook of her neck.

The man nodded even though he didn’t seem the slightest bit convinced and motioned towards the elevators, Jenna thanked the man as she made her way to the elevator and pushed the button, waiting a moment as it opened and walked inside- pressing the top floor. Once the door closed you hopped off her shoulder “What was that for?!” She barked out as your head flicked up to look at her, the little ears on your feline’s head pinning back “Making it believable?” “You can’t just do that out of no where!-“ “why not?” Jenna opened her mouth to speak but stopped her self, her mouth agape for a moment before she shut it. She couldn’t tell you what she really felt about you, you’d make fun of her- it’d ruin the mutual respect you had for each other, or at least the respect she thinks the two of you had. The rest of the elevator ride was filled with a looming silence, the ding of the elevator reaching the top floor scared you and Jenna both, the doors opened and you followed Jenna to her Hotel room.

She unlocked the door as you squeezed through the door, hopping onto the bed as you unpossessed the cat, the feline letting out a soft meow as it crawled into your lap. Jenna softly smiled as she let her wings and halo been visible again, looking over at you as she grabbed herself a complimentary water from the mini fridge in the room.

“So- Why did you tag along?” Jenna asked out of the blue, making you look up from the cat on your lap “Oh-“ you weren’t really sure to be honest, you weren’t sure why you followed her. “You know- just to figure out what an Angel does in her free time, normal Demon stuff.” You shrugged with a sarcastic tone filling your voice as you flop back on the bed the cat meowing again as it hopped off the bed and walked over to Jenna, and hopped onto the counter she was next to. “Uh huh…” Jenna rolls her eyes at you with a small smile then looks over to the cat who was getting a bit close, the only reason why she had allowed the cat on her in the first place was because it was you- but now? She was kind of scared of it…

She was more of a dog person anyways- as she backed away from the cat it kept following her, meowing constantly before Jenna tripped over her own foot- falling onto the bed- well more so, on you. You and Jenna laid there in an awkward silence for a moment or two as Jenna’s face heated up drastically as you on the other hand were just- incredibly flustered and baffled by this. “Uh- are you… comfortable?-“ you awkwardly chuckle as you pushed Jenna’s wing out of your face, “sorry- I didn’t mean to crush you-“ “oh you will never crush me, your waaaaaay to small for that.” Jenna turned herself over as she still laid on top of you and glared at you “I’m not small!- I’m only 5’1-“ She muttered as you burst out laughing “Stop it’s not even funny!-“ She Barked as you continued laughing, your tail moving in a somewhat awkward version of a wag. You finally calmed down, still giggling a few moments at a time “Jenna- 5’1 is as short as you little Angels come-“ you snorted as her face turned red, a small smile spreading across your face as a result. 

Your hand gently began picking at Jenna’s wings as you both laid in a comfortable position, neither of you bothered to move or make those awkward as you continued to preen at her feathers. “You know- this is pretty nice, not having to worry about the- ‘rules’…” You softly mumbled as Jenna lifted her head from your chest “I guess-“ she replied as she let out a soft sigh, seeming to prepare herself for something- “Y/N…?-“ You give a small hum in response as you met her eyes with your own “Do you think… it’s weird for Demon’s and Angels to be in love…? Like it’s that a normal thing?…” You thought about her question for a bit, pondering it. “It’s not something that’s normal but there’s no rules against it in the underworld- but Angels that do fall in love with demons usually turn into Fallen Angels.” You lightly shrug as you continued to preen her wings. Jenna sighed softly as she laid her head back down on your chest,   It was comforting…Nice…Quiet…Warm…

Jenna had two options, just let this be a normal “Just friends but cuddling and stuff” or a proper- relationship… You look up to her with a bit of confusion “You okay Jenna?” Jenna perked up and sighed before pulling her hands up to your cheeks and gently grabbing them, you looked at her with confusion before it all disappeared within seconds.

Jenna kissed you on your lips with passion, her lips were tender and soft in nature but they held so much meaning in those few moments, you felt yourself almost instantly leaning into the kiss as your arms wrapped around her neck pulling her closer. Your tail curled as Jenna’s Wings opened up a bit in relaxation before cupping around the both of you, it felt as if time had stopped for the two of you, the loving nature of Jenna’s lips being pressed against yours made your heart soften almost as much as it grew for her. Air didn’t matter to either of you as the kiss continued for a little bit before Jenna pulled away from it before she had made herself pass out, both of you panting. “Is that why you asked me about Demon and Angel lovers?” You snickered as Jenna rolled her eyes with a smile “maybe…” before you could even respond she kissed you again, you, happily returning the favor. This continued for a little bit longer as the kisses got more intense, both of your bodies pressed up against each other, Your nails gently clawing into Jenna’s shoulders sparking small whimpers from her. 

You giggled at her as you then flipped her onto her back, She didn’t complain or even dare pull away from the kiss, this is what she had been wanting for so long… “You know, we’re kinda doing that thing that humans do.” You chuckle as you pulled away from the kiss, Jenna looked up to you with a confused smile “Doing what thing?” “What do they call it?- hooking up?” Jenna gave a mix of a giggle and a hum as you leaned back down and kissed her, meeting the same level of passion she had given you. Jenna was giggling to herself as she continued to kiss you, unable to control herself from giggling. “Can we do anything more than just kissing…please..?” She whispered between kisses and giggles that the two of you shared as you look to her eyes “I suppose, but promise me your not gonna freak out and push me away or anything-“ Jenna nodded her head as you then moved her shorts and underwear slightly to the side, sure she was a Angel but that didn’t mean she wear human clothing, you included.

Jenna let out a soft groan as your finger gently pressed up against her entrance she was a bit wet already, causing a soft giggle to erupt from you as you placed a soft kiss on her cheek before your finger gently crawled up to her clit then back down to her entrance before slowly pushing inside, a soft whine spewing from the angel’s lips as you gave a cocky smirk to her. “God whats got you so tight?” You teased as Jenna gave a small pout, before smirking “Waiting for you to make the first move, but obviously I had to do that…” she snickered as you roll your eyes at her “I could always stop-“ “no!- okay fine sorry, I won’t be a bitch-“ you mumbled as you chuckle, leaning her head forward as you place a soft kiss on her lips “that’d be nice, and a first.” Jenna was about to snap back at you before she felt the strap on you had someone managed to slip on without ever even knowing push against her walls, a deep needy moan was heard from her as you leaned forward and on top of her, pushing in as far as you could at the moment.

Jenna whined at the pleasure as you laid on top of her, her walls aching from having to be forced into relaxation. “don’t just- lay here… please-“ Jenna whimpered “anything the little Angel wants…” you whisper as you then lean back a bit and began to give her gentle thrusts as she groaned softly, still not satisfied with the current pace as her hips bucked forward in a bit of neediness and frustration as you raise a brow at her before giving more forceful thrusts as another moan escaped from her, throwing her head back into the mattress as she bit at her lip. You continued for a few minutes before leaning down at softly biting at her neck, adding to that already overwhelming pleasure Jenna was feeling. Her wings twitched softly as she tried to keep herself quiet and disturbing anyone else on the floor, albeit she already was being pretty loud- “fuck…” she softly whimpered as you began to thrust deeper and rougher, small tears forming in her eyes from the amount of pleasure and happiness she was feeling- her hips seemed to buckle as you stopped biting her neck, leaving trails of hickeys on her skin as she came closer and closer to her orgasm. You pulled her into a deep kiss as she finally let out a loud and long moan as you fucked her through her orgasm, hips slowing gradually before coming to a stop.

You let go of the kiss and looked to her, a wide smile on both of your faces “Is that what you were looking for?” You giggle, Jenna laughs and shoves your shoulder “oh stop!-“ as you both laid there comfortably something seemed to change the energy of the room, the happiness and lust still filling the air but a faint hint of something wrong…

As the two of you joked around for the rest of what little of night you had left Jenna’s feathers seemed to slowly fall off…

One

By

One.

pssst tell me what u think here 👀

[ebodebo]

I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man!

pairing: john price x fem!reader

wc: 7.2k...sorry lmao plz read…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, fluff, established relationship, oral (m. receiving), road head, porn w so much plot, hair pulling, angst, emotional conflict, complicated family dynamics, dysfunctional family, i.e., ongoing conflict, reader having familial issues (mostly maternal), age-gap, secret relationship & marriage, & john being a protector.

author's note: this was brought to fruition by a singular barry sloan edit that had me salivating and @sai-int's fic 'a ticket to play', which single-handedly re-sparked my love for price! so, yeah, anyways, enjoy this horny mess!

dividers by @/saradikagraphics!

John Price is a man...

“John, you didn’t,” you hiss, eyes wide as you set down the groceries on the counter, your wrists aching from the heavy load.

“Didn’t know it was your mother, sweetheart,” he replies, his tone sincere. He quickly grabs the bags and begins unpacking the groceries.

You glance at the house phone positioned beside the fridge, then peel off the old sticky note attached there. You read it aloud, “Don’t answer calls from the 406 area code. I’m talking to you, John,” before pausing to think, lips pursed in contemplation.

He opens the fridge, sliding the milk jug inside before carefully shutting the door. When he turns back to see your knowing smile, his eyebrows lift in a silent acknowledgment, a quiet ‘ah’ escaping his lips.

“Well,” you urge, grabbing the aromatics from the counter to put up. “What did she say when you picked up?” You ask, attempting to sound as casual and disinterested as possible.

“Oh. Nothin’ you’d find interestin,’” he hums with a knowing smile as he tears open a pack of paper towels.

You press your lips together. “Well…yeah,” you mutter, picking up a few grapefruits. “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me,” you defend, emphasizing the ‘doesn’t.’ “I just want to know what she thought,” you shrug, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Mhm,” he hums thoughtfully as he gathers the now-empty reusable bags, hanging them on the hook next to the cabinet.

“I’m serious,” you say, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “I really don’t care.”

"I know you don't, hon." He turns to wash the fresh berries in a colander, the water splashing against the metal steadily.

"You don't believe me," you exasperate.

He lets out a low laugh as he washes the berries. "Didn't say that."

You lean against the kitchen island, your body language betraying your frustration. "You were thinking it," you accuse, with a dramatic sigh.

He sets the berries back into the colander and turns his head toward you, a playful half-smile on his lips. “No, I wasn't,” he replies, clearly amused.

You poke your tongue into your cheek, mentally cursing yourself for marrying someone so adept at reading your emotions, your inner conflict laid bare.

“But,” he says, tearing a paper towel to dry his hands. “Now, I’m starting to feel that you do care.”

You don’t respond, trying to avert your gaze as heat creeps into your cheeks like he’s caught you sneaking a cookie from the cookie jar.

“Baby,” he moves closer, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders and pulling you into him. “It’s okay to care,” he whispers softly into your hair, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

You gently shut your eyes, pressing your face into his warm abdomen, finding comfort in his presence.

“Damn it,” you mumble, your words muffled against him. He chuckles softly in response. “Alright, fine,” you pull back slightly, locking your eyes onto his as his hands cradle your cheeks. “I do care. Now, spill the juicy details.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. “Well, she started by checkin’ in on you.”

You release a dry laugh, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, right. She always has ulterior motives," you grumble. "I swear that woman is always up to—"

"Shh," he squishes your cheeks together as both thumbs rest over your lips to silence you. "Will you let me finish?" He prompts, quipping a brow.

"Sorry, yeah," you apologize, your voice coming out muffled and nasal. 

He nods with a smile, moves his thumbs off your mouth, and drops his hands to massage your shoulders. "Said your sister is gettin' married, and she thought it would be nice if you came down for her engagement party this weekend," he supplies. 

Correction remarried.

She's on her fifth? No, her sixth husband now.

Guess she thinks six will be the lucky number.

Who’s gonna tell her?

However, that’s beside the point; you care about something much more…pathetic.

You feel frustrated because all you really want is to know how your mother reacted to the deep, gruff voice of the Englishman who answered the phone.

You wait with a bated breath, eyes wide with anticipation, but his expression remains flat, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What else?" You finally question, unable to contain your curiosity.

"That's all," he plainly says, his words hanging in the air.

You scoff. "She didn't ask about the random guy answering my phone?" You voice with disbelief.

Your mother is a shallow woman, but surely you getting what she’s constantly pressured you into getting would have her jumping for joy.

A sly smirk grows on his lips. "Am I just some random guy?" He jokes.

You smile yourself before pressing a kiss to his lips, arms coming to wrap around his torso. "You’re my husband, so not to me," you begin. "But to her, yes," your hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him down to peck his lips again. "You know that," you say matter-of-factly.

His hands drift to your waist. "Mhm, I'm your dirty little secret," he hums softly.

"John," you frown, guilt flooding your brain. "You know I would, but—"

"Just jokes, baby," he interjects, pressing a light kiss on your temple as his eyes light up. "I love you in any way you’ll have me," he murmurs softly.

"God, you’re perfect," you reply with a smile. 

"She did question who I was," he starts. "Had no idea she was so southern," he remarks casually before continuing. "She thought I was the plumber," he quips, trying to lighten the mood slightly.

He tried, but he could feel the tension in the air.

Sees the disappointment and anger in your eyes.

In your posture.

You're fucking pissed.

"Typical," you remark, stepping away from him, arms flailing around. "She—she thinks I'm so incapable of finding someone that she would resort to thinking you're a person I pay before actually thinking you're with me." Your voice is filled with frustration.

"Hon—" John begins, voice soft as his hand reaches for you.

"And she wonders why I never visit," you release a dry laugh. "Never reach out."

"Come ere,'" he coos, hand pulling you by your wrist, so he can engulf you in a hug.

"It's not fair," your voice is once again muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but he can hear the tightness in it and the sniffle against him, a clear sign of your emotional distress.

"No, it's not," he affirms, fingers easing through your hair.

"Nothing is ever good enough for her," you exhale into his abdomen, fueled more by anger than by despair.

John gently kisses your hair while his fingers soothe your back with a gentle massage.

"I’ll never be good enough for her," you mumble absentmindedly, your voice lacking emotion.

"Sweetheart," he begins, his voice low as your hair muffles the sound. "Don't take offense, but you're mother is a real nasty woman. You're fuckin' perfect, and if she can't see that, it's her God-damn loss," his tone rough yet sincere.

You chuckled, a smile spreading across your face as the corners of your eyes crinkled. "I love you."

"Love you so much," he whispers, gently planting another kiss on your head.

He leans back slightly to look into your eyes. "Want me to run you a hot bath?" He asks, gently massaging your shoulders.

"That sounds really nice," you reply, taking a deep breath. "Thanks."

"Course. That's what I'm here for," he says effortlessly, leaning down to kiss your lips tenderly. "I'll let you know when it's ready."

You nod quietly as he moves to draw the warm bath.

The thought of sinking into steamy water and enveloping bubbles soothes your mind.

Honestly, to hell with your mother's opinions.

They just weren't worth the headache.

And there was no way you were going back to that house.

The promise of the bath, with its comforting warmth and enticing bubbles, would wash away your worries and quiet the thoughts swirling in your head.

Visions of your mother and that place would fade, never to resurface again.

"Can't believe she thought I would actually come down," you sigh contentedly, feeling the warmth of your husband, John, as he works shampoo through your hair, creating rich suds.

So much for the visions of your mother fading. 

It had been a whole day since your mother's call, and the weight of her words still lingered, stirring up a storm of conflicting emotions within you.

"Still on your mind?" John asks, eyes hyperfocusing on ensuring the shampoo coats every strand of your hair.

"I just—I don't understand why she thought I would come," you suspire, turning to massage the loofah against John's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the tension in his muscles.

"Must have gone mad, I suppose," he jests, his fingers massaging the shampoo into your scalp, adding a touch of humor to the heavy conversation.

Your lip quips at his joke, eyes lighting at the sight of him taking such good care of you, ensuring your scalp is tantalizingly clean. "Maybe," you murmur. "Because all she ever does is ridicule me and constantly ask if I've found a man.” You gently move the loofah over his chest to ensure he is squeaky clean.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs, his hands coming to massage your facial cleanser into your face before returning to the issue at hand.

"Wouldn't let tryin' to examine your mother's psyche take your day, hon," his hands move with familiar ease as he massages the liquid into your cheeks. "You'll never know why. Can't change that,” he says.

"I hate how logical you are," you sigh, finding yourself relaxing at his touch.

He lets out a gruff laugh. "Would you rather me be some git?"

Your eyebrow quips, eyes remaining closed. "What does that mean?"

His lip quips. "Sweetheart, how long have you lived with me here, in England?" He enunciates the last word as he moves you under the faucet to wash away the cleanser's remnants. 

"Not long enough, I guess," you smile cheekily, wiping your eyes free of water to open them. "Honestly, forever isn't even long enough," you add, trying to shift the focus, though it's true; you can't quite remember how long you've been living together  

"Oh," he tuts softly. "Nice save. Can't argue with that," he replies, smirking before leaning in to kiss your lips.

After a stretch of silence, you turn around so he can wash your back with the loofah. Your mind is still swirling with thoughts. "I kind of miss seeing my niece," you find yourself reminiscing.

"Even though my sister and I don't get along too well, her daughter and I have always had a special bond," you say with a sigh.

"What else do you miss?" Since you never really talk about where you grew up, John prods, he's curious.

"Well, in the spring, my cousins and I would go flower picking in the field behind my grandfather's house," you find yourself getting more excited.

"He also had an old peach tree, Mindy, he called it, that we would pick dozens of peaches from and just lay in the shade under the tree and eat them till he thought we might become peaches ourselves," you snicker, turning around to face him, eyes light.

"They were fucking good peaches."

"Sounds like you miss it," he grins.

Your hand turns the lever off, and the water stops, leaving a lingering warmth on your skin. "I do," you confess, stepping out of the shower to grab you and him fresh towels.

"But, my mother knows how to ruin the best of memories," your voice is monotone. "I want those great ones to stay intact, you know?" You shrug, wrapping the towel around yourself, offering comfort.

He wraps the towel low around his waist. "Course I get it, sweetheart," his voice soft yet gruff. "Let's get you all nice and dry, and we'll order some takeout. Yeah?" He asks, reaching for your hand to lead you into your shared bedroom to get dressed.

"Sounds perfect," you voice, the thoughts of going home almost completely absolving. 

A few misses wouldn't make you completely switch gears and go.

It just wasn't worth it.

Only your mother could figure out how to make the enjoyment and amazing things crumble up and burn. 

But you won't let her. 

So, you've made up your mind. 

You will not be going.

That's final.

It's two days to Saturday.

You've been manically counting down the days.

And so, naturally, instead of basking in the serene morning, with birds chirping and the gentle glow of the sun filtering through your kitchen window, you're perched on a barstool, computer propped up, as your breakfast grows cold, hand hesitating over a plane ticket that will whisk you away tomorrow morning to your hometown. 

Just one click, and you'll have solidified yourself as going.

You're only feeling so impulsive because your impulse control, aka your husband, is at work.

Your finger hovers over the 'confirm' button for about twenty minutes.

You know what's holding you back.

The anxieties claw up about your mother and what ifs that could happen.

And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, it all becomes clear.

'Could.'

It's not a promise, just a possibility.

You had spontaneously decided that you wouldn't let the could control your decisions.

Yes, one thing was holding you back, but what about the multitude of things that you wanted to see or the many people who loved and cared about and desperately wanted to see after so long?

You were not going to let the 'could' control your decisions.

You were going to overcome this worry and take the leap.

You sit up tall in your chair, turning your head with a wince as you click "confirm."

"Oh," you murmur. "That was dramatic for no reason," you say monotonously.

But, now you can't help but feel a surge of excitement.

You would get to see your niece after so long.

And the flower field and, of course, Mindy the peach tree.

Who could forget your childhood room full of posters and knick-knacks you collected throughout your teenage years.

You find yourself smiling as you get that familiar chime from your email confirming your flight ticket.

Can't get cold feet now.

You take a swig of your tea, which has long since gone cold, but your throat is parched from the anxiety that grips you, a knot tightening in your stomach.

The mug was a gift from your husband for your birthday last year.

It featured your favorite flowers made into it and even had your birthday engraved on the bottom.

John was always so thoughtful.

You pause your movements, lips hovering over the clay mug, a moment of hesitation freezing your actions.

John.

Your husband.

Of course, he didn't care that you bought the ticket or wanted to go, but he would be pissed if you just left.

Sure, you could wait until he returned home, but the urgency to communicate your decision gnaws at you, compelling you to act now.

You hurriedly reach for your phone, fidgeting to press his number.

He's at the top of your contacts.

You tap your fingers against the cool granite countertop, waiting until he picks up.

It rings.

And rings.

...and rings again.

Until the line picks up, you sit up, ready to unload on him, only for it to be his voicemail line.

"Shit," you curse, hanging up as your foot bounces on the metal footstep on the barstool.

As you sit there, unable to wait until he gets home, you can't help but feel a surge of dramatic emotion. This internal conflict, this emotional turmoil, is what drives you to act impulsively.

But this is a big deal.

You never go home.

Rarely mention it.

So your next actions feel rationalized to you.

Without a second thought, you spring up, grab your keys from the hook by the door, slip your shoes and coat on, and speed to your car, most likely looking like a mad woman. 

But at this moment, who cares about appearances? 

The urgency of the situation overrides any concern for normalcy.

Normalcy is overrated, anyway.

You throw the car into gear, and though you are in a rush, you don't speed there. 

Carefully, you make your way, chewing on your lips nearly the entire drive.

Despite your earlier determination not to return, you find yourself on the way, a plane ticket already in your possession.

The anticipation of what your husband has to say fills you with a slight unease.

He wouldn't be mad.

More surprised than anything.

And honestly, you shamelessly loved seeing him at work.

His professional demeanor, always in control, never fails to impress you.

You can't help but oogle him.

It secretly really got you going.

But, this time, it was a purely innocent visit, of course.

You find a parking spot, ease into the front part, giving the officer guarding the gate your name.

She quickly lets you through.

You are the captain's wife, after all.

Walking, you head straight through a door and through another one.

So many God-damn doors in this place.

Until you reach the middle portion of the base, grass surrounds you, and various equipment is placed orderly around.

Sandbags, wooden ladders, and weights are among the items you see. 

Your eyes sweep the area until they land on the man you're looking for. 

He stands tall, his broad shoulders filling out his uniform, a few strands of hair escaping his signature hat.

His eyes are focused on the recruits, his expression a mix of determination and frustration.

From the looks of it, he's training new recruits, something he doesn't often do, but it's a real treat when he does.

His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his veiny arms. 

His arms, usually strong and steady, now appear more veiny than usual, a sign of his apparent frustration with the recruits. His jaw is set, and you can see the tension in his muscles as he barks orders.

"Runnin' like a fuckin' slug," he reprimands. "Pick up the pace."

You hate how hearing that makes you feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Get your head out of your ass," he grunts outs, clearly annoyed. "The hell are you lookin' at," he asks a recruit who, along with a few others, seems to be on another planet, eyes wandering behind him.

John turns to his side to see you in a cute dress, waving to him sweetly. "Course," he lets out a dry laugh, giving you a small wave.

He turns back to the recruits, his authority palpable.

"Eyes off my wife, or you'll be doin' extra laps," he scolds, his tone low but intimidating, before yelling to move to the ladders with Soap.

He makes his way over to you, a warm smile on his face. "Nice surprise, hon," he greets, kissing your cheek.

"I'm gonna go," you murmur.

His brows furrow in confusion. "Go where?" 

You raise a brow at his confusion. "To...see my family."

His eyes bore into your intently. "By yourself?"

"I didn't think you'd want to go," you say honestly. 

"I'm going with you," his tone final, with no room to argue. "You bought a plane ticket?" He questions.

"I did...sorry, I just thought—" you begin before he cuts in, his hand pressing against your cheek. 

"No worries," he says. "I'll get the ticket when I get back to my office," his tone casual. "You're sure about this?"

"I think so," you say. "Plus, if I cancel the ticket, we'll be out six hundred dollars," you laugh out.

"Screw the money, okay? You tell me if you don't want to go," he tells you, face serious.

"If I change my mind, you'll be the first to know," you lean up, pressing a short kiss to his lips. "Also, you should always wear your shirt like that."

His eyes narrow as he lets out a laugh. "You like it?"

"Looks sexy," you purr quietly, teeth coming to bite your lip.

His face warms slightly. "Should see what it looks like off."

"Are you flirting with me, captain?" You say, hand coming to your heart in false surprise. 

"Just givin' you a preview for later," his tone is husky. 

"I'll be waiting," you begin, beckoning him to lower his head so your lips can hover over his ear. "Already so wet just thinking about it."

He releases a low grunt as you press a kiss to his cheek.

"See you at home," you say sweetly as if you didn't just give him a hard-on at the thought of you all wet and needy for him.

"See you, sweetheart," he almost chokes out as you turn to go away, your ass swaying in the dress you wear.

He's going to make you pay later.

And honestly, you can't wait.

You need something to take your mind off tomorrow's morning flight. 

Though it was going to take a lot more than sex to ease your mind.

A horse tranquilizer may help.

No. Too dangerous.

Whatever, you'll take your chances with John's hand all over and in you to have you sleeping and at ease.

Maybe you'll get lucky, and you two can sneak off to the airport bathroom and finally join the mile-high club.

That would definitely keep your mind off things.

For now, you’ll wear a smile, and excitement will radiate from your being.

Everything will be fine.

Nothing bad will happen.

Even so, what’s the worst that could possibly happen?

Statement retracted.

Your trip thus far has been a shitshow, and you haven't even seen your family yet.

Your flight got delayed three hours because of fog.

That was understandable, annoying, but understandable. 

What wasn't was the lady who insisted on sitting between you and John on your flight in the seat you paid for.

An older lady, maybe in her late forties or so, with a determined look in her eyes and a set to her jaw that said she wasn't going to let a little thing like a seat assignment get in her way.

She was nice at first.

She became insufferable rather quickly.

Very persistent.

You deduce she did that so she could sit next to your man. 

It didn't bother you so much, plus you knew if you showed it did, John would make a scene, and you just wanted to close your eyes and sleep, so you let her have your seat and sat by the window instead.

But every time you got settled, eyes closing gently, the soft lull of the plane helping you drift off.

"Going off to college?" She piped next to you, oblivious or noncaring about your eyes shut.

Your eyes open rapidly, and you look at her, awaiting a response. "Uh, no. I graduated a couple of years ago," your voice is drowsy. 

"Oh. You two must be going on a father-daughter trip, then?" She poses.

Your wide eyes drift to John's; a smile etched on his face. "Such a kind father you are," she compliments without missing a beat.

The sheer absurdity of her assumption leaves you speechless, and John can't help but let out a quiet laugh.

"Thas' actually my wife," he says, trying to contain another laugh. 

"Oh," her eyes widen in shock and apparent envy. "Well, aren't you a lucky one," her tone is dry as she eyes you.

That was funny.

But not when she did it about five hundred times on the eight hour flight.

It was like a broken record, playing the same tune over and over again, and you were the unwilling participant. 

Over and over again like clockwork.

Drove you bat shit crazy.

Sure, maybe you could have just told her to shut the hell up, but you kept telling yourself it wasn't worth the fight, and you didn't have the energy to make the effort.

Also, since the lady was sitting in the seat between you, formally yours, you didn't feel comfortable asking John about the bathroom sex.

She would have most likely dropped dead or asked to join.

You didn't want either.

So, it is safe to say that when the plane landed, you sat up excitedly to escape the stuffy plane.

The lady tried to follow you and John out, but you grabbed John by the wrist, dragging him behind you as your legs gained more momentum to try and escape her.

It was like a horror movie.

"Oh my God. She was so weird," you laugh out to John as you manage to get away from her, stepping out of the airport to collect your rental truck. 

"I know. Kept lookin' at me the whole flight," he says with unease as he places your suitcases into the backseat of the truck, shooing away your hands from the bags so he could lift them himself.

"Do we need to get you a counselor?" You half-joke as he opens the car door for you to get in as he moves to the driver's seat.

"Think so," he gruffs before his eyes fixate on you. "You okay?"

You had put the address into the truck's maps system, settling back into the leather seat, eyes now on his. "I'm nervous," you confess.

"Nothin' to be nervous about. I'm here for you, okay? If you need to leave, just tell me," his voice is soft as his hand caresses your thigh in comfort. 

You give him a nod, turning to look out the window at the passing buildings, a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

You had already texted your niece you were coming, so you're sure your mother and sister know. 

It's not like you'd be staying with them.

That's too much too soon.

Plus, you and John could have sex anytime in the hotel with no fears of your estranged mother walking and seeing John balls-deep in you.

It was really better for all parties.

Once you pull up to the house, you swear you could hurl.

"Was this a bad idea?" You ask John nervously as he pulls your suitcases out of the backseat.

He gently sets them on the dirt. "It's just nerves," he says, locking the truck. "Let's scope it out, and if you want to leave, we'll go. No questions," his hand rests gently on your shoulder.

"Promise?" You prod, tilting your head towards him. 

He smiles at you. "You have my word, sweetheart."

You release a deep breath. "I think I'm going to pass out."

He chuckles deeply, hand snaking around your waist to lead you to the front door. "I'll catch you if you do."

You feel your nerves subside with John by your side as you flip up the familiar peach-shaped doorbell cover to ring the bell.

Stomping feet approach, the voice growing nearer and nearer until the front door pulls open to reveal your sister.

Flawless as ever. 

Her eyes light up. "Thought my daughter was tellin' fibs," she jokes, pulling you into a warm, tight hug. "Missed you." Her genuine affection wraps around you like a comforting blanket.

You reciprocate the hug with equal tightness. 

Although you may not have gotten along well, she was still your sister, and you could feel the love a million miles away. 

She pulls away, eyes falling onto the mysterious, hot, stoic man to your side. "Who's this good-lookin' hunk?" She coos, smacking her gun.

"This is my, um, my husband, John," you say, fumbling your words a little.

"Nice to meet you," his voice is low and most shockingly British, as he sticks his hand out.

Cordial as ever. 

"Oh, come on. That's just not even fair, sis," she jests, taking his hand fast and tight.

Her playful banter adds a lightness to the moment that almost absolves your nerves entirely.

"Where's...mom?" You ask, your heart pounding in your chest, the unease apparent in your tone.

She looks back at you. "Kitchen," she says before offering a reason. "She's makin' peach cobbler. Come on in," she steps aside so you and John can enter the door.

The familiar scent of the old wooden floors, the sound of the creaking stairs, and the sight of the family photos on the wall all bring back a flood of memories.

Warm smiles and familiar voices greet you as you step inside.

Cousins, aunts, uncles.

They approach you one by one, their surprise at your arrival evident, but even more so at hearing that you're married to the burly man at your side. 

Your aunts keep him occupied as you wander into the kitchen.

They keep him engaged in their lively banter, shamelessly flirting with him while their husbands sit in the living room, engrossed in their own discussions. 

You feel a little bad for leaving him to fend with the wolves, but he assured you he was alright and all but pushed you into the kitchen.

Sure enough, your mother was busy rolling out some dough on the countertop for the crust for the top of the peach cobbler. 

"Mom," your voice is quiet as you move around the island to where she is.

She turns. "Well, I'll be," she begins, eyes wide and full of surprises. "Ya came."

"I did," you amend with a smile. "And I brought someone I'd like you to meet."

"Some city guy?" Her head moves back to the dough, no longer on you.

"He, yes, he's from the city," your voice is outwardly confused.

"Thought so," her tone is snarky as she delicately lays the dough over the cobbler filling. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" It comes out more defensive than you intend. 

"Nothin,'" she says flatly. "Enjoyen' your fancy life in the city?"

You roll your eyes, already anticipating the direction this conversation is about to take. "Mom," you urge, your frustration palpable.

"No, hon. I get it," she looks up at you, shrugging. "Honestly, surprised you came. Wouldn't wanna dim your new sparkly life," her tone is condescending. "That is why it's been so long, right?"

"It's not like that," you try to justify, but you know it will do no good.

She completely disregards that, instead changing the subject. "Supper's ready," she bussies herself with stirring the gravy. "Better snag yourself a seat quick," her tone is dry. "Table hasn't grown none."

You release a shallow breath, turning around to escape this stupid God-damned kitchen and moving to find John. 

It's a familiar feeling, this resignation. 

Guess some things never change. 

You approach him, and before you say a word, his eyes are already locked on you, body language now stiff. "What's the matter?" His hands are on you in an instant.

You should have known.

He can read you like one of those mission reports he reads daily.

"Nothing," you mutter, forcing a smile, but the words feel heavy with the things you're hiding.

His eyes narrow. "Can't lie to me," he voices.

You'd just about rather crawl in a hole and die than re-account. 

What was supposed to be a happy recount turned sour rather quickly.

"Tell me," he urges, sensing your inner turmoil. 

"Drop it," your tone is more icey than usual. "Please." 

He gives you a light nod, eyes full of concern.

"Let's go eat, okay?" Your hand moves to his, intertwining your fingers, and guilt claws up your throat.

He gives you a nod as you drag him into the dining room to snag a seat at the main table.

Mom was right. The table is still too small to accommodate a family of this size, so another table sits outside and another in the living room. 

Others crowd around the breakfast nook and sit on barstool at the kitchen island. 

This house has never known loneliness. 

Your mother, father, sister, sister's daughter, and your sister's fiance are at the table with you and John. 

Your niece opts to sit next to you, gushing about her new boyfriend, the son of the florist downtown, and asking questions about the city.

"Hush now, darlin.' She gets all fussy about that," your mother chides your niece, referring to your early conversation about you living in the city.

"Mom," you quip, eyes wide at her sheer audacity.

She hadn't even addressed John, just jumping straight into a fight.

Typical.

"I'm just sayin.' Ya jumped all over me for talkin' about it," she says, trying to sound innocent. 

Seems her memory is slipping.

"That's not why I got upset," your tone is teetering between desperation and frustration, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air.

She plops some mashed potatoes on her plate before passing the bowl along. "Then what was it ya were so hurt about earlier, huh?"

You're sure steam is rolling out of your ears.

"You hold a, a vendetta against me for leaving," you spew without much thought, anger taking over. "Because you never got to leave, you take it out on me," you finish, and you're sure you're shaking. 

If all eyes weren't on you before, they are now.

John is leaning back in his chair, eyes wide.

He's kind of scared if he touches you, you'll punch him, so he instead crosses his arm over his chest.

"I think the city is cool," your niece randomly chimes in, clearly trying to ease the tension. "Would love to visit someday."

You give her a smile before your mother starts up again.

"Didn't your mother teach ya about city girls," she snaps to your niece. "Nothin' good ever came from any of em.'" 

You can taste the metallic taste of blood on your tongue; you had bitten your cheek so hard you bled.

"Ain't that right," your mother says, eyes shifting to your sister.

Your sister is great.

Just not in the presence of your mother.

She takes on her personality and thoughts.

Agreeing with her without a second thought

That includes her fights.

"It's true," she snickers. "City girls can't tell a pencil from a pecker."

You find yourself standing abruptly, and your sister matches your action, spewing more garbage. 

And for some reason, her fiance stands up, which makes John stand up, matching his movements.

He's easily a foot taller than her fiance, and he's much more muscular, too.

"Enough," John's low, commanding voice is fitting for a military captain. It splices through the room, the commotion dying as he speaks. "I will not sit here and let you treat my wife like this," his head tilts towards your sister and then to your mother. "Now or ever."

He doesn't even need to yell to get any attention. 

His voice just demands attention already. 

Your sister, usually so quick with a retort, is silent.

The fear in her eyes is unmistakable, adding to the intensity of the confrontation.

She’s scared.

Hell, everyone is.

Well, except your niece, whose lip quips secretly, a small smirk playing on her lips despite the tension in the room. 

"Your daughter came down on her own merit to see you," he points to your mother. "Could have done so many other things, but she wanted to see you," he enunciates the last word.

"Well, she—" Your mother begins, her face bright red with anger, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Tired of hearin' the excuses," his voice cuts through hers. She quickly shuts up, a surprising silence falling over her. "Can't even believe your daughter turned out as amazing as she did growing up with this," he gestures towards you.

He stands with his hands on his hips, disappointment is evident on his face. 

"My wife is a God-damn saint," his voice is rough.

You find your lip quipping at the praise and how much he appreciates you.

He worships the ground you walk on.

That was made abundantly clear. 

His hands reach to rest on your lower back. "Appreciate the food, but we'll be leavin' now," he mutters, stepping back to push his chair in.

You don't argue with him.

Hell, how could you?

He said everything you couldn't

Laid all your thoughts on the table and even added some extra.

He did what he was born to do: protect.

You step away, push your chair in, and turn around, not bothering to say goodbye as you walk to the front door.

You'll text your niece later. 

The chill in the air, carrying the scent of magnolia trees and damp earth, hits you like a slap to the face.

John's hand is still on your lower back, guiding you back to the truck.

He opens the door so you can slip inside as he makes his way around the driver's seat.

The heater is blasting as he shoves the key into the keyhole, and the engine is stirring alive as he easily backs out and pulls onto the road. 

The silence is heavy as he drives down a straight, desolate road.

It's silent for a moment before he starts to comment, apologizing profusely about how he overstepped and saying sorry that this trip turned out bad.

You're tuning him out and instead focusing on how he stood up for you.

He was just such a man.

He always knew how to be what you needed him to be.

Protector.

Listener.

Talker.

He always knew which role to take on to support you, to be your anchor in the storm of emotions. 

Just that thought alone made you incredibly wet. 

You don't know why.

You should be crying from the way things unfolded with your family.

But you're not sad, not even remotely.

Just incredibly horny.

You find yourself slipping the rubberband off your wrist and quickly tying your hair in a messy ponytail.

"Hon," John says, noting your unusual silence. "I'm so sorry," he quickly glances your way before looking back at the road.

You don't speak, opting to brush your hand against his cargo pants as your fingers fumble with his zipper.

He makes a noise of surprise. "What're you doin?'" He asks, his voice breathy.

"You took care of me," you mumble, shimming your fingers under the waistband of his boxers to release his erect cock, to which he grunts. "Want to do the same," your voice is lazy, as your lips brush against the sensitive head.

"Me yellin' at your mother got you all hot?" He jokes though it dies halfway on his tongue as your lips spread open to accommodate his size.

His knuckles are white as he tightly grips the steering wheel so as not to crash.

Your mouth makes a pop noise before you speak. "You're just so sexy. All manly like that," you mutter against his cock, the tingle of your words sending goosebumps throughout his entire body.

"Am I?" He chokes out as your lips move back to encase his cock.

"So hot," your voice is muffled as you take in more of his cock.

"Oh—Christ, thas' it, hon," he groans as you bob your head up and down.

His mind has gone fuzzy at the feeling of your tight throat, taking him so good, even swerving a little, before quickly straightening the wheels.

"So fuckin' good," he grunts, as one hand moves to gather your ponytail in a loose fist. 

Your tongue works in tandem, rubbing against the underside of his cock, sending more pleasure through him. "Such a good girl, babe," he praises, and you just know that your underwear will be soaked. 

"So good." Your moan against him at the next praise, making him sputter his hips up, his cock slipping in your mouth entirely. 

He chokes out some incoherent words you can't make out; taking note of his body going taut, you can presume he's close.

"Gonna," he strains out as you continue bobbing up and down, his hand tightening around the fistful of your hair. “Come."

You bring your hand to pump the base as your tongue flicks across the tip.

He groans with anguish, legs shaking as he comes in your mouth.

You pull your head up, your eyes boring into his so he can watch you swallow out every last drop, even using your fingers to clean up the residue in the corners of your mouth.

His eyes stay glued to your mouth before you yell at him to watch the road.

"Christ," he shouts, gripping the wheel tight to stay in his lane. 

You laugh as you lean, pressing a sideways kiss on his lips.

He can taste himself on your lips.

He almost comes again.

But the high lasts just as short as when you look in the review to see police sirens hot on your tale, the siren invading your eardrums. 

John curses but pulls off to the shoulder, sneakily grabbing his military badge in his pocket.

"You always just carry that on you?" You smile slyly, the body still warm from your escapades. 

"Will come in handy," he assures, rolling his window down as the officer makes his way to his window.

"Evenin', folks. Gotta call from a concerned driver sayin' you were swervin' out of your lane," he says.

"No, sir. Not us," you answer, John glancing towards you.

"That right?" The officer prods. "I'm going to need to see your license and registration, sir," his monotone voice says. 

"Yes, sir," John says, slyly flashing his military badge as he "looks" for his license. 

"You're military?" John nods. "Hell," the officer laughs, tucking his notepad back in his pocket. "I know you aren't some juveniles."

John laughs as he glances over to you, glancing down to see a little remnant of his come on your shirt.

He almost feels guilty.

Almost.

He lets out a cough.

"You alright, sir?" The officer asks, brows furrowed.

"Yeah. Fine," his voice is strained.

You shoot him a look before the officer starts again.

"Well, I'll let ya'll get on your way," he pats the top of the car.

You both issue a heartfelt thanks before John pulls back out onto the road, a palpable sense of relief in your voices.

"Can't believe he just let you off," you groan, hand coming to intertwine his. 

"Thought you'd be happy?" He laughs. "Can get to the hotel in record time now."

You raise a knowing eyebrow. "For what?"

"Saw you squirmin' in that seat," he teases, his affectionate tone wrapping around you. "I need to take care of my girl," he adds, his voice filled with warmth and love. 

You release a shallow breath.

His girl.

You.

Just you.

That's what you loved about loving him. 

You didn't have to keep up with his expectations.

You could simply exist, and he would kiss the ground you walk on.

The thought lit up your brain.

John Price was your man.

And in his eyes, you'd always be his girl.

mini author's note: i'd have to be surgically removed from him...

[merqki]

boyfriend’s brother (derogatory)

cw: boyfriendsbrother!rin x f!reader, badboyfriend!sae x f!reader — CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP! cheating but make it hot, emotional neglect (and ofc it's sae), rin itoshi is a menace to society, reader has questionable morals and zero self-respect (we love her tho), sibling rivalry deluxe edition™, rage baiting as a love language, phone sex??? kinda, voyeurism if you squint, subtle exhibitionism, dry humping, getting caught, fingernail marks and bruises, non-violent strangling, swearing, really horny people, suggestive content but not full-on NSFW, intentional lowercase

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ 🪻 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

boyfriendsbrother!rin has always been quiet.

quietly annoying.

you and sae have been together for a few months now. he is a good boyfriend.

well, sort of.

good enough to hold the door open for you, but not enough to actually acknowledge your presence. he always had something in his mind, and god forbid his girlfriend wanted to spend some quality time with him.

what could be worse than that? being invisible to your own boyfriend?

his brother making fun of you.

rin itoshi was a pain in the ass.

at the dinner table, when sae brought you home to meet his family, rin smirked, that evil grin appeared every time sae — purposely or not — straight up ignored your comments like they didn’t matter. like they didn’t even happen. like you weren’t even there.

his mom noticed, she gave you an understanding look, like she was silently saying “i’m sorry, he’s like this. get used to it.”

and you intended to. hell, you had to.

you’ve had your eyes on sae for the longest time, his teal eyes and stoic demeanor, his otherworldly talent, the ambition that you admired so much. you finally managed to get him, and now what? were you supposed to leave him just because he wasn’t showering you with affection like you’d hoped?

that's childish.

your friends told you, ”get over it. you’ve been wanting for that man for how long?”.

and they were right.

getting over it? somewhat doable. but those looks rin kept giving you? hell, straight up hell.

he was the worst part of the day. never said a word — his eyes did all the talking. laughing at you when sae wasn’t looking. shaking his head in disbelief whenever his brother ignored your flirting as he passed by.

on a random friday at the itoshi household, the rage and embarrassment you had been bottling up for months hit you like a tidal wave. you had to do something.

and of course – you did.

it started as pure rage-bait.

you began purposely leaving sae’s bedroom door open just enough for rin to see you two making out. you'd never been that touchy with sae, but now? now you were overdoing it. hands in his hair. love marks.

it shouldn’t have been abnormal for a couple, but with sae it was.

still — he was a man, so of course he didn’t complain.

the thing is, your back was always facing the door. you couldn’t really tell if your plan was working. the only way to know was to keep doing it until rin gave you a sign.

so you kept going, week after week, until it became a routine.

still, rin gave you nothing but those same judgmental looks whenever you were in the same room.

sae did loosen up a little. he let you hold his hand at the table. but still nothing from rin.

he let you kiss him in front of his family.

rin didn’t flinch.

it pissed you off. the way he’d only acknowledge you when sae did you wrong — ugh.

it had become a challenge, but you weren't winning, not at all.

you kept looking for rin’s gaze, you felt disappointed when he wasn’t at dinner or when his door stayed shut and you couldn’t put on your little act.

it was exhausting.

one night, sae actually tried to be affectionate — kissing you, touching you, his mouth on your jaw, neck, collarbone. but you were still, distracted, frowning. wondering why rin wasn’t reacting like you wanted him to.

you turned your head to face sae, whose mouth was still on your skin.

you just had the best idea ever.

you straddled him. his hands gripped your hips, and you moved slowly, grinding against him. you tugged at his hair and kissed him, tongue desperate, angry. you kept moving on his crotch, waiting for him to do exactly what you were hoping.

he did.

whimpers slipped from his lips, and a grin spread across your face. there was no way you were letting rin miss this. you pulled your phone from your back pocket, turned slightly, and typed in three letters:

r-i-n.

you called his number, the ringtone echoed from the other room for a few seconds. then it stopped. he either picked up or hung up, you were so hoping for the first but you couldn't know yet.

so you kept going, louder and louder.

when you and sae stopped, the room was silent. his hair was messy, your neck bruised, breaths ragged, and the sheets a disaster. you reached for your phone — the call was still on.

he didn’t hang up.

sae got up and left, probably for the bathroom. you didn’t care about his sudden burst of touchiness. all you cared was about rin.

rin, listening.

rin, hearing you and his brother like that for twenty minutes straight.

he didn't say a word, he waited 30 seconds and then hung up. it was a win, right?

but once again, not a single word from him.

so. fucking. infuriating.

the plan didn't work out like you wanted it to, and for the next couple of weeks you started avoiding your boyfriend, making lame excuses every time. he barely reacted, just replied with an ’ok’ when you canceled your plans. three weeks passed like that.

when the fourth rolled around, you finally decided to face him. you went to his place again. the thought of seeing rin made your face heat up instantly. you weren’t ready for his fucking little smirks.

the house was empty. the itoshi parents weren’t home. as usual, sae led you to his room.

you weren’t in the mood, so you put on a movie and chatted a bit. eventually, sae dozed off. the movie ended. the silence was deafening. you were scrolling through your socials when you heard it.

a bed creaking like crazy from across the hallway.

oh.

oh.

that son of a bitch.

you were fuming. forced to listen to rin fuck someone senseless while your boyfriend snored.

but what hit you hardest wasn’t the rage — it was the jealousy.

you were jealous.

god. you wished it was you.

so desperate to get something — anything — out of him, you stormed out of sae’s room and banged on rin’s door. didn’t even care if there was a girl inside.

he opened it with a smug grin on his face.

«took you long enough,» he said.

huh?

your face must’ve said it all, because he kept going.

«to stop acting like a child.»

«like a child? are you out of your mind? you're the one who–»

«called you while making out with my brother? yeah, no. that was you.»

«no point in denying it, huh?»

you shrugged. he stared straight through you, his teal eyes were darker than usual and you felt so small under his gaze.

«sae’s not good for you.»

now, that took you off guard.

«excuse me?»

you pushed him inside and slammed the door behind you.

«you,» you said, poking his chest, «have. no. say. in. my. relationship.»

each word was a push. he didn’t break eye contact. you pushed until his back hit the closet. he grabbed your finger.

you were dangerously close. your body, your mind — spiraling. you heart thundered in your chest. his gaze made your knees weak. he grabbed your wrist, pulling you in.

«you're so incredibly unhappy,» he whispered, «you made him moan just so i could hear.»

his breath fanned your lips. you tried to pull back, but his grip was too tight. too intoxicating. you leaned in without meaning to, eyes flicking from his to his lips.

he smirked. he noticed.

«you piss me off. so fucking much. i want to strangle you.» you whispered.

«i’d enjoy that.»

that – that was your last straw.

you freed yourself from his hold and grabbed the back of his neck, crashing your lips onto his. he grabbed your thighs and you jumped, legs wrapping around his waist. he kissed you like he was starving, tongue deep, humming into your mouth.

he carried you to his bed, laid you down and caged you underneath him. he paused and took a good look at you.

swollen lips. eyes glassy with desire. perfect. and to think his lukewarm of a brother had denied you affection so long that you started craving his.

him, — so fucking pathetic that he faked having a girl over just to get your attention. so pathetic that he kept baiting you, just to see you chase his gaze instead of sae’s. so pathetic that he stayed on that call, imagining it was him pulling those moans from your pretty mouth.

the sole thought of his brother being responsible of those lewd sounds drove him insane. he let that anger loose on your skin. his hands explored your body like they needed to memorize it. his nails sank into your thighs, and when you whimpered he lost it.

you were so goddamn gorgeous beneath him. loud. desperate. all for him.

his mouth moved to your neck — the same place sae had left his marks. he felt disgusted, he had to fix that.

rin kissed, sucked, bit — determined to erase it all. to show you what it meant to be wanted. to leave proof that it was him making you feel this way.

and you didn’t stop him.

god, did you even care if sae caught you?

«rin…» his name sounded like a sin on your tongue. your moans were music. fucking music.

you grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into another kiss.

«feisty.»

he breathed against your lips.

«you were made for me, not him.»

«shut up.» you tightened your grip on his neck, he moaned into your mouth. fuck, was he driving you insane.

more, more, more. you needed more.

and rin wanted to give it to you.

he stood up and unbuckled his belt, eyes locked with yours until the lights flicked on.

you didn’t even flinch, too far gone. he threw his belt at the door, but when it fell it didn't make a sound.

instead, it... coughed?

«i’ll leave you to it.»

sae, holding rin’s belt and leaning on the doorframe. he closed the door behind him. calm. cold.

you and rin froze, staring at each other in disbelief.

whoops?

© chiara — 2025

[lostalioth]

𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘢𝘣𝘤’𝘴 ; 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦

→ warnings: this is all written with a female reader in mind, smut [18+], all the dirty things that come with nsfw abcs :)

→ a/n: using old reliable nsfw abcs as a way of helping me warm back up to writing :) i havent written in SO LONG again but ive still been reading and my fixation on stevie is coming back strong so figure id use the pretty boy for nsfw abcs

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I think Steve was a bit lame at aftercare in the beginning with past partners, he would clean them off when needed and offer water but that was about it.

Eventually the older he got the better he got with it, and the more he understood the importance of it. A part of him even found it to be his favorite thing to help you calm down and come down from your high slowly. Cooing at you and praising how well you did for him as his hands brush down your arms, your sore and shaking thighs that are still wrapped around his waist to soothe you. He’d clean the both of you up and get you fresh clothes and water. Steve lulling you to sleep in his arms with small kisses to your face and shoulders and whispers of even more praise.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite on himself although it isn't exactly a body part, is his hair of course. He has always prided himself on his hair looking good, always making sure each strand was in place, it started as a vanity thing. However after he notices just how much you loved playing with his hair, running your fingers through it, tugging it, even styling when he gave in after a week of you begging him. His love and pride in it grew tenfold once it became something you loved about him.

His favorite on you would be in all honesty your tits. He's a simple man, no matter their size his hands are gonna gravite to them, rest his hand there when you're cuddling, grope and knead them under your shirt, lay his head on them rambling on and on about how soft they are.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Steve cums a lot and by a lot, I do mean A LOOTT. He honestly doesn't understand it but it's always been that way and because of it if he doesn't use a condom or have you swallow it, it's quite a lot and hard to clean up. Sometimes he loves making you an absolute mess, covered in his cum, sweat and saliva from his mouth exploring, kissing and licking every inch of your body. Steve being well aware of just how much he cums was amazed and admittedly a bit impressed the first time he cums down your throat. He had assumed it would be too much for you so the first time you had him in your mouth and he felt himself get close he tried to pull out so he could cum on your tits.

”Fuck babe im gonna- god im gonna cum” he nearly whines out as your head bobbed, taking his whole length down your throat. He attempts to pull his hips back to pull out of your mouth. You hum around his dick and look up at him with a begging look as you grab hold of his hips, digging your nails in pulling him back closer. The assertiveness of your move stuns Steve for a moment as red hot pleasure consumes him and before he can stop it, he is cumming down your throat. He watches in near shock as while his cock is still sitting heavy on your tongue you swallow all his cum down. He knows his pupils are blown wide as he stares at you, slipping your mouth off him and looking up at him. A cocky and proud smile starts to worm its way on your face. "Good girl—That's a good fucking girl. Fuck baby" he groans as he dives down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, the latter of his sentance mumbled against your lips.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves the idea of you dominating him. He has always been the dominant one in his past relationships, he feels that that's how it's supposed to be. However he can't deny that he likes the moments in bed when you boss him around telling him exactly what to do to please you and he obeys. He can't deny how much he likes when you praise him and call him a good boy when he does something you ask even if it's in a joking matter when he goes and grabs your phone you left in his room when you ask. To him it's his dirty secret, what Steve doesn't know is that you picked up on this little fantasy of his. It was one night after he had a long shift at work and he had practically begged you to let him eat you out cause all he wanted was to please you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I’d say Steve has pretty average experience. He’s had girlfriends, he's had hookups and one night stands. The only thing he wasn't all that experienced with was kinks. He has nothing to worry about though because you're there to help him out and teach him about all your kinks as well as aid him with discovering and testing his own out.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Steve loves any position where he gets to watch your face. The way it contorts in pleasure, your eyes screwing shut and your jaw falling open in either a sharp gasp or a wonton moan when you cum. He also loves holding you therefore his absolute favorite position would have to be when you're straddling him, your chest pressed to his as he is laid back on the bed. His knees bent so his hips can set a punishing and hard pace jackhammering up into you. His large hands cupping the sides of your face forcing you to look at him as he thrusts deep inside you.

“Fuck look at me, there we go sweet girl” Steve coos as he holds your face forcing you to hold eye contact. “There's my pretty girl.. Hii baby” a smirk blooms on his face as his hips speed up, his tip abusing that one spot deep inside you. The pleasure makes it harder to keep your eyes open and look at him. You whimper and mumble something that comes out as gibberish, too lost in the bliss and basking in his attention to form real words.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’d be goofy at the start, smiling big and teasing you softly. Play fighting with you and tickling your sides would eventually morph into your hands pinned above your head and his mouth attacking your tits. Legs around his waist trying to shift your hips to grind your ass against the growing bulge in his jeans. The teasing wouldn't stop however he'd be a bit more serious the more into the moment the two of you became.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

it would entirely depend on how you preferred him, he never used to bother with grooming himself down there as he had no complaints but if you preferred him to be more groomed he’d do it without hesitation. If you didn't care about it, he'd leave it. All he wants is to please you, he has no preference when it comes down to it so he defers to you for it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Steve gets very into the moment. He loves kissing all over your body as his hips thrust into you. Praise spilling out of his lips as you ride him, his arms wrapped around your torso holding you close to him. The man adores you, even when he's being desperate and rough and fast he makes sure to still hold you close and tell you he loves you as his hips bounce off yours hard enough you know there will be bruises in the morning.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He does it probably more than he'd ever admit to you. He just gets so needy for you and knowing you're busy at work he’ll usually resort to fisting his cock. A pair of your panties you let him keep shoved against his nose, needing your scent to get him off. His head full of memories of your body under his, on top of his, your mouth on him, his tongue buried in your pussy, even images of new things he wants to try with you aid him and push him closer and closer to the edge. Jerking off however very rarely satiates him enough to where he wont be on you the second you walk through the door. Nothing does it good enough for him except his girl.

”Fuck sweetheart i missed you, i needed you so bad baby” he whines as he grinds his hips up against you, he had you pinned to the couch not even 10 seconds after greeting you at the door. “Had to rub one out so i didnt bug you at work” his voice came out full of desperation. “Stevie..” you whine out as he begins kissing down your neck. “Nothing is as good as this prefect fucking pussy though” he lets out a low groan as he starts working at getting you out of your work uniform.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Steve wasn't all that knowledgeable of kinks until you and boy did you help him learn. He loves praising you, watching your eyes sparkle and lit up when he tells you how good you're doing. He secretly loves when you praise him back, it makes an unusual feeling settle in his chest as it wasnt something he was used to hearing. He has a slight size kink, he likes when his body looms over yours and how delicate his large hands make your body look. On the very rare occasion as well he can be quite sadistic sometimes. He loves choking you as well, not like hardcore but lightly and he wouldn't be opposed to it being returned.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The bedroom is Steve's favorite place. He knows that's boring but it gives him the most time and space as well as comfort to do as he pleases with you. Not that you guys haven't done it in other places, when you're feeling risky and both of you are extra needy you've done it in a bedroom at a house party, the bathroom at work, the back of Steve's car was the easiest place in your youth for the two of you to have alone time. Those places are just never as good as when Steve has you spread out on his bed where you don't have to worry about being quick or being caught.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Just about anything you do. This man is so deeply obsessed and in love with you that something as simple as him looking at you, taking a sip of water and watching your thorat bob as you swallow would have him straining against his boxers. Watching you sit and do your makeup, a look of focus on your face as you concentrate would have him sneaking up behind you to kiss along the side of your neck up to your ear trying his hardest to break said focus. One look from you with a flutter of your eyelashes and a smile would have him on his knees begging you to leave a party earlier so you two can head home. A brush of your lips against his and he has to refrain from blowing his load in his pants like an inexperienced teenager.

“Baby i think i'm addicted to you” steve lets out a groan as he watches you glide around the house cleaning up after a large party. He sat up on the kitchen counter not being much of a help. Your hips swaying to the music playing softly in the background for ambiance nearly had the man drooling.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything you don't like or aren't comfortable with. Hed do or try just about anything you ask, if it pleases you and you like it thats enough to turn him on.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Steve LOVVEESSS being between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your cunt like a starved man. He doesn't eat pussy for his pleasure he does it for yours, all he cares about is your pleasure. He loves feeling you slowly lose yourself on his mouth, threading your fingers through his hair and holding him there as you cum with a loud drawn out moan of his name leaving your mouth. His preference is giving because when he's receiving?

He has a bit of a hard time holding it in, your mouth is like kryptonite or something cause the second the warmth of your pretty mouth envelopes his cock he's a goner. He turns into a whimpering, stuttering mess mumbling about how pretty you are, how good you are at sucking him off, how much he loves you.

“Sweet girl– shit go easy on me please baby or im gonna cum before we even get started” he whines as his hips buck up into your mouth.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends entirely on the mood, if the two of you have time steve is slow and sensual. Kissing down your body, working you open for his cock with his fingers or mouth. Slow making out as he slides inside you. Still a bit rough as Steve loves to watch as bruises and marks appear on both your bodies, marking you as his and him equally as yours.

But if you’re both needy and desperate for each other it's usually faster and just as rough, rushed foreplay, sloppy kisses, teeth clashing and hands everywhere nearly ripping each other's clothes off. Steve pleading and begging for you to cum for him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

They aren't a rare or a frequent occurrence. They're more of a situational thing, when the two of you start something only to realize one of you is gonna be late to work if you don't hurry up or you have friends coming over in 10 minutes.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Steve loves trying new things, anything and everything as long as you're comfortable with it. If you veto it then the two of you don't try it, the same goes for if he vetoes it but there is quite literally nothing he wouldn't let you do to him. He trusts you and would never say no to you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He has fairly standard if not a bit high stamina, going at least 3-4 rounds before he feels like his balls have been drained but give him a few hours and a slow makeout session and he’ll be ready to go again. He is fast to recover.

There are certain instances where steve is too weak for you though that he doesn't last as long.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Steve would own a vibrator that the two of you use on occasion but usually the two of you are so lost in the pleasure of each other's touch and bodies on their own that you both long forget about using it most of the time. Steve mostly uses it when he wants to overstimulate you by making you come over and over.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Ohh he loves teasing you all the time, and you love teasing him. It's like a game of tit for tat with the two of you. Steve will tease you while you're at work and even more when you come home before giving in. Though he's a little shit about it and if it starts to be too much he wont stop. "Aw, it hurts? Too bad. you're gonna keep taking it until i’m satisfied sweet girl” he chuckles softly and grips your hip harder as his thrusts speed up.

The next day as payback you'd prance around the house in only panties and one of his t-shirts and tease him all day right back. Then he’d return the teasing again and so the cycle continues.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

When Steve's needy he's offly vocal, begging, whining and whimpering how much he wants you, needs you. And when you give in somehow he gets louder.

“Shit! Fuck! Princess mmm you feel so good god, i love ya’ baby”

Verus when you're the needy one and he's in a dominant mood, you're the very vocal one and he's fairly quiet, so he can hear all the pretty noises you make. He is often too focused as well on you to talk much besides the occasional filth leaving his mouth when he cant hold it back and he cums.

"You look so pretty like this sweetheart"

"That's it. That's my girl fuck”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He likes buying you pretty lingerie and pjs. He just likes buying you cute and pretty clothes. It makes his girl happy and she just looks so pretty in everything he buys and gives him a little fashion show. One that may or may not normally end with you in his lap, his hand around your neck and his cock buried inside you. Praise and compliments mumbled against your lips. It's a win-win situation really.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes

He's pretty above average. Standing around 8 inches hard and his girth is enough to give you that addictive stinging stretch when he first slips inside everytime. He was popular with the ladies for a reason, though most found him a bit too much to take. You however take it like a champ and Steve almost loses it every time he bottoms out with how tight your pussy squeezes him.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Above average that's for sure and Steve will swear it used to be normal before you, but he just can't help it. He's obsessed with you and as stated before everything you do turns him on. His sex drive and desire for you are often what lead him to overstimulating you as he always wants you to cum more than once.

"You can give me another one, can't you baby? for me, come on please?" Steve begs as he looks at you through lust blown pupils, a small pleading smile on his face. Sweat dripping down his forehead as his hips snap against yours, your pussy red and puffy after you've already came twice. “Steve i dont think I can baby…” you whine and try pushing at his chest. “Come on princess, one last time and ill be done” he smirks and speeds up his hips and rubs his thumb in circles on your abused and throbbing nub.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Steve will wait for you to fall asleep first, not that he isn't tired but he often stays awake until you succumb to sleep in case you need him to get you anything. Your body is usually a bit weak and your legs wobbly after sex so he offers to get you whatever you need. Once you are sound asleep against his chest though he will kiss your head and snuggle closer to your warm body before drifting off himself.

→ a/n: send me some requests lovilies i need to get back to writing before kinktober!! also sorry for any mistakes im a tad rusty.

[sailorstar9]

Step-Sister Plotted To Marry F/N To A Scumbag, Now She's Stunned F/N Married Someone Way Better

Warning: Modern AU

A/N: Zhongli is a simp for F/N

A/N 2: Happy belated birthday, Zhongli. I'm sorry this took so long.

At a high-class banquet, F/N's stepsister publicly accused her of lacking restraint.

F/N covered her neck and gave the CEO of Qixing Holdings a playful slap on the wrist. “I told you to be gentle, but you never listen, acting just like a dog.”

Instead, Zhongli broadly smiled and said, “Sweetheart, it's all my fault.”

This was F/N's fifth blind date that month.

Under the table, F/N used her purse to block the hand from her blind date. When she looked up, she met a pair of greasy eyes. Unable to hold back any longer, she stood up abruptly and said, “Since Wen Cheng is uncomfortable, I'll leave first.”

As soon as F/N spoke, her stepmother, Qing Ling, objected. “I know F/N has high standards, but Wen Cheng is also a young talent. Don't let the two kids miss out just because I introduced them.”

F/N's father frowned disapprovingly at Qing Ling's words. “F/N, what exactly do you want your aunt to do to make you satisfied? Your aunt hasn't been eating or sleeping well these days because of your blind dates.”

F/N's stepsister, Ying Tai, handed her a glass of wine and tactfully interrupted F/N's father. “Dad, F/N didn't mean it.”

“But I do.” F/N smiled mischievously.

For a moment, Ying Tai's smile froze and she handed F/N the wine in her hand. “F/N, represent our family in toasting Wen Cheng as a gesture of good will from our family.”

Upon hearing this, F/N's father's expression softened considerably. “Ying Tai is the sensible one.”

Wen Cheng, with a sticky look, said, “It's okay. I actually like when people aren't sensible.”

F/N snatched the glass from Ying Tai's hand and splashed every drop on Wen Cheng's face without hesitation. “What daydream are you having?” she mockingly sneered.

Not long after leaving the private room, F/N keenly sensed that something was amiss. She hadn't expected to escape Ying Tai's wine glass on the surface but she hadn't evaded the sinister tactics of the mother and daughter behind her back. Her thoughts spiralled out of control; her temperature rose rapidly and her blood boiled. Through the reflective decorations, she faintly saw her cheeks turn scarlet and she didn't need to guest that Qing Ling and Ying Tai were up to no good. They might have even conspired with that male model, dog-llke and scrupulous Wen Cheng.

F/N then dodged the security guard-like figures and stumbled into the elevator, slamming a palm on the close button.

It was only then did F/N realize she was not alone in the elevator.

A man in a meticulously tailored high-end suit, casting a tall and imposing figure. With the light enhancing his graceful and proud demeanour.

Most importantly, this man was F/N's college senior Zhongli.

F/N's mind was already spinning. “Save me.” she pleaded, feeling her body going slack. As her consciousness faded, she could feel Zhongli carry her in his arms.

When F/N woke up, she was in a hotel room. The symptoms on her body hadn't eased, but had worsened. Mutely enduring the discomfort, F/N was already planning on how to deal with Qing Ling and Ying Tai the next day.

Zhongli hovered over F/N's side of the bed, a glass of aloe vera juice in hand. “Drink. You have to take responsibility for me.” he sat down beside F/N. “My family has strict rules; we are not allowed to share a room with the opposite gender. If such a situation occurs , I am obligated to make the woman my wife.” he then asked F/N to marry him and make him her legal husband.

A notification then popped up on F/N's still charging phone; a document had been sent to her phone: Zhongli's asset list.

Zhongli, as the CEO of Qixing Holdings, had an impressive display of properties and countless investments that showcased his immense wealth. “After marriage, half of these will belong to you.” he informed.

That removed any hesitation on F/N's part, “Good morning, honey.”

Zhongli and F/N walked out of the marriage registry office with their marriage certificate.

A black Rolls Royce with three licence plates from different places quietly waited outside.

F/N then returned home for a visit; not to announce the joyous news of her marriage to Zhongli to the world. Such a big surprise was meant to give Qing Ling and Ying Tai a huge shock.

At the door of F/N's house...

“Dad, Mom, F/N finally back.” Ying Tai looked out from the glass window of the living room. “Where did you go last night? How come you changed your clothes? And it's a limited edition.” she started bombarding F/N with questions, undoubtedly trying to stir up F/N's father's anger.

“What's going on?” F/N father, on the sofa, turned to look at Ying Tai impatiently.

“It's nothing.” F/N just grinned. “I just came back to get some stuff.”

With F/N out of earshot, Qing Ling dutifully worried about F/N's marriage.

Angrily, F/N's father scolded F/N as an disobedient daughter, but couldn't mess with her position in the company. After all, F/N was his only biological heiress. Ying Tai was only a year younger than F/N; Qing Ling was one of F/N's father's secretaries before with Ying Tai being rumoured to be F/N's father's illegitimate daughter.

After F/N's mother's death in a car accident, Qing Ling quickly married F/N's father with Ying Tai, hoping to inherit the family's fortune. Qing Ling had spent years sowing discord between F/N and her father. After finding out that F/N's father had appointed F/N as deputy director with the intention of her taking over the company, Qing Ling, eager to bind F/N for her own interests, came up with the idea of blind dates to interfere with F/N's marriage.

However, both F/N and her father were not fools; on Ying Tai's first day at home, F/N had pulled out the DNA test she had kept secretly at hand and showing that there were no blood relation. In addition to ensuring F?N that she was his sole inheritor, F/N's father had also asked her to turn a blind eye to Qing Ling and Ying Tai,

When Ying Tai saw F/N pull her luggage down the staircase, she exaggeratedly covered her mouth. “Don't make dad angry again. If he finds out you're living with another man...”

F/N sneered, “If you have time to care about me, you'd better worry more about yourself.”

Seeing F/N was way too calm, Ying Tai grew suspicious and hurried to her room.

For some time, Zhongli's and F/N's martial life was relatively peaceful, until Ying Tai posted a group photo, with the caption screaming out about the breathtaking love story of Zhongli and Guizhong; Guizhong had been in love with Zhongli for many years. In the centre of photo, Zhongli and Guizhong gazed at each other from a distance as if an entire country had passed between them.

F/N's heart was immediately doused in ice cold water and she threw the cufflinks she had given the cheating Zhongli into the trash can.

Just then, a message came from Zhongli: I have reserved a table of two at a couple's restaurant; tonight at 7 Col 30.

That night, instead of directly confronting Zhongli, F/N lumbered into a host club where she was introduced to a newcomer.

The club's dazzling lights were suddenly blocked by a slender figure, casting a dark shadow in front of F/N and a familiar voice whispered into F/N's ear, “Is this how you accuse me of cheating, my dear?”

Zhongli stood in the backlight, his expression vague.

“Big Boss...” the young host stammered and got up, giving his spot to Zhongli.

“Let's talk about it when we get back.” Zhongli heaved F/N into a fireman's carry and carried her to his car.

In the Zhongli's car...

“F/N, regarding your accusations just now, I can only prove my innocence.” Zhongli assured. “I waited for you at the restaurant for two hours. When you didn't arrive, I had to use some means to find you.”

F/N pulled out her phone and saw a bunch of missed calls and unread messages from Zhongli and her assistant. Finding Ying Tai's social media and demanded, “What's the deal with you and your ex rekindling things?”

Zhongli immediately silenced F/N with a heavy kiss on the lips.

In Zhongli's house...

“Don't move.” Zhongli carried F/N into the house over his shoulder. “No infidelity, no moonlight tryst.” his deep, rational voice sounded in F/N's ear after he settled her onto the study desk. “Only you.” as tender kisses landed on F/N's neck, she turned her head away and met the gaze of the entire bookshelf; the entire wall was filled with photos from different periods of F/N's life.

t was then, everything clicked in F/N's mind and she cautiously asked, “Zhongli, you do like me?”

“I love you, F/N.” Zhongli replied without hesitation. “Now, I want to fulfil my husbandly duties with you.”

The next morning...

F/N was awakened by a phone call, her father's voice was roaring on the other end, but F/N just hung up, too exhausted to even answer.

A second call came in from Qing Ling; if she hadn't pulled that stunt, F/N wouldn't have remembered that today was her father's birthday. She went to great lengths to arrange the banquet.

Zhongli had already gone to work early in the morning, so F/N booked an appointment with the styling studio after informing Zhongli.

After doing her hair, F/N rushed to the banquet scene where Qing Ling was chatting with Ying Tai with various guests enjoying themselves.

Ying Tai was the first to notice F/N, “F/N, dad has been waiting for you for a long time.” her voice as exaggerated as her expression.

Many people around cast strange looks at F/N.

Amidst whispers and murmurs, F/N's father approached from not too far away. Pointing at her, he sneered, “If Ying Tai hadn't said, I wouldn't have known I had a daughter like you.”

Qing Ling tried to whitewash the situation, “What are you talking about? F/N works hard at the company and isn't often home.”

“Yes, dad.” Ying Tai chimed in. “F/N is so busy at work every day, unlike me, who just stays at home.”

F/N's father immediately made a decision, “Since you're busy with work, I've decided to let Ying Tai join the company as the Director of the Marketing Department.”

“Thank you, dad.” Ying Tai's eyes lit up with joy. “I will strive to be like F/N.”

F/N smirked mockingly; when she was initially placed in the company, she was only assigned to lead a small team in a business unit. She had rotated through various Departments in the company and worked hard to secure several major deal, before securing the general manager position. In F/N's father's eyes, she had no sense of belonging to the family, no respect for him as family head and her contributions to the company was merely expected. F/N knew with her father still at the helm, the company will not prosper; so she figured it was time for him to step down and let her take over.

“F/N, Wen Cheng is here.” Ying Tai suddenly grabbed F/N, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “The last time we met, Wen Cheng said he really liked you but you left too soon to get to know him better.”

F/N shrugged indifferently, “If you think he's so great, why don't go on a blind date with him? You can have this blind date prospect all to yourself. I think you two make a good match.”

Ying Tai grew green in anger, only to have Qing Ling pull her daughter away before the situation escalated. Qing Ling had intended to use the birthday celebration banquet to let Ying Tai select a desirable match for herself.

F/N was quietly nursing a cup of iced water in a corner when suddenly, there was a commotion at the entrance. She glanced at the door and locked eyes with the newcomer.

Zhongi, locating his wife, made his way to F/N through the crowd with his assistant in tow.

At the heart of the banquet where Qing Ling and Ying Tai were mingling with the guests, they saw the scene and their pupils contracted. Qing Ling knew her opportunity had arrived; the young man in front of her was the youngest person in power: even the status F/N's family had painstakingly achieved was a mere subsidiary in Zhongli's eyes. Most importantly, he rarely attended events; his presence here indicated something that interested him. No matter who he's interested in right now, it will eventually become Ying Tai's possession. Her face lit up with a brilliant smile as she took Ying Tai's hand and approached Zhongli to chat.

“Mr. Zhongli, your presence here truly honours us.” Qing Ling wasted no time in pushing Ying Tai forward. “This is my youngest daughter, Ying Tai. She has admired you for a long time. Would you honour us with a dance?”

“No time.” Zhongli's icy tone shot the mother-daughter pair down.

“What's this?” Ying Tai whined, pointing to F/N's neck with fake concern after Zhongli took F/N's hand to lead her to the dance floor. “Don't make dad angry again. The last time you didn't come home at night, dad ended up in hospital because of you. My friends saw you alone at the hospital last time. You should take care of yourself, even if it's a misunderstanding.”

Her declaration sent the guests talking and F/N's father stood on the side, his face turning ashen.

F/N held Zhongll's hand and boldly declaring in front of everyone, “Let me introduce you all, this is my husband. I told you to be discreet last night, but you didn't listen.” she smacked Zhongli's arm playfully.

“Honey, it's all my fault.” Zhongli admitted. “I believe there's no need to explain our matters to others.”

Ying Tai who had just shed a few tears, froze, whilst Qing Ling's face turned unpleasant.

“F/N is my lawful wife and I won't want to hear any slander or defamation against her from others.” Zhongli announced. “This is just a warning and I hope there won't be a next time.”

“We hope you cooperate with our work.” Zhongli's assistant stepped in. “If there's a next time, our Legal Department will fully defend the Lady's rights.”

“Uncle,” Zhongli turned to F/N's father. “Rest assured, I will always treat F/N well. She hasn't been treated well under your care and I don't have the grace to call you anything else but uncle. As for the collaboration you mentioned before, I suggest you manage the right people. You're getting old and it's time to pass the baton to the younger generation.”

After the banquet...

F/N's father was admitted to the hospital after the shocking revelation; he had been too indulgent in his younger years and his body revealed many hidden illnesses as he aged.

F/N slammed down any chances of Qing Ling and Ying Tai's vying for power hard; even before Qing Ling was appointed Director, she was escorted out by security. She even made sure the evidence of Ying Tai not being his biological child was placed by her father's sick bed.

Seeing that their former Director was done for, the company shareholders began siding with F/N and allowing her to take over the company smoothly.

[creeps-writes-creepypastas]

🪓 Ticci toby relationship hcs

🪓Toby who got almost immediately attached to you

🪓He always wants to cuddle and touch you, not even in a nsfw way either, he just wants to be close with you

🪓He loves it when you run your fingers through his hair

🪓Turns into putty in your hands, relaxing immediately

🪓Will almost always go straight to you after a mission

🪓Will expect you to shower with him, c’mon you gotta, pleaseee?

🪓He will beg you

🪓He likes to just cuddle you after a long day

🪓it helps him calm down

[glassbxttless]

Let Me Love On You

tom grant x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k+

summary: Tom does everything he can to make your off morning a thing of the past.

warnings: implied anxiety, general bad day vibes, established relationship (y’all are married)

notes: Hey, so I rewatched Make Up and I needed to give my certified loverboy™️ some attention. So thanks to @prettycalla for reading this over and @peachyproserpina for editing!

You wake up to the soft sound of your husband’s breathing. It’s the kind that’s slow and steady and impossibly close. Tom is wrapped around you like the ivy that clings to the side of your childhood home. He’s always reminded you of that in a way. The way you feel when he snakes his arms around you, was the same safety you felt when you remember your childhood blanket. Or even the way he smiles at you now, the way he’d grin so lost in love— it’d remind you of all those years ago, after you had just started dating. And of the way you’d pull your sheets around your body, tight, just to remember how it felt to hug him. Now, his chest is pressed to your back, one of his arms is draped over your waist and the other is curved gently beneath your neck, cradling you close to him. He’s all warm, bare skinned chest and soft grey cotton clinging to his legs. He’s got that sleepy scent that always makes you want to burrow your face against his chest and stay there forever.

His lips are at your shoulder, brushing warm, lazy kisses across your skin, signaling that he’s awake. 

“Mornin’, Honey,” he murmurs softly. His voice low and laced with sleep, the vibration of his words rumbling against your spine.

You smile without opening your eyes, letting out a content sigh. He keeps kissing your skin, slow and unhurried, like he’s got all the time in the world— and right now, he really does.

“Don’t wake up yet,” he whispers, dragging his nose along the curve of your neck, pressing another kiss under your jaw. “Let me love on you a bit first.” He’s always like this in the mornings— soft, doting, a little greedy for just a touch. His hand moves under your shirt. His palm warm and heavy against your stomach, and he sighs like the moment is perfect. It is perfect to him. Just like you are. “God, you’re beautiful,” he mumbles against your skin, like it just slipped out of him without a second thought.

You roll over. Your eyes still heavy with sleep. But he leans in and kisses your forehead the second he sees your face. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth. “There’s my Darling.”

You blink up at him slowly, and he studies you for a beat— his smile faltering just slightly as his eyebrows knot down in confusion. His features no longer harboring that sleepy lovesick bliss they once had. “What’s wrong?” he asks, softly. He reaches a hand up and brushes your hair back, his fingertips skimming your skin carefully and comfortingly.

You swallow hard, not meeting his eyes, “I just… feel off today.”

Tom doesn’t need you to say any more than that. He leans closer and kisses your forehead again, his lips lingering longer this time. “Alright. No work today, then.”

“Tom…”

“No,” he says, keeping his voice light. He was already reaching for his phone on the nightstand when you started to object. “You need me more today. Work’ll survive.”

You don’t have the strength to argue any further. And honestly, you don’t really want to. Not when he’s looking at you like he always does. In a way that never made you question how he felt for you. A look that was so full of such steady, uncomplicated love your grandchildren’s grandchildren will be jealous of the love you shared. He sends a message off with a few taps on the screen, then he sets the phone down and pulls you close to his chest again.

“Now we stay in bed,” he says softly, his lips brushing against your hair as he presses another kiss against your temple. “Doctor’s orders.”

A soft mrrrp from the windowsill draws both of your attention. Pepper, your sleek Russian Blue you’d found outside your doorstep a few years back when she was nothing more than a mangy kitten, is perched like a gargoyle in the morning sun. She’s watching you both from the windowsill, trying to figure out her next move of the day. She blinks slowly, then hops down and pads toward the bed.

“She’s thinkin about it,” Tom whispers against your skin. “She’s deciding if I’m worthy today.”

Pepper has been with you and Tom for the better part of four years, and in those four years, she’s never quite taken to Tom the way she has you. She pauses at the end of the frame and hops upwards, landing lightly on the mattress. She steps over Tom without even a second glance, and curls into a neat circle pressed up into your other side. Tom lets out a quiet, mock-offended sound, and even rolls his eyes for effect.

“I feed her. I scoop her litter. I respect her space. Even when she’s claimin’ my girl. And still, I get nothing.”

“She likes you,” you murmur, your hand coming up from where it had been to scratch between Pepper’s ears gently.

“She tolerates me,” he corrects with a chuckle. He’s nudging your head towards him as he grins, his thumb continues tracing along your jaw. “You, though. You she loves. Just like me. I love you.”

You let your eyes meet his for just a moment and he presses a gentle kiss to those plush lips of yours. And then you sigh, moving to rest your head on his chest. You can feel the soft rhythm of his heart under your cheek, how he’s said it beats in time with yours— you’re soul mates after all, said it himself. He wraps both arms around you now that you’re relaxed, one of his hands strokes your back in long, soothing lines. His fingertips just barely dragging along the cotton of his t-shirt that was clinging to your frame. You can feel the calm pouring off him like the morning sunlight Pepper loves to bask in, it’s warm and golden and so very slow. But it loves the world around it fiercely. Just as he loves you. 

“We’ll have tea in a bit,” he murmurs into your hair, his cheek resting at the top of your head. “Maybe toast. I’ll put that honey you like on it, yeah? Then we’ll come back to bed and watch something comforting. Or we’ll nap. Or just lay here like this. You don’t have to do a single thing today, Darling. I’ve got you.”

Your throat aches just a little, but not in a bad way— never in a bad way. It aches from the tenderness of all of this. How he’s so tentative to how you feel— how he makes you feel so loved, even after woman after woman has wrung him out to dry over the years.

“I love you,” you whisper into his skin, another sigh slipping between your lips. Your arm slides around his waist as your nose nuzzles against his chest. Your eyes falling closed to just sit in his embrace for a while. He’s your safe space. Everything you had ever dreamed of rolled up into one marvelous person. All of these years later, you still can’t believe how lucky you had gotten. Your hand rests at his hip and you give it a squeeze, tilting your head up to let your eyes meet his. 

Tom pulls back just far enough to look at you. His own eyes are soft, his hand stops at your waist. “I love you too,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. And then his opposite hand is coming up, cradling your face as he kisses your lips. “More than anything.”

Pepper yawns dramatically beside the two of you, her tail flicking with a growing vague disapproval of her father figure, but she settles back into a fortunately restful sleep. Tom chuckles softly, brushing his nose against your cheek before he’s moving back, kissing you again, the press of his lips much lighter this time.

“You, me, and our little grumpy queen,” he says. “Sounds like a good day to me.”

Tom’s hand has dropped from cradling your face to your arm, his thumb is brushing back and forth over the skin there. He’s got you pulled close, his lips occasionally dropping onto the crown of your head every now and again like he has to physically stop the action when he thinks of it. Every so often, you feel the gentle shift of his chest as he breathes you in— like you’re the air he breathes, like you’re everything he’ll ever need.

Eventually, your stomach betrays your quiet early morning love bubble with a quiet rumble. Tom huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, all fondness and sleepy charm. “That’s my cue, then.”

You try to protest him leaving, but he’s already easing out of bed. He tucks the blanket back up around you. Pepper immediately stretches out and moves over your body to the other side to fill the warm spot he left behind. She delicately places one paw on your arm in a silent, imperious claim, as if to say, this is my girl. not yours, Tommy.

“I see how it is,” Tom mutters, bending at the waist to pull a t-shirt out of his semi-neat pile of clothing at the end of the bed. Raising his arms a bit as he drags on his shirt. “Trade me in the second I stand up, I see.”

“She has priorities,” you smile, your voice is still hoarse with sleep. The weight on your chest is stilll there.

But Tom would do anything to keep that smile on your face, so he leans in, presses another kiss to your head, and scratches between Pepper’s ears. It earns him a swat on the arm and he lets out a groan, “She’s got an attitude.” And he’s smiling as he disappears into the kitchen. He’s humming something softly under his breath, it’s the tune of your first dance. You hear the clink of porcelain plates, the pop of the toaster, the quiet whistle of the kettle. It’s domestic and full of a kind of peace you never thought you’d ever get to have. Especially not like this— curled up in bed, loved so thoroughly by a man who wakes up on your bad days just to stay home and make you tea and honey on toast. You think you’ve hit the jackpot.

When he returns to the bedroom, it’s with an old wooden tray you’d gotten as a wedding gift balanced in both hands— two mismatched mugs, one of those porcelain plates with blue details with toast slathered in honey and butter, and a small bowl of strawberries that must’ve been hiding in the back of the fridge. He sets it down carefully, then climbs back into bed, pulling you gently between his legs.

“Breakfast in bed for my Darling,” he says softly, with the press of another kiss against your head. You might be smothered by his kisses by the end of the day if you weren’t careful.

You lean up and press a kiss to his jaw in thanks, and he grins like he’s just been given the world. He settles with his back against the headboard, you between his legs and half under his arm, the tray resting easily across both your laps. It’s a little bit of an awkward position to be in. But your husband is warm against your back and he’s so perfect, and you can hardly believe that this is your life.

Pepper lifts her head and eyes the plate of toast with great suspicion. Then she gives Tom a slow, theatrical blink as if to say, I hope you choke on it.

“Unreal,” he laughs, lifting one of the strawberries and nudging it toward your mouth. His eyes darting from yours, down to your lips, and back up. “Look at this hostility.” 

You lean in to eat the strawberries straight from his fingers, smiling as you reply, “She’s testing your loyalty, Tommy.”

“She’s testing something alright. My fucking patience.”

You’re too busy enjoying the toast to reply— crisp and buttery with the perfect amount of honey. Just the way you like it. The way he’s learned over the past years of loving you. You sip your tea and lean back into him again with a sigh, the kind that lets your whole body know it’s safe to relax.

Tom presses yet another kiss to your temple and then reaches for the remote. “Something low-stakes,” he mumbles, his other hand wrapping around your waist to rub soothing circles against your hip. “Fluffy. No one gets murdered. Should do your soul some good.”

You nod against his chest. “The baking one?”

“You want to cry about someone’s custard again?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t even argue like he normally would. He just finds the show and the episode he knows you’ve seen a dozen times and then he presses play. His arms are wrapping around you like he’s built to keep you there. 

The TV flickers softly in front of you, but you’re not really watching it. Not at first, anyway. You’re too busy savoring the warmth of him around you, the smell of tea and honey on toast and his cologne still clinging faintly to the collar of yesterday’s shirt. The nice stuff he only wears when he knows he’s got all day to spend with you. It’s got the scent of pineapple and bergamot lingering in your space, against your sheets. It’s a scent you’ve come to know as Tom. He brings you from your thoughts as he strokes your side in slow, absent circles while someone on screen panics about a collapsing sponge cake.

“Better?” he asks quietly, his voice low. His lips close to the shell of your ear.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you lay your head back against your shoulder, “Much.”

“Good,” he smiles, kissing the top of your head. “You just tell me what you need, Darling. We’ll stay in this bed all day if we have to.”

“We might.”

“Then I'm counting on staying right here.”

You glance up at him— at his sleepy smile, at the fond way he looks at you like nothing else exists. It’s how he’s always looked at you— and you feel your chest tighten in the best way. Just as it had so many years ago when he shot you that first smile. When he reached his hand out to you and grinned ear to ear. He finds your hand under the blanket, fingers lacing through yours like it’s instinct.

Pepper had moved to curl into a smaller ball at the foot of the bed, her eyes tucked under her paws and her tail twitching with contentment.

The toast is half-eaten, the tea gone lukewarm, the strawberries forgotten, and the world inside your bedroom seemed quiet and kind for once. And Tom… Tom is warm and solid and so in love with you it practically vibrates off him.

And here, wrapped up with him like this, you think maybe you can breathe a little easier again on the bad days.

tags ;; @emxxblog @ch3eseking94 @samslvrgirl @robinbuckleywife @bib200 @djomorelikedelulu @dancininseptember

(if you’d like to be on the taglist and cannot be tagged, make sure you have your tags on in your settings!)

[mariamakeslemons]

Wrong Number (Price x GN!Reader)

Your mum sobbed when you refused to use your diploma to further her little "clit measuring contest" with your aunts and uncles. Honestly, you took an untold amount of glee when you announced your new job at the last family gathering. Your cousins looked at you in envy while everyone else looked aghast. After all, you could confidently say you're happy with your job and can comfortably make a living with it too.

"Hey there, Sugar," you croon, staring down at the crossword you had to pass the time. The pervert on the line gasps and whines, quickly too into his own fantasy to even do anything for you.

Of course, working as a sex line operator doesn't do anything for you sexually. It's just a job, one that you're good at, in a shockingly good set up with a company that actually gives a shit. Humming along to the pervert's fantasy, you finally figure out the four letter word for the hint of bisque. Writing it down, you glance at your monitor. The guy's been going on for three minutes already, without any prompting from you. It's almost impressive. Or, it would have been if you didn't know by his voice that he's going to be a fast one.

Low and behold, before the four minute mark, the pervert groans and whines pathetically, before hanging up without another word. You snort, always amused that the idiots calling don't listen to the whole pre-recorded spiel before they get someone on the line.

"I got your number, dumbass," you sing softly, snickering as you send the number to the finance branch. Leaning back, you mull over heading off to lunch and if you should try the new thai place that opened up not too far from here. However, the line goes off again, making you sigh.

"Hey there-" you croon, ready to adjust your little opening, only to jolt when you hear gun fire.

"Of course, th' fucker gives me th' wrong bloody number," an older man growls through the receiver. You blink as more gun fire sounds through the line, before you're up and scrambling. Locking your office door, you head back to your computer to play the loop you made on one of your days off to the security camera and drop down in your chair.

"Sir? Do you need me to call someone?" you offer, pulling up a (maybe illegal) program to start triangulating his position.

"No, I need information and an escape route," the man snaps, sounding a bit further away.

"Sir, please don't hang up," you request, finally finding where he is. A mansion in Malibu, with top-tier security that no one put up right. Hacking into the cameras, you flick through the feeds until you find a man, a soldier, leaning against a door with a phone to his ear while your other monitor shows a group of men pounding on the door.

"On the plus side," you comment, "The guys outside your door are idiots because I count at least three guns, and none of them are grabbing them to shoot." The soldier on the screen freezes as you hear the man's breath stop.

"How do you know?" The soldier demands in time with the man, barely a second delay.

"Oh good, the camera's not delayed," you chirp, grinning as the soldier immediately looks around the room. Clicking your tongue, you tell him, "Up and to your right. I'll even wave." The feed bobs when the soldier looks up, letting you get a really nice look at him.

He's a bit older than you, at least you think he might be. Lines that hide beneath an imperial beard and focused blue eyes, kinda making you weak in the knees despite sitting.

"Who are you?" the man growls.

"I'm the sex operator you called," you answer honestly, "I just happen to be good with electronics too." The way the man's mouth dropped, shock on his face as he stares up at the camera, it's too much. You snicker, even as your fingers fly over the keyboard. A little adjustment in code is more than enough to release the knock out gas in the hall.

"Alright, shove the blanket against the under side of the door," you instruct, "The owner got knock out gas installed through out their house and I'm releasing it in the hall."

"Copy," the man confirms, yanking the blanket off the sofa that's just within arm's reach and pressing it against the bottom of the door. Once that's done, you completely release the gas, watching as within seconds the guards drop.

"Okay, now, what are you looking for?" you ask, figuring you're already in this deep. Might as well go the whole way.

"A laptop," your soldier says, hesitantly stepping away from the door. Once he's sure the door isn't going to suddenly open, he looks around and continues explaining, "Aleksandor Soloveva is in league with the Russian Ultranationalist Party. We have intel that he knows where the leader is."

"Thus, breaking and entering," you can't help but snark, "Gotcha."

"You're a shite stirrer, aren't you?" he asks, a shift in his tone that you've learnt means someone is reluctantly amused.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," you shoot back, running a code that locates all electronics in the room. It dings back, and you tell him, "Check the desk, fourth drawer to the floor. Be careful, because that's a big drawer for a singular laptop."

"Copy," the man repeats, crouching by where you instructed. He pulls out something and presses it to the drawer. Before you can try figuring out what he's doing, he asks, "So, d' you have a name?"

"I happen to like my privacy, thank you," you immediately shoot down, unable to hold back a smile when he chuckles.

"I suppose that's fair," he hums, "I'm Captain Price, do you have a name you can give me?"

"I can give you my drag name," you confess, "It's Nova."

"Nova?" the man asks, finally opening the drawer, "I got the laptop. I can just take this an' leave."

"You need me to see about an escape route?" you offer, to your own confusion. The man looks back up at the camera and smiles. It reminds you of the quokka you saw in a video from a classmate's trip to Australia.

"I'll take the window," he says, giving you a wink, "Lovely working with you."

"Oh, uh, wait," you stutter, pulling up the finance bill that'll get sent to the owner of the number, "Do you have the personal number of the person who gave you this number?" Captain Price pauses and looks up at the camera, so you explain, "The call went well over five minutes, so double pay is guaranteed, and I'd rather have the asshole who tried to get you killed pay than you or your government." The man blinks before he chuckles.

"Right away," he agrees, giving you a number that you easily change the bill for.

"Alrighty," you chirp before cooing out, "Thanks for calling, Handsome. Don't forget me." The soldier trips, to your delight, as you pull everything back. Wiping up the trial and hiding away what you just spent the past half-hour doing, you finally undo your security feed and unlock the door.

Just in time, as Jill peeks in with a to-go bag.

"I think that's the first time you've locked your door," she teases, handing over a bag with what could only be your lunch.

"What can I say," you joke, "I have a thing for older Brits."

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

It's easy enough to forget about that exciting day when so much personal shit is going on. Mum called to demand you quit your job, again. Your youngest cousin snuck into your apartment for a brief escape from your uncle. You've been looking into adopting, although you still aren't sure what yet. Just personal shit.

So, you should be given a pass when a handsome man with an imperial beard and a quokka smile corners you in the grocery store.

"Hello there, Nova," Captain Price purrs, "It's good to know you're a gorgeous as you sound."

[grayandthyme]

ok but you write for tommy so well??? 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ i’m literally obsessed with the way you capture the dynamic 😭😭 pls i need more of this energy in my life like yesterday

ask and you shall receive 🙌

masterlist tommy miller x f!reader warnings: petnames (darling, sweetgirl, doll), fluff, adult language, weapon usage, slight angst

December

You inhale, slow and uncertain, a shaky finger curled around the trigger. You press—just enough to feel the internal click of the mechanism, but not enough to fire.

“C’mon, sweetgirl,” his voice anchors you, low and steady beside your ear. His hands come to rest over yours, calloused palms warm against the cold metal, against your knuckles stiff-white with nerves. His touch is a lull against the rifle’s bite.

You hold your breath.

The shot cracks, loud and sharp, echoing into the treeline.

The deer’s head snaps up, eyes wide—and then it bolts.

A flash of movement, gone in seconds.

“Shit,” you groan, slumping forward as your knuckles rap against the old tree stump. The rifle settles in your lap, its weight heavier now with the puff of a miss.

Tommy laughs, light and teasing. “Alright, maybe huntin’ ain’t your calling.”

You look over your shoulder, face scrunching in mock indignation. “Bolt-actions are hard to use, in my defense.”

“Oh, no doubt. It’s a very complicated gun. Takes a genius to pull a trigger.”

You smack his arm with the back of your hand. “I hate you.”

“Mmhmm. Say it louder. You’re wearin' my flannel.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth of him seeps in again—his smile, the way his fingers are still loosely tangled with yours.

“I didn’t want to kill it anyway,” you mutter.

“I know,” he says softly, dropping the sarcasm. “That’s why I didn’t pull the trigger for you.”

You glance at him, eyes capturing his morning-painted freckles.

He shrugs, standing to stretch. “And if you are gonna kill something someday, you deserve to know you could. On your own.”

The forest is quiet now, just birdsong and wind weaving through branches.

You sigh, brushing a stray hair from your cheek. “You always gotta turn everything into a life lesson?”

Tommy grins, reaching down to haul you up with ease. “Only when I’m right.”

You scoff, but let him take the rifle from your hands anyway, his fingers brushing yours again—reassuring, steady.

Shifting in the snow, your boot nudging up a mound of powder before smoothing it back down with your heel.

The cold bites gently at your cheeks, but it’s the kind of quiet cold that settles, not stings.

“It’s just hard, that’s all,” you say, your breath curling into the air, a cloud of warmth swallowed by the wind.

“I was born and raised in the city,” you add, even though Tommy already knows. He knows all of it. Knows all about you.

You crouch down, fingers brushing the frost as you gather your things—loose ammo, gloves, the half-folded target map—and shove them back into your pack with a slow, thoughtful rhythm.

“Could kill one of those monsters, easy,” you mutter, trying for a joke but not quite sticking the landing. “But an animal?” Your nose scrunches softly. “They’re just… too cute.”

Tommy crouches beside you with a grunt, tugging his gloves tighter. “City kid ethics, huh, doll?” he says with a grin. “Murder’s fine if it’s ugly.”

You huff a laugh, looking at him sideways. “You’re not helping.”

“I am a treasure,” he counters. “And you love me.”

You don’t deny it.

He looks out toward where the deer disappeared, jaw ticking slightly with thought. Then his voice lowers, not serious, but softer.

“It’s not about just killing for food out here,” he says. “It’s about knowing when not to. About not taking more than you need. That guilt you feel? That means you’ll do it right, if you ever have to.”

You nod slowly, eyes flicking back toward the trees. The snow is quiet again, the world waiting.

“Still too cute,” you say, a bit more playfully now.

“… y’know what else is cute?” you murmur, voice low, syrup-thick with mischief as you crouch down toward the snow. Your movements are slow, methodical, careful not to draw attention—like a hunter, but grinning.

Tommy doesn’t even turn around. “If you say me—”

“You,” you say anyway, drawing the word out in a teasing lilt. Your hand snakes behind your back, palm cradling the quickly packed snowball, cold seeping into your glove.

He starts to turn, suspicious now. “You’ve got that tone. The dangerous one.”

“Oh, do I?” You blink innocently, stepping closer.

“Yeah. That’s the voice you use right before you—"

Smack.

The snowball hits him square on the shoulder, shattering in a puff of white powder. He stumbles back half a step, staring at the impact zone like he’s been personally betrayed.

You’re already laughing, stumbling away through the snow with another handful forming in your glove.

“Oh, hell,” His voice cracks through the air, part exasperation, part glee. “That’s how it’s gonna be?”

You squeal, dodging behind a tree stump. “Consider it revenge. For the mystery peaches.”

“That was one time!”

You toss another snowball, missing deliberately this time—just grazing his coat. He fakes a dramatic fall, throwing himself into the snow with a groan.

“Unarmed man taken down during patrol,” he mumbles, lying there flat like a starfish. “I hope you’re proud.”

You peek over the stump, grinning. “So proud—Should I tell the town? Alert your wife?"

He props himself up on his elbows, snow clinging to his curls. “Can't have my doll seein' me like this."

You chuck a final snowball his way. “You’re so dramatic.”

He laughs, sitting up fully, cheeks red from cold and joy. “You started it, sweet'girl.”

You shrug, brushing snow off your jacket. “I’ll end it, too.”

He stands again, brushing himself off, that grin still tugging at his lips as he walks toward you—not with vengeance, but with the kind of affection that feels like a warm quilt pulled up on a cold morning.

When he reaches you, he plucks a bit of snow from your hair, his hand lingering in your tangles.

“Cute,” he echoes, voice low. “You’re way cuter when you’re smug.”

You mimic his voice in a goofy drawl, dragging your vowels and puffing out your chest in exaggerated mockery. “You're way cuter when you’re smug,” you parrot, lifting your hands to mirror his, cupping your cold cheeks like he had.

Tommy lets out a deep breath, head tipping back with laughter. “That’s not what I sound like.”

“Oh, it absolutely is.” You poke his chest for emphasis. “All wise and weathered. Like a very charming cowboy who’s been hit in the head one too many times.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Charming, huh?”

“Painfully,” you tease.

The laughter lingers between you, steam from your breath mingling in the winter air. Your hands drop slowly, then come to rest against his chest, his coat crinkling beneath your fingers.

You've been out too long—your nose is a bright red against the pale snow, and your cheeks are flushed with cold, tender from wind and joy. Tommy’s eyes linger on your face like he's trying to memorize the exact shape and shade of it beneath the winter glow.

You reach out, fingertip brushing along the seam of his glove, slow and absent. “Wanna go home?” you ask, the question small, honest.

His smile softens into something gentler than words, the kind that starts in the crinkles of his mouth and ends in his eyes.

“With you?” he says, pulling your hand into his. “Always.”

“Who else would you go home with, huh?” you prod, grinning as you poke at his side with a gloved finger, just enough to make him flinch.

Tommy scoffs, feigning deep offense as he stumbles back a step like you’d wounded him.

Drama Queen. “You wound me, darlin’. Like I got options.”

“Oh, please,” you laugh, taking a step closer. “You’re Jackson’s sweetheart. I’ve seen the way those girls at the greenhouse look at you.”

He raises both brows, amused. “The ones who talk to me ‘cause I helped build the planters?”

“Uh-huh. Flannel… Sexy white shirt… Sweaty…”

Tommy laughs, loud and shameless. “It was hot! I was working!”

You chuckle, brushing a bit of snow from his shoulder as another flurry floats gently down around you. A few flakes settle into the dark curls of his hair, tiny white speckles dotting his head like paint. You reach up to ruffle it gently, and the snow scatters into the wind.

He watches you with that same look he always gives when you're not trying to be particularly beautiful—when you're just you, flushed pink from the cold, standing there like the center of his small, rebuilt world.

“Well, for the record,” he says, lowering his voice just enough for it to wrap around you, “I don’t care how many people in Jackson look at me…"

"I only walk home with one.”

You glance up at him, chest tightening in that soft way it always does—so effortlessly, like he doesn’t realize he’s pulling the floor out from under you.

He's a charmer.

Snow clings to his lashes now. His cheeks are flushed too, but you don’t think it’s just the cold. Tan freckled skin. It's a miracle how good he can look even in the cold of winter.

“Good,” you murmur, leaning your shoulder into his side. “I’d fight for the privilege.”

“Oh, I know you would,” he smirks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You’re scrappy, huh, Darlin'?”

You nudge him again, and this time, he doesn’t flinch—just pulls you closer as you begin the slow walk back through the trees.

"Funny, Cowboy."

March

The snow had thinned, but the cold never left—just shifted.

Turned sharply. Turned violent.

The air in Jackson rang with screams and gunfire now, not laughter. Smoke rolled over rooftops, black against the morning sky.

The town was burning, and so were your lungs.

You could barely hear your own voice above the chaos.

“Please,” you gasped, chest heaving, “Please, let’s go home—”

It came out strangled. Broken. Like your own throat was closing in around the words.

You clung to Tommy’s jacket, fists clenched so tightly the muscles in your hands screamed. Your nails dug into the fabric, into his skin beneath.

Maybe hard enough to bruise. Maybe hard enough to make him stay.

He looked at you—his eyes wild with decision and duty, but his jaw trembled.

“Tommy—please—” You couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t let go.

You were begging now, truly begging, and it was the most selfish thing you’d ever done.

“Stay—Stay with me,” you whispered, forehead pressed to his chest. “Let’s go. Please. Let’s just leave. You don’t owe this town your life—I need you.”

Selfishness was a monster that had consumed you long ago.

The decision between the town you had come to love, versus the man who holds you entirely.

It's as if someone asked you which to save: the world, or the person you love the most.

Sounds like a familiar decision, huh?

His arms were around you, holding you together because you were starting to fall apart. You could hear the shouting closer now.

The sounds of infected—no, people—people screaming.

He was shaking his head. You could feel it, even before he spoke.

“I have to,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “They’re just kids out there. People who can’t shoot. People like you were.”

You looked up at him, and something cracked in your ribs. “I’m not anymore—I’m not helpless anymore." A deep inhale, barely withstanding air, "Fuck—Tommy, please."

You can help him. You can go with him.

He brushed his fingers through your hair, slow and gentle like you weren’t both standing in hell.

“I know,” he said. “And that’s why you’re gonna make it. Even if I don’t.”

“Don’t you dare—” Your voice broke completely. “Don’t say that. Don’t even—”

He kissed your forehead, hard and lingering, like he was sealing something shut. Eyes clamped tightly, breath ragged against your skin.

“I’ll find you,” he whispered. “No matter what. I’ll find you again.”

And then he was gone.

You stood there in the street with your hands empty, covered in ash and blood and melting snow.

Somewhere in the distance, someone was screaming Tommy’s name—but it wasn’t you.

You just want to go home. Yet, home had just thrown himself into the middle of danger.

authors note

tommy def makes it... i just like being dramatic af

[threepandas]

Bad End: Preserve Us

You know how in conservation biology you sometimes try to introduce a pair to be mated and one will just... just fuckin' merc' the other? Just absolutely obliterate them in a hissing, growling, nightmare ball of fury? Before anyone can stop them? Territorial and (to put it lightly) "uninterested", dispite your desperate desire to save their species from extinction, and need for them to get frisky?

I know.

Holy SHIT do I know.

There's a lot of reasons. Ways you can (hopefully) get around it. But first? Is finding out WHY it happened. Was it just the one? The environment? Were they sick? Or... as is the case sometimes, did they decide their Handler was their mate? Some species only mate once. Are loyal for life. You gotta work around that.

Which is all well and fine and good.

When we're talking about ANIMALS.

Non-sentient, non-sapient animals! Not ALIEN SPECIES! What the ABSOLUTE FRESH HELL did they expect from me!? Compliance?! This was UNETHICAL! Monstrous! I had been trying to slip my gaurds long enough to radio for help SINCE I GOT HERE.

I hope the fuckers ROTTED in whatever their Gods considered a Hell.

"Conservation facility" my ENTIRE ASS. You can't run CONSERVATION EFFORTS like this on SENTIENTS. Eugenics loving, atrocity fetishizing, immoral BASTARDS!!! And they KNEW it too. They HAD too! Or they wouldn't be HIDING it! Fucking KIDNAPPING scientists! Biologists! Doctors!

I was on my ways to study Lekku monkeys!

God...

I'm? I'm so tired of being pissed.

Furious and outraged and SCARED. Horrified and sick. There are PEOPLE here. Kids! And I don't... oh god, I don't... H-How LONG has this been going ON? Why did no one NOTICE?

Every day I feel my heart break. The desire to scream and scream and never STOP, grow inside me. I have to get out. I have to get us ALL out. Get these people FREE. Do SOMETHING. But I am forced to "conserve" the species assigned to me. The group assigned to me.

It's killing my love for the field. Making a mockery of everything I worked for.

I don't... I don't think my hands will ever be clean again.

But I have to help. Do everything I can. Make hell a little kinder, if nothing else. At least while I figure out a way OUT. My group deserves better. The groups I do not work with, deserve better.

I disguise games as "testing". Pages and pages of meaningless numbers ans scores. INSIST that enrichment is the key to success. Diet is EVERYTHING. Oh, and habitat? Well unless we can mimic their habitat there's no WAY they'll "breed".

No, no, using machines would stress them out too much.

It's like you DONT want babies!

Who's the expert here? That's RIGHT! Dr. Cho, but FAILING her and like five other people? Me. And I know for a FACT they are pulling the same scam. We ALL fucking hate you. Dr. Cho has KIDS, you FUCKS. Hasn't seen her son in YEARS thanks to you bastards. He was engaged. She's probably missed his WEDDING thanks to you!

Getting distracted, spiraling again, gotta stop DOING that.

It wont help anyone.

But God, if my brain doesn't slowly feel like it's shorting out the longer I'm here. Stress is called the silent killer for a reason. Or what that something else? Fuck. I can't even look it up! Bastards cut us off from the galactic web. Full information blackout. Because of COURSE they did... can't risk us rightfully calling for help.

Getting the Feds involved to shut this hell pit of a black site DOWN. Or a "whatever it truely is" site. Because it sure as SHIT has nothing to do with conservational biology. Except maybe the abuse of it.

But that doesn't help me right now.

Focus, damn it!

The Yanderens. Old, absurdly rare, nearly extinct, with a home planet they'd reduced to uninhabitable wastelands millennia ago due too... something. No one knew what. There had definitely been fighting. It WAS documented they were excellent fighters. Ruthless ones at that. But it was ALSO documented they strongly pack bonded.

There had been a lot of strongly worded warnings on what few documation my captures were able to find, translate, then shove at me. But honestly? They said the same thing about humans. Ooooh big scary persistent hunters~ oh nooooo! Watch out for the omnivores with a history of war! Sins of the father and we are defined by our diets! Class systems! Let's all JUDGE each ooooootheeeeer~!

Yeah, no. Not buying it.

Especially when the "warnings" were so damn vague and poorly documented. All "the HORRORS!" and "we barely SURVIVED!". Cause honestly? The Yanderens I was watching over? Easily the most mild and temperate individuals I had ever met. No tantrums from the kids, no big emotional meltdowns, just curiosity and at WORST? Mild frustration.

It made everything ten thousand times worse for me, that these poor people were in this hellish place. They were calm. Curious. Meant for greater, BETTER things! They should be out, playing and learning. Exploring and enjoying peaceful strolls in some art gallery or zen garden somewhere! Not... not this sterile fucking LAB.

But then M-17 loses his SHIT.

And now I'm kinda panicking. Because F-6 is not just dead, God rest her soul (she didn't deserve this. Oh god. She was so SWEET.), but M-17 might just be too, soon. If I can't find out what HAPPENED. Because if he's "feral" or "diseased" or whatever other horrifying terminology they end up using? They DO something about it.

And I can't actually stop them.

I... I don't know if it was a trauma response. Or I did something wrong. I could PROBABLY pass it off as my needing more studies into their observed "mating habits"? That... that I somehow... turned it... uuuuh... dominance battle? Shit. Where are my notes?!

F-6 is DEAD and its all my fault.

She was such a cuddle fiend too. Always excited to hear about my studies, from before. My life. Wanted to join me after we got out of here. I never should have let her volunteer. Granted, she wouldn't have taken no for an answer. Wanted to spend the pregnancy plotting our escape. Asked me to help raise the kid once we got out. Had a whole grand plan. But I...And I...

God...

I should have said NO. Insisted. It was just so hard, when F-6 had made it all sound like it would be okay. Like she had a plan and all I need to do was trust her. Believe in her. Then we could be free.

I had hoped M-17 would work best. He was always the most agreeable and quick on the uptake. I figured... well... ha ha. God, I'm such an IDIOT. I should have CHECKED. Who KNOWS what happened before I arrived? What triggered I just accidentally rammed my foot into? FUCK! I sweep everything from me desk onto the ground. Don't give I shit that I'll have to clean it up later,

I had figured M-17 would be COOL with it.

This place is getting to me, isn't it?

Why the FUCK would anyone be COOL with getting jumped? Bred like an animal? Shoved in some random ass room, with a vaguely familiar stranger, and told "now fuck. We want a literal litter from you two"? All while some biologist watchs and makes god damned NOTES!?

Of course he fought back. OF COURSE he didn't stop!

The only one there he could trust was himself.

I...I'm becoming a monster... aren't I?

Oh god.

At least we're in the satellite facility. The gaurds are definitely going to rat me out, but the news will take time to filter back. And... and the Yanderens being so "dangerous" might work in my favor. I... I can spin this. I HAVE to spin this. I can't let TWO people die for my fuck up.

I promised myself I would get as many people out as I could. I refuse to back out now. Even if that means crying, puking, then going out there to lie my ASS off. This was TOTALLY NORMAL. In fact, expected! Yep! It means that's we've determined that M-17 is the alpha Yanderen! A thing that is both REAL and possible to BE!

I rinse my mouth, stomach empty. Crying has exhausted me. But I can't give up. Too many lives count on me now. I... I wish so badly I was just a nobody again. Just some random biology student, trying to make a name for herself. Being "important" is a CURSE.

I try not to chug my water as I half stumble out of the glorified shoebox that is my bathroom into the much larger and Fancier CLOSET that is my room. Truely, no expense spared, for the captives they ripped away from their lives. So glad I am here willingly and of my own volition.

I gather myself. Finally ready to go and try to untangle the mess I have made of everything. When a deep booming alarm rattles my bones. The lights flickering to red. Blast doors slide down, SLAM shut over the transparent recessed bit of wall that counts as my window, the door to the rest of the facility.

Trapping me inside my small room.

Almost immediately after, an EXPLOSION rocks the world hard enough to knock me from my feet. Only the bed's limited padding keeping me from a nasty concussion. The edge of it still ramming painfully into my shoulder. Another explosion. Then another. I sit for a long, terrible, second stunned.

The moment passes.

I scramble on my hands and knees for the in facility communication device that I had knocked from my desk in anger, grief. Not daring to stand lest I be thrown down again. I manage to find it as the world shakes again for the fifth time. Followed by what sounds like gun fire out in the halls.

I fling myself back towards my shitty little bunk. Drag every bit of padding and protection I can, down and under it with me. If the roof goes? I want shock absorption. If shots get through the door? I want something to slow those blasts down. Anything. ANYTHING! To increase my fucked chances of surviving.

I burrito up and wriggle back as deep as I can. The world muffled but ending just outside my crawlspace. Then I desperately try to get one of the others on the line. I got nothing but chaos. Running. Running. Hiding. And Dead.

Dead. Dying.

Remember me.

And GONE.

Some of them fighting with their groups too freedom. Some being targeted right along side their captors. Others savaged by the ACTUAL animals they had been working with, the one's Galacticly deemed too dangerous for effort like this. Someone or something had set EVERYONE free. A simultaneous attack on all fronts that our captors could not put down or escape.

The Yanderens were out there.

Oh god. Please let them be okay. They wer-

My thoughts ground to a halt as M-32 LAUNCHED his tiny body onto the screen of one of the security feeds I was desperately looking through. F-6 had figured out how to get us a backdoor to them a long time ago. M-32 was just a kid. A small, soft, cuddly little thing that loved to lean against me and crawl into my lap. All cherubic cheeks and cute little curls. Shy!

Yet I watched... in mounting horror... as like a lion on some unfortunate animal, he landed on a gaurds back. Small arms going around his body in a mockery of a hug. Head tilting so he could BITE at the back of the man's neck, small hands clawing and ripping at weak points in his armor, as he screamed. Thrashed. Tried desperately to get M-32 OFF of him.

There was so much blood.

My hands were shaking. So much, I accidentally hit the next screen button. Jerked my thumb back. But... but oh god. There was F-26. Using the butt of a rifle to slam down against the head of a scientist. Again and again and again. Long after the begging and thrashing stopped. I flipped again. M-4? No... please not M-4. Not the soft spoken and wise...

I watched as he grinned, a cold thing, and shot out another joint. His foot on the chest of the head scientist who had moved him to a different group. In the background, his supervisor lay dead. They had not died quickly. The head scientist was begging. A mess of tears and pain. M-4 shot another joint, pressing his foot down harder.

I wanted to be sick.

I flipped again. And again. And AGAIN.

H...Had I known them at ALL? Like demons wearing the faces of those I'd known. People I'd trusted. Not a SINGLE ONE was... oh... oh god. F-6. Had she been too? Would I have ever known? Was THIS what all those warnings meant? I couldn't think. Couldn't breath. Had... Had never had a panic attack but... BUT-!

I wheezed.

Shook.

"Oh, Clever giiiirl~" A familiar voice sang, before a blood splattered face flickered into being on the screen in my hands. "Where aaaare yoooou~?"

M-17. He'd somehow managed to take over the security cameras. That or the communication feed. His eyes were bright. A grin on his face like I'd never seen from him. ALIVE in a way I'd never seen him. The excitement transformed his face. No longer softly doll like, but something DANGEROUS. Unhinged. His eyes dilated and deadly teeth on display.

"Come out, come out wherever you aaaare~. I have so much to TELL you! We have so much to DO! I'm going to make you MINE sweetheart! No one else can have you. So come out. I won't hurt you much, I promise! Just gotta make you mine then we can leave okay~?"

Furious snarls echoed through the halls. Male and female alike. Old and young. I... I recognized each of those voices. What was HAPPENING?

"Aaaah? Did you TRASH really think you DESERVED her? Ha! Please." M-17 grin was cruel. Mocking. "You don't have a chance in hell of taking what's MINE."

His eyes seems to shift away from unseen enemies and back, somehow, to me. Warming to something euphoric. Resting his head on his hand as if to consider me. His fingers spread, stroking his own face, as if the desire to TOUCH was simply too great. As if what he was imagining was bleeding over into the real world.

"Oh clever girl~ my clever, clever girl~♡ I can't wait til it's just you and ME. Start think of where you want to go first, okay? We're going to get married. Have that child you wanted me for. All the things you ever dreamed~♡ I'm going to have you all to myself. No more annoying others. Ah~ can't wait to find you soon!"

"But first?"

"May the best of us Win."

[love-priscilla]

one of a few favorite pieces chatgpt wrote for me from my prompts that i wanna share. short oneshot i guess?

Everything He Doesn’t Say

pairing: AU mob boss!Dutch Van der Linde x sugar baby!f reader

tags: modern universe, implied smut, fluff?, age gap (Dutch is in his mid 40s, reader is in her early 20s), implied size difference, established sugar daddy/sugar baby arrangement, love marks, he falls hard but doesn't say it, dangerous man with a soft spot for his girl.

word count: 539

Dutch Van der Linde does not talk about his feelings.

He never has. Not when he was young and reckless, not when he grew into the kind of man people feared and followed. He’s been burying emotions his whole damn life, locking them away like secrets no one should ever get their hands on.

And then there’s you.

You, who make him feel everything too damn much.

It’s in the way you come to him without hesitation, slipping into his space like you belong there. In the way you tilt your head up at him, bright-eyed and expectant, like there ain’t a damn thing in this world that could make you doubt him.

And he knows you can feel it.

He doesn’t have to say a word. You know how deep you’ve got him, how thoroughly you’ve ruined him.

And fuck, he lets you.

⸻

He watches you from across the room, pretending to read while you lounge on the bed, mindlessly tracing little patterns onto the sheets. Your hair’s a mess from where he buried his hands in it earlier, your skin still marked with the evidence of his love—though he’d never call it that out loud.

He should be doing something. Looking over reports, making calls, planning the next move. But all he can focus on is the slow, steady rise and fall of your breath. The way his shirt—his—drapes over your body, swallowing you up. The way your bare legs shift against the sheets, your knee brushing the spot where his hand had been not too long ago.

And just like that, his restraint unravels.

The book closes with a quiet thud, abandoned. In two strides, he’s at the bed, looming over you before you can even register the shift.

You look up at him, blinking slow and lazy. “Done pretending to read?”

He huffs, smirks, but doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he grips your ankle, fingers wrapping easily around the delicate bone, and pulls you toward him.

A soft yelp leaves your lips as you slide down the mattress, stopping just before your hips meet the edge. You don’t protest, don’t resist—just look up at him with that knowing little smile, like you already know what he wants.

Like you always know.

His fingers trace absent circles over your calf, his grip possessive, grounding. “Y’look real sweet like this, darlin’.”

You hum, stretching like a lazy little thing, and God help him, he wants to keep you like this forever—sated and soft, tucked away in the only place safe from the world.

But that ain’t how things work.

So instead, he leans down, pressing his weight over you, trapping you beneath him. You gasp when his lips find your throat, dragging slow and deliberate along the sensitive skin.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters against you.

You sigh, arching just enough to press your body into his. “You like trouble.”

You have no idea.

He doesn’t say it. Doesn’t say any of it. But he kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like he needs to memorize every little sound, every little shiver, every way you break for him.

You can feel it. He knows you can.

And that’s enough.

It has to be.

[onyx-syn]

Halfway through the workings of a fic (technically two)

But in the mean time

Take this- Buggy being given a blow job cause he's a subby dom in my mind

18+ only. Minors be gone

Waves crash against the ship lightly, making the ship rock back and forth in the darkness of night. The moonlight shimmered down on the waves of the sea, the lights of Buggy's ships illuminating the deck onboard.

In the quarters of the ship, a lantern lit from the corner of the bedroom. As well as two occupants having their nice time on the hanging bed.

Buggy laying on his back on the bed, his trousers down to his mid thigh leaving his cock and balls out in the warm air of his room. He tried to relax in his new position, making a nice hum sound as you pressed light kisses on his hard redden tip.

Buggy's cock was a delight to see in your eyes. He wasn't too big and he wasn't too small, he was a nice size and was quite girthy. Much more of a shower than a grower, but the 'genius jester' himself knew how to use it.

A low sadistic hiss leaves Buggy's lips as he feels the wetness of your saliva coat the tip of his cock. His watercolor eyes watching as it drips down his sides.

Buggy leans his head on each side of his shoulder, his way of holding back a moan, feeling your hand grip his cock, greeted by your saliva. He leans his head back, cursing aloud as he feels your hand move up and down, slowly but surely, coating his cock more and more with your saliva.

"F-Fuck" he whispers, closing his eyes. Had his makeup not been applied so often on his face, a hint of a red dusky blush would be on his cheeks.

Buggy prided himself as a Dom much often, trying to boost his ego of how dominant he was in bed and how he could get his way easily. Which wasn't false, but not entirely true either.

He thrived off of being a receiver. Deep down wanting nothing more but to be loved and praised in bed like the good boy he was. grace by the touch of your hand stroking his length, speeding up the process creating immense wet sounds throughout the room.

He leans his head forward slowly, his thighs slightly jiggling from the stroking. He opens his eyes slightly, taking in the sight of you, his beautiful partner on their knees, bare and naked, holding his length in your hand stroking. Your other hand gripped on his thigh, pressing your lips on his bare thigh which sent a shock wave up his spine. He didn't know he needed that.

As much as buggy loved the attention, he wasn't all that easy to give in.

"ooh fuck, damnit. Shit okay. Nnn! Ugh" he kept cursing, getting his teeth a bit, almost whining at the sudden change of past of your stroking. You sped up the process, which sent a tingling sensation to his stomach, building up pressure.

Buggy could feel himself closing in on his release. His gloved hands gripped the sheets of your guy's bed tightly, trying to keep himself composed of the situation. Sweat tears were sliding down the sides of his face, smearing just a smidge of his makeup.

He thought he could make it through, not giving in so easily to you.

But God you made it so hard to do so.

All hope of him not giving into was lost once your lips hovered over his tip. Buggy nodded his head slightly, lips parting and his eyes becoming half lidded.

"please baby- pl-" he stopped himself midway, shaking his head. "No goddam- FUCK! YOU- hmmm~"

His words were cut off as he felt your tongue, starting off at the base of his girthy cock before licking a long stride up the underline of his cock -where a long vein was placed at- to the tip of his cock, coating it.

You could feel Buggy's thigh start to quiver under your touch, bringing a smile to your cheeks.

"is my boy feeling too good~?" You question him, smirking as your lips go back hovering over his tip, slowing down your stroking.

You could hear an annoyed whine under Buggy's breath. His hand reaches down and grips the back of your neck. He so desperately wanted to grip harder, pushing your head down on his cock, taking him all in as you began to choke on him, begging for him to fuck you.

But instead, his eyes gazed down to his cock and back at you, looking a bit embarrassed, his chest rising and falling every few seconds with how intense of heat he was feeling.

"plea.... hmmm" Buggy tried to speak, looking away still.

You giggle, slowly stroking still as your lips got closer and closer to his tip, to the point where your lips were right against the soft red skin.

A low moan left Buggy as the hot breath from your lips escaped and met his skin. "Fuck just- please" He spoke, his lips pressed in a tight line as he held back another moan. "I need you, please?"

You raise an eyebrow at him, teasing him, edging him on, "Oh really now? Does my good boy want my touch? My mout-"

With a flustered look, Buggy cuts you off "For fucks sake yes! Just fuck me with your blabbering mouth! Enough monologuing... "

You gave him a reassured smile, giggling a bit from his little outburst, "Of course, doll~"

And with that, Buggy went from an embarrassed mess to an absolute moaning catastrophe when your lips took in his tips in your mouth.

It felt so different, the warmth of the inside of your mouth. Only furthering his pleasure factor up once you mouth continue going down his cock more and more.

Your tongue met his length once more, the wet muscle gracing it as you began to swirl it around his length. Your hand at the bottom of his shaft, and the other still gripping his thigh. Buggy couldn't handle it, his chest rising more and more.

"Oh fuck candy! Nn~ Bah! Shit, that... feels so- ah!" His sentences stopped mid way, losing his breath and his ability to speak.

Your tongue swirled around his cock, feeling your saliva coat him entirely. Once you reached the base of his cock, you slowly moved your head back up to his tip, sucking on it. Your tongue swirled around his tip, moving over the slit of his cock, tasting his salty precum leaking.

You could feel his hand softly but fastly caress the back of your neck, trying to compose himself but failing miserable.

"So... good. Please. Please keep g-going- fuck" He said, more sweat tears dripping down his face and his jaw, onto his clothes and the sheets below.

Noticing your man's enjoyment, you moved your tongue under the slit of his cock, on his tip, putting pressure onto that area with your tongue. Licking over and over that area. He threw his head back, letting a deep groan rumble out of his chest as a string of low moans left him. The amount of pleasure and pure euphoria of sex was bringing him a feeling he hasn't felt in so long.

"Shit! F-Fuck babydoll, I-i knew you said you were a street performer, heh, guess you're a-a sheet performer now, huh-"

Your tongue moved away from the special place of his tip as you began to bop your head up and down on his cock, taking him as much as you can in your mouth. You could feel his pre cum smear all over in the inside of your cheeks, his tip hitting the soft flesh of your inner cheeks before taking it back further to the top of your throat.

Buggy was losing it, his body could barely continue itself as you continue to ravage his cock right in front of him.

"Damn, fuck fuck- god this is hot" he moaned, his eyes closing shut again, letting you take control of his body now. The pure amazing feeling he felt from you, sending the pleasure and lust from his cock all over his body was ascending him to another part of the seas.

His hands gripped your neck harder, pushing it down making you bop your head on his cock more and more. The intense wet sounds of lip smacking against skin throughout the room most likely kept the crew members awake.

But buggy didn't care.

He spoke aloud, looking down at you. His body trembling as you gave him the sucking of a lifetime. He smugly smirked at you, his eyes almost rolling back as your tongue swirled all around him, using your nose to breath through now.

"god. You're so fucking hot like this. I can't wait to fuck you. Give you the final act of this show we got going on here~" he was able to manage to say to you.

He hissed, feeling his stomach build up with pressure of pleasure, ready to bust. You were about to burst too, feeling the edge of your jaw start to sore with how fast you were sucking on his cock. The grip of your neck was no better in the making of this either.

With his help you were able to take him further up your throat, his red tip feeling hot once pressed against your soft and tender flesh inside your mouth.

Buggy liked the way he was hitting your throat like this. He started to change the control, thrust his hips a little up, pushing your mouth down on his cock back. The tip of his cock hitting a certain part of your throat, where the end of your mouth met the beginning of your throat.

He kept thrusting up forward faster and faster, watching as tears started to build up at the edges of your eyes. Your face was burning with intense heat of the situation, feeling a nice tingling sensation building through your body, erotic one would say.

Buggy spoke, "gonna... cummm~" he extended the one as he pushed your mouth harshly down on his cock, ooing aloud as his liquid spewed from the slit of his cock into your cock, coating it in his own product.

Buggy could feel the bliss of his body release from him, slowly but surely, as he came. It was an incredible and triumph feeling, out of this world. He can see the effect it had on you too.

Your face completely fucked now, some small tears streamed down your cheeks as you pulled your head back from his cock coughing up a little from the constant gagging. A string of his cum connected to your lips and your mouth. You sit back on your knees, panting a little trying to massage your jaw from the position it was in.

Buggy, on the other hand, relaxed, sitting there as he gained his breathing back normally. His list coated eyes watching as left over cum and saliva dripped down each side of his cock.

He glanced back to you in front of him, seeing you look almost out of it. He shakily got up and leaned down, kissing the top of your forehead before falling back onto the bed. Still in his euphoric state.

"good job baby" he thanks you in a genuine tone of voice. He detaches his one hand to cup your cheek in the palm of you, your head nuzzling into his touch, kissing it. His thumb caressed your cheek.

A little smile tugged at Buggy's lips, looking at the sweet scene in front of him. His lovely partner wanted the feeling and love of his touch. Something he too wanted more of from you.

Buggy, though he was almost out of it, was gonna give you the same treatment back and give the head of a lifetime for sure.

[oozebrain]

Slow burn Art X Reader. Reader is ND, has anxiety, and low self esteem. I tried to make the reader gender neutral but there will be instances the reader’s transmasc status comes up.

M rating, warnings will vary from chapter to chapter.

General warnings for this chapter include implied abuse, mention of eating disorders, angst, an instance of a homophobic slur, adult themes, descriptions of starvation, poverty, and food insecurity, and thoughts associated with low self esteem. Minors DNI.

Chapter summary: You receive a great kindness from a strange man you meet in an alley.

“I lean on you, in peace,

Everything stood still, and you You sang to me so softly, You sang to me so softly. In the moonlight I see you in a ditch, In the moonlight you turn into a blue hum, And I thank you for the hope you have given to me, I thank you for the hope...”

Chapter 1

“Am I… am I being fired?” You ask, voice trembling despite your best efforts.

“Yes, this is your last paycheck. I took out what you owe me and left you with two hundred dollars.” Your boss taps on the exact decimal point before handing you your final paystub and check. Two hundred dollars. That’s all you had in the world. Rent was due tomorrow and so was your electric bill. You are descending into hell. You are shell shocked and all you can offer is a polite and awkward goodbye as you part ways for the final time.

Your boss had been waiting on the bench along your usual route to work. You knew when you saw him sitting on that bench with a paper in his hands it wasn’t good news, but you never expected this. And the reasoning behind it...

The reasoning made you feel sick to your stomach. A million questions race through your head and shame floods your face. Once you are out of sight the tears come, the anger, the humiliation. You feel betrayed and hurt, so deeply wounded that you are unsure if you will ever fully recover. You swallow a lump in your throat and snivel as you look down at your phone. You’re going to have to tell people. But what will you say?

Will you admit what you were fired for? It wasn’t bad enough just eating trash. No, not only that, but your love interest had thrown you under the bus and accused you of harassment. For a year he has flirted with you regularly, and loved driving you wild. He’s felt you up discreetly while the two of you worked together and he always found a thrill in breaking the rules. You were only wanted when it was a secret.

As seemed to be your norm, your status as a trans man made the situation messy. In your heart, you knew he was ashamed of his feelings for you. In his shame, he denied any interest in you. You felt as though he had forsaken you and your heart was broken. But still, you took the fall to protect him so he would not lose his management position. Of course he would not claim you and out himself as being attracted to “a faggot”, as your coworkers had put it. He said he loved you but his true love was his reputation.

You aren’t worth it. You never were.

You duck into an alley as a place of solace, just somewhere quiet and dark to put the pieces together. You had no food in your home, nor have you in a little over two months. You work in the food service industry and the smells, the sights, the sounds...

Your stomach cramps again at the mere thought of food. You manage to stave off a dry heaving spell and rest against the cool brick wall. You feel small, insignificant, and like you’ve been kicked while you were down. Despite the rapid weight loss, the dizziness, the headaches, they all looked the other way. You knew that they knew but they were not required to help, they were merely your coworkers.

Still, you feel betrayed that one of your crew saw you saving food dropped on the ground instead of throwing it away. It was regarded as theft in everyone’s eyes and the coworker had purposefully done it to be rid of you. This wasn’t paranoia or anxiety, it was just the hard truth of what life was like in the adult world, a world you struggled to navigate.

After a few moments reprieve you are faced with a decision: what can I do?

Dejection overcomes you. What can you do? Can you do anything? No, you know you can’t do anything right, something that has been drilled into your head every day for as long as you can remember. Tears come again and you walk further down the alley, further away from the sounds of traffic and passersby. You don’t want anyone to see you like this.

You’re starving, exhausted, and unmedicated. In addition to food, you’ve had to forgo your medication and the withdrawal still wasn’t easing up. You have to take your medicine with food and that hasn’t exactly been an option. You’ve barely been able to keep it together to go and work a twelve hour shift. Today would have been your second week in a row without a break.

‘At least I finally get a day off I guess.’ You think to yourself as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve. You take your glasses off to clean them and find yourself tripping over something solid. With a thud, you and the ground collide.

Collecting yourself, you stumble to your feet and adjust your glasses to your face. Turning around, your heart flutters in fear as you realize you’ve not just tripped over something, you’ve tripped over someone. His attention was fully on you as he stared at you with a stoic expression. Was he upset?

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there. Are… are you alright? Are you hurt? Im so sorry. Are you okay?” You inquire nervously, your words coming out a befuddled torrent of noise. The thought you’ve done something wrong again stabs you in the heart and as the knife twists you feel tears return to your eyes. No, not here. You don’t want people to see you sniveling and snotting around, “I’m sorry I... it’s been a really hard day. I hope I didn’t hurt your leg.”

Strangely, he offered no response. He was a thin, tall man, about six foot and dressed like a mime. Or perhaps he was a clown. Regardless, his clothes were dirty and the makeup on his face smeared to reveal the sections of the person underneath. The most striking thing about him was his eyes and you found yourself unable to meet them. Staring down a lion would be easier than meeting his gaze.

His lack of response revs up your anxiety a few more notches. You avert your eyes to the ground shyly, a prickle of humiliation creeping up your neck and spreading over your cheeks. Your ears burned hotly. Was he angry with you? What would he do to you? Did you hurt his feelings? Did you break his leg? Did this ruin his life? You ruin everything else, after all, don’t you?

‘Look at what you’ve done you stupid bitch’ the words often bespoke to you frantically cycle through your head.

The unrelenting hurricane of thoughts halt when out from the mutual silence, your stomach grumbles angrily. Its a miserable sound, different than an ordinary stomach pang. You grip your stomach and involuntarily double over slightly, a strained grunt of pain escaping you. It was as though you could feel your stomach shriveling up and imploding on itself. It screamed at you for something, anything, besides water and garbage.

Your forehead broke out in a sweat and you steadied yourself on a nearby pallet. You find yourself apologizing again and try to minimize, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. I’m not contagious, just stomach problems.”

He watched you for a good minute before he started rummaging in an oversize black trash bag next to him. The man said nothing as the heavy plastic crinkled loudly. His mouth was slightly agape and his eyebrows raised as he peered inside, clearly on a mission to find something specific. After a moment he withdrew... a sandwich?

The speed and ferocity in which he thrust it out to you made you start slightly. It was as though he meant to throw it to you but stopped just short of actually doing it. You were dumbfounded. He was offering you food? But out of the trash, of course. How ironic.

However, it was in its original packaging, he hadn’t made it himself, so it was probably safe...

Your stomach growls again and the nausea overtakes you. Though you are ravenous, the thought of food is simultaneously sickening. You fumble slightly in your stance and grip your stomach painfully. The last time you’d eaten was four days ago, and right now a sandwich from a gas station that had been in a stranger’s garbage bag of curiosities was looking pretty good right now. It was either this or go another day hungry.

“Th-thank you...” You close the distance and tentatively take the packaged sandwich from him. He lowers his hand but continues to watch you. You can’t tell what’s going on behind those shark-like eyes of his, but he’s calculating something. It unnerves you, as though this is some sort of trap, yet still he makes no move to come towards you. He is still and silent like a statue.

A part of you goaded it was all just one step in his plan to overpower you. This city was not known for its inviting community. Still, at this moment, you did not get that impression. Instead, you notice something else. He seems overly comfortable sitting among the rubbish and disarray, as though this is a common occurrence for him, and it makes you wonder if perhaps he is homeless. A feeling of empathy and concern washes over you. He was so gaunt; he was starving too.

Though you were without food, at least you had a home. Taking food away from someone in a more difficult position than you seemed... greedy. Your anxiety ramped up at the thought of essentially taking food out of his mouth. At least have a look inside…

You open the cardboard packaging and the smell hits you like a brick to the face. Cajun roasted turkey breast, provolone cheese, tomato, some kind of fancy aioli, and greens, all on a seasoned ciabatta roll. You want to tear into it like a rabid animal but still yourself. You salivate so much you can feel it drip from your lip. You wipe your mouth on your sleeve with a hint of shame and look to him sheepishly.

“Here.” Withdrawing one of the halves, you hold it out to your gracious host. His eyebrows furrow, he frowns, and it appears it is his turn to be dumbfounded. You nudge it at him, “I don’t feel right taking it all from you, so let’s share. I think we could both use a bite to eat.”

With hesitation, he takes the sandwich and holds it, but makes no motion to eat. You, however, cannot stand the hunger anymore and, with restraint, take a small bite of your sandwich half. It makes your jaws and teeth ache sharply at the cold texture and invitation of something that has become foreign. Another small bite here and there… and then you break. You chomp, tear, and devour. You wolf it down in a matter of four bites, nearly choking at the speed and quantity of which you were eating.

You knew he was watching you but you didn’t care; you were starving and this was ambrosia. This was your salvation. Something primal within you awakened and you could not eat fast enough.

You stuff your mouth so full you cannot fully close it to chew and end up swallowing pieces whole. You ate through the nausea as your stomach tried to expel the contents and forced it back down. All you had been eating for the past week were ketchup packets and honeysuckle flowers. Finally, something sustainable, something edible, something safe. Something not dropped on the floor or left in the trash. Real food. It is less than a minute before you are licking the residual mustard and crumbs off your fingers.

After your hunger fueled trance you once again pay attention to your companion. You feel ashamed, less than. You feel as though you are a beast in human skin and shrink away some. You expect him to laugh at you or call you names, but it never comes. In fact, nothing ever does. He remains quiet, posture so still he could be mistaken for a mannequin.

He still has not eaten his sandwich and has been staring at you this entire time. The man gazes at you with a look of... what was that look? His face held a strange expression. It wasn’t disgust, it was something else. His mouth was slightly agape, showing his darkened yellow teeth.

You felt a strange kinship with him because of his teeth. Yours, too, were in a state of disrepair. Past years of daily vomiting and smoking had not been kind to you and, to top it off, you had not been able to afford toothpaste. You hadn’t brushed your teeth in a month and had several cavities and a broken molar. It didn’t help you’d been uninsured for two years. You felt like he wouldn’t judge you and you offered him a nervous smile, showing your teeth.

His lip curled into a sneering smile to mirror you. He was studying you so critically you wondered if he could reach into the depths of your soul and read it like a tangible object. It was strange, scary, and disconcerting. His look held no malice that you could perceive, but it was still unreadable and therefore unnerving. Whatever look he was giving you, you hoped to your god that it wasn’t pity.

“Thank you. I was just... I guess I was hungrier than I realized! Uh… Oh, um, If you need to charge your phone, the gas station nearby has charging ports, and the corner store gives you free ice water if you’re thirsty after you eat your sandwich.” You offer this knowledge in an attempt to be helpful but also change the subject. His expression doesn't change, his gaze is transfixed on the half of a sandwich clutched in his dirty hand. Slowly, he looks back up at you, eyes burning with curiosity, but at what you were uncertain.

You feel immediately uncomfortable. This is already a place you know you shouldn’t be, and a situation that you shouldn’t be in. Being eyed up and down by a strange man in an alley sounded like the start of a true crime podcast. Though you were seeking an exit, that was not the kind you were seeking.

You clear your throat to find your voice and offer a brief, polite, smile, “Thank you. Um, I’m sorry, I have to get going soon. But, thank you, again. My name is (y/n). It’s nice to meet you.”

He held his hand up as though to speak, lips parted but instead he drew shapes in the air with his pointer finger. No, they weren’t random shapes, they were letters. A…R…

“Art?” You ask and he nods joyfully with a wide, tooth filled smile spread across his face. You return his smile, be it with less enthusiasm, and feel yourself relax a little, “It’s good to meet you, Art. Are you ok? Did I hurt you?”

He waved you off and made a theatrically nonchalant expression before pointing to himself and then giving two thumbs up in response. You give a small smile again and finger spell his name in ASL. Art looks at you with confusion, miming you awkwardly, and you offer an explanation with every letter you make, “A-R-T. That’s how you spell your name in sign language.”

He gives a wide eyed ‘a ha!’ expression and repeated the letters with his fingers time and time again. He seemed enthralled with this new information and looked at you, expecting more. You weren’t opposed to talking to him, but you needed to get home. Now that you had relief from your hunger you were starting to get groggy.

Art waves at you to grab your attention and he points to himself then you before drawing a question mark in the air. After he repeated the motion a few times you realized he was asking how to spell your name and you happily showed him. He frantically signed both your and his names, his fingers flying furiously. Was this the first time he’s heard of sign language? Surely not… but the way he acted…

What a lonesome existence.

You were lonely too, and felt a connection with him. You offered a polite smile as your anxiety returned with a ventence at the idea of being alone, but it had to be done. Your body was screaming for rest. “I have to get going Art, thank you so much. Will you be here tomorrow?”

He smiled and nodded enthusiastically, the little hat he wore bobbling and wobbling around with each shake of his head. Art patted the ground where he was, indicating he would be right here in this very spot. The smile he showed you felt… warm? Perhaps excited, giddy even. Was he really that happy to know you? It made something in your chest flutter nervously. You were apprehensive of everyone after today, but if Art had bad intentions he could have well acted on them by now. You were curious about your new friend, and the idea of seeing him again evoked a flicker of happiness in your chest.

“Well, I’ll come by and see you tomorrow, okay?” Your response earned a joyful applause from him. He batted his eyelashes at you and gave you a playful wave goodbye and you couldn’t help but offer him a genuine smile which only made his own grow. You mirror his playful wave as you begin to leave, “See you later, Art! Be safe!”

You turn and leave, his wide smile lingering in your mind as the distance between the two of you grows. You look behind you to see if he is following, but there is no one. it seemed like he was a decent guy who was down on his luck, a similar position to your own. Perhaps this could be the start of a new friendship. You didn’t have faith you’d find him tomorrow, but you did have hope.

[daimyosprincess]

AN HONEST DAY'S WORK

—PAIRING: Contractor!Boba Fett x F!Reader

—SUMMARY: You have a very special project you want your parents’ contractor, Boba Fett, to work on.

—WORD COUNT: 9k

—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, contractor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is an adult), reader described as having hair, Boba is a dirty old man and doesn’t mind saying so 😈, likely an excessive use of pet names by yours truly, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl), squirting, cum eating, soft Boba 🥹, mentions of a shitty ex

Please let me know if I missed anything!

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you @baufraus for slapping a tool belt on that old man, you’re doing the lord’s work 😌 Enjoy besties 💖

Divider by the @saradika

Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist

What a pleasant thing to be woken up by your alarm, you think, stretching out in a luxurious full body stretch under your flowery covers. After a month and a half of what felt like constant construction right outside your window, waking to your buzzing alarm was a welcome relief from the jagged sounds of powertools and hard machinery. 

While you love your parents dearly, their desire to turn the backyard of your childhood home into a suburban oasis has been a less than pleasant experience for you. They certainly deserved to enjoy their retirement after putting you and your siblings through school, but the necessity of such renovations during your last year of your masters was dubious to you at best.

All in all though, you can’t complain. You live in their spacious, boomer-bought house rent-free and enjoy a home-cooked meal every night; you have your mom to dote on you when you get sick and your dad to defrost your car in the cold winter mornings. Even with the long hours of inescapable noise and constant stream of people in and around the house, you’re grateful to be there. And, if you’re completely honest, you’re also extremely grateful for the unexpected front row seat to watch the handsome contractor heading the whole operation. 

Boba Fett hasn’t left your thoughts since the day he arrived at your front door dressed in khaki cargo pants, a form fitting t-shirt, and a tool belt slung low across his hips. His perfect white smile and smoldering dark eyes left you speechless then and have continued to bedevil you ever since, winding your insides (and panties) into knots. The fact that he’s somehow a perfect gentleman to you while simultaneously being the most incorrigible flirt that ever lived hasn’t helped in the least. Between his sparkling winks, dazzling smile, and delicious voice calling you “princess” and “sweetheart,” you haven’t known a moment’s peace—even when the crew finally went home in the evenings.

It’s all enough to drive you totally insane.

Lucky for him, however, it hasn’t. Staring up at the familiar ceiling above you, you smile: today is the day you will finally have your revenge. The contractor had teased and poked at you for weeks and you’d been powerless to do anything more than glower and huff at him due to the constant company of your parents and his crew. But now you have him all to yourself for an entire day with the house to yourself and his workers off—and you have no intention of showing him any mercy.

It’s been nearly two years since you’ve had anything close to what one could consider “action.” Between school and your research fellowship, you haven’t had any time to go to parties or bars or wherever adults are supposed to meet people to do it with. No, for two long years, it has been you and your vibrator against the world. 

Boba Fett is going to fix that.

After a quick shower and a punched-up version of your morning routine, you’re almost ready to set your plan into motion. Flicking through your closet, you decide on your favorite floral sundress with a pair of cute sandals. Now dressed, you smooth your hands down the light fabric, smiling at your reflection in the mirror; you look sweet enough to eat. And lick. And suck. And-

Heat flares in your belly at the thought of Boba’s large, work-rough hands pulling up the hem of your dress to kiss up your soft thighs, his tongue spelling out all the dirty, awful things he wants to do to you in your parents’ own home… his lips wrapping around that desperate, aching spot between your legs and making that burning need finally go away in an explosion of pent-up pleasure.

Fuck. You bite down hard on your lip to stop from hopping back beneath your covers and touching yourself to the rest of that particular fantasy. The only thing that keeps you from sneaking in a quickie with your hand clamped over your mouth so his name doesn’t spill out is the chance to have him do all those things to you for real.

Taking a deep breath, you push away your lewd imaginings and check your phone. You have just enough time to grab your books and position yourself on the deck before Boba arrives to finish whatever project your parents told you about. Railings? Pool pump? Painting? Doesn’t matter. 

With one last check in the mirror, you hurry towards your bedroom door only to stop short a second later. Before you can think better of it, you snatch down your panties and toss them over your shoulder with a grin.

Chancing a glance over the top of your unread book, you spy Boba leaning across a board and marking it with a flat drafting pencil. The suggestive slant of his hips and the sheen of perspiration on his brow made a slew of very suggestive images flood your brain. Was it possible to be attracted to the way someone clenches their jaw?

Boba had to be showing off. There’s simply no explanation for why he needed to carry that much lumber on his shoulder or measure that many things high enough for his gray t-shirt to ride up and reveal a tempting peek at the dark trail of hair leading into his jeans. And since when did there need to be so much drilling? He is sorely beating you at your own game, and that simply would not do—not when you need him so bad you’re scheming and panty-less in your parents’ backyard. 

“See something you like, princess?”

Kark. Shaking your head, you blink your eyes like you’ve been caught deep into your reading. “Oh, sorry, did you say something?”

He straightens, arching a brow as he dusts himself off. As you follow his hands across his strong torso and thighs you realize too late that your eyes have wandered to his crotch. Smirking, Boba runs a palm over his face to wipe away the sweat there. “Never mind that,” he chuckles, “Could I interrupt your ‘study session’ for something to drink?”

The audacity of this man! Scoffing at your (admittedly weak) attempt at school work like he hasn’t been putting on a show himself for the past hour and a half.

You’re not going to let yourself be beat at your own game. Plastering on a big smile, you answer in a honey-sweet voice. “Actually, my mom made some sandwiches and lemonade since you had to come by on your day off. Why don’t you freshen up and take a seat over here,” you motion to the couch across from you, “and I’ll be out with lunch in a couple minutes.” 

Boba watches with an amused smile as you trot past him into the cool of the house, taking your unspoken invitation to stare at your ass as you do so. When you re-emerge a few minutes later with the promised food and drink, he’s spread out over the couch with a fresh shirt on and looking every bit as regal as a king on a throne. You suppose it’s only fitting that he calls you his princess when he thanks you for bringing out the meal.

Picking up a sandwich, Boba nods to your stack of readings on the side table. “Lot of books you got there, princess. What are you in school for?”

You’re ready to give him some giggly, flippant reply but the genuine look of interest on his face stops you. For a stricken second you’re tongue tied by the thought of your parents’ hot contractor being genuinely interested in you as a person. Shimmering, unbidden fantasies float through your mind of Boba pulling out your chair for you on a date, the two of you sitting around a bonfire with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, him kissing the top of your head as he leaves for work in the morning. The images curl through the heat of your desire for him, mixing with the safe warmth and happiness he brings you.

Maybe…

You quickly scramble to answer before your imagination can run rampant and put dangerous thoughts of something more with him into your head. 

“Speech-language pathology and therapy. Originally I was doing special education but then I really enjoyed my communicative disorders class, so my professor helped me apply to an internship program that convinced me to change my concentration. I even got into the fellowship program in the speech lab at St. Mary’s this semester and-” 

You look up to see Boba staring at you so fondly that it makes your chest ache and your words evaporate into flushed smoke. “Oh, u-um, sorry, you probably didn’t want to hear all that… basically, I’m studying ways to help people speak easier.” You take a long sip of lemonade to avoid saying anything else, mentally kicking yourself to get it together. You have a plan and you need to stick to it, no matter how tingly and fuzzy he makes your heart feel.

The couch creaks as Boba shifts forward to rest his forearms on his knees so he can meet your downcast eyes. “Hey… never apologize for your passion. Not many people have what you have, or the drive to go after it. That’s something to be proud of, sweetheart.”

That same warm, shimmery feeling from before returns and you smile at him. “Thanks,” you murmur, wondering if it’s normal for his tenderness to make you want to get in his pants even more. You don’t care either way. Clearing your throat, you roll back your shoulders and lean back against the plump cushions. “Well I don’t want to keep you if you’ve got any more, uh, “measuring” to do.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him and he winks.

“Right.” He nods to his cleared plate. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Of course,” you assure him, “gotta make sure you keep your strength up for any… activities you might get up to.”

Boba laughs rich and deep as he pushes up from the couch. “You really are too good to me, princess.”

If only he knew just how good I can be.

The following hour passes in pleasant, if sexually charged, silence as both of you vie to make the other crack first. When he lifts the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face, revealing the thick wall of muscle and softer belly underneath, you finally decide enough is enough. If he’s playing dirty, you will too.

Reaching your arms above your head, you stretch and let out a suggestive groan that has Boba’s head snapping towards you. Of course, you pretend you don’t notice and continue your stretch, leisurely easing out your legs to their full length. With his eyes boring into you, you purposefully slide your knees up the couch cushions so the hem of your flowy dress rides dangerously high up your thighs. You can physically feel the tables turning in your favor, upper hand slipping from him to you in this one powerful, heady moment.

Tilting your head back to meet his burning gaze, you savor the feeling, watching through your lashes as his breath stutters in his chest. Then, taking your lip between your teeth, you slowly open your thighs, one, then the other, to reveal the glistening folds hidden between them.

For a brief second, it seems like he’s going to snap the board in his hands with the way his muscles strain against his shirt. When you moan a quiet little sound as you stretch again, he slams the wood down and stalks over you with his fists clenching.

Blinking up at him with siren eyes, you give him a sultry smile. “See something you like, handsome?” you mimic, reaching out to drag your fingers down his arm. 

He snatches up your hand in a tight grip. “Careful, princess,” Boba warns in a low, scraped voice. “Think very carefully about-”

Before you can chicken out, you flip the front of your dress above your waist with your free hand. “About this?” 

Boba sucks in a sharp breath and stares for a long second, the muscles in his jaw working in tight feathers before he yanks your dress back down over your legs. “Sweetheart, I’m serious,” he shuts his eyes and exhales heavily. “Think about what you’re offering.”

As if you haven’t thought about this very thing for weeks on end, writhing and panting to the thought of Boba Fett doing every dirty thing to you that you could come up with. No, if anything, you need to stop thinking and start feeling everything your wicked thoughts had conjured up about this man.

“Boba, please,” you whine, the feel of his hand on your skin making your voice desperate, “I’m sure, I’m so, so sure I swear.” His grip tightens and you can sense he’s waiting to hear for something more concrete. “I’ve thought about you every day, every night… I want you, Boba. Please.”

“Fuck, sweetheart…” His skin burns against yours and he curses again, dropping your wrist and coming to his knees in front of you. “Tell me then,” he grunts, bracing himself between your thighs, “tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.” 

Pure, molten want burns in his eyes, igniting the desperate tinder of your desire. What didn’t you want him to do? You’ve dreamed about him taking you every possible way in every possible place, groaning your name and screwing you senseless. What could you say when you want everything he’ll give you? 

Luckily, your tongue has the answer your brain does not. “Kiss me,” you gasp, “Please kriffing kiss me.” 

And like he’d been waiting his entire life to hear you say those very words, he’s on you, pushing you back against the pillows and crashing his perfect lips against yours in a scorching fury. Your body welcomes his intensity, instinctually shaping itself around his strong hips and wide shoulders as you claw at him to get closer. Fuck, you’re already greedy for him, your skin thirsting for his and your pussy soaking your dress beneath it.

“W-wait,” you gasp, hating the way he immediately recoils even as you appreciate his caution. You don’t want to give Boba any reason to stop but you don’t want to embarrass yourself in the heat of things either. “I’ve never, um, well… I’ve never had… never with someone else.” You wince; your words sound even worse than they did tripping through your head. Anxiety pricks your heated skin—you want to bury yourself into his shirt and hide there forever.

Why did you bring this up? You should’ve just gone with it like before.

When he speaks, Boba’s voice is the softest it’s ever been. “Princess, baby, look at me.” He rolls the both of you up to a sitting position, giving you just enough space to pull away if you needed to while still being close. Gently taking one of your clenched fists into his large hand, he smooths your fingers out, rubbing soothing circles into your palm with his thumb. 

You sneak a peek at him. Gone is the hot fervor of passion that previously colored his features; now he’s a softer shade that beckons you into his comfort. 

“There she is,” he smiles, rewarding you with his own when you force your face up to his. The urgent tear of worry in your chest eases and you melt into his side. “Now, how about you tell me what’s bothering you, hmm?” 

“Really, it’s nothing,” you try, knowing it won’t work as soon as you say it. All you want to do is go back to him kissing the air out of your lungs and to have his fingers brushing over your soaked slit, but Boba isn’t going to let you off the hook. 

Damn him and his honorable ways.

Boba sighs and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Nice try, sweetheart.” He lays his cheek on top of your head and wraps an arm around your shoulders, giving you a comforting squeeze. “Listen, if all this is happening too fast, if you want to stop here, we can. I won’t be mad, baby. Your first time should be with someone special, and if that’s not me then that’s alright.”

First time? Realization dawns on you a second later and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from your belly. Giggling, you arch up and give the confused man next to you a quick peck on the lips. “Thank you, Boba, really. But that’s not what I meant.” A new kind of nervousness pools in your gut now, one that swirls with hot anticipation rather than cold dread. 

Grabbing his free hand for support, you look into the warm depth of his eyes as his fingers curl around yours. “What I was trying to say was that… well, that no one else has ever made me come before. I’ve made myself come plenty of times but,” yikes, did you have to say that?, “I’ve only been with one other guy and he never made me… I mean, I got close one time but he never actually made me finish.”

The concerned look on Boba’s face melts into a glorious laugh that rumbles your chest. Before you know it, you’re both laughing and kissing in between delighted gasps for air. A bright sense of joy permeates every cell in your body and you tuck it safely inside your heart. If this was your first time, you know that you’d want it to be with him. Maybe you’ll pretend this is your first time.

“Oh, sweetheart, is that what you’re worried about?” he finally sighs, his warm breath tickling your neck. You nod against him.

In one quick motion, Boba scoops you up into his lap, wrapping his arms around you to grab your ass through your dress. “Are you worried that I won’t be able to make you scream and shake when I lick and stroke your perfect little pussy? Hmm?” He groans into your ear when you shiver against him. “Babygirl, don’t you worry one bit. I’m gonna take care of you, I’m gonna make you feel so amazing you’re not going to be able to sit out here ever again without remembering how I made you cry with how good it feels.”

This time, you’re the one who slams your lips against his, stealing whatever dark, sweet words he had left from his tongue. You mewl into his open mouth as he rocks your bare core over the thick denim straining over his erection. The seam of his jeans catches your clit perfectly and you would have cried out loud enough for the neighbors three houses down to hear if Boba hadn’t held your face against his.

“Easy there, beautiful,” Boba chuckles, “we don’t need everyone knowing what we’re up to, not till we’re done anyways, yeah?” You hum in agreement and bury your face into his shoulder, inhaling his clean smell and the surprisingly attractive scent of a day’s work clinging to his skin. “Now, tell me about this boy before, did he make you feel good? Make you want to flash your bare cunt to him and beg him to take you where anyone could walk around and see?”

Your crappy college boyfriend never made you want anything remotely like what Boba’s saying. The only thing he ever made you want was for him to hurry up so you could go in the bathroom and finish yourself off. He had been nice enough, but, nice enough didn’t make your eyes cross and pussy wet. “He never, shit, he never…” you gasp as Boba grinds you harder against himself, “I had to beg him to eat me out and even then he complained about it every time.”

“Complained? Kark, princess, tasting you is all I’ve been able to think about for a month. In fact,” Boba grins wickedly, “I’d like to solve that problem right now, with your permission, of course.” His tongue flicks out to wet his lips like he’s preparing to enjoy the best meal of his life.

You can’t give him your permission fast enough.

Reaching behind his back, Boba tosses one of the decorative pillows from the couch onto the deck and slides down to kneel on it in front of you. “Why don’t you hand me another one of those,” he flashes you a smile and a wink, “My knees aren’t what they used to be.” 

“They didn’t seem to be a problem when you were putting on a show for me earlier,” you snark back, rolling your eyes for extra effect. “I hardly got any reading done with your whole construction worker performance going on.”

Boba tosses his head back and laughs a deep belly laugh that makes you glow for being its source. Grabbing your hips, he yanks you to the edge of the couch, making you squeal. “Now I think we both know you never had any intention of studying when you planted your cute little ass on this couch.” He leans in, inching your dress up so he can brush his lips over the ticklish skin just above your knees.

“Wh-What are you talking about?” Your lashes flutter shut and you dig your nails into the cushions to keep your composure as Boba begins to pepper kisses up your thighs while his hands massaged what his mouth wasn’t on. “I h-have all my stuff out here, see?” 

Of course, your handsome contractor is exactly right but you’re not going to admit that.

Licking a stripe mere centimeters from where you want him most, Boba huffs a laugh into your damp skin. “All props, sweetheart. Your dress and flirty little smile gave it all away.” His hands travel to the back of your hips where he spreads them wide so you arch against him, bringing the top of your pelvic bone right to his mouth. “Though really, the fact you didn’t turn a single page the entire time you were out here would have clued me in regardless.”

Boba’s words feel like they’re coming through a wall of thick molasses, heavy and sweet as they are to your ears. All you can focus on is the heat of his breath whispering across the wetness he caused and how his lips feel ghosting against your soft flesh as he speaks. Kark, how are you supposed to think with him like this, kneeling for the very opportunity to put his mouth where you’ve dreamed it would be so many times? All that time trembling, aching, yearning for him and he was finally yours—at least for now—and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.

You bunch up the material of your dress in a fist and force your hazy eyes to focus on him. “Either way, it got me what I truly wanted,” you smile affectionately, “You.” 

An emotion flashes across Boba’s sun-bronzed face so quickly it feels like a secret to have seen it, something deep and tender, petal-soft and just as vulnerable. Something words couldn’t quite express and certainly not something he wanted to be seen. It made him feel so frighteningly human that you want to bury him in your chest and murmur all lovely things he makes you feel until he feels safe enough to let that emotion out of its closely guarded cage.

A second later, however, his usual cocksure expression is back in place. “Aw, you’re sweet to flatter an old man. Now how about you sit up on those knees so I can taste every inch of your pretty pussy?”

You couldn’t have refused his request even if it wasn’t the hottest thing you ever heard, not with the way you’re so agonizingly ready that you’re literally dripping with arousal. “Boba, please. Need your-ooohh!” A searing shock of pleasure ricochets up your spine as his tongue swipes through the web of slick pooled in your slit. 

Your intense reaction spurs Boba on and he immediately dives into your core, jamming his face between your legs and groaning loudly as he inhales your scent. “Sweet as fucking cherry pie, baby. Shit, come here,” he growls, yanking you down so nearly your full weight is on his face. “I want you down my damn throat, you’re so delicious. Better than anything I’ve ever had.”

You wish you could open your scrunched eyes to see the expression that matches his blissed out tone, but it’s impossible with the way his tongue is flicking through folds as he sucks up every drop of your slick like he needs it to live. Heat pumps through your veins, lighting you up until you’re sure you could replace the sun. In less than thirty seconds, Boba has made you feel more beautiful, more cherished than you ever felt in your entire life.

As your knees begin to buckle from the luscious intensity of his mouth, Boba tosses your right leg over his shoulder, balancing you across his face and giving him the perfect opportunity to flatten his tongue against your clit. You have to slap a hand across your mouth to keep from screaming when he starts a pace that has you riding his face with fervent abandon, your hand dropping your dress to clutch at the back of his skull for more pressure.

Boba moans and scrapes his teeth over your clit, making you squeal and jolt at the sharp sensation. “Fucking hell, girl, you really are dirty, aren’t you? I never should have waited to get my mouth on you. Lay down for me, I wanna feel that tight cunt squeezing my fingers while you make a mess on my face.”

As much as you don’t want to part with his mouth, the temptation to feel him stretching you out on his thick fingers, stroking all the places your own can’t reach, is too great to resist. Scrambling back onto the couch, you tuck yourself into the corner to give him the maximum amount of access to your trembling body. 

Boba grins up at you, his face up to his eyes shiny with your slick. “Howya feeling, sweetheart? Ready for me to make you see stars?”

In response, you just toss the fabric of your dress over your shoulder and roll your hips forward.

Boba was a man of his word, bringing you to the edge of orgasm once with mouth and hands then once more with his cock as took you from behind—you’re in actual tears with how good every single one of his movements feel. Every drag of his cock is pure pleasure, every touch of his hands delicious delight, and every kiss is incandescent bliss. You’re never going to be the same again.

“Oh, my filthy little girl,” he taunts, grabbing a handful of your tits as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, “what would your parents think, hmm? What would they do if they knew you let an old man bend you over the table they’ll eat off of? That you’re bouncing on his dick and begging him for more on their couch?”

“Oh, fuck! Boba!” A wave of liquid arousal floods your core, make the sound of him fucking into you even wetter. 

“Yeah? You like it when I talk like that, sweetheart? You like knowing that I’m going to own every part of you then send you back to them with a smile on my face and your cum leaking down my cock?”

Every single one of his sex-stained words sear into your skin, going straight to your throbbing clit. Every beat of your pounding heart brings you closer and closer to the bright brink of orgasm, every roll of his hips thrusting his length into that perfect spot inside you. Fuck he’s going to make me come if he keeps… fuck!

“Kark, baby, I can feel you squeezing me with that perfect tight cunt. Shit, you’re so-”

You can’t take it anymore. Falling forward onto his heaving chest, you dig your nails into the thick muscle there and start grinding your aching clit against him like some feral animal chasing their heat. 

Faster, harder, faster, fuck! Just like that, juuuust like that and you’ll feel that perfect fucking release, just a little more and…

Boba stills his bucking hips and halts your rocking.

You howl, clawing at his unmoving body. “No, please!” you sob, “I’m so close, please don’t stop now!”

Boba shushes you with the press of his mouth. “Shh, you’ll get what you want, baby, I promise you. But if I'm gonna be the first man to make you come, I’m gonna make it much more memorable than that was going to be.”

The thought of anything more than the building pleasure thrashing in core was unimaginable. How on earth could it be better than him balls deep inside you hitting your g-spot like it’s what he was made for? Never in your wildest dreams had you felt this good, even when you had hours alone to tease yourself before riding out the wave of your orgasm. If there was anything greater than this pleasure you’re not sure you would survive it—not with your mind intact, anyways.

Sliding his hands under your slicked thighs, Boba swings his legs off the couch and stands with a huff, keeping himself sheathed inside you. You grind into the fabric of his shirt until gives your ass a firm swat and you a stern warning to behave, which you’re too desperate to test. He walks the pair of you over to the large, oak table and plops you on top of it. The rich grain is supple and smooth on your bare skin, and Boba eases your back flat against it as he kisses and gropes across your body.

“Alright, princess,” he pulls away slightly to rest his damp forehead on yours, “I need you to do something for me, okay?”

Brushing your hands down his neck and shoulders, you’d promise him anything he asked. “O-okay, Boba.”

He peppers a few kisses on your tear-stained cheeks before continuing, letting his hips rut into you at an agonizingly slow pace. “When I tell you to, I want you to release all your muscles and completely let go. Don’t hold anything in, alright, babygirl?”

You’re not sure where he’s leading you but you have complete faith in the fact that it’s going to be mind blowing. You give him your affirmation and he presses a small kiss on your lips.

“Good. Now start playing with those perfect fucking tits, give me a good show.” 

You’re in such a hurry to comply that you get frustrated by the straps of your dress and bra, to which Boba chuckles and makes quick work of them, dragging the material down until your chest was bared for his mouth to claim. He curses when you press the soft flesh of your breasts together, moaning when your fingers brush over your pert nipples. For a minute he just watches you revel in the pleasure of your own hands, fucking yourself shallowly on him as you pluck and caress the sensitive skin beneath your fingers. 

Boba is a man entranced, his dark eyes glassy with want. Under his reverential gaze, you feel so desired, so utterly divine, like you’re his own personal goddess—he stares down at you as your most pious devotee who longs for nothing more than to feel the blessing of your body and the joy of your bliss.

“Boba…” you whisper duskily. He leans into your outstretched hand and you pull him into your arms with a crushing kiss.

As if he can read exactly what you need, he hikes your leg over his hip and begins a pace of snapping thrusts that has your entire body bouncing with their bruising force. “Pretty baby, precious girl, I’m going to make you feel so fucking good,” he pants into your neck, pressing his lips there to taste the salt of your skin, “Been dying to take care of you like this, sweetheart. Watching you work so hard, leaving early and coming back late… you’re such a good little girl, aren’t you?”

With the way he’s hitting every single sweet spot that makes you feel like a woman, all you can manage is a breathy affirmative and a few warbling words. “Y-yes, Boba, w-wanted you s-so bad. Thought-thought about you every n-night. Ohhhh fuck!”

 Boba lifts your hips and guides your legs to lock around him, giving him a mind-shattering angle as he drives into your wet heat. After swallowing down your cries of pleasure with a searing kiss, he wraps his large hand over your mouth to muffle your moans as he continues. 

“So loud, aren’t you, princess? No, I like that, I like hearing how good I make you feel, like knowing I’m the only one who has you making these sweet fucking sounds.” Leaning back, he trails his free hand up your calf, letting it follow the curve of your thigh and giving your ass a smack that makes your eyes roll back. “Because I’m the only one who makes you feel like this, the only one who can make this perfect pussy soak and come. You just needed a real man to give you what you needed, huh, sweetheart? Come on, answer me and I’ll make you scream.”

Every nerve in your body is lighting up, every neuron in your brain firing with blinding pleasure. The voice that claws its way from your throat is wrecked and ragged, gasping and begging for more, more, more. The heat and pressure building in your core is volcanic, and you absolutely need it to burn you alive. Only then could you shed the weight of everything that came before and become the beautiful thing Boba is crafting with every sinful word and scalding caress.

“That’s it, just like that, pretty baby,” Boba grunts in praise when you start chasing his thrusts with your own. “Take what you need, what you deserve. Use my cock… I’m all yours, all fucking yours, princess.”

You can’t see him behind your scrunched eyelids, but you can hear the sincerity laced through his words like a shining vein of shimmering gold. The images of him wrapping his arm around you at campfire, settling you into your chair on a date come flashing back, play across your mind with such visceral clarity you could almost reach out and touch them. There was so much warmth to this man, so much untapped softness and care underneath his rough-hewn exterior that you want so karking bad you can taste it hot on your tongue. You want him loving you, fucking you, caring for you every single day from now until forever. Most urgently, however, you want him to mark your very soul with his in an orgasm so intense you leave your body.

“B-boba, Boba, please! I’m so close, I-I want you so bad! Please!” you beg between his fingers over your mouth as your hands paw at his sweat-slicked skin. 

“I got you, babygirl, I got you. Come here.” Boba crushes his mouth against yours, licking your taste onto his tongue with a moan. When he finally breaks your kiss, his cheeks are flushed with carnal color and his eyes are glazed with devoted fervor. “Remember what I said before, sweetheart? About letting go, releasing all your muscles?” 

You bob your head, biting into your lip to keep your focus on his face. 

“Good. I’m going to count down from ten then I want you to do just that, okay? Can you do that for me? Let me hear you say you understand.”

As if you wouldn’t kiss the very ground he walks on with how good he’s making you feel. “I-I understand.”

He beams at you, a diamond drop of sweat rolling down his brow. “That’s my good girl. Now stuff your dress in your mouth because I’m going to make you scream loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.”

Burning ecstasy explodes inside you, snapping your muscles taunt and clamping down on the thick length rocking into you. How can you possibly feel this good, this fucking amazing and you’re not even coming yet? You don’t even remember where you are at this point, only that Boba’s on top of you and his dick’s inside you.

Gagged and bleary-eyed with tears, you arch into his touch when his calloused fingertips find your pulsing clit.

“Ten. Nine. Eight.” Boba’s fingers slide back and forth across your sopping folds with delicious speed, the pressure of his hand singing the glorious feeling into your bones.

“Seven. Six. Five.” His angle changes just slightly so his thrusts aim up towards your belly. Tears run down your temples into your hair and you know you have to be screaming around your spit-soaked dress.

“Four… three…” 

Stars begin to explode in cataclysmic bursts of light as everything in your body tightens into a ball of pure energy. If you could think beyond the primal sensation you would worry that you might literally die with how hard your heart is thundering in your chest.

Boba presses a hand on your lower tummy and everything snaps into stark relief: you can feel every cell in your body, every atom of being as all the light inside you floods to core. 

“Two…” His voice is sabled sin, luscious smoke dripping onto your burning skin in hot, fat drops. “One. Let go, baby, let go of everything.” 

His thrusts, his fingers, his hand pressing into you, everything melts into one caldecent elixir that pours directly into your deepest parts and washes you down to your most tender parts. Then, just when you thought you couldn’t feel anything more, the final dam inside you breaks. Liquid heat washes through you, roaring through your body with all the force of every desire you’ve ever had being met in one singular, perfect moment.

 The waves crashing into you feel so real that it feels like you're soaking through your skin into a puddle of your own arousal.

“Oh, fuuuuck, princess, that’s it…” Boba’s voice strains through clenched teeth and torrid control, the last shreds clinging just barely to his skin. “Fuck yes, you’re f-fucking soaking me, I can’t-shit-I c-can’t… baby, princess, beautiful girl…” 

Your whole world is so soft and warm and full of him that you can’t think a mortal thought, but you know that you have to see the look on his face as he pants and karking whines as his thrusts dissolve into sloppy rutting. With the last of your remaining strength, you peel your wet lashes apart as you shakily tilt your head up. Everything is blurry and rose-hued, and… wet? You try to blink away the clouds in your vision but the bright sheen coating everything below your waist doesn’t disappear.

Seeing your confusion, Boba breaks out into a devilish grin that turns up his flushed cheeks. “See all this, s-sweetheart? See how much a real man c-can make you come?” he puffs out, breaking your gaze to drop his chin to chest. His brows knit together in concentration as if he’s hanging on the very last sliver of restraint. 

You can only watch in downey bliss as he scrapes his hand down your belly to swipe his fingers through the wet rivulets trailing down your thighs, transfixed as he brings them dripping to his swollen lips. When the first finger disappears into his mouth, his eyes roll back and his dick throbs inside your ruined pussy. Realization slams into you watching him lap your juice from his palm like sweet nectar, his arms and shirt damply glinting in the sunlight.

I did that, I made him… holy fucking shit did I-

“Fucking hell, babygirl, I want you to squirt all over me every single kriffing day until I die,” Boba hisses, his wrecked rasp one second away from cracking. “Look like a fucking queen, my queen, lying there s-soaked and gorgeous- aaaahh!”

The revelation that you came so hard on his thick, perfect cock that you blacked out a little and squirted to the point Boba was completely soaked, all on your parents’ dining table makes you sob in pleasure and bare down on him with another blinding orgasm. Your fingernails scrape across the wood grain as you flail mindlessly, your back arching up as your head slams back against the table. This climax isn’t as powerful as the first but it still slings you out into the stars, spinning and tumbling through an aurora of colors and light. 

The sudden emptiness of your cunt is replaced by hot ribbons slicing across your belly, pulling you out of the stars and back into your body. You’ve never had anyone come on you before—you had always insisted on a condom with your ex—and it feels impossibly erotic, almost degrading but in the best possible way; not like Boba didn’t care enough about you not to do it but that he was so out of his usually controlled mind with pleasure that he couldn’t help it. Pleasure that you brought him, pleasure he found in you.

You’re reaching for him, desperate to feel his skin, to know that all of this was real, that he wasn’t going to fade away into a dream. Boba leans forward catching himself on the edge of the table while he sucks in breath after shaky breath. He looks so beautiful fucked-out and soft, his usual sharp edges sanded down into a smooth sea glass that reveals a glimpse of his soul.

Eventually he stills and peeks up at you, watching you with adoring brown eyes. He whispers your name, warm and gentle, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. He straightens up and reaches back to pull his t-shirt over his head to mop up your stomach and the liquid pooled between your thighs. His shoulders work in glorious exertion, and you watch in awe at the way his skin ripples with his silent strength. 

Finished, he tucks the garment under his arm and eases your dress from your mouth and rearranges it back over your body, murmuring to wait right there. As if you would want to be anywhere other than here with him.

Boba isn’t gone for long, reappearing at your side with a flannel and a water bottle. He’s wearing a white tank top that fits snugly over his broad chest in such a way that it makes you consider seducing him for another around—if you only had the energy to do so. He coos over you, softly instructing you to lift your arms so he can remove your ruined dress. You happily float along, allowing him to undress you and curl you against his chest on the couch with his flannel laid over you for comfort. It smells of him, rich and warm, and he presses the water bottle to your lips. After several greedy gulps, you pull back and tuck your face into his neck, humming with satisfaction.

The two of you doze for a lazy hour, wrapped up in each other while the afternoon breeze pleasantly tinkles the windchimes on the deck.

Eventually, though, you have to break to clean and reclothe yourself. When you amble back outside, Boba has finished wiping down the table with cleaner and a rag from his truck.

“There she is,” he grins, “how’s my pretty princess feeling?”

“Amazing… a little wobbly,” you add truthfully. You’re not sure if your bones will ever fully resolidify after this. Boba opens his arm and you press yourself against him, relishing his touch while you still have it. You don’t want to think about him leaving. “What about you?”

It’s like he can sense your unease and he pulls you closer, placing a kiss into your hair. “Never been better, you were… kriff, you were amazing, baby. Filthy, perfect, wet… and soft, so so soft,” he groans, wrapping his arms around your waist, “like you were made just for me.” 

He leans in to kiss you but stops when he sees the sullen look on your face. Cocking a brow, he lifts up your chin on two fingers. “What’s that look for?”

You can’t look at him. This is the part where he says goodbye and things go back to normal, where you part ways and pretend like this never happened. He’d be back day after day to finish the backyard, a sore reminder of what you desperately want but will never have. Why couldn’t you just let this be a fun fuck and let it go? Why did your heart have to ache for his?

“I-” you swallow the warble in your voice. “I, um… I don’t want to hold you up if you have another job or something after this.” You’re a big girl, you don’t need him to stay and prolong the inevitable—better to rip it off quick like a band-aid. You toss your head towards the table. “Thanks for cleaning up.”

Boba studies you silently, a frown shadowing his handsome features. Every second that passes with you in his arms has your resolve weakening more and more; too much longer and you’ll shatter against his chest.

“I don’t have anything after this…” He pauses, mulling over his words for a tense moment before continuing. “Is something wrong? Did I hurt you? Please, sweetheart, talk to me, if there’s anything I can do to-”

“No!” You break free from his embrace, hot tears of frustration beading behind your eyes. The last thing you want to do is hurt him but the longer he stays the more it’s going to tear you apart later. Boba steps back, giving you space and your heart twinges in your chest. “You’ve done nothing wrong, really. It’s just…” 

Blowing out a quivering sigh, you force yourself to look him in the eye—he at least deserves that. “It’s just that I don’t like this part, especially with how amazing and wonderful you were. You are. I think it’s just better if we don’t draw this out.” Once again, your eyes drop with the weight of the fast-approaching future.

The following silence is almost unbearably thick, the air congealing to a sodden, soupy haze in your lungs. How could this hurt this much already?

Boba rubs his fingers over his lips thoughtfully, his tan forehead creasing. “Princess… it’s better if we don’t draw ‘what’ out?”

Maker, he is really going to make you say it. No, it wasn’t enough to have made you come so hard you literally soaked the both of you, you have to admit you’re falling for a man twice your age that you’ve known for a month, too. It would be easier to make yourself hate him for that but you can’t bring yourself to confess and do that in the same breath. 

Folding your arms over your chest, you force your focus back on his face. “Boba, I… I know this was just for fun and I’m sorry for making this weird but it would be easier for me if we didn’t pretend this isn’t a goodbye. Like I feel nothing for you. Like you won’t show up here tomorrow like you didn’t fuck me right into my soul in my parents’ backyard.” You squeeze your eyes shut, your fingers curling into tight fists. “Please, just go.”

You can hear Boba shift and you crack open an eye to see him looking at you with longing deep enough to drown in. Finally, he says your name in a voice streaked with a vulnerable emotion you’d never seen him display. “Babygirl, I want you to listen to me, okay? I don’t know how that boy treated you before, but this was never a one time thing to me. I’m far too old to lay down with a woman I don’t intend on having by my side the next day, and all the days after that.” 

Hope seizes your chest as his words settle into you. 

Slowly he moves in front of you, taking your hands in his and gently rubbing them loose like he did before. “Now I’m no poet, sweetheart, I’m just a simple man making his way through life. I can’t make this sound as beautiful as you deserve, but I need you to know that I would never ever do anything to hurt you. I know it’s only been a month but kark, baby, I want you. I want to wake up to you in the mornings and hear your voice when I call you at lunch. I want to bring you tea while you study and make sure you don’t work yourself too hard. Most of all, though, my beautiful girl, I want you to be mine… because I’m already yours.”

The entire world shifts beneath your feet and you collapse into Boba’s waiting arms. When you bury your face into his shoulder, you pinch your thigh to make sure this was all still real. “D-do you,” your voice shakes, your joy threatening to overwhelm you, “do you really mean it?”

He kisses the top of your head and gingerly tilts your face up, caressing the swell of your cheek. “I’ve never been more serious, princess,” he smiles tenderly, “I want to make you mine. If you’ll have me, of course.”

You can’t help the choked laugh that burst from your chest. Pulling him closer, you meet his lips and throw everything you want to say into your kiss, sealing your sentiment into him with the press of your mouth. As much as you want to get lost in his sweet embrace, though, you break to give him an actual answer. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” you giggle breathlessly into him between more kisses. “In fact, I want you to make me yours over and over and over…”

But before you can get too cheeky, he swats your ass with a smirk. “Dirty girl, aren’t you? I’m old enough to be your father, you know.” 

“Ah, well, the younger ones never did it for me anyways. I’ve always wanted a man with some… experience in getting me wet.” You bite your lip playfully and wiggle your brows at him. Now that the oppressive cloud of doubt has lifted from your mind, you feel positively giddy.

Boba smacks your ass again making you squeal in surprised delight. “Now I want you to go upstairs, pick up that cute little dress you ruined, and bring it to me.”

Your breath catches at his dark, delicious tone and you blink up at him, confused—and definitely turned on. “W-Why?”

Boba spins you around to face the house then wraps an arm around your middle to pull you back against his rising chest. “Because, princess,” he murmurs sinfully into your ear, nipping at the tender spot behind it, “I want something to remember you by tonight. Wanna smell that sweet little cunt while I tug on my cock and think about you coming in my mouth. And on my cock. And all over me.”

His salacious request goes straight to your still-swollen clit and you scurry to your room before you can lose your nerve. When you return, you find him leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and expression smug at your obedience. Where your desire to sass him might have been at such pompousness, however, is filled with warm bashfulness as you shuffle over to him. He stretches out the hand that had, until very recently, buried between your legs. Biting your lip, you suddenly can’t bring yourself to look at him as your cheeks burn with aroused embarrassment. 

“Ah ah ah, let me see those pretty eyes, sweetheart,” he tuts. “Let me see that sweet look on your face when you give me the dress I made you squirt all over.”

Heat scalds through you, your heart pumping hot desire into your veins as you drag your eyes to meet his dark ones. Boba takes the dress almost reverently from your hand then brings it up to face and inhales deeply, his eyelids fluttering shut. He groans into the material, desire scraping the sound raw. 

Fuck how are supposed to keep your hands off him long enough to get anything done ever again?

Before you have time to jump his bones, however, Boba’s phone rings loudly, making you jump. He huffs in annoyance and unhooks his phone from his toolbelt. “Sorry, princess, gotta take this.” 

He answers the call, but opens up his arm so you can lean against him. As he talks, his fingers trail up and down your hip, tracing absent-minded patterns that make you glow with affection. The way his body responds to yours, his subconscious little touches, they all confirm his declaration—you’re so happy you might float away if not for his hold on you. All your problems seem far away at the moment and you’re content to leave it that way, if just for now.

When Boba hangs up, he pulls you close to plant a kiss on your forehead. “That was another client of mine,” he explains with a sigh.

You pout. “So you have to go?” 

“Unfortunately.” Kissing you again, he swipes his thumbs over your cheeks. “I’m sorry, baby. I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to, you know I’d much rather be with you. my pretty princess. Can I call you tonight?”

“Of course,” you smile. You enter your number into his phone and send yourself a text. “There. Now you’ll know it’s me.”

Looking down at the collection of suggestive emojis and hearts following your name, Boba lets out a hardy laugh. “As if I could ever forget you, sweetheart.” When he finally extricates himself from your feeble attempt to lock him in your arms, he tucks your dress into his belt with a wink. “For safekeeping,” he assures you.

Once he’s pulled away in his truck, you realize he left his flannel on the couch. Pulling it around your shoulders, you decide that if Boba could still put in an honest day’s work after fucking you senseless, then you could at least get some actual studying in. After all, your night is already booked.

[briebysabs]

I’ve seen some grumbling that the ORV anime would further censor the gayness surrounding joongdok. And while I get that with it following the webtoon which is already toned down, I trust a Japanese animated studio to lure in the masses with yaoi.

Whether it’s official art, interviews, the voice acting, the songs. Like don’t worry guys, the OPs and EDs are gonna be gay as hell. Especially the further we go in the story and it becomes more introspective/personal than action-focused.

While lgbt marriage is still illegal in Japan and censoring in its media obviously still occurs, many hurdles remain for creators to represent what they truly want or to simply leave in subtext. But compared to SK and especially China, I feel like Japan is less strict with this sort of thing. Plus they also know and will hone on the fact that orv is a project meant for a global audience.