#it doesn’t count i was ovulating

[deathanniversary]

© divider cred : bernardsbendystraws

you and your boyfriend haven’t been on the best terms. he doesn’t make you feel that spark you used to feel back then. it was exciting back then, but now, he doesn’t please you the way he used to. all you see is the same old routine day in and day out. but there's one silver lining—his daddy. that fine ass, powerful ceo who’s a certified dilf that you would one-hundred percent rail you if he gave you that chance any fuckin day of the week.

you were off to your boyfriend’s house to get some of your stuff back since you were planning on breaking up with him anyway, and you have too much of your stuff in his room that you need. as soon as you ring the doorbell, your not met with your shitty boyfriend, your met with his dad — satoru. (he’s so fine ! )

“hello?” he asks, holding the door open and staring right at you in that tight ass dress your boyfriend got for your birthday. “it’s you. my son’s girlfriend.” he states bluntly. “come inside.” he holds the door open for you, watching the way that your clothes hugged your curves and ass so perfectly.

“he told me you were coming — i’ll show you where his room is since he’s not home. said he’ll be here in ten.” satoru’s firm expression doesn’t dare to leave his handsome face as he walks upstairs. his suit hugs his muscular and toned framed — god, is this man hotter than your own boyfriend for god’s sake. it makes your panties damp. so. fucking. wet.

“grab what you need.” he says, checking the time on his rolex watch. shit. it’s an hour before he has to get back to work. and yes, he should’ve left a few minutes ago, but the way your dress hikes up when you bend down to get your stuff from his bottom drawer, it makes his cock hard and strain against his suit. your pussy under those lace panties looks soaked.

his bricked up dick pressed against your wet clothed sex, his arms wrapping around your waist. “looks like my son isn’t treating you right, hm?” his fingers slide your panties down and find their way to your needy cunt, sliding in effortlessly. he knows how to touch you in all the right ways— ways that your boyfriend never did.

you knew this was wrong, but fuckk— how could you resist such a fine man as satoru himself? what was there to dislike and gag ‘n grimace (on his cock) about? your boyfriend couldn’t get you all hot ‘n bothered like this for months— so what’s wrong with letting his daddy do it for him? plus, he won’t be here until ten minutes. you’ve got all the time you want, actually. ‘cause you don’t care if he sees at this point.

[tonycries]

Cause, I Love Freaks!

Synopsis. The question isn’t whether he can make you squírt - it’s how and where.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, squírting, unprotected, creampíe, exhíbitionism (Sukuna’s and Choso’s), bréeding, Shiu cameo, messy, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, Sukuna’s thigh tattoos, thigh ríding chokíng, overstím, finger suckíng, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.1k

A/N. I think I’m in some early ovulation week because…

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Prove it.

Now, does Toji know he’s the best you’ve ever had in bed? Of course.

Is he proud of how he’s done everything and anything - had you folded in half underneath him, stuffed from all ends, and cumming harder than any other loser before him did? Hell yeah. 

Does it bother him when Shiu makes some off-hand comment about how he’s able to make someone squirt? Well, it was hard not to when the man just laughs right in Toji’s dumbfounded face, saying something about how your pretty pussy is ���missing out” and to come to Shiu if you want to have a good time.

Surely, that stupid conversation doesn’t bother him, right? Right?

Wrong. 

He was going to prove that bastard Shiu wrong. 

“Damn. Not that one either.”

If you could, you’d probably let out a sob - but right now, you’re too cockdrunk to even think let alone cry. Unsure if you’re even breathing as Toji wrestles your limp body - still twitching and sensitive from your nth high - upright on his lap. Whispering a ragged, “Guess we just hafta try again. Right, doll?”

“Please!” you let out a strangled yelp as Toji’s big hands snake down to steady your hips, all stuttering and messily sucking up his aching cock. Again. “I-I don’t think I can- ah-”

Whatever plea on the tip of your tongue is shut up by Toji pulling your teary face towards his, kissing your swollen lips so softly. Reverent, even. 

The complete opposite of his hips down below, not even bothering to move anymore, hands on your ass just dragging your sloppy pussy up and down his swollen dick. Up and down up and down up and-

“Toji–”

“Aww, c’mon, pretty.” Toji groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he spreads your puffy folds further, bullying his cock so impossibly deep. “G-gotta prove it to that f-fucker that I’m the best, right?”

Ah, there it was - if you were in any better state of mind you’d have cursed out Shiu already. Taunting your boyfriend into this stupid little challenge that had him storming into your apartment and ripping off your poor panties. And you split apart on his cock and cumming over and over again like he wouldn’t - couldn’t - stop until you squirted. Like it killed him to make you miss out on this little thing. 

“Now now, doll.” you jolt as he gives your sopping pussy a little smack! Grinning at your nails digging into his thick shoulders, “Focus. Hah- we gotta have her squirtin’ all over me now, right?”

You really can’t help the way you’re giving him a delirious little nod. Hips bouncing back pathetically in an attempt to meet the way Toji was bouncing you so sinfully on his cock like his favorite toy. And it’s so cute that Toji’s murmuring a low, “Use your words, doll.”

“I- ngh-”

Not like he was giving you a chance to, rolling your ravaged clit between his fingers, teeth ghosting over your racing pulse. “Louder.”

“Gonna- gonna squirt for you, Toji…”

If he was any lesser man (Shiu) Toji thinks he might’ve just cum in your snug pussy right then and there. Filled you up till you’re bloated and forgetting any promise of squirting - but no, that’s for later. 

Right now, he’s flattening his feet on the mattress, falling onto his back - two big arms pulling your overstimulated body to rest against his muscles. Not even wasting a second before fucking up into your tight cunt like such an animal.

Sloppy - so, so desperate. 

Just rough, jagged movements of his hips because shit if Toji doesn’t make you squirt this time then he’s gonna lose his sanity. Might’ve already lost it, actually, with each adorable ah! ah! ah! falling from your kiss-bitten lips each time he hits that one spot so easily. 

“Bit- bit more-” he grits out, feeling that familiar way your plushy walls were trying to squeeze him dry. Your cunt too heavenly. The stimulation too much. “Jus’ a bit more, pretty.”

“Oh my god- Toji- ah- Toji Toji Toji-” It’s all you can do to whine, writhing as he holds your hips still, rocking harder into you. Clawing at the soaked sheets, his shoulders, his hair - anything to try and hold onto whatever semblance of control you had left. “M’so- close-”

“Yeah?” And Toji sounds so utterly wrecked already, looking up at you with glassy, half-lidded eyes. Voice strained, awe-struck like he couldn’t even believe it. His pretty girl - cumming for him again. “Squirt f’me, doll.”

You don’t even realize it when you are at first - just that something snaps and suddenly you’re soaking Toji’s cock in all your sweet sweet juices. Until it was dripping down the side, onto the mattress. 

So messy and sinful - gummy walls squeezing his dick so fucking tight it almost hurt, covering his abs till they were glistening. Toji can’t bring himself to do anything but watch, for once in his life actually grateful that Shiu goaded him into doing something. Jaw-dropped at the way you’re gushing all around him - like you couldn’t stop. Again and again and-

“S-see? Fuck- What- oh shit, doll. All f’me? Good girl.” Eyeing that phone propped up by the bedside, Shiu’s face watching over the obscene mess on the bed. “What did I tell ya?”

“Heh, well whatever. Can ya make her do it twice?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Love is blind

Now, it’s not often that Nanami Kento took off his glasses. Rarely when he cuddled, not usually when he was kissing you - his pretty lil’ wife. And never when it was your lips down below that he was making out with.

“So messy.” Nanami mutters, muffled around your puffy folds. Each word making you arch against the soft mattress. “Are you this messy just f’me? M’so lucky, my love.”

It’s all you can do to yelp as Nanami slides his tongue warningly between your folds, flicking at your swollen clit just enough to have you gripping so tightly at his blond strands. Pulling Nanami’s face up from between your thighs with a strained groan.

And oh you assumed he was exaggerating, but it was so fucking difficult to look at Nanami, too. Glasses slightly foggy, cheeks flushed. Your sweet juices glossing his lips so prettily, dripping all the way down his jaw. Head tilting back ever-so-slightly to let it slide down his throat.

Making your head spin as he reaches over to press a chaste, wet peck to your lips. “Jus’ let me take care of it.”

And take care of it he does. Immediately taking his favorite place in-between your legs, stuffing his face nose-deep into your dripping cunt. Hot tongue giving one, long lick up your folds, just barely dipping between them. The slow torture was delicious. 

“Kento-.” you let out a pouty little whine, one that goes straight to Nanami’s aching cock. Ankles hooking around his broad shoulders to pull him impossibly closer, “D-don’t tease.”

He’s letting out such a dark chuckle, hot against your sloppy hole. Awe-struck at the way you’re glistening and clenching around nothing - so much so that Nanami almost considers taking off those tinted glasses to see this heavenly view better. 

But no, instead, he’s breathing out a little, “Fine.” Interrupting your soft sigh of relief to continue, “But you better not get my hah- glasses dirty, darling.”

Nanami doesn’t wait for your response - he doesn’t have to. Already knowing that you’ll be giving him a delirious little nod in agreement. So he’s digging his neat fingernails into your hips, pulling you closer to spread your lips with his tongue. Lapping so obscenely at the slick beading at your cunt over and over and-

It wasn’t enough.

“Shit. Fuck-” you flinch - maybe from those depraved little profanities hissed into your cunt. Maybe from the cold metal of his glasses hitting your heated core. Probably from the way Nanami was bullying his soft tongue into your tight pussy.

Pushing past that feeble resistance, one hand reaching behind to arch your deeper into his mouth. The other toying with your sensitive clit. Rolling the nub between two long fingers while he dips in and out of your hole at such a ruthless pace. In and out in and out in and-

“Oh- fuck fuck fuck, Kento-” you’re grabbing at the expensive sheets so hard you worry they might tear. Thighs shaking and sliding off his shoulders. “S’too much- too deep.”

And ah, for how much Nanami pretends to be annoyed as he wraps your legs back around his head - it sends all the blood in his body rushing straight to his cock at how wrecked his cute wife was.

Moaning around your entrance, “Remember what I mm- said.” Your juices starting to drip down the corners of his mouth now. “Get it dirty and-”

“Kento! Oh my god-” You buck wildly as he starts drawing lewd little circles on your clit. Nanami’s little warnings the last thing on your mind as you feel yourself losing more and more of your sanity with each drip! drip! drip! of your slick down onto the mattress below. 

Glasses completely fogged now, he makes out with your cunt through pure, feral need. Tongue matching in time with each yelp of his name leaving your mouth. 

“F-fuck.” Nanami’s smacking his lips against your own. “You taste so good. So heavenly.” Your gummy walls sucking him up so sinfully that it was almost difficult to move faster, more erratic. “Gonna make a mess f’me now? Gonna hah-” 

And, well, you did always manage to surprise him.

Because Nanami doesn’t even get to finish his sentence, before your slutty pussy is gushing all around him. 

Everywhere. Making such a mess as he tonguefucks you through your high, letting you use and angle his mouth all you wanted. So so sloppy with the way you’re soaking him in all your juices - down his chin, his tongue, all the way up to his sharp cheekbones and even-

“My glasses.” Head so fucked-out already, you almost miss Nanami’s dangerous little mutter. Raising your eyes to meet his and oh. Shit. “You dirtied my glasses.”

As if to prove his point, Nanami them off, running a long finger down his frames. Slowly. Agonizingly. Pooling all your sweet slick on his fingertips, so tauntingly inspecting it in the dim lighting. 

In a split-second, those dripping wet glasses are resting on the bridge of your nose, forcing you to peer over them at a dangerously looming Nanami.

“Told ya not to dirty my glasses, my love.” Smiling so dangerously, “Think this naught cunt of yours should be taught a lesson for that.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Favorite part

Geto thinks that this might be his favorite part, whispering a ragged little, “God, do you know how pretty you hah- look right now?”

You didn’t - and it’s all you can do to even try and understand what your boyfriend was even cooing from behind. Too caught up in the way your legs were so pathetically trembling with the need to bounce back on his swollen cock. 

“Hngh- f-fuck Sugu- I-”

Sure to leave such lewd little marks for Geto to ogle at tomorrow, his toned pelvis against your ass, heavy balls on your clit, fingers on your hips to steady your fucked-out self. Sloppy - bruising, even. 

So it only made sense that your high was the same - and he can only watch, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown, jaw falling slack in disbelief at the way your cunt was just gushing all around him. Fucking him over and over through your high. 

“Shit- shit shit shit.” you hear him breathe, fingers toying with your pretty clit desperately. “Jus’ like that. Good girl.”

Your sweet sweet juices soaking his painfully hard cock, dripping down, down, down his heavy balls, glistening against his thighs. Squirting so obscenely around his twitching cock and shit- he just can’t help but go over the edge as well. 

“Oh- oh god.” Geto throws his head back, giving you one, harsh thrust before he’s spilling all into your quivering cunt. Coating your walls such an obscene white, “This pussy is ngh- magic, gorgeous. Fucking love her.”

Loved how you were squeezing him so tight. 

Loved how you were so messy. 

Loved how it made him think that you could squirt all over his dick again. 

And he can’t stop - couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Hips still moving in quick, ragged jabs to your poor cervix, eyeing the way your poor, abused pussy was still drooling all around him. A lewd little mess of slick and cum, forming a pool on the sheets below. 

And Geto can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted - why would he? After all, this was his favorite part, right? 

“You can mm- gimme another one, right?” You shiver as he flattens his feet on the damp mattress, kissing up your arched spine. Keening at the change in angle as his cock bullies impossibly deeper. Stars behind your eyes at how unfairly easily he finds that one spot. “Your slutty pussy’s gonna s-squirt all over me again?” Fat head hitting it over and over and-

“Suguru!” you squeal, and Geto raises his brows. Knowing you were absolutely fucking wrecked already - you never called him by his full name until you were fucked so dumb you couldn’t remember his nickname. “S’too- much. M’too ngh- sensitive.”

Your hands reach out to grab for the headboard - nails digging into the wood. Geto’s throbbing cock massaging your gummy walls so agonizingly that you almost miss him mutter a quiet, “Now, that won’t do.”

And before you know it, his big hands are prying yours off the bed, intertwining them so gently with his. Romantic - but you knew better, Geto just didn’t want his pretty girl to run away. 

Not when he knew you were so close - could tell by that breathy little ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips. 

“Please-”

Huffing in amusement, “Please what?”

And you don’t even know what you’re begging for - maybe for mercy? For Geto to let you fucking breathe? His cock too bruising against your cunt, drawing out incoherent whines with each drag of his tip down all the right spots. Trying so desperately to fuck that second orgasm out of you. 

“Heh, can’t even fuck- talk.” And it’s so dizzing how he’s puncturing each word with such a rough ram of his cock. So mean with the way he dips a hand lower to graze a long finger down your sensitive cunt - so messy and sensitive. Chuckling at your cute lil’ whines - at the way they’re suddenly cut short when Geto shoves his dripping wet fingers between your lips. “Ngh- well, if you don’t wanna talk…”

Close. Too close. 

You mewl at the way he was pressing right at the back of your tongue, feeling the lewd little taste of him and you and him. “Mmmpf- what are you-” 

“At least don’t try to escape, gorgeous.” he leans in close - so close. Long inky hair tickling your spine, breath hot against your ear, lips grazing yours. You think you could just pass out right then and there as his soft tongue darts out to lick at the mess he’s smeared across your glossy lips. 

Grinning at the taste, at that look in your eyes that told him your cute cunt was about to give him another show, “Cuz this is my favorite part.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Hair tie

If anyone found out why Choso Kamo was never seen without that black hair tie around his wrist, they’d laugh in your face and tell you what a great joke that was. 

That inconspicuous little thing he’d take around everywhere, whether he had his hair up or not. It’s not like he exactly needed it, and most just assumed it was a fashion statement. 

Only you knew what it meant to have Choso thumbing that little red imprint in public. Hooking a finger underneath, pulling back ever-so-slightly to let it snap! against his skin. Looking you right in the eyes as he does. Something dangerous. Subtle. Something that has you pressing your thighs together. 

Something that has him pulling you to the nearest changing room in this crowded shopping mall, one hand covering your mouth, muffling your sweet sweet moans. The other, knuckle-deep in your dripping cunt.  

“Sorry, baby.” he gasps, kissing your forehead so mockingly gently. “You just looked so fuckin’ pretty in that skirt. Needed you so- hah- bad.”

The skirt that was currently bunched at your waist, crumpling at Choso pushes you harder against the cool wall. 

But Choso couldn’t give a fuck about that right now, not as he shoves a knee between your trembling legs. He couldn’t have his girl falling now, right? Long fingertips so desperately massaging your plushy walls, searching for that one-

“Mmpfh! Hngh-”

Found it.

Without another word, he’s reeling two fingers back - all the way until they were barely kissing your sloppy hole. Plunging back in, hitting that spot over and over like he was addicted to the way your cunt was trying to suck him up so good. High off of every cute lil’ whine that escapes through his palm. 

“Shit, so fuckin’ gorgeous.” Breath hot against your ear, “Look.” 

You barely even realize it before you are, gasping at the obscene sight below. Your drenched panties pulled so lazily to the side. Sloppy. 

“Can’t get enough. Shit-” Pulling back to show off your slick glistening on his fingers, dripping down, down, down to that sinful hair tie. “Fuuuck, baby. Need you to cum on my fingers. Please. Please-” Puffy folds milking Choso’s fingers so hard that you wonder whether it didn’t hurt - whether his wrist wasn’t cramping up now, fingers sore. 

And if they were, then, Choso didn’t show it. Instead, he’s bullying a third finger inside your poor cunt, the stretch too much that you can’t help but squeal. So fucking loud. 

Knock! Knock! Knock! 

“Is everything alright in there, ma’am?”

Oh if the way your heavenly cunt was clenching around him was anything to go by, then Choso wished he did this sooner. 

So entranced that he almost missed the concerned, “Ma’am?” from outside. 

“Wh-what’s the matter, baby?” he whispers lowly, biting down teasingly at your earlobe. Fingers still relentless, speeding up, even. And you could only pray the employee outside couldn’t hear the lewd squelches as he did. “Shy? Answer the hah- question.”

And shit, you could cry as he wrenches his hand away from your mouth. Grinning as you let out a broken little, “Y-yeah.” Cringing at how unconvincing you sound, “I’m jus-”

Whatever stupid excuse that was to come out of your mouth dies in your throat as Choso runs his thumb over your throbbing clit. 

“I-I’m al-right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

And it’s as if he takes that up as a challenge to prove you’re so utterly not. 

Not when Choso’s drawing tight little circles in time with the way he’s hitting that one spot, arching you like such a slut into his touch. Ignoring the concerned remarks from outside as he speeds up his pace, not even bothering to cover your mouth this time because he wanted to hear all your pretty moans. 

So much so that you’re mentally preparing to get caught - maybe even arrested. 

But still you’re so close. 

Halfway through imagining how Choso would snap his hair tie during the trial when that voice speaks up again. “Well…please let us know if you need any help.”

Those footsteps from outside barely even heading away before he’s sighing, “She’s gone now.” he bites down on your lower lip. “Y’can hah- cum f’me, y’know? Make a mess?” Grinding down his rock-hard erection on your thigh, already so damp through his pants. “Fucking cover me in it.”

And then you are - all over Choso’s hand. Kissing him hard, to stop yourself from screaming as he quirks his fingers just right. Fucking you through your high as you drench him in all your juices, soaking his hair tie, trailing onto the floor in a lewd drip! drip! drip! 

Obscene. Exactly the way he wanted it. 

So fucking pretty with the way you’re squirting all over his hand, thighs trembling, lips wobbling. That new skirt of yours so filthy now that Choso can’t help but eye the pile of clothes right next to you. Gritting out a ragged, “We got so many more clothes to try on.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - X marks the spot

“You’re going to cum f’me just like this, okay, brat?”

Maybe it’s the way you’re sat so prettily on Sukuna’s muscular thigh, squirming ever-so-slightly as he starts bouncing his leg to the beat of the thumping music. Maybe it’s the way you can’t do anything but let out a stifled gasp, desperately trying not to attract any attention towards the two of you in the dimly-lit VIP area of this overcrowded club.

But Sukuna just can’t help but tease you. 

Can’t help but trail a finger along your thigh, goosebumps rising so deliciously at the scrape of his nail. Up, up, up to confirm his suspicious and oh- 

He was right. No panties.

“Heh, such a naughty little minx, aren’t ya?” he can’t help the surprise that bleeds into his voice, pulling your back flush against his chest. Cradling your neck into his pecs, “Acting all innocent but you’re just begging to be used like such a slut, huh?”

The clink of a belt, and suddenly you’re feeling a sliver of skin - warm. Soft, sat right above where you knew he had that sinful little tattoo. 

“B-but Kuna-” you flinch as the cold air hits you before you know it. Looking over your shoulder to catch that fucking smug smirk as Sukuna flips your flimsy skirt to rest your dripping cunt on his bare thigh. And to anyone else, it would probably just look like you’re just seated on his lap. But you gasp, “Here?”

“Why not?”

If anyone heard your broken whine, then you didn’t have the courage to raise your head and look. Hazy eyes locked with Sukuna’s as he starts rocking you on his thigh. Fingers digging into your hips, dragging your sloppy pussy. Grip tight, bruising almost - like he was trying to hold himself back from doing anything more. 

“Aww, my messy girl.” And fuck if it wasn’t difficult to not just fuck you right then and there with the way your puffy folds were spread on his thigh. Drooling all the way down to the gaudy couch below. “Who’re you this wet for?”

But Sukuna’s skin against your was so hot. Your brain too foggy. His words too mean. And you can’t help but let out some incoherent babble.

One that has him wrapping a hand around your neck, nails positioned right above your racing pulse, forcing you to blink tearily up at him. “Sorry, pretty. Can’t hear you above this fuckin’ music.” Biting down on your earlobe - just a little punishment, “What were you sayin’?”

“Ngh- f-fuck-” you moan, clit catching on the curves and dips of his muscles, rippling as he bounces you faster in time with your slutty lil’ movements. “Only for ngh- you.”

Voice such a low purr in your ear now, “Who?”

“Y-you, Kuna-”

“Yeahhhh, fuck.” he grunts, angling his head just right to better take in the fucking heavenly view. Back arching, swollen folds spread so shamefully as you hump him like some bitch in heat. Making such a mess all over his thigh tattoo in a way that makes Sukuna so fucking glad he got it. “S’exactly what I like to hear.”

And God, he didn’t even have to tell you for you to realize. Because you could feel the way his rock-hard cock jumps against his boxers - so rock-hard and pressing up against your ass in a damp patch. 

One hand tightening around your throat, the other dipping below to draw urgent, messy little circles on your clit. Over and over. 

You dare to crack an eye open and look at the room around you, hips still grinding down so pathetically on his thigh. Clenching down so hard on nothing as you wonder how someone - anyone - could see the two of you and-

“Oi, look at me, brat.” he’s tugging your head up to his again. Hands getting more erratic - like he wanted to distract you from anything but him him him. “Focus on me. On how fucking good this pretty pussy is feeling.”

As if you could do anything but.

Bucking softly into his angry erection, causing Sukuna to let out a low, drawn-out hiss. “Evil lil’ thing.” he drags his lips down your sensitive neck. Pulling your hips harder against that tattoo. “Guess it ngh- makes sense though because…” you blink up tearily at him as he trails off. Barely noticing the trembling in his fingers, both your rhythms getting so sloppy. Untimed. As rough as the look in Sukuna’s eyes as he whispers, “-because you’re mine.”

And then he spits - right into yout waiting mouth. Once. Twice. 

Loud enough that it definitely makes a few stray onlookers glance, faces immediately burning at the sight of Sukuna kissing you. Just a messy clash of lips and teeth and tears.

Tears as you cum with a strangled gasp, drunk up so greedily by Sukuna as you squirt all over his thigh. So fucking messy. Seeping into his pants, all the way down to the couch below, but especially his tattoo. That ring of ink soaked in your juices - right where Sukuna wanted.

And if you were in any better state of mind you’d have been embarrassed - shy, even.

Instead, you’re glancing down at the way his thigh was glistening in the dim light, delicate strings of slick snapping as you lean back closer. 

“Don’t you have- hah- the same tattoo on your cock, too, Kuna?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Sweeter this way

“Such a filthy cunt on my sweet, sweet girl.” Gojo has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh - laugh - at how breathless and fucked out you were on top of him already. “C’mon, what ngh- happened to taking control?”

Ah, right - you bat your lashes lazily, blinking away the tears in your eyes to be met with that fucking smug smirk on your boyfriend’s face. So much for taking control tonight.

“Y-you’re a ngh- cheater, Toru.” you hiss, but you can’t stop your hips from grinding down so pathetically to meet with his rough pace. Jolting every time his leaking tip hit that one spot. “It was s’pposed to be hah- m-my turn to take charge.”

And oh how you had the strongest whining underneath you, two big arms looping around your waist to pull you against his toned chest. 

“But, sweetheart~” Craning his neck to graze his lips against your bruised ones - so fleeting, gentle. Exactly what his hips weren’t. “Isn’t it s-so much sweeter this way?”

You don’t know what it is about it - maybe at the dangerous little tone dripping from Gojo’s words. Maybe at the way each one was punctured by a messy, harsh thrust into your tight pussy. But it has shivers running down your spine - all the way to your bulging cunt, so stuffed and ravaged by his cock. 

Words a bit more breathless than you’d have liked as you mutter, “W-what do you oh fuck- Toru. What do you mean ‘sweet’?”

The only response you get is one hand pushing the hair out of his eyes, the other just bruising on your hips. Pulling you up, up, up on Gojo’s swollen cock like you were weightless, the arms in his biceps rippling when Gojo slams you down. Hard. 

Toned pelvis hitting your ass as he rams his cock into you. Again. And again. And again and again and-

“M’gonna show ya.” he grins, free hand roling your poor clit between two fingers. “Gonna show ya how much sweeter fuck-” Gojo’s eyes fly open as you clench so hard around him. On purpose - a warning. “Hah, feisty. But just you wait. M’gonna show ya.”

Having you feeling more and more like some curse he’s out to vanquish with the way he’s fucking you so merciless.

“Merciless?” Gojo cocks his head in a way that almost makes you forget to realize that oh, shit you said that out loud. “Mhm, sure did.” he hums, in a tone that was way too proud of himself. “N’ you h-haven’t even seen the ngh- best of it.”

You were getting impatient now - and so was Gojo. 

For all his talk, letting you grind your hips down to meet his rough cadence. So difficult with the way the man was getting impossibly faster. Sloppier. 

The look in his eyes is so feral. His hands so unforgiving, pushing your knees further apart. So erratic on your clit, drawing quick, messy little patterns in a way that has you wondering whether this is more for you or himself. 

He’s whispering, like a mantra now. “Gonna show ya- gonna show hah- fuck- m’gonna.” Running only on this and the way you were sucking him up so obscenely. Clit throbbing so fast under his thumb in a way he knew that it was about to be- “Now.”

As if on command, you cum. And not just any orgasm - no, when Gojo Satoru is out to prove a point, he will prove it five times over. Which is why he has you squirting like such a slut all over his rock-hard cock. 

“Oh- f-oh my god. Toru!”

Gojo’s own orgasm just a quick, sharp spike of pleasure, coating your puffy walls an obscene white before he’s pushing your limp body further back to get a better view and shit- 

That only has you gushing around him harder. So animalistically. Dick twitching wildly at the slick glistening all over Gojo’s abs, dribbling down, down, down to those tufts of white at his base. Some reaching his parted lips, and fuck if Gojo can stop himself from running his tongue along them.

Running a finger at the lewd pool on his abs before bringing them up to his mouth, “Oh, baby.” Eyes half-lidded, miles away yet still boring right into yours as he licks up his dripping wet index with a lewd groan. Pooling your sinful juices on his tongue. Heady. Addictive. “See? Sweeter this way.”

Your jaw drops into a soft oh! as Gojo pulls away with a lewd pop! looking like it fucking killed him to do so. 

Strings of slick connecting to those pretty pink lips, snapping ever so slightly as he murmurs a dark, “Wonder if it’ll be twice as sweet if I cum twice in your pretty pussy, hm?”

A/N. Hope y’all have a good day.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[pedrospatch]

run

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

*moodboard is for aesthetic purposes only. no mention of reader’s race or skin tone.

summary: When you’re given the chance to run from your captor, you don’t take it.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. MENTIONS PREVIOUS NONCON. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). reader is described washing her hair (the exact length is not specified) and she wears a dress. she is also shorter than Joel. violence, kidnapping, reader has major stockholm syndrome, Joel is fairly soft for her but HE IS STILL NOT A GOOD MAN, brief mention of Tess and Joel being involved with each other, Tess seems like the villain but she might actually be the only one of these three who is not totally fucked up in the head. SMUT. daddy kink. size difference (no description of reader’s body type, Joel is just a big guy with a big dick, enjoy it). oral sex (female receiving), super risky unprotected p in v sex (mention of reader ovulating, Joel pulls out, don’t be be like these two, practice safe sex), creampie (yeah he doesn’t give a fuck the second time around). many, many pet names (baby, baby girl, honey, angel, sweetheart, little girl). um i think that’s it. oh, and they fuck in the dirt.

PLEASE HEED ALL WARNINGS.

word count: 8.6k

a/n: one thing about me is i WILL soften up EVERY version of Joel Miller to my little heart’s content. HUGE HUGE thank you to @endlessthxxghts and @joelsdagger for lending me their eyes and beta-ing this fic for me last night. <33 i love and appreciate you guys SO MUCH. i loved seeing you both in the doc at the same exact time lmao. this can be read as a standalone, but it is considered part of the captive universe.

Everyone in the group has a job. Except for you.

Or at least, that’s what you hear them say.

That bitch doesn’t do shit.

She never has to lift a fucking finger.

She should work for her meal—just like the rest of us.

Bitterness laces their tones when they talk about you.

Insults grow a little bolder when he’s not around.

Useless.

Freeloader.

Leech.

You might not be out there with a rifle in hand hunting game or invading camps and spilling blood for supplies—but you do in fact have a job, and that job is to make Joel Miller happy. It is your responsibility, your duty, to please him, and to keep him satisfied. Because keeping him satisfied keeps him in a good mood, and one thing you’ve come to learn about your captor is, where there is a good mood, often there is mercy.

Hell, you’re doing them a favor by keeping their violent, fearsome leader in a good mood. Because you’ve seen what he does to them when he’s not. He can be just as brutal towards his own people as he is to strangers.

It doesn’t make a difference, though. They still see you as nothing more than his coddled little whore.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

He groans, his thick, callused fingers digging harshly into the softness of your flesh as he holds you firmly in place underneath him. “Oh fuck, baby girl,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, his hands gripping your hips as he uses his own weight against you, pressing you down into the old mattress until you feel every uncomfortable lump, each creaking spring.

While he isn’t fucking you as roughly as he has on other occasions, he’s hardly being gentle. It’s hard, fast.

Loud.

Joel couldn’t care less about the rest of the group, the men and women on the other side of the wall, forced to listen to the sounds coming from the single bedroom of the cabin he decided they would hunker down in for the remainder of the summer season. Strings of curses and brutish grunts that came rumbling from deep within his chest, pleading gasps and whimpers that fell from your swollen, bitten lips. If anything, knowing they were listening only spurred him on—it didn’t hurt to remind them, especially the men with wandering eyes, that you were his special girl.

His good girl.

You certainly did your job, and you did it so, so well.

“Christ, sweetheart. M’so fuckin’ close—” Joel picks up speed, his hips snapping even harder, faster, the front of his thighs slapping against the backs of yours. Each thrust causes the bed’s rusted, iron headboard to slam violently against the wood panel wall.

You clutch fistfuls of the single, stale, yellowing sheet beneath you, each stroke he delivers knocking the wind out of your lungs, making it harder to breathe. He is so heavy on top of you, this big, broad, bulk of a man who makes you feel swallowed, smothered, and small. Joel takes up so much room inside of you, and it’s a wonder how you could possibly have any space left to spare.

It’s a fullness you can’t seem to get enough of.

It’s a craving, a need.

Worst of all, it’s slowly becoming a want.

“Daddy,” you choke out, fisting the sheet tighter, your skin stretching taut over your knuckles. Can the others also hear the squelch of your drenched cunt around his cock as it begs him for more?

“Fuck. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, baby,” Joel croons his praise. His hands abandon your hips and he hunches over you, his thrusts momentarily ceasing. He crushes his chest against your sweaty, quivering back and leans forward even further, bracing his large hands on either side of you. Then, his lips move to the shell of your ear and he speaks, his breath blazing hot on your skin. “Y’take me so well, honey. Y’take Daddy’s cock so fuckin’ well. This pretty little pussy was fuckin’ made for me. She was made jus’ for me—ain’t that right, angel?”

He’s right.

Oh, how you fucking hated that he was right.

It was made for him. Your cunt. Your body. You.

Every part of you was made for him, and only for him.

All you can do is nod dumbly in agreement.

“Say it,” Joel whispers his firm command. “Wanna hear you say it. Be a good girl and use your words. Say it, say this pussy is made for me.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan obediently, prompting him to grin against your ear. “My pussy is made for you, just—just for you. No one—no one else. Only you.” Could this really be the same voice that would break, grow hoarse from screaming for him to stop? The same voice that would beg and plead for him to set you free?

Jutting his hips forward, Joel buries himself to the hilt, eliciting a noise from you, something caught between a pained whimper and a contented sigh. His balls, heavy and full for you, rest on your clit, which is still sensitive to the touch after he’d spent a majority of the morning with his head buried in between your legs. Desiring yet another release, you try wriggling around beneath him in a silent plea for more. More, more, more.

Please, Daddy. More.

Joel’s grin widens. He places one of his hands on your soft lower belly, fingers dragging down the slope of it until he finds the slick swell of your seam between your legs where his girth splits you open. “Ready, baby?”

Nodding, you open your mouth to answer him, but the sound of your own groan cuts you off when his fingers firmly circle around your throbbing, swollen bud. “Oh,” you breathe, instantly sinking right into his touch. Your eyes screw shut tightly in pleasure, and you throw your head back onto his shoulder. The scruff of his beard is rough on your cheek, and it burns, the same way it had burned the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

His hips find their rhythm as you rub against his hand—you’re almost there. He knows this, you can tell by the chuckle that thunders in his chest and against your back. But you’re too busy chasing your pleasure to be embarrassed.

He’s made you a needy, greedy girl.

“Daddy,” you mewl, trying your hardest to move under him, to work your cunt up and down on his cock. “I’m gonna come—” You gasp, back arching as Joel strokes in and out, his fingers rubbing your clit with urgency.

Joel plants a sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek. “Give it to me, baby,” he grunts. “C’mon. Lemme feel her squeeze me.”

Feeling how close he is too, you try to hold on for just a little bit longer, at least long enough to finish with him, but Joel’s relentless, and you’re forced off of the ledge you’re both standing on first.

Crying out, your walls spasm around him, asking to be filled until he’s made a complete mess out of you, until white leaks, and it slowly dribbles down the insides of your trembling thighs.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel rasps. He lifts himself off you and he pulls out, taking his throbbing cock in his hand. His chest heaves as he fists himself, the wet sound of your slick in his palm filling the room. “Down,” he grits, and you obey him, lowering down yourself on the mattress until you’re lying almost completely flat before him. He gives himself one final stroke just as you look over your shoulder at him, the gentle flutter of your eyelashes the last push he needs. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck—” Joel spills his load, shooting thick ropes of warm cum along the soft curve of your spine.

You rest your cheek on your folded arms, biting back a small sigh.

He’s left behind an ache—you feel painfully empty.

But it was Tess, who had been given the task of helping you track your menstrual cycle, that had given him the warning earlier that morning. “She’s ovulating. Don’t be a fucking idiot, Joel. Last thing we need is for her to—”

“Relax,” he’d gruffed in response. “I fuckin’ know.”

Spent, Joel hunches over you once more and he lightly kisses the top of your head before burying his nose into your hair. “Good girl,” he murmurs. Affection that once was unwelcome and unwanted, that once made you feel sick to your fucking stomach, now makes you feel something else entirely. You’re not quite sure what it is, only that it’s warm. Comforting. “Y’did so well for me, sweetheart. Always do.”

Your lips curl into a faint, tired smile he doesn’t see.

A while later, you find yourself perched on the bed with the sheet wrapped around you, quietly watching as he gets dressed. “Daddy?” you say tentatively as he drops into a nearby chair to pull on his boots.

“What is it, baby girl?”

“Do you—do you think we can go to the creek today?”

Joel finishes lacing his boots and looks up at you.

“I’d really like to wash up,” you admit, softly. That, and you would like to see the light of day. He’d boarded up the windows with slabs of wood—sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get some decent light seeping through the teeny gaps.

“Not today, honey. I’ve got some things to take care of. Supplies are low, we gotta do a run. Don’t have the time to take you.” He stands and picks up his rifle, slinging the strap of it over his shoulder. Noticing the crestfallen expression on your face, Joel’s eyes soften. He walks over and gingerly cups the side of your face in his palm. His thumb strokes your cheek. “Promise I’ll take you to the creek tomorrow, sweetheart. First thing. Alright?”

Nodding, your eyes fall to your hands in your lap.

“Okay.”

Joel kisses your forehead, then leaves the room.

He makes sure to lock the door from the outside, and you can’t help but wonder if he knows locking you in is no longer necessary.

“I can take her.”

Joel’s dark eyes remain focused on the state map laid out on the table in front of him. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Tess?” He sees her in his periphery, but is too busy figuring out the group’s best route to look her way.

“I heard her asking you to take her to the creek so she can bathe,” she tells him. “I can take her.”

Finally, his head snaps up and he turns to her. “What?”

Tess leans her hip against the table, crossing her arms over her chest. “You and Tommy can take the group, go and take care of what you have to take care of. I’ll stay behind and take her down to the creek,” she suggests casually, as if she’s not asking him to trust her with his most prized possession—the only damn thing on what was left of this fucking earth Joel Miller actually gives a shit about. “Once she’s washed up, I’ll bring her back to the cabin and put her back into the room. Easy.”

Joel stares at her, bewildered. “What makes you think I’d fuckin’ allow somethin’ like that?”

“Oh, come on.” She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Anytime I bitch about having to do something for that girl, you’re on my fucking case about it, and now that I’m offering to do something for her, you don’t wanna let me?”

He shakes his head and lowers his voice. “You’re talkin’ about takin’ her outside, Tess. Without me.”

“The creek’s just a mile away,” Tess reminds him. “I’m pretty sure I can handle getting her there and back with no trouble, Joel.” When he says nothing, she cocks her head to the side and scoffs. “What? You don’t trust me enough to take her under my wing for a couple hours?”

Joel’s lips pull into a tight line. 

Of course he does. Tess was his right hand woman, his second in command.

He trusted her more than his own fucking brother. She had never given him any reason not to, had never given him a reason to doubt her loyalty to him. No, his lack of trust has nothing to do with Tess—but everything to do with you. He doesn’t trust you. He will never trust you.

“What if she tries to—?” He can’t even say it.

“Tries to what?” She pauses. “Run?”

His throat goes dry and he gives her a subtle nod.

Joel Miller was a bad man who did bad things, but you were his good. You’ve brought back some meaning into this wretched life of his, gave him something that felt a lot like a sense of purpose. You were something for him to take care of, to keep safe and protect.

Tess raises an eyebrow at him. “You think I’d even give her the chance? Besides, the girl’s not that stupid, Joel. She knows better than to try anything. She knows she wouldn’t get very fucking far.”

“Tess—”

“I’m just trying to do something nice for her. Besides, I think it might do her some good to be in the company of someone else for once—the company of a woman.”

Joel peers at her, taking a minute to think it over in his mind before asking, “You’ll have her back in the room before I get back to the cabin?”

“Long before then,” she swears. “All in one piece.”

He hesitates. He’s still not sure.

It’s then that he remembers that disappointed look on your sweet, pretty little face. “Alright,” he relents with a deep sigh. “I trust you, Tess.”

It always feels a bit strange to be outside.

But being outside without Joel?

It feels even stranger.

When he’d walked back into the room and told you Tess was willing to take you to the creek, the news had taken you by complete surprise. When he said he was willing to let her take you, that you almost couldn’t believe. It hadn’t even sunk in until the three of you stood outside the cabin and he was kissing your forehead sweetly in a temporary goodbye before turning to Tess.

“Never take your eyes off her,” he’d instructed her.

“She’ll behave.” She had smiled at you as she pulled her pistol from the waistband of her jeans, the gleam of the silver barrel catching your eye. “Isn’t that right?”

Swallowing dryly, you had answered with a strained, “Of course.”

She’s the last fucking person you wanted to cross. She was almost as terrifying as Joel, if not more.

“Tess? W-Where are we going?” you ask as you trudge along behind her, hoping you don’t sound as winded as you feel. Although you had no way to keep track of the time, it felt like you’d been trekking for at least an hour. Your feet are starting to hurt in your shoes—old, worn, yellow canvas sneakers that certainly weren’t made for hiking. “I don’t remember the creek being this far from the cabin.”

Tess snorts. “Don’t tell me you’re tired already.”

“It’s just—we’ve been walking for a really long time.”

She glances over her shoulder at you. “Here I thought you would be a little fucking grateful to be out getting some fresh air,” she chuckles, shaking her head before turning her attention back to the path ahead.

“I am,” you squeak, stumbling over a fallen branch.

Silence falls over the both of you.

“We’re not going to the creek,” Tess finally speaks after a minute. “I’m taking you somewhere else. Somewhere even better. Just trust me, kid. Now hurry up.”

It takes another hour before you reach your destination, and you hear it before you can even see it, a humming sound that turns into buzzing the closer you get. Then, you feel it, a vibration in the rocks beneath your feet. “Is that a—?” Stepping around her, your mouth falls open in absolute awe at the sight before you.

The waterfall is nestled right in between the trees and surges over the rocky mountain, throwing up bubbles of spray as it plunges into the lake at the bottom, and from there, it foams into a thick, white lather at the base. On the bank, where you stand, you spot different types of vegetation you couldn’t identify even if you tried—all you know is that it’s green, and it’s beautiful.

“This is incredible,” you gasp.

“Way better than some little creek, huh?” Tess tucks her pistol into the waistband of her jeans and shrugs off her pack. She digs around in the front pocket and pulls out something wrapped in a piece of crumpled brown tissue paper. She hands it to you. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Well, if you’d fucking open it, you would know,” Tess rolls her eyes. “It’s my last piece of soap. It’s all yours.”

Her kind generosity comes as a surprise—usually, Tess wanted nothing to do with you. But you don’t question it, and you certainly don’t turn the rare luxury down.

“Thanks,” you say, shooting her a grateful look.

Tess nods towards the body of water. “Alright, then. Go on and get to it.”

You take the piece of soap out the tissue. The scent of lavender is faint, but still very much there. Joel will like the smell of it on your skin tonight, you think.

As you start to pull the strap of your cotton blue dress down your shoulder, you feel her gaze fixed intently on you. Heat rushes to your cheeks. “Uh, aren’t you going to turn around?”

“For fuck’s sake,” she scoffs. “I’ve got what you’ve got. Now hurry up, we don’t have all fucking day.”

Nodding, you peel off your dress and underwear, your face on fire as the older woman’s eyes slowly drag over your naked body. Carefully, you step off the bank and wade into the water. It’s so clear that you can count the pebbles underneath your feet.

Leaning against a nearby tree, Tess calls out, “You have ten minutes! And stay out of the waterfall! Last thing I need is for you to fucking drown.”

As she lights a cigarette, you can’t help but stare at her. Her features, though worn down after the hell she had been through trying to survive the post outbreak world, are beautiful. Big, dark green eyes, a perfect nose, and full, pouty lips. There’s never been a doubt in your mind that she and Joel have been involved with one another, and lately, the mere thought of anything between them made you uncomfortable.

It’s an odd sensation deep in your gut—jealousy?

But what were you jealous of? Her having had him first?

It shouldn’t matter to you, but it does. Insecurities you have never in your life felt before seep into your bones.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s fucking rude to stare?” Tess quips, raising an eyebrow at you. She shoves her lighter into the back pocket of her jeans.

Nervously, you sink lower into the water, nibbling the inside of your cheek. “Tess? Can I ask you something?”

“What could you possibly fucking want to ask me?”

You hesitate.

“How—how long have you known each other?”

“Who?” Tess plucks the cigarette from between her lips and flicks the ashes. “Me and Joel?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She shrugs. “Don’t know. Six, seven years?”

“How did you two meet?”

“Long story that’s none of your fucking business.”

You ask your next question before you lose your nerve. “Have you two ever—?” Unsure of how to phrase it, you stop and clamp your mouth shut in instant regret.

“Have we ever what?” Tess studies your face, and she quickly realizes what you’re trying to ask her. “You’re seriously asking me if me and Joel have ever fucked?”

Biting your bottom lip, you glance down into the water at your feet. You honestly don’t expect her to answer, so when she does, you look back up at her in surprise.

“Yeah.” She takes a long drag from her cigarette, then adds, “Few times.”

Something unpleasant claws at your insides. “You two were together? Like a couple?”

“Something like that,” Tess mutters, flicking her ashes once more.

“What happened?”

She looks at you, pausing before answering, “You.”

Oh.

Before you can utter another word, Tess snaps, “Quit asking so many goddamn fucking questions and finish up washing. You’ve got eight minutes left.”

Not wanting to push your luck further than you already have, you do as she tells you in complete silence.

You lather up the soap in your hands, washing your hair first, and then your face and body, using your hands to scrub yourself as best as you can. Between the calming scent of the soap, the soothing sound of the waterfall, and the warm afternoon sun, you find yourself relaxing. You try to clear your mind, live in this peaceful moment which you very well may never get again, but your mind begins to wander.

And it wanders straight to Joel.

Closing your eyes, you can’t help but picture him here, standing behind you in the lake. You can almost feel his hands on you, long, thick fingers lathered with lavender soap, sliding down your body. His lips at your neck, he cups your breasts in his hands, rolling his thumbs over your hardened nipples until your head lulls, falling back onto his shoulder. Joel drags his hands further down, over your stomach, going lower and lower towards the place where you need them the most. “Yeah, baby?” he murmurs into your neck, dipping one of them between your legs until you are, quite literally, in the palm of his hand. “This where y’need me?”

Breathless, you respond, “It’s where I want you.”

Suddenly, your eyes snap open.

There is a wetness between your thighs, one that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re standing waist-deep in the middle of a lake. You shake those thoughts away and finish washing yourself.

“Time’s up,” Tess calls. She meets you on the bank with a dry rag. “Here.”

The rag doesn’t exactly cover much surface area, but you dry yourself off as best you can before tugging on your underwear and slipping on your dress. Just as you crouch down to slip your shoes on, she tosses her pack and it lands in front of you with a soft thud.

Confused, you glance up at her.

“There’s about a week’s worth of jerky in there. Longer, if you know how to ration,” Tess explains, calmly. “And a canteen for water. I also packed you a flashlight and a pocket knife. It’s not much, but—”

Frowning, you rise to your feet. “What are you talking about, Tess? What’s going on? Why are you giving me your pack?”

“Because I’m giving you a chance, kid.”

A feeling of dread pools in the pit of your stomach.

“A chance to what?”

“Run.”

Your heart stutters a beat. “Run?”

“He’ll come looking for you. You need to get as far away from here as possible. Run away, as far as you can, and don’t fucking look back.”

All you can do is stare at her in shocked silence.

“I can help you get a head start,” Tess offers, quietly. “I can show you which direction to go in and put you on a path leading to the closest state highway—”

“But what if I don’t want to run?”

Tess places her hands on her hips, and she exhales an incredulous laugh. “Jesus,” she breathes, shaking her head in pity. “He’s really got you fucking brainwashed, doesn’t he?”

You glare at her. “I am not brainwashed, Tess.”

“You’ve gotta be if you’re telling me you wanna go back to him.”

“Tess—”

She cuts you off. “He gave the order to raid your camp and kill your people,” she reminds you. “He fucking slit your father’s throat right in front of you, then took you as his prisoner. He made you his fucking sex slave.”

“He takes care of me! He feeds me, makes sure I have a bed to sleep in no matter where we are. He keeps me safe. He—he cares about me.” You will your voice not to tremble as you stand your ground. “No. I’m not running away, Tess. I want to go back.”

Tess sighs. “You’re really not gonna make this easy, are you?”

“Take me back,” you all but demand, your hands curled into the least menacing little fists she had ever seen in her life at your sides. “Take me back to the cabin—take me back to him, Tess. I mean it.”

Amused, she huffs through her nose. “Or else what?”

“You can’t make me run away, Tess.” As you take a step towards her, she reaches behind her and swiftly whips out her pistol from the waistband of her jeans. You halt, freezing in fear when she aims the barrel of the gun at your chest.

“Actually, I can,” she says, her finger hovering over the trigger. “So here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna walk away now. And if you even think about following me, or trying to find your way back to the group, you will die.” She tosses you a tiny, wry smile. “Believe it or not, I’m doing you a real big favor, kid. Problem is, he’s got you so fucked in the head that you can’t see it.”

“Tess, please,” you plead. “Don’t do this to me!”

She begins to back away. “Remember when you’d say that to him? How you’d beg him not to do those things to you every night? Beg him to let you go?”

“Please, just take me back to him!”

You start to follow her.

“You take one more fucking step and I’ll shoot you,” she threatens, her eyes darkening. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Tess keeps her pistol pointed at you until she slips into the trees and disappears, abandoning you in the middle of the forest.

He’s furious. Livid.

Joel paces back and forth on the porch.

“Where the fuck are they?”

The old, rotting wood that wraps all the way around the cabin creaks, and certain softer spots bend and buckle, threatening to give way beneath his heavy boots. Joel’s younger brother leans against the railing, which is just as fragile, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“Christ, Joel. Can you fuckin’ relax?” Tommy grumbles, fishing around in his back pocket for his lighter. “You’re gonna bring the whole damn cabin down if ya don’t cut that shit out.” He sparks a flame and lights the filtered end of the cigarette. He takes a long drag, and exhales the smoke through his nose. “You’re gettin’ worked up over nothin’, brother.”

“S’almost sundown, and they’re still not fuckin’ back.” Joel shakes his head. “Fuckin’ knew I shouldn’t have let Tess take her. Somethin’ happened, Tommy. I just know it.” He lifts his shirt and reaches for his pistol, pulling it from the waistband of his jeans. “M’gonna head to the creek myself to find ‘em. Ain’t gonna sit around on my goddamn hands and wait for it to get fuckin’ dark.”

“She’s with Tess. M’sure the girl’s fine—” Tommy stops, his eyes widening slightly. “Well, hell.”

“What?”

Tommy jerks his chin over Joel’s shoulder before taking another slow, casual drag of his cigarette. He savors the last few seconds of peace before shit inevitably hits the fan and his brother unleashes his wrath on anything, or anyone, in his path.

Joel whips around and his stomach sinks, his blood ice in his veins when he sees Tess approaching the cabin. Alone.

Both his mind and body go numb. It’s a jarring shock to his nervous system, and it takes him a minute or two to fully process the fact that you’re not with her.

“Joel,” Tess says his name carefully as he descends the porch steps and walks towards her. “I need you to take a breath, alright?”

“Where—where is she?” His voice breaks, his weakness momentarily slipping through the cracks.

Not that Tess didn’t already know you were Joel Miller’s weakness, his soft white underbelly, the only vulnerable part of his hardened self that could be penetrated—you would have been his downfall. As much as she’d like to say she did what she did solely for your own good, she also did it for his, and for the sake of the group as a whole.

It needed to be done.

He stands in front of her, a ticking time bomb about to go off.

Prepared to face whatever consequences of the choice she had made, Tess tucks her gun away and sighs. “You need to take a breath—”

Joel snatches her arm, his fingers digging into the flesh above her elbow. His emotions hit him all at once.

Fear, worry, anger. It’s the third that takes precedence, and before Tess can utter another word, Joel yanks her forward. She crashes against his chest so hard that it knocks the wind out of her. “Where the fuck is she?” He leans down, his nostrils flaring as he brings their faces the closest they have been in almost a year.

“Joel, take a fucking breath—”

“Where. Is. She.” His grip on her arm tightens with each word he bites out through his teeth. He’s vaguely aware the others have piled out of the cabin, gathering on the porch to watch the altercation.

“She ran,” Tess explains, calmly. She doesn’t falter, not even as his fingers sink deeper into her skin, promising her painful bruises which will take days to fade away. If he decided to let her live. “She ran away, Joel. I turned my back for one fucking second and she was gone. She even took my fucking pack. I tried going after her, but it was no use. She was too fast.”

Behind him, Tommy snorts. “She outran you?”

Her eyes momentarily flicker to him. “Her knees are a lot younger than mine,” she replies, flatly.

“Which direction did she go in?” Joel demands. When Tess doesn’t immediately respond, he shouts, “Which fucking direction!”

Tess manages to snatch her arm out of his grasp. She glowers at him, hissing, “What the hell does it matter which direction she went? You won’t fucking find her.”

His eyes meet hers, and he sees it. Feels it.

She’s lying to him.

“Tess.” Joel’s voice drops dangerously low. He studies her face, his brows creasing with suspicion. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do shit, Joel. She fucking ran away.”

Without warning, Joel takes her by her throat. His other hand brings his pistol to her head, shoving the barrel of it against her temple. His nose touches hers. “Now, tell me why I have the feelin’ you’re not tellin’ me the whole truth?”

Tess lifts her chin. She searches his eyes, a sharp ache shooting through her. After everything, all the hell they had been through together—he would end her life, put a bullet in her because of you? Did she mean that little to him?

Or maybe she’d never meant anything to him at all?

She’s not sure which stings more.

“Because you’ve fucking deluded yourself into thinking that she willingly wants anything to do with you,” Tess finally answers. “That’s why.”

He ignores the burn of her scorching words.

“Where the fuck is she, Tess?”

“If she’s smart, she’s far away from here by now,” she hisses. “I did everyone a fucking favor, Joel. That girl is just another fucking mouth to feed. And what if you get her pregnant? That’ll be another one. Not to mention, a crying baby could draw unwanted attention and get us all killed. Ever thought about that? She’s not an asset to the group, she’s a fucking liability. Besides, I think I can speak for everyone when I say we’re all fucking tired of hearing you ra—”

Joel digs the barrel harder into her temple, his finger hovering over the trigger. “Listen to me. You’ve got ten seconds to tell me where she is, y’understand me?”

“Or what? You’ll blow my brains out?” Foolishly, Tess chooses to call his bluff despite not knowing for certain whether or not he’ll actually pull the trigger. “Go ahead, then. Kill me, Joel.”

His finger twitches over the trigger, but he doesn’t pull it. He can’t fucking pull it. Not on her. Not on Tess.

Still in his hands, she sags slightly in relief.

Swallowing harshly, Joel Miller lowers his gun and does something she’s never seen him do before. He begs.

“Tess, tell me where she is,” he whispers. His pleading is subtle, and only she can hear it. “Please—just fuckin’ tell me where my girl is.”

Tess stands her ground and says nothing.

Releasing her, Joel shoves her aside and with nothing but his gun in his hand, he sets off to find you.

“Ow, fuck!”

You gasp, quickly lifting your bare foot off the ground.

You’d stepped on something sharp—a stick, or maybe a rock?

In a desperate attempt to try and keep up with Tess’ tracks, you had stupidly left behind your shoes back at the waterfall. But the mere seconds you had spared by not stopping to put your shoes on hadn’t given you the advantage you thought it would. She had moved much too fast, and within minutes, you’d become helplessly, hopelessly lost. Every tree and every bush, they all look exactly the same, and for all you know, you’ve probably been going around in fucking circles for the past couple of hours in your search for her footprints in the dirt.

Sagging against the trunk of a nearby tree, you take a minute to try and catch your breath, to give your poor little feet a break from hiking over fallen branches and jagged stones.

Your head falls back, eyes gazing through the canopy of trees. Dusk has settled in, and nightfall is on its heels. It was foolish of you to leave behind your shoes, but even more so to leave behind the pack she had given you—in the pack were all the things meant to help you survive. Knife, flashlight, food.

Sure, you can survive a night out here in the wilderness without any of those things—but then what? Come dawn, what do you do? Where do you go? Do you just stumble around in the woods and hope for the best? Pray you’ll make it onto a highway with signs that will point you to a quarantine zone?

Hell, maybe you’re overestimating yourself. Maybe you wouldn’t survive long enough to worry about your next move. Howls in the distance remind you there’s wildlife out here, dangerous predators that come out after dark in search of their next meal. Or what about infected? It wasn’t unheard of for them to veer off the highway and lose themselves in the trees.

You recall your first few weeks in Joel Miller’s hands.

Escaping them was all you could ever think about, even though the chances of you surviving alone were slim to none, just like they are now. Never having been on your own, death would have been inevitable—but back then, in your darkest moments in captivity, you wished for it. You’d welcomed the idea of starving, freezing, or being torn apart limb from limb by an entire hoard of clickers. At least then, you’d die with your freedom.

Almost a year later, that wish has been granted.

You’re free.

You may very well die, but you would die free.

Closing your eyes, you think about Joel. His arms, that once held you down—held you still—as he did all those things to you without your consent, are arms your heart yearns to have wrapped around you, holding you close.

“Jesus,” you grit, a tear rolling down your cheek.

Maybe Tess had been right. Maybe he really does have you fucked in the head.

Joel was a monster. He had taken everything from you, including your innocence. He’d defiled you in ways you hadn’t known were possible. He was a terrible, terrible man.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you fed.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you warm.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you safe.

Another tear slides down the side of your face. What is fucking wrong with you?

You don’t know. But what you do know is, the thought of never seeing Joel again is somehow more terrifying to you than the thought of dying even the most brutal of deaths.

A loud rustling sound brings your train of thought to an immediate, sudden halt, and your eyes wrench open.

It’s darker now, but you manage to catch a movement in the shrubs, only mere feet in front of you. Panic flares in your chest, it rattles you to your very core, and even though every nerve in your body is urging you to move, you freeze, your back flush against the tree trunk. Your fingernails dig painfully into the bark as you watch the shrubs part down the middle, and a tall, hulking figure emerges with a heavy grunt.

At first, you think it’s just a figment of your imagination showing you what you wanted to see—a hallucination. Blinking furiously, you lightly shake your head, and then take another look at him. Your breath hitches when you realize it’s Joel.

He stares at you in the same manner, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re real, or if his mind is playing a cruel, cruel trick on him. Feet cemented to the forest floor, he watches you take a small, tentative step towards him.

Once adamant that you’d never look him in the eye, you find your gaze locking directly with his as you carefully take another step closer. Then another, and another.

“Joel?” It’s the first time you’ve ever uttered his name.

He seems as taken aback hearing it as you are saying it.

“Joel.” It rolls off your tongue smoother, and with more ease the second time around.

It sparks a flame somewhere deep, deep inside of him, a fire that burns differently than those ignited by carnal desires.

No, this is something else entirely, and you feel it too.

“Baby?” he whispers hoarsely. “S’that really you?”

“Joel!” you cry, hurling yourself into his arms.

Joel’s gun falls from his hand and he curls them around you. Burying his nose into your hair, he inhales deeply. The scent of you, the feel of you—you’re fucking real.

Shuddering with sobs of relief, your arms wrap around his waist, and you cling to him as if you’re clinging onto dear, precious life itself.

“Hush now, s’alright,” Joel soothes, cradling the back of your head in one hand, while the rubs soft, calming circles into your back. “I’ve got you, honey. M’here.”

“I swear I didn’t want to run away,” you explain through your tears. “I begged her to take me back to you, Joel, I really did! But she left me out here—she said she would shoot me if I tried following her back. Please, you have to believe me, you just have to believe me!”

He squeezes you harder against his chest. “I do, baby. I do believe you,” he assures you. Pulling away, he takes a step backward and takes your face between his palms, peering at you in concern. “Y’hurt, sweetheart?”

“No,” you hiccup, curling your hands around his wrists. Your lower lip trembles. “I—I thought I’d never see you again. I was scared I wouldn’t,” you admit, softly.

Joel’s thumb wipes away a fresh tear. “M’here now,” he murmurs. “You’re with me, baby. You’re safe, alright?” As a late evening breeze passes through, he lets you go and shrugs out of his brown jacket. He goes to drape it around your shoulders, but you snatch it right out of his hands, then toss it aside.

Something in you snaps. You take fistfuls of his flannel, pulling him down towards you to do yet something else that takes you both by surprise—you initiate a kiss. You lean forward and press your lips to his, a little swipe of your tongue across his bottom lip as you clutch tighter at his shirt, holding him in place. Groaning, Joel opens his mouth more, his tongue brushing yours.

Liquid heat pools in your belly, and before you realize it, you’ve grown frantic, kissing him with fervor. Releasing his shirt, you slide your hands down his chest, over his stomach, lower and lower until you find his belt buckle. Desperate, you clumsily fumble with it, and that’s when Joel tears away from you, his breath hitching.

You’re begging before he can even say a word. “Please. I need you—I want you. Right now.”

You cup him through his jeans, and he exhales sharply.

“Fuck.” Without giving it a second thought, his hands reach for the straps of your dress, pushing them off of your shoulders. He roughly tugs at the material, letting it slip down your body until it falls around your feet. In a tangle of limbs and tongues, you both sink to the forest floor. Your hands brush his buckle, and he catches your wrists. “Not yet, baby girl. M’still in charge, alright?”

Sheepishly, you nod.

“Say it.” His command is firm, but somehow still gentle.

“You’re—you’re in charge.”

“Good girl.” Joel guides you onto your back. He’s over you in a second, swelling your lips with a hard, hungry kiss that leaves you dizzy and breathless. He moves his mouth, teeth scraping over your cheek and jaw, down to your neck where he nips at the tender, delicate flesh over your pulse point. Then, he bites his way over your collarbone and to your shoulder. “Bet she’s already wet for me,” he mumbles into your skin. “Ain’t she, baby?”

Pushing himself back onto his knees, he slides a finger over your clothed cunt, eliciting a small gasp from you. Hooking his fingers under the elastic waistband of your cotton underwear, he yanks the fabric down your legs. It catches on your foot, your wetness smearing against the inside of your ankle.

You’re drenched.

“C’mere,” Joel grunts, sliding his hands under your ass and pulling your hips over his thighs. He leans over you once more, your bare, throbbing cunt rubbing against the crotch of his jeans. He tuts lightly into your neck as you buck against him. “Such a fuckin’ needy little girl.”

Desperate, you try rolling your hips into his. “Joel.”

“Kinda like it when y’say my name.” He starts making his way down the length of your body. “Think I’ll like it even better when you’re screamin’ it. Won’t I, baby?”

Your stomach tightens as he nibbles his way down your neck again, teeth scraping over your clavicle and down your chest to your heaving tits. Taking one in his hand, the other goes into his mouth—his tongue is scorching hot over your nipple. He licks the pebbled flesh, sucks it and bites it while he rolls the other peak in between his thumb and index finger. “Oh fuck,” you gasp.

Releasing your breast with a wet pop, Joel sinks further down your body. He plants hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your tummy, leaving behind a trail of fire in their wake. He stops over your mound and hovers for a fraction of a second before pressing his nose into the silky soft curls there. Inhaling deeply, Joel picks up the subtle, herbal scent of the lavender soap you had washed yourself with. “Fuck, y’smell so fuckin’ good.”

He pushes your thighs open, pinning one to the ground with his hand while the other goes over his shoulder. Your foot slides down his back, toes curling despite the fact that he hasn’t even reached the spot where you’re aching to have him most. Heart thundering, your blood rushes, roaring in your ears.

Joel turns his head, his lips brushing your inner thigh in another kiss. “S’this where y’want me, honey?” he asks you. Goosebumps erupt over every inch of your skin as he draws closer, his breath like steam on your core. He glances up at you, his cock twitching against his zipper at the sight of you laying naked before him on the floor of the forest. Willing. Wanting. “Hm? Right here?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Joel.”

Thankfully, you only have to ask him once, and then his face is buried between your legs, and he is giving you what you want.

“Fuck!” you cry out. Back arching, your head tilts back until the crown of it meets the ground, leaves and twigs finding their way into your clean hair.

Joel’s tongue flattens over your cunt in a broad stroke, then dips between your folds, collecting your slick with a harsh groan, one that sends a bone-rattling vibration throughout your entire body, from head to curled toes. His mouth opens wider—a starving, greedy man trying to eat you whole. Sliding his tongue over your clit, Joel seals his lips around it, sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves until it swells in his mouth.

High-pitched little cries and whines spill from your lips. Your hands shoot down, fingers tangling themselves in his dark, graying curls, eliciting a grunt from him when you tug at his roots. “Joel, fuck,” you choke, your nails scraping against his scalp. He slurps and swallows your wetness, the sounds drowning out those of the night—the chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs, the soft hooting of owls are washed away until all you can hear is him devouring your pussy.

Your body starts to tremble, and you know you’re close. Joel does, too. He feels your thighs twitch, threatening to close around his head, but he wrenches them further apart with a muffled but firm, “No.” He drapes his arm over your pelvis, his large hand splayed on your belly.

Relentless, he sucks your clit, gliding his tongue over it, again and again until the muscles in your lower tummy tighten and you burst at the seams, unraveling into his mouth. Warm slick gushes out of you, a sweet mess he licks clean. You choke back sobs of pleasure, your body tensing, vision blurring with every stroke of his tongue, each scrape of his teeth over your clit.

Joel lifts himself onto his knees with a grunt and gazes down at you—his good girl, sweet and pliant and ready to be fucked full of his cock. His hands slide his belt out of its brass buckle, eyes still trained on you as he pops the button of his jeans and yanks down his zipper.

Your mind is fuzzy, still syrupy and dripping—it doesn’t fully register what he’s doing, not until he climbs back over you and you his hard cock brushes your thigh, hot velvet that sears the inside of your leg. Precum smears your flesh.

“Y’feel that? Feel what you fuckin’ do to me?”

“Joel.” Hands shaking, you reach for the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more of his skin on yours. You whine when he catches both of your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head. “Your clothes—”

“Stay on.” Ducking his head, he nips at your pulse point and mumbles, “Tell me what y’want, pretty girl.”

Joel shifts over you, his cock now resting on your lower belly, thick and heavy and leaking.

You squirm under him, hips coming off the ground, that hollow thing inside of you begging to be filled.

“Use your words, sweetheart. Tell me what y’want.”

“You, Joel—I want you. Please, please, please—”

He hushes you.

“I’ve you, baby. I’ve got you,” Joel promises. He wraps his other hand around himself, dragging the head of his cock along the seam of your puffy folds, up and down—he elicits a ragged little gasp from you when he grazes your clit and his fingers tighten around your wrists. He coats himself in your slippery slick until he’s glistening with it, and then he gives a slow roll of his hips, working himself into you.

Your mouth falls open. No words come out, no pleas for more—only jerky breaths, pathetic little pants for air as you take it.

Joel’s cock throbs, pulses like a heartbeat as your cunt welcomes him home. He presses his forehead to yours. “She’s always so fuckin’ sweet to me.” His voice is low, rough gravel. His eyes meet yours in the dark blue glow of the forest, and he savors the last moments of seeing your pretty face before the last traces of dusk are gone. Brushing his lips to the corner of your mouth, he feeds you his cock inch by inch, murmuring, “That’s it, honey. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You melt around him at his praise.

Releasing your wrists, he moves his hand, placing it on the crown of your head. “Ain’t ever lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he swears. “Alright? Never gonna be apart from me again, baby girl. Never. Y’understand me?” He curls his other hand firmly around your jaw, his fingers sticky with you and him. “Do you understand me?”

“Never,” you repeat, softly.

Joel kisses you, deep and slow, almost sweet. Tender. He breaks away, his lips hovering right over yours as he pushes his hips forward, bottoming out inside you.

Moaning, your hands grasp at his shoulders. Your legs widen further to accommodate the breadth of his hips.

“There y’go.” Joel presses deep within, until your belly feels hot and full. “That’s it, baby. Good girl,” he coos, drawing his hips back, then rolling them right back into you. He takes one of your ankles and tosses it over his shoulder, giving himself a better angle to fuck into you.

A loud cry tears from the back of your throat. “Joel!”

He grins in the darkness. He knew he’d like hearing you scream his name.

Joel’s hand settles on your leg that’s over his shoulder, your thigh already shaking. “Y’gonna be a real good girl n’ give me another one?”

You try to answer him, you really do, but your mind falls further and further away.

His fingertips sink into your thigh. He strokes in and out of you, never retreating more than inches at a time so he keeps you full. Stuffed. “Christ. Takin’ it so fuckin’ well,” he croons, moving your leg off of his shoulder so they are both wrapped around his waist. Hunching over you, he bears down hard, using most of his weight. He almost chuckles at the little oof that puffs out of you.

Rocks and twigs dig painfully into your back, but all you can do is feel him. How close he is.

You’re right there with him.

“Joel—fuck, I’m gonna co—”

You’re cut off by your own sharp gasp.

“That’s it. C’mon, honey.” Joel slips his hand between your thighs, his fingers firmly rubbing your clit. “C’mon, baby. Be a good girl and come on my cock—”

It rips through you like an electric current, a shockwave that has you clawing at the dirt. You come crying Joel’s name, crumbling into a whimpering, quivering mess.

Within seconds, he’s swept away by the same tide.

“Baby,” he groans, dropping his head into the hollow of your neck. He goes still and lets your tight cunt clench at him, gripping his cock as it throbs, pulses, empties into you. After a minute, he brushes a kiss to your neck before mumbling, “My sweet girl.”

Joel makes no move to pull out of you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your soiled fingers toy with the soft curls at the nape of his neck, shattered breaths slowing and piecing back together.

You gaze up through the trees at the night sky, feeling the safest you’ve ever been with the earth at your back and your whole world on top of you, his cock buried in your cunt.

Tess is right. Joel Miller really does have you fucked in the head.

You’re certain of it when you make the realization with a smile.

divider credit to @/saradika 🖤

for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!

[navydoves]

Cyborg!Caleb and his strange affectionate habits

you love your part-robot boyfriend, but he’s a little strange!

✎ᝰ a/n: he was supposed to be a puppy for this series… but then this happened, so now he’s a cyborg. i think you all will like this one. enjoy!

cat zayne bunny xavier mermaid rafayel dragon sylus

ִ ࣪𖤐

❥ he's always scanning you. day or night, awake or asleep, caleb will take it upon himself to check your vitals and health on a normal basis. just a quick little holo-scan from his eye is all he needs. and from the amount of time he already spends staring at you, this is a pretty easy feat.

he knows things about you that you haven’t even figured out yet. you’re gonna catch a cold soon, but he already knows from your white blood cell count. you might not know your period is coming soon but caleb has always got your back and tells you when you’re ovulating or preparing for a period. of course, you ask him not to do it all the time. and of course, caleb is insane, so he doesn’t listen all the time. it’s very intimate to him to know the inner workings of your body.

❥ he can’t sleep next to you (and he tries to fix it). caleb does not sleep in a normal human bed. instead, he sleeps in a tube where his charging port is and asks (begs) you to sleep with him there. and while you do indulge him, it’s very uncomfortable for your human body. even after he tried to enlarge the tube by rebuilding, it’s still not ideal.

he’s so upset that he can’t sleep with you in your bed that he’ll charge himself during the day just so he can be next to you at night. except, he can’t sleep without his port, so he just stays awake next to you, exhausting his energy by admiring you. he talks to himself and you during this time and if you ever stir awake from his murmurs, he’ll apologize and lull you back to bed.

❥ he makes modifications for you. caleb doesn’t wish to be any less than perfect for you, so he’s constantly making tweaks and refinements to his system and body to better adapt to you. like the time he installed a heating system inside of him because you always flinched at how cold he was. or maybe the time he installed more sensors in his wires just so he could better feel your touch.

and while to an extent it is sad, caleb will find a way to make it more fun. he’ll adjust the size and feel to his appendage for your pleasure and he’ll also install vibrations to his fingers if you really ask. or maybe he’ll do something silly like add confetti to his hands so that he can pop them out at celebratory moments.

❥ he forces himself to eat for you. caleb doesn’t really need to eat to keep alive. in fact, he prefers not to because sometimes it’ll make his metal tummy feel weird. he’ll never tell you that, though. he loves you too much to let you know that all the meals you prepare for the two of you are actually making him a little sick.

but he’s gotten better at keeping them down. he modifies his stomach to hold food better and slowly he’s working up toward more intolerable foods—such as spices. one day he hopes to be able to stomach everything you make, but until then, he’ll lie day and night to keep you happy and to bond with you.

❥ he’s very picky at his face. the face is the only thing caleb has that’s human-like. because of this, he’s constantly picking at it; snipping at his hair, shaving, cleaning the skin there, everything he can do salvage what he can of his human form. he also prefers it when you touch his face rather than any other part of him, simply because that’s where he can feel skin to skin contact.

he’ll constantly ask you if he looks handsome as a joke, but it comes from a deeper insecurity within him. he wants to ensure you still enjoy him even as he is, and once he gets your reassurance, he’ll start to remind himself every day that he doesn’t need to worry as much about his looks. because you love him anyway.

❥ he takes secret recordings and photos of you. there are two sides of this, the sweet side and the suggestive side. he loves recording your laughs and photographing your smiles with his system so he can rewatch them when the two of you apart. especially if he’s on a mission and away from you for an extended period of time, he’ll make to stock up on your beauty before he goes.

the suggestive side is more like… a few cheeky pictures of you dressed down or right after sex. maybe even a video of your butt while you’re walking away from him. he’ll never want to take videos or pictures of you during intimacy without your consent, but these small provocative pictures of you are more than enough to satisfy him. if you ever do give him consent to make what is essentially robo-homemade-porn, he’ll play it holographically and watch with you after the fact.

❥ he flies you everywhere! come with caleb on a joyride in his arms. he’ll fly you across town or just around the neighborhood! not that he can’t drive you, he just thinks this way is more fun and special because you’re clinging to him the whole way through. no need to be scared of heights because he’s got you tight in his grip and has 8 backup protocols in case he malfunctions mid-air.

you found it a little embarrassing at first, being a spectacle in the air for everyone else, but now it’s fun! you’ve grown so accustomed to being in the air because of him. and since you have such a fun time, anytime you’re down in the dumps or need fresh air, caleb is always there to take you on a little ride to cheer you up.

❥ he has you engraved. it was part of his hardware modifications, but he once asked you to write your name on a piece of paper, and a week later, he has that same writing etched onto his nape. you couldn’t believe it at first, but it was an exact copy of your handwriting now just seared into him.

he tells you it’s so that he can feel more comfortable in his “skin”. knowing that you’re a part of his new robotic body makes him much more accepting and happier of it. he doesn’t hate it as much, not when you’re always in the back of his mind. ִ ࣪𖤐 hey gals: @chersyluvs , @otomegamesforlife

[s-4pphics]

… are we rolling?

SYNOPSIS: screwing your best friend on live isn’t that strange… right? … RIGHT? 

WORD COUNT: 5.3K

WARNINGS: SMUT — MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS/MEN WILL BE BLOCKED, switch/sub!ellie, switch/dom!reader, brief mentions of misogyny in porn?, ellie bottoms n is slightly bratty in this, readers a service top, stoplight system, fingering, eating pussy, making out, readers dirty mouth[to be expounded, she’s gross], orgasm denial/ruined orgasm, mentions of weed but none used, mentions of sex on camera(not performed,,, yet), mentions of voyeurism, brief mention of exhibitionism, brief mentions of bondage, slight dumbification, laughtercare :)

A/N: i reread click and realized i need more cam star ellie. this is for ME. i wrote this for ME. i needed THIS. another result of ovulation. i imagined jackson!ellie while writing this but imagine any ellie you’d like. sigh... love yall <3 

wait i came back…. guys i think i love writing again. i love editing again. i love rewriting again. hurray/hooray

everybody clap for aestra for proofreading for my drafts :) LUV YA DEAR @edenspoem

“Look here.” 

“I am.”

“Not at my hand, honey. Look here. The camera’s here.” Your fingers twinkle in front of the lens. 

Yes, the camera’s there, but so are your stone-clad, delicate fingers, wrapped graciously around your sloppily stickered tripod where your overtly fancy digital camera sits neat and determined on top. 

Ellie’s trapped in delirium. A lost tango of abiding your very thorough instruction while waltzing the line of entrancement. She hasn’t retained much in the past five minutes because frankly, how could she? The same fingers she’s secretly admired for the better part of 5 years are about to submerge inside her and lead with nothing but carnal instinct. Who wouldn’t go mad? She surely has, and your mattress isn’t even a mess yet. 

The invitation of her star-fishing had been bright and fruitful on your part. Since the birth of your friendship, Ellie has grown incredibly reliant on your clarity. She’s never met a person as honest and forward — but not abrasive — as you are; the reins of the relationship remain stable under your control, never too wild or incessant to be yanked, and much to her appreciation, lack of structure turns you to panic just as it does her. She gains a sense of tranquility from your bluntness, and that day in your car was just that. Blunt.

She was naive at the time: to accept a time bomb disguised as an overtly expensive black coffee, placed gently into your cup holder while Ellie clapped her hands together like a seal. It’s always the same steady routine: coffee and shittalking, the brunette’s favorite pastime. 

If she knew her blood would practically write love letters all over your car windows, she may have never accepted your invite. 

“Would asking to fuck you stupid be too forward?” 

Asked with a nothing tone, simplicity and the brightest eyes. Her soul was snatched clean from its confinement with your manicured claws, palms stained with the maroon of her bleeding heart. She assumed you were pulling her leg for her own sanity, but you’ve never been a puller, at least not during conversations that highlight lengthy forms of human intimacy, but damn, no one had ever asked to bend her over in broad daylight ever. Heat radiated off her and onto you like overworked machinery. 

“I don’t think so?” was her stuttered response, but it hadn’t been enough to convince you. If you were to despise one thing, it’d be uncertainty, and that lost tremor was nearly enough to turn you the other direction. Nearly. Almost. 

How did someone like Ellie, intimidated, clueless— dangerously obsessed— convince? Simple as ever — it was a thoughtful proposal. Straightforward. Not a leg pulled, and in that moment, she knew she garnered your approval. Look where she ended up a few days later. 

“Wanna get in the back… or?” 

Reckless? Yes—but a girl with wants doesn’t care about her mutilated surroundings. Fulfilling her desire: that’s what Ellie needed right then and there, on the seat in the middle of the parking lot of the shopping center. Consider it a repayment for that six dollar cup of nitroglycerin. 

You giggled a sound so tender despite the twistedness of your tongue. Had you finally given Ellie the upper hand? You had to, even if it would be the last time you ever allowed her to lead. She assumed your laughter to be a sign of surrender—finally, she had thought, right as her jacket slid off her shoulders to dangle from your passengers side.

You have an ability to stun with your smile—teeth stained red with every swipe of your tongue on dirtied glass. Ellie fell victim to your attacks all over again, another bomb unleashed, from your mouth this time. 

“Would asking to fuck on live be too forward?” 

Right at that very second, the clouds of the heavens split down the center to embrace her hollow, dark spirit—to protect her from the lecher of a seductress. The angels didn’t dare touch you to bring along: they sense the trap in your softness. There’s so much filth that resides underneath your colorful aura. She took that secret to the sky: how equally sick she was, your exact match. 

You had put heavy emphasis on live. Live as in livestream. Live Stream as in real people watching while you make a mess of her despite having always had, but that would teter into a space neither of you have touched in your friendship. She always hoped there was something there, a fringe of deeper devotion, even if meek; all those times where you caused goosebumps to bloom all over her with your filthy whispers, all the times you’ve called her gorgeous, all the times your fingers travelled, dipped, stayed just a bit too long on her skin. They had to have meant something, and your proposal was proof of it, in her mind at least.

Doing porn had never crossed Ellie’s mind. Viewing was barely satisfactory on its own—an occasional indulgence here and there when she’s desperate and her imagination’s a bore, she’d watch, cum, and fall asleep slightly less antsy. It was a raunchy tool for satisfaction and nothing more.

Until it wasn't. 

Until she scrolled a tad too deep on Twitter after hours—a fuzzy video that lasted no more than 12 seconds, but it mutilated her brain so viciously, and it wasn’t due to the saliva-coated fingers circling around a swollen areola before showcasing sharp fangs. 

No. It was the nightstand in the background, barely in focus; it’s shocking how easily she recognized it. The same nightstand with a knife scratch in the left corner of the top drawer. The one sloppily painted over with neon yellow. The one that holds a floral-patterned lamp that she remembered turning off on countless occasions. 

Your nightstand. Your tits, your saliva, your fingers. You you you and yours. 

A part of Ellie died that night, exactly a year ago. The innocent part. The strictly-friends part. The stress-filled day ended with her rubbed completely raw and swollen and irrevocably high off you: rewatching that same 12 seconds over and over before progressing to minutes long ones of you screwing yourself silly—buried deep at the bottom of your page, then the 15 minute long ones that hid behind a paywall where you got fucked or fucked in positions she didn’t think were possible—even made a burner account to unabashedly like and bookmark every moment of your partners seemingly entranced by you, so much so that she had to comment under an alias—her appreciation for cumming so hard. The relishment hadn’t lasted long because men—the bane of her existence(and yours, every pest now deleted), can never shut the fuck up. Comment after comment: Sexy, Bet you can take massive loads like nothing, I can make you straight again. Ellie’s unsure if she can bring herself to kill, but if she could without a trace… oh, if she could. 

Unfortunately, telling predatory men to kill themselves only beckoned her karma. Her naughty secret had a three-day lifespan. What luck she has. 

Who accidently falls asleep to Twitter porn inside of said porn star’s house, on said pornstar’s couch? 

She was awoken by warmth from a blanket she hadn’t retrieved herself, a fully charged device that she knew she hadn’t plugged in, and breakfast. A good and hefty breakfast for a good and hefty conversation. 

Safe to say you and Ellie’s relationship became helluva lot more personal that morning. 

Personal enough for you to describe in detail the adrenaline you feel when people(not men, people) get off to you, your body. Personal enough to show her videos that may never reach the internet due to their intimacy. Personal enough to ask her to hold the camera while you pose unclothed—that took a bit more time, but it happened. So, so personal. 

Not personal enough to turn her away from fucking you, though. She spent too many late evenings stalking that account—absorbing each line and curve of your stature in lingerie or naked or strapped up, memorizing where and what sensations set you ablaze, rewinding the small seconds right before euphoria consumed you whole. All that studying had come full circle, all to be tested at that moment. Her daydreaming had flipped on her. Tongue in cheek—she didn’t bother hiding her enthusiasm. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“I want you to know this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.” Ellie calls from your mattress, jeans already kicked off to the side of your room. 

“Having second thoughts?” 

Not a scrimmage of disappointment in your tone—eyes soft with alertness and an overcast of concern. 

“No… just talking out loud.”

“There’s no wrong in wanting to back out. This is… it's a bit weird.” 

Live Streaming is weird. That’s probably the scariest part about all of this—not the risk of ending a friendship that Ellie has grown especially fond of, not the potential change in perspective of her from your end, but the perception from strangers. What if she hiccups or makes a weird noise or reacts in a way that’s not… attractive to the masses? What if they don’t like her? You’re the star after all. They pay decent amounts to see you in your sensual glory—Ellie simply doesn’t possess that eloquence this sort of indulgence requires. 

“Or we can opt outta streaming altogether if it’s bothering you. We can just… you know, build up to it.” The shy gesture towards your mattress gets Ellie swooning. Her tone drops an octave, playfulness cranked higher to soothe her nerves. “Are you suggesting that I become a regular?” 

“Would you like to become a regular?” 

“Oh? There's other clientele?” Ellie snickers off the slight—quite slight agitation that sparks within her at the suggestion of others. Unreasonable and annoying, but she can’t help it. “I’ll know for sure after this, no?” 

“I suppose.” You murmur with curved lips, scanning your camera with what Ellie can read as hesitance. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“I’m thinking.” 

“About?” 

“I can’t help but think this is a lot for you. We’ve never even kissed.” 

“I beg to differ—“

You scoff, “we were high. That doesn’t count and you know it.” 

“Why wouldn’t it count?” 

“Ellie.” You scold gently, and her fight falters, sighing deeply when the mattress bunches around her elbows.

“So… what’s the plan?” 

“I told you already. Building up to.” 

Ellie hums with interest you’ve piqued. “Are we rehearsing then?”

“That’s cute. I like that. Sure, rehearsing.” 

She huffs at your mocking, “come closer.” 

“In what world do you think you can tell me what to do?” 

Ellie’s response stays lodged in her throat from its dryness. The air shifts—her world shifts in a way that she feels upside down, her breath scattering and fingers twitching where they rest on your blanket. Heat blooms from her cheeks to her forehead at the ease in your stare. 

You’re so calm. You radiate serenity on the slow journey to your dresser, your rings clattering in your jewelry holder—the same glass seashell Ellie gifted you on your birthday two years ago. It’s a familiar preparation, a ritual she’s mastered on her own, but for some foreign reason, her chest swirls with a sensation that she can’t pinpoint.

“I… um…”

“Yeah? You, um, what?” The corner of your mouth curves ever so slightly—so cunning, and suddenly, the conversation could be about anything. All efforts of indifference melt down through your mattress to drip onto hardwood. The role of your camera is long forgotten with every step your sock-covered feet take. 

Her legs jerk when you finally stand between her legs, jeans tickling her skin, nearly locking you in place by your thighs but you don't falter—she’s frozen in her position, laid out in front of you with confidence on rapid declination.

“Stoplight system.” You whisper, Ellie’s response just as airy. 

“What?” 

“Do you know what that is?” 

Sounds familiar—possibly something that you’ve mentioned in passing a few times. She hadn’t understood the context when you mentioned it during your routine one-night-stand recalls, but you were left giddy enough to talk about them until you went blue in the face. 

She says no, secretly due to how good you sound, raspy and alluring. You could be talking about actual traffic laws and she’d be just as skittish and needy as she is now. 

“If, for any reason, you don’t like something that I do, or say or anything — or if you just want to stop, say—“

“Red.” She comprehends, and you call her smart—just under your breath, and her legs lock on you again. Stoplight. Simple enough. Green or blue or orange or whatever. Come closer. 

“And if I like it? Whatever it is you do.” 

“Then tell me you do. I work better with praise.” 

The room goes silent while Ellie flounders and you inspect, particularly deep and all over her; lines burning into skin with every pass of your pupils on her thighs, scarred and dotted. Your gaze flickers, dilated and fluttering with lust but upholding serenity, eyes capturing and framing every insecurity she’s developed since adolescence, lodged deep into your memory. Such scrutiny… she wishes she had the heart to despise it. 

“Speaking of, what do you like? How do you touch yourself?” With causality, the tip of your index finger traces up her thigh, following the healed gash she earned after failing to hop a fence when she was fifteen. Ellie’s chest gives a tight squeeze when it curls underneath the lining of her shirt to inch it up slightly. A smile twists when you catch the colorful lining of her underwear. 

“I touch myself like everyone touches themselves.”

“And how is that.” 

She scoffs ludicrously. “I don’t fuckin’ know, I just do it.” 

“Does it feel good when you just do it?” 

“I don’t remember.” 

“Interesting.” And with that, you drop to your knees and Ellie nearly faints. 

“You’re tense.” 

“Well, yeah—“

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“You know I’m not.” 

“Then loosen up a bit. I won’t do anything crazy til next week.”

That’s the problem, isn’t it? How does Ellie tell you that she wants everything you have to offer without frightening you? Overwhelming you? Would that even be possible for you—to be alarmed by her desires? It’s hard to tell. There’s three different floggers pinned to your door for fucks sake. 

Yeah… incredibly hard to tell. 

Especially when your fingers hook in her waistband like you've been anticipating ripping them to shreds. You don’t pull, but rest. It’s clear in your vision when she looks up, that tranquil warning: Ellie’s last chance to bail out completely, even as you attempt to mask your smile when you catch a glimpse of her wetness. 

Her lungs constrict with how deep her breath is. Her heart thrashes with her inquiry, ragged and insatiable. 

“And what’s next week?”

You scoff a laugh and Ellie’s thighs twitch. 

“When my paypigs finally get to watch me fuck you dumb.” 

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” escapes in one exhale before she’s sucking in another gust of air.

“Yeah?” 

She barely has any time to squeak her approval before her underwear is torn from her. Her thighs tense with instinct to shut them. You’re eye level with her cunt in all its drippy glory. Ellie’s never felt this form of anxiety when naked in front of anyone. She’s seen your pussy when it glistens under flash—a glorious sight. It feels wrong and misogynistic to call a pussy mediocre but in comparison, you’re beautiful and she's… decent? She’s not as smooth and doesn’t shave because what the fuck for, but she also doesn’t have to worry about people criticizing her pussy in the way they would criticize yours. Her pussy’s hers and hers only… but she’ll die if you think she’s… unattractive. She’ll jump out your window. 

“Why do you look like that?” 

“Like what, dude.” 

“Like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Well, my labias on display, for one—“

Rebuttals die as quickly as they blossom. 

The last bit of oxygen in her lungs is lost when your index and middle finger lay gently over her, stunted by your warmth when you spread her, gentle sloshes from her slick spreading as it spills from her. You’re seemingly unbothered by any of Ellie’s sudden self-judgements, and shockingly, her own brain has silenced under your gawking. She only watches your hand, uses it as grounding before her lungs stop working. 

“Look at you.” You coo. “You’re real cute, baby.” 

“Thanks,” barely mumbled—barely coherent. Your canines bare beneath a smile; you’re about ready to tear her to shreds.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you. How do you touch yourself?” 

“I… just rub one out when I have time.” Her eyes flit from your face to the wall only to find more nudity across pink and faux brick. Even with erratic glances, there’s so much detail and care within each photograph: some from magazine shoots, some from polaroids you’ve captured. Some of you, some with you, and some without you — images left with only your satisfied companions, evidence of your lecher embedded permanently into their skin. 

Will you leave her the same way? Capture her with such delicacy to pin to your wall?  

“… That all?” 

Her entire body engulfs in flames and your gentle scrutiny doesn’t help. Her shoulders bump weakly. 

“I think you deserve a little bit more than that. All ‘m saying.” 

You stand and wave your hand at her, ushering her further back onto your mattress. She flounders stupidly until she’s centered on your pillows and you smile. “Get this off for me.” You tug at the hem of the shirt she stole from your drawer last year. Ellie short circuits when her back arches and fingers tug at the fabric, leaving her fully unclothed—she prays you can’t hear the borderline violent pounding atop her ribcage. 

She fidgets when your arms hook tight around her thighs to yank her closer, her locks dragging across your pillows and before she can even register your closeness, you kiss her. She hardly notices the noise, her noise, vibrating on your lips—guttural and strained and nasally, and she can’t stop wriggling against you, no matter the efforts of you trying to station her hips. 

This kiss is nowhere reminiscent of your first one. You may not remember but Ellie does—chaste but filled with adoration and softness underneath the stars. Gentle and light that got Ellie’s chest stirring with tenderness. This isn’t like that—not when your hands move from her hips to her wrists to pin above her because she keeps pulling you where she shouldn’t. Not when you bite her lips, not when your lips suction around her tongue. Not not not not. 

This kiss is real, this kiss is hungry: pronounced with fervor with every steaming swipe of tongue. Just when she’s sure you couldn’t get any closer, you manage, and Ellie burns wherever your skin touches. You’re making her a mess — you did then when you cradled her cheeks with that doting smile before pecking her mouth that night, and you still do; the proof scents your fresh sheets. How’s that for praise? 

She’s conflicted between wishing you weren’t clothed and desperately needing to grind herself into your jeans. The need to imprint herself in every corner of your comforting sanctuary is enough to turn her animalistic: she tears into your hand with her nails, arches her back to grind up into your leg before you force her still. Every corner you turn, whether she’s here or not or you’re fucking someone else — no matter the ache of that knowledge, there’ll always be a memory of her presence— she was here first, and everytime she ends up under your sheets, you’ll be the first to know.  

You must have the same idea because your mouth and teeth travel south with intent to bruise, down the curve of her neck, and… fuck. 

You pause at her giggle, when her chin tucks slightly to the side to shield the sensitive skin. You suck your teeth at her, all smiles. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t—“

Ellie cackles when you pout, “You ticklish here, too?” One wrist gets freed from your confinement before you poke a tentative finger to the other side of her neck, but the results are the same. Chin tucks and light snickers. You mask your own laughter with a kiss to her cheek. And her chin, and her nose. Until she’s giggled out. 

“It’s weird as fuck, ‘m not ticklish anywhere else but there, not even on my sides.” Nerves unravel her tongue. You hum acknowledgments like you’re listening because you're sweet and care that she feels heard, all while your lips smack down to her chest. 

“My sides are ticklish,” you whisper between her breasts, and she shudders, “my thighs, too.” 

“Noted,” cracks reside in her timbre when your teeth sink into her skin. Her whining replaced laughter. 

“What’re you takin’ notes for?” 

“Gonna tickle you when you’re not looking.” She whimpers.

Ellie’s jaw slacks when you suck a nipple into your mouth. Your hands return to their residence on her waist when she jerks and her back cranes. You sound so far away when you laugh around her, “feels good there?” 

“Agh, shit—“

“Does it? Tell ‘em it does.” You grit, and Ellie freezes. She can feel you smiling. 

Your fingers find the cushions of her cheeks to force her head up, but she’s not looking at you. Not at the wall either. She doesn’t have to. This is a rehearsal, is it not? You're training her for the real thing: to be fully exposed on camera and not feel shame. 

Her eyes meet the camera lense, and you hum around her nipple in satisfaction. She’d bet every dime that her eyes crossed and met directly in the middle. Thank God you’re distracted. 

“Tell them, Ellie. How good is it?” You vibrate against her and her hips launch up into you. 

“It… yeah, it’s really goo—“

You cackle into her chest and Ellie’s eyes squeeze shut. How is it possible that her body’s temperature increased another hundred degrees? Just as she garnered enough courage to talk to a theoretical audience, her voice breaks like a kid going through puberty. 

But your laugh is very reminiscent of jingle bells. She can’t help but smile. 

“They’re gonna love you bitch, holy fuck—“

“Shut the fuck up.” Ellie snickers, and your lips smack against her chest. She has to stop her arms from chasing you when you sit up onto your knees. One quick glimpse at her chest is enough proof that you two crossed paths. You’re all over her. 

Your eyes are soft with their travels over her frame. Too much scrutiny that she’s enjoying: deflection is her only way out of it. “My nips hurt, man, fuck.” 

“Sorry dollface, couldn’t help myself.” 

Her knuckles pale around your blankets when your hands hook underneath her knees, slowly forcing them up where they connect to rest on her chest, and her skin bleeds its deepest shade. Her last bits of anxiety leave in one final exhale before she hooks her arms under her knees to keep them steady. 

“She’s gorgeous, baby.” 

Your directness makes Ellie scoff. She watches you readjust where you’re seated, ass rested on your heels with a hand on the back of her thigh.

“Watch me, ‘k?” You peer from behind her legs. Ellie can barely get a nod in before her clit gets stimulated, circled slow by your thumb. 

“Don’t kick me.” You whisper sillily, and she huffs, albeit dry and breathless, but you smile brighter and her heart soars. 

“How’s that, babe?” 

“Good, like it.” 

“Tell me what you need.” You demand softly and her body feels caressed by your tone alone. 

“C — can you… do it like this?” Her middle and ring finger demonstrate before you: side to side, faster. She likes pressure—bodies on bodies, desperate hands, feeling so needed that she’s drowned by whoever she’s with. She needs that from you. 

Her eyes cycle when you comply with precision—of course you’d be an expert and touch her right where she needs it, get her panting like a dog. 

“Better?” 

“M… mh—“

“Yeah?” You breathe when she whines, and she nods. There’s a pull already forming—more of a yank in the pit of her stomach because she’s on you; dripping onto your sheets, scenting your fingers. She’s slowly infiltrating your space in a way she’s never verbalized but always thought of and you’re allowing it, all because you want her as much as she craves you. She can hear it in your voice, feel it in your touch; you want to own her, even if it’s a mistake or it’s temporary or the damage is irreversible. Her peak is already cresting and she doesn’t even know if the five minute mark has passed.

“I feel it baby, cumming f’me already?” 

Her clit twitches as if commanded. She fucking might if you don’t shut up. You shouldn’t talk like that you shouldn’t sound like that—so alluring and hot and as needy as she feels. She could cum just from your voice, she thinks. She has in the past, but this is different; every vowel is punctuated with swift massages on her cunt by the hands she practically idolizes—the ones attached to her best friend who’s responsible for her messy bed sheets and wrinkled fingertips almost every night. 

You deserve applause for your efforts, so she moans encouragement; hums on about how good you feel, how sexy you are—almost slips and admits that you’re so much better than she imagined when you rub a spot too right. You’re slowly molding her into an open diary with your fingers. 

But Ellie must’ve been too loud. Too wriggly, because you’re gone and standing before the edge of your bed in seconds. She almost sobs but any complaints are strangled quiet by shock when you snatch her arms away to tug her to the edge by the ankles. She chokes on a whine when you drop to your knees, lungs constricting when your mouth latches onto her clit, arms locked tight around her thighs because she can’t stay the hell still, efforts worthless. Your suctions bend her in ways she assumed to be impossible, her nails in search of grounding in your shoulder but you don’t waver when blood drips. She takes you like it with every one of your moans that rattle her from the inside out. 

She’s loud but so are you. With every wail that leaves her mouth, you reply with your own like you feel what she can, but this amount of pleasure is incomparable to anything she’s ever felt. You’re working to break her apart and it’s working; she needs to suffer under you. When a finger prods at her entrance, she knows she’s a goner. The thigh that collides with the side of your head is enough confirmation that she won’t be making it past your bedroom door tonight. 

“Dammit, El—“

Her leg is raised and held at the hind crease of the knee when an eager finger floods around plush and twitchy walls—on a curious search, one rested deep in her while her softness attempts to suck it dry. 

“Gonna have to tie you down to my bed, huh? Keep you nice ‘n still while I wreck this cunt?” 

Her brain wracks with apologies but none actually formulate; just jumbled and broken syllables that sound too much like your name and fuck and deeper. 

She forgets where she is and what’s being done to her when you suddenly graze deeper, fingertip pressed right up against that raised skin that she digs for whenever she fucks herself to you. Her walls practically strangle your index when you snicker at her entranced and lovestruck expression. 

“You close?” 

“Yesyes fuuu—“

Tears wash down her cheeks when you pull out and her euphoric intensity is lost, only left with an ache that makes her abdomen burn. If she was in her right mind, she’d curse you to hell. 

“I know, I know, stop crying. Back up a bit, baby.” 

She slugs but you steady her when those thighs give a little wobble. You keep her leg bent with your hand as you rest. Ellie’s weak arms blindly search for one of your pillows to rest on so she can watch without disturbance. She doesn’t need to beg for you back inside—you’re already stretching her with an extra finger before she can blink and ecstasy takes over her vision, spots on your ceiling, gets her sobbing all over again because it’s too good. 

And you’re laughing—not your normal, excited and chippy giggle that she loves with every cell of her being. This is dark and mocking like you crave her humiliation. She likes that. She loves that. She gives you that: the pleading eyes, grabby hands on your waist, attempts to shut her legs just so you can swear to mount her flat all over again. 

“‘s coming, ‘s comin’ oh my fuck—“ 

“Give it t’ me, be good and give it, c’mon—” 

“—pleasedon’tstop—“

“‘m not. You earned this, yeah? Cum for me—”

There’s 8 wonders of the world. Or 3. However the fuck many there possibly are, your fingers take up two rankings. 

Ellie’s never had an orgasm that deafened her. Either her shout was loud enough to blow her eardrums out or the deep grind of your fingers reached so far that her brain now lacks some function. There’s no wave, there’s no buildup, there’s no anticipation—she just cums, thrashes underneath you, rips your sheets to shreds with her nails. Soaks your wrist til it drips down your forearm with whatever she could give and you take it all, force her through whatever she doubts she can take. Her pleasure is so aggressive it’s almost painful but she needs that. She’ll do and take anything from you if it means you'll do this for her again and again and again until her breath belongs to you. 

She sobs so guttural when your fingers push past her tightly shut legs, your laughter so gleamingly cynical. 

“O—okay—god, fuck, okay, baby, okay okay—“

All over again, your fingers yank her soul from her pussy when you leave. She’s completely motionless against the damp mattress, breathless whines vibrating from her throat as her muscles flex and twitch and beg for your return. She barely manages to roll over onto her side to curl into herself. Every movement is a reminder of what she’s had, what she’s lost due to emptiness. Embarrassment can’t even be felt anymore; she needs you to fuck her again, nerves be damned. 

Some minutes pass with you aimlessly rubbing her leg until that same twinkle—the laughter she knows and treasures—raptures her ears. Euphoria leaves her in the same form, so hysterical it turns her red in the face. 

“So…”

Ellie calms her giggling just enough to hear you say, 

“Same time tomorrow?”

[taeyongdoyoung]

daddy's home

summary: boyfriendless, jobless and hopeless, you rush to take the first opportunity you find, which is a nanny position. but the kids are not the only ones you grow fond of... pairing: seungcheol x reader genre: fluff, smut, single dad x nanny AU warnings: kids (triggering, i know), age gap (unspecified), mentions of past cheating, abandonment issues, potential therapy, male masturbation, confessions, blowjob, kissing, eating out, protected sex (unbelievable), dirty talk, size kink, pet names (sweetheart, angel, darling, little girl), sir+daddy kink, unprotected sex (with baby-making goal), breeding kink, creampie, more kids (sorry im ovulating) author's note: this is loosely based on the sitcom the nanny in that there's a single dad with three kids but minus the dead wife trope cuz that's too depressing for my tastes word count: 4.3k

You are desperate. Your shitty boyfriend cheated on you, broke up with you and you also lost your job. So it’s been a couple of terrible weeks. Now, you would take pretty much any kind of job as long as it pays enough for you to afford food and the bills. ASAP.

Single dad looks for a live-in nanny for his three kids. Full-time with Sundays off. Contact this number for more details.

Okay, truth be told, you’ve never considered yourself as someone who is good with kids. But how hard can it be? Have you mentioned you’re desperate?

“Listen, Miss L/N,” Mr. Choi, your potential future employer starts. “I appreciate your enthusiasm but I’m not just going to hire you. I’m looking for someone with experience.”

“Well, I have a bunch of nephews, if they turned out alright under my care, then I guess that counts for something,” you chuckle.

“That’s very nice but I’m talking about professional experience. Have you been a nanny before?”

“Technically, no, but how can I get experience if you won’t hire me?”

“Touché,” Mr. Choi laughs.

“How about a trial period? Let me spend some time with your kids under your supervision and prove myself capable.”

Mr. Choi nods reluctantly.

“Well, you’re in luck since my little goblins have driven away five nannies in the past month.”

Oh, dear. Five nannies…And here you were thinking this could be an easy job.

“So, what’s one more?” you chuckle nervously and Mr. Choi shakes your hand, agreeing to give you a chance.

You are excited when meeting his kids. The eldest daughter - Chaerry is 15, very elegant and polite. You think that you’ll have no problems with her and you’ll have lots to talk about. The middle child and only son - Dino is 10, extremely mischievous and loud. You’ll definitely have problems. Finally, the youngest daughter, Elsie, is 5, she’s such a cutie but leaves a mess of her toys everywhere she goes. It’s easy to trip if you’re not careful, but nothing you can’t handle.

The trial period goes by in a flash. Dino attempts to get on your nerves by pulling pranks like hiding fake spiders in your bag and spraying your outfit with ketchup, but you accept all that with an easygoing laugh. Elsie constantly asks you to play with her toys and you need an unlimited source of ideas to keep up with her wild imagination, but it feels more like fun than a job. Chaerry is quiet and doesn’t share much at the beginning but eventually tells you about this boy at school she has a crush on. So, you count that as a success.

“I must admit, Miss L/N, I had some worries at first but seeing how quickly my kids accepted you is remarkable,” Mr. Choi shares his observations with you at the end of the trial period.

“So, am I hired, then?” you beam with excitement.

“Absolutely, yes. The kids have taken a liking to you and changing nannies so often is probably not great for them, either.”

“So true. Kids need stability and I would be happy to stick around for as long as you’ll have me, Mr. Choi,” you are thrilled not only because you will have a bed to sleep, food to eat and money to spend, but because you are genuinely looking forward to spending more time with these little munchkins.

And spend time with them you do. You're not sure what exactly it is that makes the kids warm up to you, but whatever the reason, it's working.

With Chaerry, you talk about boys and high school drama and make-up. On one occasion, she tells you something that sincerely touches you.

“Thank you for being my best friend, Y/N. I know I shouldn't keep stuff from my dad, but he can be so overprotective sometimes it's difficult to talk about...well, going on dates with boys, mostly.”

“Aww, Chae, you can tell me anything. It'll be our little secret,” you give her a wink, followed by a hug.

You're not exactly sure what the correct response here is. But you'll make sure to maintain some kind of balance - both look after her safety so that Mr. Choi sleeps peacefully at night and not betray Chaerry's trust in you.

With Dino, after the initial phase of silly pranks passes, you notice that he's become more honest and calm.

“You won't leave us like our mom and all the other nannies did, will you?” he asks you one afternoon as you're watching TV together.

You haven't asked Mr. Choi what exactly happened with these kids' mother because frankly, it's none of your business, but something is telling you they're a lot more hurt than they let on.

“I'm not going anywhere, Dino,” you promise, though really, it's up to Mr. Choi to decide that.

“Good. It would really suck if you left.”

That's a lot, coming from the kid who damaged like half of your wardrobe with all kinds of sauces.

With Elsie, another strange situation takes place due to the fact that the kid has no filter.

“Let's play family!”

“Um, okay,” you agree without thinking much.

“This will be daddy,” Elsie points at a stuffed lion plushie and then grabs a tiger plushie, “And this is you, mommy!”

“Oh, honey. I'm not your mommy,” you try to explain as gently as possible.

“But can you be? Daddy says our mommy left and has a new family somewhere else.”

Okay, that's a lot to unpack here. Though you don't think it is your place, you'll need to have a conversation with Mr. Choi, because the kids obviously have some kind of unresolved trauma...

One evening, after the kids have gone to sleep, instead of going to your room, you wait in the living room for your employer to come back from work, so you can approach the subject as delicately as you can.

“Good evening, Miss L/N. Kids go to bed?” he greets you as he takes off his coat.

“Evening, Mr. Choi. Yes, they did. I was wondering if we can have a chat. It can be a sensitive topic, I'm sure, but for the sake of the kids, I think it's important.”

Mr. Choi nods and takes a seat next to you on the couch.

“About their mother...”

“I was wondering how long it'd take you to bring that up,” he chuckles bitterly. “Other nannies wanted me to spill the tea on day one.”

“Wow, seriously?”

“It's not like it's this big secret, I just prefer not to talk about it unless absolutely necessary. My ex-wife...cheated on me and got pregnant by another man, so we had a divorce and I kept the kids, because she said she wants to start anew with this other guy, and...well, the kids said this is their home and that they won't move. So, I suppose the judge took that under consideration.”

“My God. I had no idea.”

“You couldn't have known, considering I just said I don't enjoy revisiting those painful memories.”

“Yes, of course, I only meant that...I guess it explains some things. Forgive me for saying this, but I think the kids have some kind of abandonment issues. Elsie and Dino, in particular, they seem to have a fear that I'll leave just like...well, their mom and the other nannies.”

“And are you? Leaving, I mean.”

“Not if I can help it. Mr. Choi, your kids are very vibrant and precious to me. I genuinely love my job. But I'm worried that what happened with your ex-wife affected them more than they show. Maybe you should look into therapy?”

“I will definitely take that into consideration. Thank you for your candour, Miss L/N.”

“You're most welcome.”

“What about Chaerry?”

“What about her?”

“You said that Elsie and Dino express these abandonment issues. Does Chaerry not have them?”

“She probably does, but at the moment she's too busy thinking about boys.”

“Boys? At her tender age? I don't think so,” Mr. Choi immediately goes into ultra alpha protective dad mode and you honestly find it kind of funny. And hot.

“Oh, relax, Mr. Choi. It's just typical high school drama. There's nothing to be worried about.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly.

“I'm counting on you. Does it ever occur to you how quickly they grow up?”

“I suppose it's more difficult for you. I've only known them for a few months but I think I get what you mean.”

“Yeah...How strange, it feels like you've been part of this family forever.”

You try not to think too deeply about it. He...considers you part of this family. Elsie called you mommy. Dino doesn't want you to leave. And Chaerry talks to you about boys. A topic, which girls usually discuss with their mothers. Oh, sweet heavens. Maybe, this nanny gig is becoming more than a job...

One Monday Mr. Choi texts you not to come to work this Saturday, as the kids will be spending some time with their grandparents (aka Mr. Choi's parents). However, the moment you receive the text, you're too busy trying to escape from Dino who is chasing you with a water gun in the garden. So, you somehow forget to put it down in your calendar.

Saturday arrives and poor Mr. Choi thinks you'd be in your own apartment. Finally, some peace and quiet. His parents picked up the kids early in the morning to go to the park with them so he's all alone and free to do as he pleases.

But alas, you go down the stairs of Mr. Choi's enormous house and make your way to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for the kids. However, it's too quiet. Hm, how strange. Maybe, they're not awake yet? You shrug as you pour some milk and cereal in a bowl.

Oh, you hear some noise from the living room. Is that the TV? Your curiosity gets the better of you and you enter it only to find Mr. Choi in a very compromising position. He is touching himself, watching very obscene things on the big screen!

You are on the verge of chastising your boss for doing something like that in the living room, where the kids could walk in any minute, when you remember. The kids...They're with their grandparents today. Which means that...Fuck, you're not supposed to be here. You should be at your own apartment instead of being witness to...your very sexy and very single employer taking care of his needs.

You are going to sneak back into the kitchen and wait for a more appropriate time to leave the house when you hear it. At first you think you're hallucinating but then you hear it twice. Your name.

“Y/N...please, let me-” Mr. Choi moans, his eyes closed, he is unaware of your presence.

However, he doesn't get to finish his sentence because you are so shocked that you drop the bowl of cereal, which shatters on the ground with a loud noise.

“Fuck, I'm so so sorry,” you murmur nervously as your boss finally notices you watching him.

His cheeks flushed, his lips pouting, he is the most adorable you've ever seen him. He hurries to tuck his cock back into his pants and turn off the TV.

“N-no, I'm sorry...Miss L/N, what are you doing here?”

Oh, so you're Miss L/N now...Very well, then.

“I apologize. It must have slipped my mind that the kids are with their grandparents today.”

“It must have,” Mr. Choi repeats coldly, obviously embarrassed by this situation.

You wonder if you should tell him what you heard. Would that be unprofessional? But then again, he is the one who said your name, so...what is professional anyway?

“Do you want me to leave?”

He sighs deeply.

“What's the point? You already saw me...fuck, I feel so humiliated.”

“Why would you feel humiliated? Am I so undesirable that my presence immediately turned you off?” you ask bluntly.

“That's not the case and you know it.”

“I'm not sure I know anything anymore,” you admit. “You...said my name. How is that supposed to make me feel?”

“You were never meant to hear that,” Mr. Choi hides his face behind his hands, the redness refusing to leave his complexion.

“But I did. So, what now?”

“Please, don't quit. I realize that what I did is unforgivable but...the kids care about you so much, it would devastate them to lose you.”

“I wasn't even thinking of quitting. But...are the kids the only ones who care about me?” you need to know.

“No...As it so happens, I care about you.”

“So, stop hiding from me,” you don't know where that boldness comes from as you grab his wrists and remove his hands, so you can look at his face. Fuck, he's so pretty.

“You're not...grossed out by me?” Mr. Choi blinks at you in surprise.

“Kinda flattered, actually,” you confess. “But I'd like it much better if you let me take care of your frustrations.”

“You would?” he is unable to believe his luck when you drop on your knees in front of him and take him out of his pants again, engulfing his cock with your pretty mouth. “Y/N...”

The way he says your name is enough to make you even more enthusiastic, sucking him deeper and bobbing your head to the best of your abilities. He grips your hair tightly and you make sure not a drop is spilled as you swallow his cum down your throat. You wipe off your lips and sit down next to him, unsure of what to do next.

“Mr. Choi...”

“Call me Cheol, please.”

“Cheol...may I kiss you?”

Seungcheol doesn't respond and instead kisses you passionately, grabbing your face with his hands. His tongue is exploring your mouth in ways you'd never imagined could bring so much pleasure and you can't resist the urge to sit in his lap. Somehow, against all reason, he's hard again, as you grind against him. Fuck. He's so hot and sweet and amazing you just want to make him happy. How anyone could cheat on this fine man is beyond you.

“Um...not to assume or anything, but do you have a condom?” you ask sheepishly.

“I do, yes,” Seungcheol goes to his coat and brings a package.

“I mean, don't get me wrong, I love kids, but I think we should be responsible considering this is our first time together and you already have three of your own,” you're probably talking too much but oh well. Better safe than sorry.

“No, I understand. You're totally right.”

“Will you fuck me?” you inquire.

“Here? On the couch?” Seungcheol is in disbelief.

“Well...you were touching yourself here, but I guess it's whatever. Your home, after all.”

He chuckles, suddenly embarrassed again.

“Come on, let's go to my room.”

Seungcheol offers you his hand and you follow him upstairs excitedly. Is this really happening? Are you seriously going to do this with your boss?

He lifts your chin up because he notices you're not meeting his eyes out of nervousness.

“Look at me,” he commands you easily and you're on the verge of falling apart and he hasn't even undressed you yet. The power this man holds over you... “We don't have to do this if you're not ready.”

“It's not that. I do want this. It's just...I don't remember if I told you but I was also cheated on. A little before I came to work here. And like, I haven't been intimate for a while, so I'm nervous. What if I mess something up?”

“Okay, first of all, give me that asshole's address, I just wanna talk. And second of all...darling, I haven't been intimate since way before my divorce took place. Trust me, I'm a lot more nervous than you right now.”

You shake your head.

“Whatever you do, I'm sure I'll find it like super hot.”

Seungcheol laughs and tilts his head, kissing you again.

“You're so cute,” he whispers against your mouth. “I can't wait to ruin you.”

And just like that, it's as if a switch is flipped. He pushes you onto the bed and leans above you menacingly, a devilish smirk painting his pretty face. Seungcheol pushes your dress up hurriedly, touching you all over.

“You really thought you could get away with it, huh? Walking around my house in those dresses of yours looking so sexy? Tempting me?”

“N-no, s-sir,” you murmur, not knowing where the title is coming from.

“God, I'm such a cliché. An old man unable to resist the gorgeous young nanny...”

“You're not old, sir,” you try to reassure him. You're not sure if he's just engaging in dirty talk or is actually having some insecurities. He's still young in your eyes. Whatever the case, you're there for him.

“Don't lie to me, sweetheart. I'm too old for ya...I have three kids. What do you have, hm?” Seungcheol speaks while caressing your pussy through your panties.

“I have you, sir,” you smile and palm his dick teasingly.

He sighs wistfully and buries his head between your folds, licking and teasing until you're a soaking mess for him.

“S-sir, p-please...C-cheol, don't stop,” you cry out helplessly.

It feels so good, too good. He holds you down, hands gripping your thighs as you cum against his tongue. He barely gives you any time to recover as he rolls up a condom on his cock. You stare at him hungrily, impatient to have him inside of you.

Seungcheol is like the drug everyone warned you about. Once you have him, you won't be able to quit.

“Are you ready?” he asks softly in sharp contrast with his previous behaviour.

“Please take me, Cheol,” you would beg if you had to.

And take you he does, entering you deeply with his big cock.

“Fuck, you're so tight, barely fitting me in,” he speaks, stroking your clit in circular motions with his thumb, while he fucks you harshly.

“It's okay, I won't break, sir,” you try to convince him.

“What if I want you to break, little girl?” Seungcheol inquires, his voice half-joking, half-serious, as he.

“Then, I'd be happy to serve you, daddy,” the word slips from your lips before you could think twice about it.

“Daddy, huh? You need daddy to make you cum?” you are grateful he plays along instead of making fun of you in this very vulnerable moment.

“Yes, daddy, please, I'll do anything for you,” you promise in a daze.

“Cum for me, sweet girl, let daddy take care of you,” his deep voice is enough to bring you to the edge.

“Fuuuck, daddy...Cheol,” you mumble repeatedly, as white appears before your eyes.

You're shaking in his arms but it feels like flying.

“I've got you, angel, daddy's right here,” Seungcheol comforts you, as he rides out his own high, spilling inside the condom. Then, taking it off and throwing it in the garbage bin, he hurries back to you.

You make grabby hands at him and he envelops you in a hug.

“I'm here, sweetheart,” he kisses your forehead gently and you melt against his chest.

“Cheol...I think you just murdered me a little,” you laugh.

“Well, then, I better make sure I revive you, because I can't imagine my life without you.”

“Good. You ain't getting rid of me.”

“That sounds perfect because me and the kids would like you to stick around.”

“Oh God, the kids! What time are they coming back?”

“We've got time, don't worry, they should-”

“Daaaad, we're home!” you hear Dino's loud voice from downstairs.

“Fuck,” Cheol curses under his breath and the two of you hurry to make yourselves look somewhat presentable.

Once dressed and back in the living room, you can only hope that you're not too obvious about what went down. However, you can't stop yourself from glancing at Seungcheol and he's just as flustered as you.

“Oh, hi, Y/N,” Dino greets you as if it's completely normal for you to be there. As if you belong.

“How was your time with your grandparents?” you ask, trying to act casual.

“We had so much ice cream!” Elsie squeals excitedly.

“Grandma and Grandpa took us to the park,” Chaerry starts telling you about everything they did in great detail and you are glad that the shy girl you first met is becoming a confident young woman.

Elsie is asking for more ice cream but Seungcheol is explaining that it's lunch time. Dino is painting the table with mustard and honestly, that's so on brand for him...

It is funny where desperation brought you. You realize this is the happiest you've been in a while.

Later, when Seungcheol catches you alone after spending the afternoon with the kids, he asks:

“I know we kinda messed up the proper order of things, but...would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Oh! I'd love that, Cheol. Is it okay to still call you that?”

“Yeah, it's alright.”

“What about in front of the kids? I'm not sure to what point you'd like to mix professional with...personal life.”

“In front of the kids is okay, too,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Actually, do you know what Elsie keeps asking me?”

“What?”

“When will you make Y/N my new mommy?”

“Yeah, that definitely sounds like something Elsie would say.”

“So, um, no pressure. But I think you're more than the nanny to me.”

“Well, I would certainly hope so. I didn't raise you, mister!”

Seungcheol can't miss the opportunity for a joke. He takes hold of your hand and places it on top of his...very hard dick.

“You raised him, though,” he whispers.

“Mr. Choi!” you hiss, scandalized. “I mean...Cheol.”

“Did you mean daddy?” Seungcheol teases you relentlessly.

“Stop it, you deviant!” you shake your head. “Fuck, you'll never let me live this down, will ya?”

“Do you kiss your boss with that mouth?” he smirks.

“Don't mind if I do,” you reply and bring your lips to his.

A year passes by quickly. You love every day of your life. Whether it'll be spending time with the kids, or going on fun dates with your boss turned boyfriend, or having mind-blowing sex with said specimen, you are truly happy with how things turned out for the best.

With one tiny thing missing.

“Cheol, can I ask you something?” you mumble one evening, as you are playing with his soft, fluffy hair.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Seungcheol turns towards you, giving you his fullest attention.

“Have you ever thought about having more kids?”

“Hmm, it hasn't crossed my mind. I already have three kids. But it depends. Is that something you're interested in?”

“Not till now. But if it's with you, I'd love to have a kid,” you confess shyly.

“Well, then, let's make you a mommy,” Seungcheol quickly makes it his mission and for the first time, doesn't use a condom.

“Yes, please, daddy, give me your cum,” you moan wantonly, as he fucks you deep.

“Take it like the good girl you are, I'll give you all I've got, fuck a baby in ya,” he grunts in your ear, sounding even more excited than you are.

“I love it, feel so full,” you whimper and can't stop kissing him. You can't believe this beautiful man is yours and wants to give you another present.

“That's right, sweetheart, I'll stuff you full of it,” he moans and releases himself inside you. Your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper, as you reach your high.

Seungcheol gently pushes the cum that's spilling out of your pussy back inside and lifts your legs up.

“Do you think it'll stick?” you ask doubtfully.

“Can't hurt to try again until it does,” he shrugs, determined to succeed.

Nine months later, as you welcome the twins into the family, you realize you've never expected to achieve so much happiness.

“You really had to outdo yourself and give me not one but two babies,” you playfully push Seungcheol's shoulder.

“Is it too late now to say sorry?” he grins nervously.

“Don't be. I'm more than satisfied. But you'll have to give me a raise!”

“I'll give you something better than that,” Seungcheol promises and pulls a diamond ring out of his pocket.

“Oh my God,” you are in shock.

“Y/N...you've given me more than I could ever hope to deserve. You started off as a nanny but you became my three kids' best friend and now, the mother of two more angels. You became my closest person, my source of joy, my sweetheart. Knowing that I can come home to you is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Will you do me the absolute honour of becoming my wife?”

“Yes, of course, yes!” you say through your tears and kiss him, as he slides the ring on your finger.

“Can I call you mommy now?” Elsie peeks her adorable head behind the door, followed by Dino and Chaerry, who are all excited by the good news.

“Congratulations, Y/N!” Chaerry greets you with a hug and whispers: “Thanks for taking one for the team and making our lonely old man. happy.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Seungcheol complains loudly.

Dino jumps on the back of his dad with a loud squeal.

“You better treat her right, Dad!” the boy warns. “Or I'll ketchup your room!”

“Why do I feel like I'm the one being welcomed into the family?” Seungcheol bemoans his fate but he's never smiled wider.

“You'll get used to it,” you joke. “Come on, guys, meet your new brother and sister.”

“Hii, babies!” Elsie and Dino jump excitedly around the twins.

“Oh, they're so cute! Aren't they so cute, Dad?” Chaerry coos at the babies.

“They are, but it's too early for you to think about how cute babies are. Look at me...I already have five. Isn't it tragic?” Seungcheol keeps messing around.

“It could have been twelve or something,” you play along.

“I can't imagine,” Seungcheol cries out indignantly. But deep down, maybe he can.

The End

[bejeweledinterludes]

still got the blues.

OR on one quiet night spent in the bunker, you discover that the notorious, god-fearing, big, bad ‘n scary, six-foot badass hunter that is dean friggin’ winchester (aka one of your closest friends) isn’t as tough as he seems.

well.

in bed, at least.

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : sub ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 8.8 k. (FAITH BE NORMAL CHALLENGE LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

「 content / warnings 」 : MINORS 🤺🤺🤺 GET BACK! AWAY!later seasons sub dean winchester x fem reader (yes i have a problem, no i don’t care thank you!). masterbating, handjob, unprotected sex. yeah this may be the horniest thing i’ve ever written in my life.

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

HELLOOOOO THE LONG-AWAITED SUB!DEAN SMUT IS FINALLY HERE 🙂‍↕️🙏‼️ shoutout and thank you to @supernotnatural2005’s drabble / oneshot for the inspo on this one <3 because i think we all want to catch dean like this— which is why i wrote about it!

ALSO @figthoughts’ post from the other day too… yeah idk guys we’re just horny and ovulating connected or something when it comes to mr. jensen ackles and his characters. love you figgy pudding!

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

being on the road with sam and dean for god knows how long now, you’d gotten used to all the sounds each idiot knucklehead brother would make in their sleeping state as you passed their rooms— so much so that it was basically white noise at this point, and you just tune it out.

yeah, tonight was different, though. sam had left much earlier— he and elieen were finally going on a real, live, actual date, much to your joy. which meant you and dean were alone in the bunker together. that doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you usually stay up watching 80s movies and arguing over niche things like whether or not they used real flames in back to the future (they didn’t).

that was yet another reason why tonight was different: you hadn’t seen dean all day, much less tonight. he’d been out doing god knows what— and you barely even heard him come back a few hours ago.

but you didn’t push. actually, you didn’t dare to set foot past dean’s door— taking the long way down the hall to get to the kitchen or the library throughout the evening, secretly hoping he wouldn’t come out of his room or even acknowledge your existence.

because… honestly?

living with two other men?

who the hell were you kidding. you could use a night to yourself.

and not to your knowledge or anything, but so could dean.

no disrespect though, because dean really was wishing you were there— or, rather, he was imagining you with him, which was the only acceptable option at the moment.

…but this was definitely a new low. even for him.

see, while you were actually attempting to be productive with your night, dean was not.

like, at all.

while you were doing your laundry, putting clothes away in your room, watching a show on your laptop with your airpods in— thank god, otherwise this whole thing would blow up in dean’s face…

…for the most part, figuratively.

because dean— and how does one say this without sounding like a complete and total creep?

well, dean was jerkin’ it in his own room.

fappin’.

beatin’ da meat.

whatever the male version was of flickin’ the bean.

oh, and the (best) grossest part?

he was thinking about you while doing it.

yeah, yeah, it’s sick, it’s definitely wrong on so many levels— and it sure as hell feels downright illegal and a sin to be doing it while you’re in the fucking bunker.

it’s the lowest of the low. weird. pathetic.

but then again, dean’s always been a little… pathetic when it comes to you.

don’t let anyone know you know that, though.

so, back to dean being pathetic and horny. he’d been at the bar in town for hours earlier tonight, trying to find someone to satisfy the strain on his pants— and that someone needed to look a whole lot like you to get the job done.

how hard could it be?

well, apparently, in lebanon, kansas, finding a look-alike clone of your best friend so you could fuck them silly? it’s really goddamn hard.

and so was dean.

so here he was—did i say pathetic already?— jerking off in his bedroom like some horny teenager. he’s on his fourth, maybe fifth time cumming to the thought of purely just you.

that’s right, no porn, no nudie mags, not even a goddamn picture in his free hand— because dean was wound up so freakin’ tight, he didn’t need anything. just his hand and his filthy imagination.

it’s humiliating. dean’s literally bucking his hips up into his hand as of right now, imagining it’s yours and not his— all while letting out these little noises that do not sound like they’d be coming from a six-foot, tough as nails hunter. but they are.

and they’re all for you.

dean winchester does not whimper. hell, no. but the broken sound that rips from his throat, tossing his head back on his pillow after he tugs a little too hard on himself was anything but.

and maybe dean should be making less noise— but he knew you so well, too well— you’d have your airpods on noise canceling, anyway. and he can’t even think about if you didn’t. he’s too wrapped up in a haze right now. he’s so distracted. by-god intoxicated.

because dean’s imagining you after that one hunt in virginia. yeah. the moon had been out that night, and god, the way it hit you— a combination of this deep blue and silver and it just lit up your skin, illuminating you like you were one of those ancient goddesses, like the ones he’s only read about in old myths and legends when he’d been so bored he actually did research in the library.

dean’s imagining you, just you, right there with him, and it was your hand, not his. imagining you pulling those sounds from his throat while he’s breathing so heavy, his chest heaving up and down. and the sheets covering only his bottom half were shifting with him as he was moving what seemed like his entire bed along with him as of now.

dean was trying to be quiet.

but his body was not letting him.

and poor you— oh, sweet, innocent you. because as far as dean knew, you were completely oblivious to what was currently occurring in his bedroom at the moment.

but what dean didn’t know was that your airpods had died over an hour ago.

and you’d made the mistake of not taking the long way back to your room this time, thinking that dean had gone to bed due to the late hour.

you had stopped in your tracks in the hall coming back from the kitchen— because you heard dean. heard his little broken groans, damn close to whimpers.

and you genuinely believed that dean was just having a nightmare at first— because hell, with the shit you guys encountered on the daily, it wasn’t uncommon for any of y’all to make a goddamn racket in your sleep.

drawing that conclusion— because it was the only one that was realistic, you start towards your room again, already starting to tune out dean’s weird-as-hell noises.

but before you even take two more steps past dean’s room, you hear something else— a little muffled through the door, but clear as day. because it sends a jolt straight through you.

your name.

he’s having a nightmare, you remind yourself. he could be just calling out to you in that sense, because that would be logical. but then he says your name again. and again.

and it’s just your name.

not sam’s.

not cas’.

just. yours.

and dean sounds like a man possessed at this point. his eyes are squeezed shut, as if he’s trying to banish the image of you from his mind.

but he can’t. and he never would.

he just can’t do it. can’t keep himself in check anymore.

so that’s why dean groans your name at the next motion of his hand on his dick— saying it for the fourth time since you’ve been stopped outside his door.

and it wasn’t a ‘i’m-in-so-much-pain-and-scared’ groan, the kind when someone has a nightmare— no, dean’s groan sounded like a ‘oh-that-feels-so-fuckin-good’ groan, like the kind someone makes when…

oh.

oh.

dean knows he sounds pretty close to, if not completely pathetic. not at all like the good ol’ badass hunter of lore, not that you’d believed him to be. you’d think he’d sound more in control, or at least not whimpering.

dean’s battled both heaven and hell. purgatory. angels, demons, monsters, even sometimes, just people, you name it— he’s fought it and kicked its freakin’ ass, even god himself.

and his one fault? his only weakness?

you.

it’s always been just you. your stupid pretty face. the way you laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t that funny. the way you stood by him and his brother’s side— and in the hunting world, associating with the winchesters meant a death sentence. you didn’t care, though. you never did. it was in the way you were always there, especially when it counted.

and here he was. jerking off and thinking about you.

this had to be rock bottom. right? if not that, purely a whole new level of scumbag. even if you couldn’t hear him.

oh, but you could. and you’re lingering outside dean’s door— because you didn’t even have to put your ear on it to hear the noises he was making, clear as day.

dean feels like he’s drunk, delirious. this always happened whenever he fantasized about you. a pathetic, groaning and whimpering mess. hell, in this state, he’d damn well beg.

and oh, he was.

“fuckin’— please— god, i need you, please—”

damn, you could almost see it— dean’s hand, hidden by the dark of his room, but the way the sheets move makes it obvious just where his hand is. and it’s a blur.

yeah. there was no more holding out, no more being strong. not now.

because dean feels like he’s on the edge of his own personal hell.

and you? you’re stuck.

dean was… well, fucking doing that. and you’re just… stuck. you would have just kept walking past his door, putting your pillow between your ears and teasing him about it tomorrow morning.

because instead crying or groaning out the name of some random girl or even farah fawcett— dean was currently begging.

for you.

and you’re still stuck. dean feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. he’s gonna cum again, he knows it. he also knows he should be quiet, but the words and your name just keep spilling out of his mouth, and he’s too far gone to stop them.

“ah— fuck. please. please, please, goddamn it, i need you, i need you, i need you…”

yeah, dean’s brain’s not in charge anymore. honestly? it hasn’t been since he met you all those years ago— with your stupid pretty hair, and your stupid pretty mouth, and the stupid soft sounds you make in your sleep that drove him insane whenever you used to share a motel room.

dean needs you.

and you needed a fucking cold-ass shower.

because the way dean was sounding right now? he only sounded like that in your dreams. your deepest, darkest fantasies. it was making your knees buckle.

yeah. there’s absolutely no way any of this was real. this was straight out of a porno. this had to be the trickster’s doing, or something.

because the real dean didn’t act like this. and yet, here he was. and here you were, your stomach flipping each time a sound leaves dean’s mouth and bounces off the wooden door that was still splitting you two apart.

and right then and there, you wished you had the balls to just open it.

because you wanted to be right there next to dean, pulling those noises out of him yourself.

“need you—need you right there, need you, right, right, oh, god, there—”

even in dean’s own fantasies, the ones that drove him to insanity like right now, he’d always thought about this. you actually being there, him actually saying all this to you.

dean would’ve given anything, then. anything. just to have you right next to him in his bed.

yeah, well, you’re still just stuck.

because what the fuck do you do.

do you walk back to your room? pretend you didn’t notice? pretend it never happened? not listen to the sounds dean was making?

or, do you open the door? go in his room and just show dean how you’d really felt about him— for years now?

and lately, it seemed like you all you could think and dream about was being in the same bed with dean, touching every part of him.

because if you were in there right now, you’d touch dean’s skin that you yourself had deemed forbidden, because it’d be seen as crossing a line, breaking a boundary.

hello? reality check, anyone?

come on. dean was your friend.

but the noises he was making in your name— because of you? that was anything but.

yeah. if you were in there, you’d start with your hands on dean’s chest, going lower, and lower, until he started making the sounds he was making now, gasping and begging right in your ear for you, not stopping until he completely just—

yeah, that was it.

you knew your answer.

and dean needs exactly what you’re about to do. because god, he’s thought about it. in the dead of night, when he was alone, or when you’d been just out of reach sitting next to him in a dive bar, he’s wanted this. wanted you.

dean wanted to know the way your hands would feel against his skin, how your body would feel against his own. he’s thought about it. hell, he’d dreamed about it. fantasized— just like he was doing now.

and dean was still fantasizing when you throw away every single rational thought you had at the moment and manage to open his door without making a noise— thank you, hunter skills.

this was crazy. right?

eh. you’ve done crazier.

no. not like this.

and not with dean.

but still, you managed to cross the threshold of dean’s room— and you even sit down on the edge of his bed.

okay, the more you thought about it…was this awkward?

maybe.

oh, but dean doesn’t even notice you— his eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth parted and huffing out pants and broken noises as one of his hands continues to move fervently. his hips are wild, bucking into his hand— and his body is shaking his entire bed frame.

dean’s too far gone to notice anything, lost in a fantasy that’s been haunting him for longer than he’s willing to admit out loud. the only thing that could even remotely stop him would be—

hold on.

dean’s hit by a familiar scent— the one he’d been imagining this whole time. but that really does smell like— and its now so close, so real, it practically envelopes him. and his eyes open to—

you.

right there. in his bed. within reach. looking at him like he’s always wanted you to look at him.

and there’s no disgust or anger on your face as you look down at dean, still frozen in place. no, just a hint of amusement, mixed with something else—

something dangerously close to pure want.

you don’t say anything, even though you know you should by now. because now dean knew that you knew exactly what he’d just been doing— more importantly, you were now aware of who the focus of it all was.

and goddamn if the look on your face doesn’t have dean pausing, too. he’s never seen it on your face before. and it’s too dark in his room for him to really make it out, but he thinks he sees—

you weren’t disgusted. you weren’t grossed out, or even angry.

you’re just… looking at him like the fantasy he’s been chasing isn’t a goddamn fantasy anymore— but instead something he could reach out and touch. feel.

dean has to swallow whatever excuse he could come up with to talk himself out of what you’d just walked in on. what you’d just heard. and his mouth is dry.

a part of you wants to pounce onto dean right now. to kiss him silly, touch him everywhere and make him gasp your name again— only with you being the sole instigator this time.

but the annoying other part of you halted that urge.

and why?

because of your stupid morals.

your goddamned feelings.

and you had to ask dean, had to know— even if the answer hurt you.

“how long?”

dean’s brain almost completely flatlines for a long moment. though, he knows what you’re insinuating, of course.

how long dean has been thinking about you in that way? how long and hard had he fantasized about his hands on your body, his mouth on your skin, and his dick buried so deep inside you, he gets hand cramps almost every night he’s alone?

yeah. it scares him, just how goddamn long it’s been.

“…years.”

that was all you needed. in reality, you don’t actually pounce or anything, but you do move closer to dean on his bed, tossing one leg over both of his to straddle his lap before meeting his gaze again.

“you have no idea,” your voice is barely above a whisper to dean as you keep his gaze, making yourself comfortable in his lap. “how much i wanted to hear that.”

and dean can’t help the groan he lets out, at feeling your weight, your body, straddling his lap. he’s spent too many nights dreaming of exactly this. his hands automatically go to your hips, as if they’re on autopilot.

because he’s not in charge anymore.

and honestly?

he doesn’t think he ever was when it came to you.

and a small smile tugs on your lips when you feel dean’s hands on your hips— your own fingers start to trail from his wrists and up his arms, your pace slow, but deliberate.

because you were going to memorize every inch of dean that you could.

oh, dean’s just barely managing to keep his hips still, to not buck up underneath you. he can feel you, now that you’re straddling him, the heat there, where he’d wanted to feel you for so, so long.

and when your fingers trail up his arms, dean shudders. because it’s so gentle, tender. he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him this way, if at all.

your hands eventually reach dean’s face. oh, his gorgeous face. you cup both sides, taking in everything: those green eyes of his, the freckles you could see only if you were up close dusting on his nose and cheeks—his features were illuminated only by the dim light of his desk lamp, but you could see so much because of how close you both were now.

the slight smile is still on your lips as you look at dean— because you were still a little sure you were going to wake up at some point.

but this wasn’t a dream, you had to remind myself. dean was under you. he wanted you, in the same way you’d wanted him for as long as you can remember.

and dean feels like he can’t breathe properly. he’s been slapped, punched, cut, beaten, tortured, everything violent under the sun done to his face— but no one’s had their hands on it like this.

he feels too exposed, too vulnerable, but he doesn’t move.

because it’s you. it could only ever be you.

dean keeps his gaze locked to yours, even as he has to stop himself from just completely melting into the palms of your hands on his face. he wants to look at you for forever, keep you just like this— and his expression is so open, so bare.

your thumbs gently graze across both of dean’s cheeks as you hold his face in your hands.

and you can’t look away.

so you don’t.

but you do lean a fraction closer to dean in his lap, breaking the silence in a hushed whisper— because there goes your stupid doubts and feelings, again.

“you want this?”

even though he almost wants to, dean can’t laugh. not when he knows you’re being serious. it kills him, a little— that you’re still doubting it.

because how could he not want this? you?

“god, yes.” dean’s not even sure if he says that out loud, or just thinks it— but he’s nodding regardless, and with the movement bringing his face even closer to yours.

and your gaze softens almost completely when dean says that— but there’s one doubt that sticks, even when his words wash all the others away from your mind. the one that’s been there almost the entire time you’ve known him.

“de, i…” you don’t take your hands off of dean’s face when you try to speak again— but the words die in your throat. you swallow a little, averting your gaze.

and god, when dean hears you hesitate, he’s already on edge.

dean doesn’t know what you’re about to say,— all he’s aware of is that you’re now looking away from him. and he can’t have that, so he brings his hand (non-jerking, of course) to your chin, gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him again.

he tries to keep his voice even, but he can’t.

“tell me.”

you’re forced to keep dean’s gaze when his hand touches your face— and his fingers are so warm, you almost lose your train of thought completely.

you’ve wanted dean for so long— but you had to make sure he fully felt the same way you did.

not just lust. not something to walk past awkwardly the next day.

“i— i can’t do this… just for tonight,” you swallow hard again, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flick between dean’s. “but i… i think you know that.”

even with the worry that had been coursing through his veins, dean couldn’t help but be impressed at the fact you think there’s a chance in hell he’d be able to have you once and just… let you go afterwards. his hand on your chin drops a fraction, resting on the side of your throat instead. he swallows, then finds his voice.

“i know.”

your gaze softens a little— and it’s a little embarrassing how much weight felt completely lifted off your chest when dean says that.

you had denied your feelings for dean for years now. and now knowing that he felt the same way, it was getting harder and harder to control the urge to just do what you wanted.

“well, good,” you bring your hands to tilt dean’s head up more to you as you’re in his lap, eyes flicking down to his lips— because you so needed to know what they felt like. “that’s— that’s good.”

and damn, if dean isn’t already struggling. nothing’s even happened yet, and he’s trying his best just to keep still, to resist all his natural impulses and desires to just grab you and never, ever let you go. when your eyes flick down to his lips, his follow suit almost instantly. his voice is almost a damn croak when he responds.

“yeah?”

all your senses were filled with just dean. and you needed more. you’d denied your feelings for far too long— years now, in fear of him not reciprocating. but you couldn’t deny your feelings or your urges anymore.

“yeah,” you echo back in an exhale, your thumbs grazing on dean’s cheeks. your gaze is still on his lips, but you look back up at him. “you— you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

hot damn.

dean feels like he’s going to wake up at any second at those words that just came out of your mouth. because he never dared to let himself hope that you could feel the same way he did. and it’s been so, so goddamn long of wanting you with every fiber of his being, wanting to touch you and hold you and never, ever let you go.

oh, he’s too far gone to even feel sheepish about how he’s almost shaking now, hands trembling and breath coming fast as he’s barely keeping the reins on his self-control.

dean’s trembling sends a shiver down your spine. even after you just said all that, he still wanted this.

you might die.

or you were already in some version of heaven that jack made up.

because dean wanted you.

“just lemme kiss you,” dean would be embarrassed of how desperate and out of breath he sounded if he could give two damns. he says your name again: “please—”

dean can’t even think straight anymore. yet, never could when it came to you. his hands go to your thighs, gripping tight like it’s all he can do to resist the urge to just flip you over right that moment.

you can’t hold back anymore.

neither can he.

so you don’t.

you close the final distance between you both, taking his mouth in a kiss that’s hard, desperate and full of years’ worth of emotion.

and dean’s lips felt like home. and that’s a weird thing to say, but it was true. you’d never kissed him before this, but it really was him that you’d been missing all this time.

your hands on dean’s face trail into his hair, and you could feel yourself completely melting into him when you pull myself closer to him in his lap, hips fully slotting with his own— and you both groan a little at the feeling.

dean kisses you like a goddamn starving man, his hands gripping at your thighs so hard he’s afraid he’s leaving marks. but he can’t bring himself to care, because he’s finally kissing you. finally having you in the way he’s only dreamt of.

dean hasn’t been touched— kissed like this, ever.

like he’s something precious. to be loved. it makes him feel weak. but he can’t really bring himself to care about that, either.

all you could think about was how good dean smelled. and as his lips danced with yours, he even tasted good. like whiskey and something you couldn’t place— but it sure as hell was definitely dean.

and god, it’s perfect. dean’s trying to swallow the little noises his mouth is threatening to make again as you kiss him back, kissing him like you feel the same— he thinks he’s losing his mind for what felt like the millionth time tonight.

dean’s grip on your thighs tightens even more. he couldn’t help it anymore— he rocks you against his lap, his hips bucking up against yours in an involuntary but much needed movement. and a little sound pretty close to a whimper does escape him this time, hitting your lips as you grind your own hips down onto him.

you had to break your lips from dean’s to get stupid air, but your forehead rests against his as one of your hands unlatches itself from his hair, trailing downward on the fabric of his henley as you’re in his lap.

and you’d tease him about the noises he’s making— if it wasn’t leaving your underwear a complete and sopping mess because of it.

dean’s mind is hazy, lost in the feel of you against him and in his lap, his mind trying to keep up with all the things happening.

he’s a hunter, goddamn it.

he needs to get a freakin’ grip.

but he can’t.

because of the way your kiss felt like a drug. the way you’re so close he can feel your breathing, and the way you’re grinding up against him like you mean it—

and then dean feels your hand on his shirt, sliding further down past his stomach, and he feels like he’s about to go insane. he’s hallucinating, under some sort of spell that shows you what you’ve always desired. that’s the only plausible explanation.

but this was real. oh, so real.

dean’s hands were still holding on for dear life on your thighs, but your own was still going farther and farther down the fabric of the henley he was wearing, stopping at the hem and tugging on it, talking against his lips—

“put your arms up f’me, dean.”

goddamn, if that doesn’t make him literally shiver when you say his name like that, all breathless and pretty.

and dean follows the instruction, raising his arms and letting you pull the shirt over his head, revealing his the skin underneath.

he’s not even embarrassed of his scars, the marks on his body from over the years. not with you. the uneven skin told their own tales he wouldn’t dare open his mouth about, even after three whiskeys deep.

you discard dean’s shirt somewhere in his room without another thought when he lifts his arms up.

you’ve actually only seen dean shirtless twice— once after a hunt, and if you count that one time when that motel room with shitty air conditioning that got too hot last summer. you kept your eyes glued to the lore in front of you then, not daring to look.

this time, however, you couldn’t look away.

not even if you tried.

your lips are parted in what could only be described as pure awe while your eyes and fingers rake over every inch of new skin revealed while still in dean’s lap. first trailing a path up his exposed arms as your eyes continue to drink in all the details of him you’d never thought you’d see.

dean has never, ever been looked at the way you’re looking at him right now.

your fingers continue to trail up dean’s arms, fingertips grazing on the scars you could see in the dim light of his room. you actually knew some of them— having been there when he sustained the wound that made the scar, but a lot were new to you.

and you wanted to memorize it all.

it’s almost embarrassing how he feels like something to be worshipped under your touch. like someone to be taken care of. to be cherished.

as your fingers trail up his arms, he has to bite down on a whine in the back of his throat— forcing himself to keep still under your gaze as you rake your gaze over him. his voice is rough and hoarse when he manages to speak, but all he could get out was your name.

your hands found themselves resting dean’s shoulders while you take in the breathtaking view that is him under you, meeting his gaze when he says your name, voice just as quiet as his.

“yeah, de?”

your touch feels like dean took the jumper cables he had in the back of baby and put it against his skin. but it’s so soft, so gentle. it’s also making his whole body ache, yet he just wants more. and he can’t keep his eyes off you, either. the way you’re looking at him, at his scars like they’re nothing to be ashamed about… it’s almost safe.

dean swallows, hands coming to rest on your waist now that he’s topless. his voice sounds wrecked, broken.

because he’s begging.

“touch me.”

dean’s hands on your waist were making your heart beat all out of rhythm— and you almost completely lose your train of thought looking into his green eyes, wide and blown out.

for you.

you just nod at dean’s words— and your fingers continue their journey downward from dean’s shoulders, trailing over his skin until you eventually reach the waistband of his boxers, and you keep your hands there on the fabric when you look back up at him.

because you still needed to know:

“can i take these off?”

oh, for the love of—

dean nods rapidly before you’re even done asking, because he’d do anything, anything, to have you touch him like he had been not just a few minutes earlier— in fact, he’s already lifting his hips off the bed to make it easier for you, because he’s not about to hesitate. he needs you. he’s needed you for too goddamn long.

and when you manage to pull off dean’s boxers, discarding them in one fell swoop after he confirms and lifts his hips for you, your eyes widen at the sight of him completely exposed beneath you on his bed— and a quiet ‘jesus christ’ escapes from your lips before you can stop it.

and your reaction makes dean’s breath hitch. because it’s not a disgusted one— it’s the exact opposite. he feels vulnerable like this, exposed to you in a way he’s never been to anyone else. he should feel embarrassed. but he doesn’t, oddly enough.

his voice is so goddamn quiet when he bites down on another whine.

“please.”

and you just nod again. then both your hands find dean’s chest once more— and you start trailing a path down his lower torso with your fingers.

dean can’t help the way he lets out a strangled moan at your touch against his bare skin. with no clothing in the way to block it, he’s so much more sensitive. every single touch makes his breath hitch, his head spinning with how perfect it feels.

it’s too much.

and yet, he needs more.

dean’s hands find your hips again, gripping, trying to get you even an inch closer to him.

and as your fingers get lower and lower on dean’s stomach, you hesitate your hands. not because you weren’t sure— but it felt… well, wrong not to at least ask him for permission first.

so you look back up and meet dean’s gaze, eyes searching his again as you whisper, shifting closer to him in his lap.

“can i go lower?”

and at your question, a sharp shiver wracks through dean’s whole body— he’s half convinced he’s going to to just cum right there, even if you don’t end up touching him.

dean’s practically trembling under you now, hands gripping tighter on your hips. he tries to speak again, to say something— but his voice comes out in a strangled moan.

all he can do is nod against his headboard.

a soft exhale escapes you when dean confirms. you nod— and don’t hesitate again.

not when he was like this.

you take all of him in one of your hands— but you don’t even try to look away from his face while you do so. because you had to see his face for this.

and dean feels like the air’s getting ripped from his lungs at how good your touch feels. he’s never felt anything like this before. it could be the fact that he hasn’t had actual sex in a while (apparently, he’s considered old now), or purely just because of you.

yeah, but dean’s never been touched like this before. so goddamn gentle. but it’s still perfect. his eyes are still locked to yours, and his expression looks pained. it’s all too much, after wanting this for so long.

and all he can do is whisper your name before your hand starts to move.

you start starts slow— not too slow, though, because dean had already fucked his palm tonight more times tonight than he’d like to admit.

dean’s eyes actually flutter shut for a moment when your hand starts to move, a moan catching in the back of his throat. because it’s barely even started, and it’s so good. too good.

dean’s hands on your waist are close to shaking now, but he has to speak— even as it comes out in a hoarse croak.

because he needs—

“more. jesus, i need—”

you don’t even entertain the thought to tease dean or not do as he asked— because the sounds he was desperately trying to keep in were making you want to keep going, to not stop.

so you don’t stop. your hand speeds up, going back and forth on dean’s dick— and your gaze still doesn’t leave his while in his lap, touching him in the way you’ve always wanted to for so long.

and when you pick up the pace, dean’s breath hitches even more— god, it’s so good, but he still needs more. his hands are shaking as they grip tight on your waist, and his eyes somehow keep your gaze, even as his head feels like it’s spinning right into his headboard.

dean manages to get out his next request, in a begging whisper of a breath. he’d be ashamed if he wasn’t so desperate.

“please— please, i need—”

“its alright,” you nod before he can finish this time, leaning your head and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “i gotcha, de.”

and that’s it. you say those words and dean feels like he could cum right there. he’s already so close, just from your touch, the way your hand’s moving so beautifully up and down on his dick. the way you’re looking at him. he tries to keep his eyes open, too— to keep looking at you, but everything you’re giving him is starting to overwhelm him, he can hardly even breathe anymore.

dean glances down at your hand between both of you— big mistake, because the sight of your fingers around his dick and covered in him makes him let out strangled whimper. he bites down on his lip hard, his head falling back against the headboard and his eyes screwing shut. because it’s embarrassing how close he is to cumming in your hand.

you notice, of course— your hand doesn’t let up, but your other hand on dean’s shoulder goes to the side of his face, thumb grazing on his cheek. it’s a stark contrast to what you’re doing to his dick.

“de, its okay,” you reassure dean as his breaths become more and more unsteady, eyes flicking over his face. “you can let go if you wanna.”

and that’s it. that’s all it takes.

as soon you give him permission, dean’s gone.

his body suddenly goes rigid, then he’s bucking his hips into your hand so erratically and sloppily you would’ve been knocked from your position on dean’s lap if he hadn’t buried his face in your still clothed chest, tightened his arms fully around you and pulled you closer to him. he cums loud and hard, a mixture of soft groans, whimpers, swears and pants of your name spilling into the fabric of your shirt.

you’d never heard him like this before, ever.

but dean winchester— the man, the myth, the hunter god, was whimpering as you’re in his lap.

for you.

because of you.

and because it’s all too damn much— the way your hand feels, the touch of your thumb against his face, the look in your eyes when you said that it’s okay for him to let go of the tight rein he’s been holding onto for so long.

dean can feel himself shaking and still coming apart under you as you guide him through it, his face buried in your shoulder as you pull every last bit of pleasure out of him that he has with your fingers. he’s never felt so goddamn free before. he’s never come apart, not like this— not completely exposed like this.

dean’s hands are still shaking as they rest your waist, his entire body almost trembling with it being still so overwhelming. but it was perfect. and he needs to say that, to tell you that it was everything he’d ever wanted—

“please— please, just kiss me.”

and that comes out of dean’s mouth instead. you’d barely started to wipe your hand when the words spill out in a plea— a beg into your shirt. you’re a little surprised that was the first thing he said post-orgasm.

but still, you lean back just enough after dean says that, bringing your free hand to the side of his face while still in his lap, your gaze flicking between his in the dark of his room for just a moment before you lean back in, pressing your lips onto his again.

dean doesn’t hold back now. he doesn’t care about the mess he just made, the way he sounded, or the fact that he begged you to kiss him after you just made him cum.

he kisses you like a starved man, like the air he was breathing needed to come from your mouth and not any other source. his hands move to the back of your hips, gripping your shirt tight and pulling you even closer to him on his lap, now that your hand wasn’t between you both anymore.

dean tears his lips off of yours— and he is still just barely coming back to himself. his brain still hazy from pleasure, from you, but he tries to get out words because he needs to tell you how much he still wants, needs you. his hands grip tight on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll just get up and leave if he lets go. his voice is still wrecked when he only manages to whisper your name again.

you don’t move out from dean’s lap, though. you stay pressed against him, his skin so warm and flushed against your own. neither of you had to say anything to know how intimate this all was. dean should be attempting to at least do something besides burying his face back in your shirt.

but you don’t let dean stay like that for too long. your hands go to the sides of his face, holding his head as you tilt it back to look up at you, searching his gaze as you continue to straddle him. and your own voice is a whisper, too.

“y’okay?”

and god, dean feels like his entire body’s just come apart again at that single word, because how do you answer a question like that.

dean has to take a breath, because he still feels the aftermath of it. everywhere. he nods, once— because he’s better than even alright. then again, because he has to tell you that, too.

“yeah,” he manages to get that out, and it’s still so damn wrecked, so out of breath. “more than okay.”

“okay, good,” your gaze softens and you nod when dean confirms that he was okay— and your other now-clean hand finds the side of his face when he looks up at you. a small smile tugs on your lips as your thumbs graze on his cheek. “just checkin’.”

dean’s blown-out eyes are still locked to yours as you brush your thumb against his skin, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling you touch him like this.

it’s so tender. so soft.

and dean’s just… lost. in you.

but dean does finally manage to speak again, his voice still hoarse as his hands release from your hips start to trail down, calloused fingers rubbing gently on your exposed thighs and saying your name like a prayer. “god, i need—”

you keep dean’s gaze still— but not before glancing down to see his hands on your bare thighs in his dimly-lit bedroom as you straddle him.

dean’s hands looked like they belonged on you.

felt like it, too.

one of your own hands reaches down from dean’s face to his on your thigh, grasping on his fingers with yours.

“tell me what you need,” your voice is still a hush of a whisper, but remains completely and utterly genuine as you search dean’s gaze. “de, tell me what you need me to do, and i’ll do it.”

holy goddamn.

dean’s breath actually stutters a little at that, because you sound so ready, so willing— he can’t help but let those last three years of pining, of wanting you, of hoping show as he looks up at you.

“ride me. please.”

the words come out in a half-choked plea. dean’s so damn desperate for you, he’d beg. hell, he was begging in the darkness.

and you weren’t about to say no.

your hands take themselves off of dean’s face and hand, lifting your leg to discard your sleep shorts, then your (soaked) undies— then going to the shirt that you’d still been wearing, grabbing the hem of it and tearing it off, discarding it somewhere in his room before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

and when that finally comes off, too, dean’s entire damn body tenses. because he felt like the air had just been ripped from his lungs.

again.

he’s seeing you more exposed to him, for him than he’s ever seen you before— and the sight of you like this is goddamn perfect. you’re so perfect.

dean’s hands tighten on your thighs, his eyes taking in the view of you like a man starved.

“holy—”

there’s a thousand words he has for you right now. things like beautiful, perfect, mine. but he can’t get them out yet. because his brain is still trying to catch up from the fact that you’re actually here and naked in his lap.

both of dean’s hands reach for your hips as he’s still staring up at you in awe, his fingers gently but almost greedily gripping on you— because he wants to touch you so bad that he wants to let out a goddamn sob. because no one has ever felt like this for him.

because no one has ever come close to the way he craved you.

your eyes meet back up to dean’s green ones once again. you didn’t have to tell him anything or even say something else.

so that’s why you just nod, then reach down between you both once more, starting to fully sink yourself on dean’s dick— all while still keeping his gaze while you let your hands rest on his shoulders, a exhale escaping you both.

you not even halfway on his dick, and dean thinks he might bust again right then and there. his fingers dig into your hip, all while a groan escapes his parted lips: “ah, shit—”

and oh, he’s big. it takes you a second, but you sink down completely on top of him, your pussy sucking him all up— dean feels like he can’t breathe. again. the sight of you like this is gonna fuel his jerk off sessions for the rest of his goddamn life.

dean’s not sure if it’s possible, but he uses his hands on your hips to gently just pull you even closer against him— which ended up being a mistake, because you involuntarily clench around him. his head drops in between your tits at the action.

and.

he.

whines.

“f— fuck—”

yeah. dean just whined at the feeling of being inside of you, eyes screwed shut and everything as he buries his face deeper between your breasts— you can feel the pant of air and his lips on your skin.

dean’s fingers lace together with yours fully, holding your hand tightly while his other is still gripping tight on the meat of your hip, finally taking his face off of you to look up at you above him.

and oh. you’re a goddess, at least. not something heavenly though, because angels are dicks— but you look unreal as you look back down at dean, your mouth just a little parted from feeling him.

dean twitches a little inside you as he tries to find words, just a few, to tell you how much he wants this— or at least to tell you to move.

all he can get out, though?

“p— please.”

you don’t have to ask for clarification.

you know what dean’s asking for.

so you give it to him.

you grind your hips—and dean whines a little again at that— down onto his just once, testing the waters before you find a rhythm.

and dean feels his entire brain just go on complete and total motherfucking overdrive. because this is it. he’s finally getting the most intimate part of you, the part he’s been wanting for so damn long— he literally can’t see straight anymore. that’s how good it feels. how good you feel.

dean’s head goes in between your tits again, still holding your hand as you move your hips on top on him, grinding down on his dick. his other arm goes around your waist, pressing himself against you and gripping you tight in an attempt to steady himself— but it barely helps. his eyes screw shut again, and he’s letting out another whimper before he can stop it.

“fff— oh, fuck—”

a moan drops from your mouth, too, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds dean’s making, gasping and groaning into your skin as he fucks up into you, meeting your movements. his dick is brushing on that spot that makes you groan— and kickstarts your urge to go faster.

so you do.

dean can’t control anything right now. his hips are bucking up into you erratically, the movements only being stunted a little due to how strong your thighs were around him as you straddle him.

your hand not holding dean’s goes into his hair as you’re both pressed together for a better grip— and dean almost sees stars. he groans a little again, his breaths coming in hard pants on the skin between your breasts.

and the praise falls from your lips onto dean’s ear before you can stop it—

“you’re doin’ so good, de.”

dean feels like he’s gonna cry. just from how perfectly good you feel on top of him— and he’s making the most delicious noises that sound like words but it’s just broken moans mixed with whimpers. his hand on your hip tightens to the point it’s almost painful, but you don’t mind all that much.

“ah, don’ worry, i gotcha,” you whisper against dean’s ear again, your hand tightening on his as you let out a rough exhale, chest heaving rapidly against his as your movements don’t falter once. “you’re doing so good f’me, dean.”

dean’s not in control of the sounds that come out his damn mouth anymore— the praise goes straight to his dick, straight to the familiar burning building low in his tummy. it’s just all swearing, sounds of your name and incoherent begging being said into your skin.

“ah— shit, fuckin’— please—”

dean’s not even trying to stop the words from rushing out of his mouth right now, even if he sounds pathetic. because it all feels so goddamn good, and he’s being so good— for you.

and dean can feel nothing but you right now, in every sense possible. everything else has been long gone, and he’s been so goddamn wrapped up in how good your pussy feels around his dick.

dean gasps for air, because wants to tell you that you’ve ruined every living thing for him in the entire goddamn universe forever.

he wants to tell you that he’s about to cum— again.

“jesusfuckin’christ— oh, please—” is what comes out of him instead.

the words are barely intelligible, and dean’s whole body is starting to tense underneath you as he manages to choke out a ragged cry of your name. your hand is still gripping hard onto his own, the other burying itself deeper his hair. you needed to hold onto him right now. shit, you needed a sec.

because dean winchester was begging to cum inside of you.

you almost stop grinding down on him for a second— the keyword being almost.

you just nod against dean’s head still buried in your tits, holding him against you as you talk into his ear again.

“go ahead, baby.”

dean almost sobs again when you say that. he lets go completely just as before, his hands’ grips becoming painful on you as his whole body shakes and convulses against yours, the movements of his hips becoming so erratic once more as he’s painting your walls with his… sixth? seventh? load of the night— only this time, it’s inside of you. and he’s making every sound in the book: whimpers, groans, a whine here and there, too.

you came, too— but honestly, if you didn’t, you would’ve been fine either way. seeing and hearing dean come apart like this was enough to last you a lifetime.

you don’t know how long dean and you stay like that, pressed into each other and panting, fluids mixed together, spilling out and sticking all over your thighs— but even as you pull back just enough to look down at him, dean’s still trembling under you, long after both your orgasms had surpassed their high, melting into a thick haze between you two.

dean can’t look at you— or won’t, but either way, your hand in his hair trails to the side of his face, and you gently force him to look up at you.

dean swallows hard, and his face flushes. the embarrassment was finally, finally starting to set in now that he’d fucked you and himself out. he braces himself for the teasing, the jokes— and the look on your face.

but you weren’t looking down at dean like he was pathetic, or weak. you never did— and you sure as hell weren’t about to start now, after he’d just shown you every side you’d wanted to see of him.

no, you just smile a little, eyes flicking between dean’s as your thumb grazes on his cheek. he can’t help but lean his head into your palm as you exhale your next words out in a breath—

“that was really fuckin’ hot.”

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you now have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

heyyyyyyy guys… soooo how we doin’? LMFAOOOOOOOO this has got to be the longest i’ve ever spent on a fic (only for dean wbk!)

and i know i said this last time, but on a real note: if you have stayed to the very end— first, THANK YOU FOR READING! and second, if you enjoyed, please consider SHOWING ME THAT ( reblogs / comments / etc ) because this took me FOREVER to write (again). i would love to know if my efforts are worthwhile!

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina + i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[thecoochiefairy]

gamer girlz. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 4.6K word count. blackfem!reader, drabble, college football coded! onyankapon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon, dominant!onyankapon, kinda sorta makeup sex?, couch sex , black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, oral [f] [m], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, backshots, missionary, condomless sex, cumming on face, kissing, spanking, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ day 283737272 of liyah’s ovulation and faithful celibacy pact meaning she’s having the most nasty, egregious thoughts. please enjoy my black man fantasies. the links inspired this fic heavily, so enjoy those too.

𝓐ᥫ᭡ :: onyankopon just wants to help you finish your game.

link. link. link. ony’s visuals.

YOUR FINGERS SHOULD'VE HURT AT THIS POINT. Swiftly moving from button to button, they tap the controls as you’re on another level of the game you desperately wanted to beat.

You had some time off of studying, and this is how you wanted to spend it. Your boyfriend was at football practice—although a part of you just wanted to be swarmed up in his arms, your attention span also had you elsewhere—this damn game. You enjoyed the older games, replaying the hardest version of Batman: Arkham Asylum, your boredom peaking your interest back in the game you’d had since childhood. 

You didn’t even register that the door had opened, or maybe you didn’t just care enough. You knew who it was. You eye him dropping his keys against the counter, black hoodie over his head, sharp jaw grunting lightly from his sore muscles, scowl along his face—definitely had to do with practice. 

You pause the game for a second, turning your face to the side, fuzzy socks along your feet, his large jersey slung along your body as you greet him, “Hell, baby. What they’ do to you?” 

“Coach was on dick today. Had me running laps cause other niggas couldn’t catch the ball and I got mad,” he huffs, taking his helmet and slamming it on the counter next to him. He massages the nape of his neck, sighing deeply to himself. 

“Now you know coach don’t like all that cussing on his field,” you sigh, “He knows you're good. That’s why he’s on your ass.” 

“Nah. He just annoying as fuck. Can’t expect me to do everything.”

He’s like a child, grumpy and pouty. His tall frame comes closer, wanting your attention in response to his rough day at practice. 

“How’s my baby?” he says in your ear, wrapping his large muscular arms around your waist and gently biting your shoulder. His broad frame shadows under his hoodie, tat against his face shining under the lights of your shared apartment, full lips moisturized—you’d never let him leave the house otherwise. 

You give him a soft laugh, rubbing your fingers over his durag as you say, “I’m fine. Had some time off studying, tryna’ beat this game. I meant what I said, Ony. He doesn’t just give you a hard time because he’s bored. You’re his star player, gotta make sure he ain’t treating you like everybody else.” 

“Don’t tell me you on yo’ nerdy stuff. C’mon. I’m sore,” he groans, his grip around your waist tightens and he pushes himself against you. 

“Oh, is it nerdy shit when you’ screaming on the game playing 2K with your friends? I was gonna offer a little massage. Now you’ve lost your entry to that,” you say, trying to push him off of you, reaching for the controller in between your lap. 

He doesn’t budge. He holds firmly onto you, pressing sloppy kisses against your neck to distract you. 

“Don’t be like that. I was kidding, you know I like that shit,” he huffs, his breath against your neck as he presses his lips on the sensitive part of your skin, “Forgot to tell you, I got an away game coming up in a few weeks. So I’ll be gone for like, a week.”

Your head comes down a bit to look directly at him, “What? You’re not coming with me to my parents? You know the holidays are coming up, Onyankopon. I told them you’d be there.” 

“You know imma’ just be sitting around hiding behind you,” he murmurs against your skin, his hot breath tickling you. 

It’s not that he’s shy— rather, he just doesn’t enjoy the unnecessary attention. 

“How ‘bout we do our own Christmas, before I go?” 

He’s nuzzling himself against your neck now, his hands roaming all along your body. You press his body away from yours, standing up as you become annoyed. 

You then say, “I wouldn’t be going up to my parents place if you didn’t agree to come with me in the first place,” going into the kitchen, searching through the freezer. 

He runs a hand over his face, seeing how instantly irritated you became. He knew having his support for the holidays meant a lot to you, and he might’ve waited on telling you about the going away game to lessen your disappointment. 

“Mama,” he calls, watching you from the sofa. 

You turn, raising an eyebrow as you say, “Oh, so now I’m Mama, you love hitting me with that shit when you know I’m mad.” 

“You know I don’t like going to those family functions, I swear that house always stinks cause yo’ auntie cooks that nasty ass fish. A week ain’t no big deal. Let’s just have our own thing here.” 

“So which one is it? You don’t wanna go or you got your football shit?” You narrow your eyes, pulling the ice pack from the freezer, arms crossed as you come back closer to him.

He knows better than to lie, especially to you. 

“They got some NFL scouts coming to this game,” he mutters, scratching his temple. I’m sorry. But I’m tryna’ go pro, you know that.”

“Mhm.” 

You hand him the ice pack, “Put it on your knee. I know it’s been sore lately.”

He raises an eyebrow, “You’ not mad?”

“Did I say I was mad? You’ want the ice pack or not?” 

He takes the ice pack, wincing once the coldness hits his knee. He knew you were gonna give him a scolding if he didn’t.

“You’ got a bad ass attitude right now.” 

“I wonder why, Onyankopon? If we had plans to go back to your parents house for the holidays and at the last minute I told you I have exams and that I just didn’t wanna go, you’d be irritated too.”  

“Damn, you gon’ be on my ass about this for the next three weeks?” 

He didn’t like it when you were like this, cause instead of being pissed you were more disappointed, which was somehow a lot worse to him.

“I’m gonna be gone for a week.” 

You scratch your nails in between the baby blue orchid claw-clip that holds your curls. You dismiss him, “You need to go shower.” 

“What, you ain’t tryna’ join me?” he murmurs, a smirk on his lips, “Quit being mad. I’m tryna love on you. Wanna put on The Isley Brothers and give you a rub down.” 

“You’re playing too much right now,” you deadpan, “Bye Onyankopon.” 

“What’ you mean bye?” he says, his smirk turning into a frown.

“I’m finna’ go finish studying,” you’re already walking back towards the bedroom, ending the conversation off as that. 

When you finally hear him smack his lips and make his way into the shower, you glance over your notes, deciding you weren’t gonna let him ruin your previous plans. You’re now back on the sofa, eyes set onto the screen, trying to defeat the computer generated opponent. 

You switch over to the sound of the bathroom opening, seeing him re-tying his durag back on, basketball shorts baggy and house shoes on his feet. His tattoos all along his face, neck, chest and arms always had your attention—but not as much attention as you usually gave him at this moment. You sprawled along the furniture, elbow deep into the couch's pillow as one leg laid straight out, while the other bent itself over the top of the couch. 

He doesn’t like how you’re paying no attention to him. As stupid as it sounds, he’s always got to have your eyes on him. They were pretty. 

“You’ still mad? You for real ain’t finna’ give me a massage?” 

“I’m good,” you swiftly respond, “Just playing my game. You can massage yourself.” 

“Why you’ gotta be like this?” 

He sits down next to you, his large frame takes up a lot of the space. The couch becomes smaller somehow. His eyes watch the game intently before he decides to get comfortable. Lying back down on the sofa, he lets his head rest in your lap. Even with you being irritated, you let him lay there. 

You continue going up level by level, your focus intently on the game. The little argument between you and Onyankopon irritated you to say the least, but you didn’t have the energy to completely push him away. It’s unfortunate he was persuasive. You notice out the corner of your eye that he lifts his head a little, the warmth between your legs along the back of his neck, and that’s when he sees that you’re wearing nothing under his jersey.  

He takes the time to admire you, legs lazily hung open, his eyes staring directly against your pussy, scenting of vanilla on your legs, freshly shaven. One of his large hands comes to rest on the back of your thick thigh, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

“What you’ got on?” he mutters.

“Had to wash clothes, didn’t have any underwear. That’s why I put on your jersey,” you tell him, eyes still not looking at his face, unable to see how his jaw clenched at the sight. 

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. In that moment his large hand rubs along the skin on your thigh, pushing the jersey up further.

“You look good as fuck in my shit,” He mumbles, a low rasp in his tone.

“Thank you,” you say in a softer tone, mainly because you’re distracted, buttons pressing harder against the controller. 

He can tell how focused you are—how your face scrunched up, the way your fingers move, even the way your thighs fall open on his head.

That’s when you feel him lean down, giving a gentle peck to your inner thigh. The feeling makes you tense a bit, but you still keep your eyes against the screen, huffing out a breath as your character is close to dying. This level was difficult. 

He’s giving small, light kisses along the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, taking small intervals to glance up to you as you keep your eyes against the screen. His hand moves higher up on your leg, slowly pushing the jersey up even more.

Your eyes go to him for a millisecond, seeing as his head is down, lips attached to your thighs, sucking ever so gently on your skin. You can almost feel a pressure building in your stomach, the slow ache of his movements almost purposeful, teasing you in a way. You press your glasses up against your face, huffing out a breath as you mutter, “Stupid ass level,” trying to come up with a reason as to why you sound so breathless. 

He grins as he’s laying there, hearing your breathing getting heavier. It’s obvious how hard you’re trying to focus on the game, but he’s working you up.

“You’ trying so hard, Mama,” He murmurs against your hot skin, his kisses trailing to the spot he knows is extra sensitive.

You shift your body, clearing your throat as you say, “Gotta restart,” adjusting your legs a bit, opening them up just a little more than before. 

He can tell how you’re slowly giving in, how you’re shifting your body around, legs opening just enough for him to move closer. He lets his free hand come to caress your stomach, rubbing against the skin under the fabric of the jersey. His lips are so close to you, his breath is hot against your skin. 

“Restart then,” He mutters, tongue now coming to flick out from his lips, gliding across your skin, hiding beneath the pillows of his lips as they begin sucking a dark red mark against you.

You narrow your eyes lightly as you restart the level you play, but your body is distracted by Onyankopon’s lips along it. You drag your teeth along your lip a bit, pressing your fingers harder into the controller, feeling his lips coming up higher. 

You could feel the arousal you had flooding in between the lips of your pussy, protecting your clit as it now begins to pool farther down, dampening the couch. His large fingers wrap along the outside of your thighs, using his thumbs to pull the skin on the inside apart, showing the dark pink of your pussy, squelching at his presence. Your body tenses even more as you feel his thumb meet with your clit, rubbing so softly against it, dropping his mouth down to press another kiss to your skin. The leg hiked up against the top of the sofa trembles a bit. 

“You’ winning?” You hear him murmur against your skin. 

You take a deep inhale, squeezing your fingers against the hooks of your controller as you softly reply, “No.”

He circles your clit with maddeningly light touches, barely grazing the swollen nub. At the same time, he’s still pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses, occasionally grazing his teeth. 

"You’ getting distracted. Wet ass pussy," Onyankopon murmurs appreciatively, feeling the slick evidence of your arousal coating his finger.

Your chest heaves a bit at his tone, but you don’t let up. You keep your eyes on the screen, but you seem to be losing. In both games. 

He spreads you even wider as he leans in closer, hot breath fanning over your slick folds. He pulls his thumb back as he replaces it with his mouth, giving you an innocent kiss against your clit. His beard captures your arousal, your fingers shuddering as you hear him groan, “Ooh, fuck, Mama. You’ wet for real.”

Without warning, he seals his lips around your clit and sucks, tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud. He releases it with a lewd pop before trailing open-mouthed kisses along your slit, lapping up your dripping arousal. Your eyebrows deepen into a frown, lips trembling as you give one more press to your controller, before you take your hand and reach it to the back of his head, getting a clutch against the knot of his durag. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, clasping your mouth shut as you whimper for him.

He delves his tongue deeper between your opened folds, dragging it up and down, lapping up to create more secretion. His hands grip your thick thighs, spreading you obscenely wide as he eats you out like a starving man.

"Mmmm, this a nigga favorite fuckin’ meal," he rumbles, voice muffled by your flesh. He alternates between slurping you up and flicking rapidly, determined to make you fall apart. One hand slides up to grope your ass roughly, kneading the plush flesh.

“O—Ony…” you gasp, voice small and high pitched, fingers squeezing harder against his head, dropping the controller out of your other hand, the object hitting the ground with a thud. The music of the battle within the game becomes something you hear, but not as loud as his mouth gulping you down, heavy tongue sopping against your pussy, drenching his beard so much that he could drown in you.

“Pretty ass voice,” he encourages huskily, the vibrations from his words sending shockwaves through your core. He dips two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your weeping cunt, pumping them slowly as he continues his relentless assault on your clit with his tongue. The wet sounds of him feasting on your pussy fill the room, mixing obscenely with the forgotten video game noises.

His free hand roams your curves possessively, groping and squeezing every inch of exposed skin he can reach—your ass, your thighs, the underside of your breasts. You’re lost in a haze of pleasure.

You were always so sensitive to his touch, the pleasure that you received from him kept you so kidnapped that it was hard to be mad at him. You grind your clit along his mouth that waits to catch it, voice ineffective of composure as you struggle, “Gonna cum soon, Ony…” 

“Yeah?” He grunts, head knocking up and down, your eyes only able to watch as his lower face disappears in between your legs, glistening a coat against his beard, “Where you wanna cum?” 

“On your dick, baby…” you whine softly, rotating your hips gently to match his moments, “Please…”

"You wanna cum on your dick, Mama?” He coos against you, the sound reverberating through your core, you’re whimpering with an urgent nod, “Mhm,” before he can even finish his sentence. 

He pulls himself back, already tugging his tip from beneath his basketball shorts, taking off the material as your eyes follow the curve, the vein in his dick, heavy against the stretch of his large palm. Tattoos spread against his pelvic, scriptures and inspirational quotes that didn’t belong in his blasphemous moment.

"Turn around, put that ass in the air for me.“

Your legs feel a bit numb, bringing yourself up as you know exactly how he wants you. Raising your left leg along the arm of the couch, you lean your breast over the top as your face hides beneath your arm, right knee digging into the seat of it. He places his fingers along the side of your neck, other hand digging into your thigh thrown over the furniture. He doesn’t have to tell you to look at him—you always give him your eyes, feline as they blank beneath his control. Your body trembles as he slams his palm against your ass, “Arch more,” your body following suit, deepening the valley your silhouette creates. 

He grips your hip with bruising force, using the leverage to grind the swollen head of his dick teasingly along your soaked slit. Up and down, he rubs himself through your slick folds, coating his length in your essence. Your hips tense as you feel the weight of his tip stretching open your pussy, sinking in that it makes your abdomen cramp, aching in a pleasure that has your entire body tighten. Your eyes are beginning to roll back, digging your nails into the sofa as you keep your eyes on his, he looks mad at you, slamming his palm against your ass again as he grunts, “Keep that fuckin’ arch.” 

Your chest is filled with oxygen, holding your breath to cure the slight discomfort you feel, but it’s also an agonizing pleasure, feeling so full from him. He’s slowly dragging himself halfway out, rolling his hips back in and going even deeper, your mouth dropping open as your eyes flutter shut, turning your head back towards him as you whimper, “Fuck, baby. You’re deep…” 

Silence goes in between the both of you, savoring the rush of pleasure that clutches the air as he drags his first couple of thrusts, so slow it felt like time wasn’t even passing. The sedated actions almost feel better than if he sped up, his eyes locking down as he sees you painting his tip, creaming on him. 

“I’m in your shit, huh?” he talks to you, it’s almost tortuous as he hilts himself fully inside, his heavy balls slapping against your throbbing clit. Your walls clench around him like a vice, your head tilting back as you completely tense. You whimper, “Ungh,” attempting to push him back to relieve the stimulation, jumping as he gives you a bruising spank, deep voice aggressive as he says, “Uh-uh, don’t do that. You know I don’t do that running shit.” 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he starts up at a carnal pace. The wet squelch of your pussy being split open echoes obscenely in the room, mixing with your deep whines, nodding your head, gently dropping your hips against his abdomen to meet his strokes.

“Keep riding that dick, goood fuckin’ girl,” each thrust is punishing and deep, stirring up your insides. The wet slap of skin on skin echoes obscenely as he rails into you, chasing your pleasure to insanity.

You always try to keep up, but you never could. All your organs feel tossed around by him, so blinded in your erotic state, your mouth opens as you give long moans, deeply gasping each time you need to catch your breath. He brings you to a point of saying things you’d never thought would leave your lips, mouth parted as you groan, “Yes, yes, baby. Agh, fuck, Ony. Deeper.”

"You want this dick deeper?" He growls, accentuating his question with a thrust that has your eyes rolling back farther. His grip on your hips tightens, surely leaving finger-shaped bruises on your toffee skin as he sets a merciless pace.

He’s back at palming his hand brutally against your ass, rushing it up to come around the front of your mouth, resting his fingers there as he grunts, "Take this fucking dick then," yanking your head back.

The new angle allows him to go even deeper, his hips slapping against your clit, “Finna’ tear this fuckin’ pussy open.” 

His filthy words mix with the lewd sounds of your bodies coming together, filling the room, it has you groaning through his fingers. 

“Love you so much,  baby—“ this was a regular routine, the affection you give him as he’s hitting that spot that only he could find, whines plummeting from your mouth, eyes to the back of your head as you reach back and grab onto his wrist that holds your hip, moaning louder each time he rolls his hips back to meet the weight of your ass matching his rhythm.

“What happened to you being mad?” He questions, going slow as he tugs you back into his dick, the echo of your skin bouncing off each other like a drug induced round of applause. 

You shake your head, “Not mad at you, Onyyy,  love you so much….”

He chuckles darkly, low and rumbling in his chest as he leans over you, pressing his muscular torso against your back. His hot breath fans across the shell of your ear as he murmurs, "I know you do, Mama. I love you too.” 

One large hand slides up from your hip, reaching around to splay across your stomach as the other now tangles in your hair, tugging your head back. He rolls his hips in a slow, deep grind, stirring you up from the inside, your mouth releasing broken shouts, your face hot, pleasured tears wanting to stroke along your face. 

"Fuckin’ love you, princess. Pussy was made for me,” He gives another sharp thrust, grinding against your cervix. "You’ getting tight as fuck—You’ cumming, Mama?”

“I’m….” You gasp, defeated in your inability to speak, taking your hand and reaching back to hold his face closer to yours, hips trembling as you dangerously moan in a cracked tone “I’m cumming, baby. I’m cumming. I’m—agh,  c—cumming…”

His chuckle is dark with lust as you flutter and clench around him erratically. He grips you harder, using the leverage to pound into you relentlessly, chasing his own release.

"Good job, baby. Biggg fuckin’ girl. Cum on this dick. Fuckin' soak it," he growls, his voice strained with pleasure. One hand moves from your hip to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub as he continues his brutal pace.

Your whole body tenses and shakes as your orgasm crashes over you, a loud cry tearing from your throat. Your pussy spasms almost violently around his thick shaft, gushing against him so much it pushes him out of you, trying to milk the sensation for all it’s worth. 

“I’m finna’ bust, baby,” he warns, groaning in your ear, “Come eat this dick up.”

Your body feels numb as you turn yourself towards him, immediately wrapping your lips along his tip, enveloping the taste of your own arousal within the walls of your mouth, sucking him in to reach the heavens of your throat. He clasps your hair within his palm, bobbing yourself back and forth as you reach down, rubbing your clit as you still feel your orgasm rushing through your body. You moan around him, giving him those cat eyes, fluttering your dark extensions as you swirl your tongue against his tip, begging for a reaction.

He throws his head back with a deep, guttural moan as your warm mouth engulfs him. His grip on your hair tightens, guiding your movements as he starts to thrust shallowly into your throat.

“Shit—just like that. Eating that dick up good as fuckk," he pants, his abs flexing with each snap of his hips. The sight of you—eyes fluttering, cheeks hollowed, one hand buried between your thighs—it’s almost too much.

He pulls your mouth off him, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his glistening tip. With another smack to your ass, he flips you onto your back, settling between your spread legs. 

"I wanna see your face when I nut in this pretty ass pussy." 

He lines himself up and sinks back in with one smooth thrust, bottoming out instantly, clutching your throat, holding you down as your back arches up, clawing into his back at the visceral sensitivity.

He sets a hard, fast pace, the wet sounds of your joining filling the room. His intense gaze locks with yours, pupils blown wide with lust as he takes in every expression that crosses your face.

"That's it, baby. Gonna fill this pussy up real good," he grunts as you whimper with his talking, “Ba-by,” angling his hips to hit that special spot inside you. One hand slides under your thigh, pushing your leg up and back to change the angle, allowing him to go even deeper.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as he continues to pound into you. His tongue dominates your mouth, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. Breaking the kiss, he buries his face in your neck, biting and sucking dark marks into your skin as he chases his release.

"Fuckk, finna’ cum soon. You want it in you, baby?”

“On my face baby, you say it’s pretty there,” you whimper, deepening your nails in his back, “Mmmph, c’mon, Ony. Please…” 

A grin spreads across his face at your pleas. Grabbing his throbbing tip, he positions himself at your face, smearing the leaking pre-cum across your cheek. He’s moaning, stroking himself rapidly, aiming his tip at your parted lips. His free hand grips your chin firmly, keeping you in place as his strokes become erratic. He then cums, painting your face—across your cheeks, over your lips, some even landing in your waiting mouth.

You stick your tongue out, running your tongue over your lips that darken in color, bruised as you dig your teeth into them with a sultry giggle. Heavy breathing fills the room as you keep your eyes up at him. 

He steps back as he says, “Hollon, baby,” going into the bathroom as he finds a towel, rubbing it along your face to clean you up. He then leans down, pulling you into a kiss as he grunts, “Gimme’ your mouth. I love you, Mama. I’m sorry.” 

You give him a kiss, holding his face in your hands, running your tongues together sloppily, passion filling your entire body from the previous actions. 

You say, “It’s okay. You’ want your massage now?”

He pulls his mouth back a bit, eyeing you before he chuckles. It makes you pout, “What’s funny?”

He laughs, shaking his head as he helps you stand, “Nothin’ Mama. Just thinkin' 'bout how quick you forgave me after I tore your ass up."

You roll your eyes, “I can always change my mind.” 

He runs a hand down your side, squeezing your hip possessively. "Chill out. I want that massage. You know I'm always ready for your magical hands."

He stretches languidly, his muscles rippling beneath his tattoos as he leads you towards the bedroom, “ And don’t be all stingy with the lotion. Do that lil’ thing I like if you feeling extra generous.” 

“You’ getting beside yourself. Do you need that?”

He turns, “Do you?”

You scrunch up your nose, “No. I want a massage next!”

“Exactly. C’mon, get that ass on the bed.”

[harmonyrae]

Crimson Intimacy

Synopsis: Ovulation week is intense, but shark week is... something else entirely. When Sylus finds out, he is more than happy to help alleviate those symptoms.

Content Warnings: Mention of menstrual cycle, feminine products, blood/bleeding, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, angst, before & after care, PiV, cream pie, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.8k

You toss the blanket away, the heat overwhelming. You turn to your side, clutching your stomach. Your cramps have been worse this month and the hot flashes were getting on your last nerve. 

You feel your thighs glide against each other, you assume the sweat has built up and you’ll have to take another shower to cool off. You huff a breath, blowing a stand of hair away from your nose - there’s no shot you’re risking a sneeze right now. You hear the door creak open and you squint your eyes against the stream of light pouring in. The light frames his form in the doorway, his silver hair damn near glowing. 

“Still sleeping, sweetie?” 

His voice was so gentle, you wanted to cry. Of course you wanted to cry, everything made you want to fucking cry. God, you hated this. It was your first weekend in two months you had completely off and you were so excited to spend time with Sylus. But here you are, curled up in a ball in his bed, downing pain meds every few hours and biting your tongue to avoid snapping at your patient boyfriend. 

“Not anymore… I’m sweating again…”

Sylus pushes the door open wider before making his way to you, letting the hall light guide his way. He switches on the bedside lamp and leans down to place a kiss to your damp forehead. His eyes trail down your body and stop at your waist. His eyes widen, his calm expression returns just a moment later, but you’d already seen the momentary change. You glance down and your heart drops.

The bedding beneath your hips was stained with blood along with your satin sleep shorts. The comforter was also spotted with blood and damp with sweat. Tears stream down your face and you can’t suppress a sob. You were already boiling, but now your cheeks felt positively molten. 

Sylus lifted a hand to cup your face, wiping your tears with his thumb.

“No, stop. Don’t cry.”

“But yo-your mattress and th-the sh-sheets… I’m so-sorry…” You manage to stutter through your sobs.

“It’s not an issue. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” 

He gathers the comforter and tosses it to the floor. He swiftly untucks the bedding and wraps it around your waist before gently placing a hand to your lower back, trying to help you shift off the bed. You squirm against his touch, your skin slick with sweat and, most likely, blood. He doesn’t pull back, helping you to the edge of the bed. You stand and turn and look back at the mattress, but Sylus circles behind you blocking your view. He guides you to the bathroom and closes the door. He leans you against the counter and prepares the shower.

He doesn’t run the water for too long, knowing the steam will only make you warmer. He places a lavender aromatherapy shower tablet on the floor of the shower, the scent already filling the room and making your shoulders relax. He turns to you slowly and starts to peel away the sheet.

“I can do it, you’ve done too much already.”

“Kitten…”

His warning tone shuts you up immediately. You know he isn’t going to leave you alone. He folds the sheet and places it on the counter before kneeling to help you step out of your sleep shorts. 

“I should probably use the…” You don’t look up at him, you don’t want to explain that you were wearing a tampon and an emergency pad that you bled through. You couldn’t believe this was even happening, this hasn’t happened in so long and never at someone else’s house. 

“Okay, come on then.”

He leads you over to the toilet and you finally look up at him with a grimace. He looks at you and smiles sweetly - damn him for being so nice about this. You want him to be upset or disgusted. His gentle demeanor was making your other symptoms worse… 

Defeated, you sigh and wiggle your way out of your bloody underwear. Your emergency pad was soaked and you cleared your throat as you striped it off and folded it. You hover over the toilet and carefully tug your tampon free before sitting. Sylus brings the trash can to you and you toss your products away. 

He goes to the sink and wets a washcloth, returning to clean your hands and wipe some blood off of your legs while you sit. A cramp pinches your side and you double over, groaning quietly. Sylus rubs your back and continues to clean your legs.

When you’re finished, he helps you stand up and moves to lift your satin sleep tank. You grab his wrists suddenly, eyes widening as you look up at him. Your chest tightens and you grit your teeth. He needs to leave and let you deal with this, you will only embarrass yourself further.

“This isn’t the first shower we’ve shared, sweetie. Let me help you.”

You don’t loosen your grip and Sylus leans down slightly to try to meet your gaze. However, you’ve found a very interesting spot on the floor and don’t intend to stop staring at it. 

“I know, I just… I’ve got this. Go.”

Sylus pulls a hand out of your grip and lifts your chin. He puts more force behind his movements sensing your reluctance to work with him. Your eyes flare with defiance and he watches you pout for a moment before leaning closer.

“Why are you pushing me away?”

You let out a frustrated breath, you didn’t want him to think you were pushing him away, but the alternative… You felt your cheeks heat once again as you felt a familiar throb between your legs. You quickly pull your bottom lip between your teeth and pinch your brows together trying to look angry rather than unbelievably horny. 

Sylus tilted his head, analyzing your response. His brows lifted before knitting together in a subtle confusion. He let his fingers drift from your chin down to your collarbone, goosebumps rising beneath his touch, shivering slightly.

“I’m not, I just want to take my shower in peace.”

His fingers don’t stop at your shoulder, he trails them down your arm before placing his hand on your hip. You squeeze your thighs together, the throb getting stronger and harder to ignore. You lift your eyes to meet his eyes once more and notice he is staring at your thighs. Oh great, he noticed. You try to back away, but he grips your hips with both hands and pulls you closer. 

“When were you going to tell me cramps aren’t the only troublesome symptom you deal with?”

You shake your head, frowning at him.

“I just don’t want to bleed all over your bathroom, I’ve already ruined your mattress and sheets and –”

Sylus cradles your head as he leans down to capture your lips with his. His soft lips slide against yours as his tongue presses to urge your lips apart. You gasp as you open your mouth and his tongue slips inside. His tongue dances with your own, pulling a needy moan from you. He pulls back, his smug smile would usually irritate you, but tonight… 

“Sylus, please don’t tease me…”

Sylus tugs at the bottom of your satin top and pulls up slowly. With your willpower dwindling, you don’t stop him. He pulls it over your head and drops it to the floor before tugging his shirt off. He pushes his sweatpants over his hips while he backs you closer to the shower door. Your chest heaves as you take in his naked body.

“First we get you cleaned up, then I’ll take care of you.”

“Sylus! I –” You gasp.

“You what, kitten?”

You place your hands against his stomach, your eyes seemingly unable to stop staring down at his cock. Your chin trembles, he reaches around you to open the shower door. You feel a cool mist coat your back and the lavender overwhelms your senses.

“It isn’t – I’m – I’m bleeding and it’s –”

“You think I’m afraid of a little blood, is that it, kitten?”

“Well obviously it isn’t just 'a little blood’ now is it?”

You couldn’t hide your frustration any longer. He was acting like it wasn’t a big deal and the mess didn’t bother him. You had just bled all over his bed and he knew how embarrassed you were, why was he being so annoying?

“You bleed every month. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. There’s usually not much I can do to help you through this time, but this… This I can help you with.”

You open your mouth to protest, his hands circle your shoulders and he backs you into the shower completely. As the warm water rushes over your skin, you close your eyes and tilt your head back. Sylus runs his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp. You meet his eyes again, seeing them glow in the dim light. You knew he was hungry, that he wanted this too. 

You look to the floor and see the water run pink. The dried blood slowly rinsing away from your skin. Sylus lathers soap onto his hand and kneels before you, washing your legs and thighs until the water runs clear. You rested your hands against your stomach, feeling bloated and self-conscious again. Sylus recognized that look, he moves your hands away and places kisses across your stomach and hips. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning against the shower wall and sighing. His hands caressing the backs of your thighs. 

“Sy…”

He stands, turning you around so you lean against his chest, your hands braced against the shower wall. He works the soap over your shoulders and arms before moving to your stomach. He makes his way up your torso until he cups your breasts, his thumbs lightly flicking over your extra sensitive nipples. You moan as he pulls you under the water to rinse before lathering the soap across his own body. You turn back around and run your hands over his chest and arms, the water running down your hands to rinse the soap away. Sylus hums as he feels your hands roam and settle low on his hips. He dips his mouth to your neck as he turns off the water. Your back arching off the tile wall, pressing your chest against him. 

“I’ll make a mess…” You whisper.

He grabs a towel and places kisses along your shoulder while he dries you. 

“I don’t care if I have to buy a whole new bed, you’re not going to sleep tonight frustrated or embarrassed, do you understand me?” 

He scoops you up and carries you to the bed bridal style. He sets you down and walks over to a cabinet across from the bed. He takes out a thick blanket and spreads it out on the mattress. You blush and glance down at your naked body. You hated the idea of ruining his things, even though you knew you couldn’t control it. Sylus immediately caught onto your concern.

“It’s a special blanket I got a few days ago. The tag said it was ‘the most reliable waterproof intimacy blanket on the market.’ I guess we will put it to the test, won’t we?” 

Your eyes widen as you glance between the blanket and Sylus. He bought a sex blanket? 

He presses you back onto the bed, you crawl on your elbows backward, squeezing your thighs already worrying about leaking. Sylus leans down over you, one hand settling by your shoulder while the other rests on your knee.

“I want you to relax. Let your body respond how it needs to.”

Tears pool in your eyes, no one had ever been willing to do this when you were on your period. And he was being so gentle and sweet, wanting you to enjoy yourself without worry. Your clit throbbed, aching for friction. You hated how horny you’d get during your period. Everyone talked about ovulation hormones, but no one talked about period hormones having a similar effect. The simplest thing could make you moan and tremble. 

You lowered yourself to the bed, letting your back settle into the silky blanket. Sylus crawled on top of you before pulling your leg open. You let your hip relax as he looked down and trailed his fingers down your inner thigh. You close your eyes and hold your breath, still worried he would change his mind once he felt your blood on his hand. 

“Breathe, my love…” His warm breath tickles your ear, his voice low and husky. His fingers finally touch you where you need him most. 

His fingers circle your clit, already swollen from being frustrated for the majority of the day. He pinches lightly, your hips lifting off the bed in response. Every part of your body was more sensitive and you couldn’t stop yourself from responding, loudly. You feel one of his fingers circle your entrance and you tense, he lowers himself to his elbow and dips his head to take your swollen nipple in his mouth. A delicious burst of pleasure spirals through your chest. He licks, sucks and nibbles as he works his finger around your entrance. 

You could feel how slick you were and while you knew it was partially your arousal, you knew you were bleeding. But every time Sylus felt your body tense, he would shift his mouth. He took your other nipple between his teeth and circled his tongue over its peak. The tension melts away as you arch your back off the bed to push your breast further into his eager mouth.

Your hips were stretching wider and wider as Sylus worked you, his fingers dipping inside of you finally. He stroked your sensitive walls slowly, feeling your body writhe and your fingernails dig into his shoulders. 

“Does it hurt?”

You shake your head, his purposeful touch makes your head swim. You start grinding against his hand. He places his hand flush against you and rubs his palm against your clit. You lift your head to look down, expecting to see his hand covered in your blood, but his lips meet yours and your head tilts back onto the mattress. 

“Do you want more?” He mumbles into your mouth.

“God yes… please…”

Your thrusts match your whine as you dig your heels into the bed to push his fingers further inside of you. Your mind is fighting with your hormones, you want to be worried, but it feels so good you can’t focus long enough to visualize the mess you’re making. 

You whimper as he removes his fingers, he doesn’t let you lift your head, his kiss holding your attention. When you feel the tip of his cock slide along your folds you shake and gasp, your eyes flying open. He presses his forehead against yours, keeping you still. 

“Sy, I need…” 

He slowly presses his cock into your entrance, your body tensing.

“What do you need, angel?”

You can’t speak, your body shakes as he pauses, letting your body relax and stretch for him. You reach your hands up to his hair, still damp from the shower and grab a fistful. You yank his head back and he groans.  

“I need you I need y-ou I need you I need ughh fuck…”

You ramble until he pushes into you in one thrust and bottoms out. You cry out feeling him hit your g-spot immediately. Your chest heaves as your walls pulse, damn near vibrating with pleasure. He tucks a hand under your arm sliding up to your neck and lifts you to where you’ve trapped him by pulling his hair.

“Do you want me to be gentle or rough, angel? Speak to me.”

You place kisses over his cheeks, his nose, over his eyelids. Your hands loosen and you let his hair go, locking your arms around his neck and your chest against his.

“Sy… ahh mhm…”

You can tell your body wouldn’t mind if he fucked you so hard you splattered the walls and couldn’t walk tomorrow. But hearing him call you angel, his voice gentle and his attention being solely on you and making sure you don’t get distracted by… wait, what embarrassed you earlier? You just wanted him close to you, touching you, holding you, whispering to you.

Sylus moans and pulls out to slowly push back inside of you. There’s no resistance, he slides in and out with ease, but he keeps his movements slow so you feel everything. In a stark contrast to his cock, his mouth races across your chest. He captures a nipple and suckles before nipping at your collarbone or fully biting at the fullness of your chest. 

Your hips press into the mattress and you work to keep your legs open. You want to wrap your legs around him and thrust, but he’s fucking you so perfectly and you don’t want to ruin it. Yes, you want to flip him over and ride him so hard until he has tears in his eyes. You want to deny his orgasm until he is begging for it and his fingers are digging into your hips leaving instant bruises. You want to get on all fours and tell him to fuck you from behind, wrapping your hair around one of his hands while he chokes you lightly with the other. 

“You want me to be rough, don’t you?” 

Your eyes fly open and you stare at him. He traces your forehead with his nose, his breath tickling your lashes.

“Your tense, restless. Tell me what you fucking need.” 

You bite your lip and moan breathlessly as he rams into you harder and harder.

“Fuck m– ugh… fuck me fuck me until– until I scream…” 

Sylus doesn’t hesitate. He drops you onto the mattress and plants both hands by your head. His knees push your thighs upward. He rises to his knees, his cock still buried inside you. He reaches down and pulls your legs up, holding your legs flush against your chest. His hand wrapping around your thighs, his grip tightening as he pulls out only to ram back into you harder and harder.

“Moan for me, whimper and moan until you can’t stand it and then when you’re about to come, scream. Scream my fucking name. I want to hear you when you come all over my cock, angel.”

He doesn’t talk to you like this in bed normally. But your neediness is different. It’s not desperate, it’s commanding. Maybe it’s the hormones? It doesn’t matter, he is matching your energy and giving you exactly what you need and nothing less. The aggression is mutual and it’s making you feral.

His pace is rapid and you can’t close your eyes. Your gaze locks onto Sylus, his cheeks red, sweat trickling down his forehead, his eyes half-closed, his mouth slightly open as he gasps. Your moans and whimpers turn into grunts and gasps, your body wriggling to get away from the intensity building at your core. 

Finally you scream, you scream so loudly you know Sylus’ neighbors would probably think he is killing someone... again. Sylus doesn’t slow down, he releases your legs and leans down to grip your hip. You come hard, your orgasm intense and overwhelming. You scream his name over and over and then you feel his movements stutter. His hips snap forward and he groans your name just as loudly. You feel the heat of his release spreading and leaking out of you already. He forces himself to continue to move his hips, working you both through the high. 

You lift your arms over your head and grip the edge of the mattress above you. You’re almost tempted to pull yourself away from him as you near the point of over-stimulation. Your swollen clit and tender pussy ache from the exertion. It’s a welcome ache, but you can’t handle much more.

Sylus pulls out and nearly collapses on top of you, letting out a sigh before nuzzling into your neck. You press a sideways kiss to his temple as you rub his back slowly.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“I’m perfect.”

He lifts his head and looks at you. He smiles and shifts his hips, this is when you feel how slick your bodies are against each other. Your stomach tightens. You try to lift your head to look, but Sylus stops you. He hovers over you and looks at you with a stern expression.

“You’re going to close your eyes and I’m going to carry you to the bathroom for another shower, okay? I’ll take care of everything once you’re settled in the living room.”

“The living room? Oh god, I ruin –”

Sylus reaches down to cup your pussy, the sudden touch making you jump and whimper.

“What did I say, kitten?”

“I – you…”

He circles your sore clit with the pad of his finger, pressing harder than he needs to. You pull your hips backwards into the mattress, groaning.

“Okay, okay! I didn’t ruin anything.”

“We are going to the living room to watch a movie with dinner. The bed is fine.”

You sigh as he kneels over you. You stare at the ceiling trying to stifle the temptation to look. You finally close your eyes and feel Sylus pick you up, once again carrying you bridal style to the bathroom. 

“And don’t even think about peaking over my shoulder.”

You giggle into the crook of his neck and squeeze your eyes closed. You hear the bathroom door close but you keep your eyes closed reveling in the tender moment. Sylus walks right into the shower and turns it on, letting the water warm as it spills over your skin. He holds you for a while, twisting from side to side to let the water rinse over your skin. He puts you down and takes care of you, washing your hair and using your favorite soap. 

The rest of the night you are at ease, satisfied and sore. Sylus holds you in his lap after dinner, holding a heating pad to your lower stomach and feeding you chocolate covered strawberries. You lean your head back against his chest and fall asleep. When you wake up the next morning you are in Sylus’ bed with no blood stains in sight. Sylus walks in the bedroom with two cups of coffee and sits down next to you. You smile and sit up to wrap your arms around him.

“What’s this for?” He whispers into your hair, wrapping an arm around you to hug you back.

“I just… Last night… Thank you.” 

“Of course, my love. Now that I know your symptoms, I can better take care of you.”

He leans back and winks at you. You roll your eyes, but can’t help but smile. 

“You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

Sylus chuckles before pulling you into a gentle kiss. You’ve never felt so safe. The embarrassment you felt, a distant memory. Sylus never judged and he loved you no matter how messy you might become. Yeah, he can be insufferable if he wants to. After last night, he’s earned it.

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora

[deathanniversary]

divider! creds : toastray

♡ pairing : bsf’s dad!toji x male!reader

♡ warning(s) : anal sex , backshots , no mentions of any genitalia just getting pounded from the ass ..? he / his pronouns , mentions of ‘ he ‘ , choking , mirror sex , getting caught

♡ sypnosis : your best friend’s dad keeps giving you ‘those’ glances , and you just can’t help it !

You knew this was so wrong.

You knew fucking your best friend’s father was wrong.

But you didn’t stop him from bending him you over on his daughter’s vanity. Not at all.

“Fucking— whore—” Toji’s deep and scratchy voice sent a shiver down your spine, making you back arch even more than it was before. It felt like you were going to break your back fucking with this man.

Needy. Needy. Down bad. You're holding onto the vanity table for God dear life, fighting the urge not smack everything off the table. You were mewling softly while he kept thrusted deep inside of you. How long have you two the been like this? When was your best friend going to arrive home? She could burst through the door at any moment and you two would get caught. Ass out ‘n all.

As much as you wanted to pry this huge ‘n beefy man’s arm off your body, you couldn’t. You didn’t. It felt too good to stop— so why bother now? Toji could tell you were trying not to act desperate, yet you were. (desperate for him and that big dick, yes.)

Toji wrapped his bigass arm around your neck, forcing you to look up at your sweaty and flushed face in the vanity mirror. “Look at you, baby. Such a pretty boy.. all f’me…” he delivers a hard spank to your ass, palming the soft and squishy flesh in his hand. “My daughter always mentioned how beautiful you were. Never knew you could be this gorgeous all flushed and naked.” Oh shit. You didn’t even want to think about what your best friend thought of you right now. You were tuning out to whatever he was saying. You were drooling like a baby, hair sticking to your sweaty and drenched face. His hand gripped tighter around your neck, (you swear this man could kill you if he gripped your neck tighter) — which startled you a bit. “Toji— please—“ you whined out.

“Don't tell me you're too flustered to speak?” He asked, brushing off hair sticking to your forehead. A cocky smirk plastered on his lips as his sharp eyes looked at you through the mirror. This man was mocking your distress. Evil.

“Hey, i’m— dude. What the fuck, man.” Tsumiki gave you a deadpanned and unbothered stare, as if she was used to it.

“Oops. My bad..?”

“Seriously? My dad?”

“He’s pretty, ain’t he, sweetie?” — “Dad!”

♡ likes ‘n reblogs are appreciated ^_^ <3<3

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 49: Reforming Bonds

Summary: Your pack tries to figure out what comes next after John's announcement.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 10,527 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, explicit sexual content, p in v sex, oral sex, handjobs, shower sex, slight dom/sub dynamics, spanking (lots of asses get slapped), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, alternate universe, language, slight angst, emotions

A/N: I'm ovulating so you're welcome

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“Cap, what do ye mean?”

Chaos has erupted since John’s surprise announcement. Johnny is on his feet almost instantly in disbelief, trying to process the words his captain and alpha have just said. So they didn’t know either, judging by the surprised looks on their faces. They had no idea, and they weren’t expecting it.

“I’m retiring.” John says, repeating what he had just said. “It’s time I settled down.”

Johnny stammers for a moment, still trying to wrap his head around this sudden change in their lives.

“If you’re going, so am I.” Kyle says, rising to his feet as well.

“Kyle, you don’t have to-” John starts but Kyle holds his hand out.

“No, I want to.” The room goes still as Kyle addresses his alpha. “You’re right. It’s not fair for us to do this. Our omega deserves a normal pack and a good life.” He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

John stares long and hard at him for a moment before nodding. “It’s your decision in the end, what you want to do.”

“This is what I want to do.” Kyle says softly.

John nods, still staring at him. He reaches out, taking Kyle’s hand. “Okay.”

There’s a sudden tension in the air as Simon stands from the couch, heading towards the back door. All four of you watch him go, the glass sliding open before closing softly. You chew on your lip, leaning forward to set John’s paperwork on the table. Part of you wants to look through it, read every small detail about your alpha as you can, but another part of you knows even some parts of him will remain secret to you. The less you know the better. That was how your place in this pack started.

Maybe it should stay that way.

You go to rise, but Johnny puts out a hand, stopping you. “Let him go, kitten.”

You glance at him for a moment before looking back at the door. You want to know what’s going through his head, what he’s feeling but he won’t let you in like that. Not right now. Even Johnny doesn’t go after him. He needs his space and you have to be okay with that.

John’s hand runs over your head, brushing your hair back from your face. You’re still staring at the door, staring out where Simon has disappeared. He squats down next to you again, his knees cracking. You fight the urge to make a joke, to tease him about his creaky joints in his retirement age.

“How are you?” He asks softly, slipping his hand around the back of your neck. It’s a comforting weight, a reminder of just how long it’s been since you presented for him. There’s a tingle beneath your skin at the touch of his hand.

“You’re really doing this? For me?” You ask, staring into those bright blue eyes of his.

“Yes.” He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re still young. You deserve to live a happy life with me in it.”

A smile forms on your face, relief starting to flood through you as the shock wears off. He’s voiced one of your deepest worries, that fear that he’d come back in a body bag someday too soon. You’d have to live the rest of your life without your alpha. Your mother was proof it could happen, but your situation is different. Your relationship with John is different than that of your parents. John’s a good alpha, a good man. He’s done horrible things, things you don’t want to think about, but you know he’d never raise a hand towards you.

The fact you feel so comfortable with his hand on the back of your neck proves that.

You lean into him, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. His arms wrap around you, lifting you up so he can sit on the couch in your place.

You settle into his lap, resting against his chest. It’s been a long time since you’ve been held by him. There’s been such a distance between the two of you, even after his return from disposing of Shepherd. You haven’t truly had a vulnerable, intimate moment with him in weeks.

Johnny lets out a sigh before heading for the back door. Kyle slips into his spot on the couch, leaning up against John. His head rests against yours, one of John’s arms slipping from around you to curl around Kyle. The three of you sit there in silence, soaking in the moment.

John’s really going to retire for you. Kyle is going to retire for you.

You never thought you’d see the day.

You press your nose into John’s neck, his beard tickling your skin. He’d shaved it when he went after Shepherd, cutting it back to its normal length. You almost miss his scruffy face. Maybe you can convince him to grow it out more once he’s officially retired. The mental image of him all scruffy-faced and soft has you shifting in his lap. You doubt he’d let himself lose his physicality, but you can dream. He’s lost more than he’d like to, no doubt. They all have.

Maybe it is a good thing he’s retiring. It would be rough to go back now after this.

Simon’s going to have a hell of a time.

You slide the door closed behind you, wrapping your arms around yourself as you step out onto the deck. He’s leaning against the railing, smoke puffing up from his lips and dispersing into the air. You stand there for a moment, waiting for him to acknowledge you, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, staring off in the distance. You wonder if this is what they saw in those times you did the same.

You take slow steps forward, keeping yourself in his peripheral. He knows you’re there. You’d be shocked if you surprised him of all people.

That could also be dangerous for you.

You step up next to him, leaning against the railing, staring out at the grey sea in the distance. He’s smoking, a cigarette held between his fingers. You wonder how many he’s smoked since he came out here. You know they all do it occasionally, Price most of all, but you haven’t seen them smoke in a long time. You wonder when he bought the pack, or if he’s been keeping it for a moment like this.

You don’t blame him one bit for needing something to clear his head.

You hesitate before you speak, wondering if you should say anything at all, or if you should just wait for him to speak his mind. You might be out here all night if you waited. Instead you take the plunge, jumping right into the swirling black pool that is Simon’s emotions.

“I won’t ask you to retire.” You bite the bullet, coming right out and saying what you know he’s stressed about. He shifts on his feet just slightly as he brings the cigarette up to his lips. “That wouldn’t be fair.” You continue. “I’d want it to be your decision. Just like I left it up to John. I honestly didn’t know he was going to do it. I didn’t think he would ever. This whole time I was thinking we’d go back to living on base, things would return to the way they were before. I wouldn’t have liked it, but it wasn’t my place to say what you all could and couldn’t do. That’s why I wouldn’t ask you to do the same. It should be your choice what you decide to do and I’m okay with it if you decide you don’t want to retire. Honestly I can’t picture you retiring like I can John…”

You trail off as he lets out a sigh, taking another drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the railing. There’s a tense moment of silence, his gaze still off in the distance.

“You talk a lot when you’re nervous.” He finally says.

“I-I’m not nervous.” You say, shaking your head.

He huffs, leaning his arms on the railing. “Can smell it on you.” He shakes his head, dropping his gaze to the yard below. “I knew he’d do it.” He starts, speaking softly. “He’s been stressing for weeks about going back, putting you through that again. I never thought he’d actually do it…”

Simon trails off, fiddling with the lighter in his hand. You watch the dexterous way he moves it, fluidly slipping it between his fingers. You can imagine a knife in its place, spinning and flipping expertly. He’s good with his hands. You know personally what those long, rough, thick fingers are capable of.

“It certainly wasn’t what I was expecting he’d say.” You shake your head, clearing it of the thoughts rapidly taking over. “But I mean it.” You sink your teeth into your lip. “I won’t be upset if you decide to stay. You and Johnny.”

Simon slowly turns to face you, staring down at you. He’s silent for a moment, staring long and hard at your face. If you didn’t know him better, you might have shrunk under that gaze, wishing you could crawl under the deck. Instead you stand there strong, squaring up to that intense stare.

“You’ve come a long way from the scared pup that was forced into your pack.” He finally says, his gaze softening just a bit. “I’m proud of you. You’ve survived more than most omegas would, and you’re still standing.” He reaches out, running a hand over your head. “I think Laswell was right in her choice.”

“I am glad she chose me.” You smile, leaning into his touch as his hand drops to cup your cheek. “Despite everything, I still think it could have been worse.” You make a face. “Phil could have gotten his way.”

Simon growls lowly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “I will pay you to never think about that shit stain again.”

“How much?” You smirk, letting out a shriek as you attempt to slip out of his grip. He’s too fast, though, his arm wrapping around you and pulling you back.

His hand slaps your ass, stinging even through your jeans. “Little shit.” He grunts, wiggling you around until you’re pressed up against his chest. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

“But you love it.” You grin up at him, knowing you’re right. He’s loved it for a long time, longer than he’s admitted.

He hums, leaning his forehead against yours. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You breathe, brows pulling slightly in a frown.

“For allowing me the chance to do this. For proving my thoughts and beliefs wrong.” He says. “For being so goddamn understanding.”

Your lips pull into a smile, your head tilting so you can kiss him. “I’m glad you’ve gotten this opportunity to learn to be vulnerable. Who knows where you’d be if you didn’t.”

“Still a miserable cunt with nothing to live for.” He says.

You snort, pressing another kiss to his lips. “You’ve had Johnny to live for.”

He hums in agreement. “I do quite like him.”

“It’s hard not to.” You say, wrapping your arms around Simon’s neck. “He’s just so...cute.”

“Don’t let him hear that. He’ll never let you forget you said it.” Simon mumbles against your lips.

“Nah, I’ll just tell him you said it.” You grin.

Simon growls, sinking his teeth into your lip. “You little shit.” His hand slips down, palming your ass. “Should line you all up, bend you over and spank you till you’ve got welts. See how much shit you wanna talk after.”

“Nothing can stop me.” You grin, biting his lip back.

He growls, smacking his hand against your ass again. It stings, but you can’t stop the moan from slipping through your lips.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts, squeezing your ass.

“Bit cold to be fucking on the porch.” A voice cuts through the tension, drawing you and Simon apart.

“Fuck off, Garrick.” Simon growls, his hand still on your ass.

He holds his hands up. “Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.” He grins. “Make it quick, we’re going to town for dinner.”

Simon’s hand lifts from your ass and you can imagine the gesture he made to Kyle. There’s a laugh before the door slides closed again. It makes you smile, seeing everyone back to their normal, playful selves again.

Simon leans down, pressing his face into your neck. He inhales deeply before sighing, his warm breath fanning across your cool skin. Goosebumps raise on your arms, the change in temperature making you shiver. Simon’s lips brush your neck, sliding down to your mark where he presses a soft kiss before he stands up straight once more.

“He’s right, we should get back inside.” You say, going to turn but a hand closes around your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Simon grins. It has another shiver running down your back.

“To go get ready for dinner…” You say, frowning slightly at him.

His grin twists into a smirk. “He said make it quick.”

Your mouth falls open as you stare at him, the meaning of his words hitting you instantly. “Oh fuck…”

The house is quiet, the light slowly fading beneath your door as the lamps get shut off in the living room. You’re standing there, hand around the doorknob. You twist it slowly, watching the light beneath the door fade entirely to darkness.

That darkness is broken as you crack your door open, casting a stream of light from the disgusting overhead bulb. You’ve turned it on out of necessity despite how badly it burns your retinas in the otherwise dark world around you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” You ask into the darkness, the shape that would be otherwise hidden on the moonless night pausing by the stairs.

“To bed.” He rumbles, turning around to face you, hand on the banister. You can picture him, leg lifted ready to lift himself onto that first step.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” You say quietly, leaning against the door frame.

“No,” He says, releasing the banister so he can turn to fully face you. “Just figured you might want some space.”

“Why would I want that?” You ask, curious as to what he’s going to come up with.

He tilts his head. “I know I haven’t been the best alpha to you lately. Retiring won’t make up for what I’ve put you through, the promises I broke. I figured I’d be the last person you’d want to see right now.”

Emotions rise in your throat, threatening to choke you. He’s not wrong. He’s hurt you in more ways than one. Retirement won’t fix everything, all of the heartbreak he’s caused you. That will take time.

But he is wrong about you wanting distance.

“Yeah, well, you’re wrong.” You say, swallowing thickly. “Kyle will survive a night without you.”

He stares at you for a moment before he nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “Okay.”

You step back from the door, hand on the light switch as you wait for him to cross the small living room. Despite the absence of one person, the cottage has started feeling smaller to you. You long for space and breathing room. It almost makes you miss the barracks.

Almost.

You turn off the light as soon as John steps through the door, breathing a sigh of relief. You close the door behind him, letting it click as it seals the two of you inside. You brush past him, heading towards the bed.

Hands dart out, wrapping around your waist before you can get too far. You’re pulled backwards and spun around so you’re facing John. It happens so fast you have barely any time to react, just managing to get your hands on his chest before you slam into his body. His arms wrap around you, keeping you pinned there as he stares down at you. His gaze is intense, burning a hole straight through you. A shudder runs through your body, your skin starting to tingle under the warmth of his hands.

“I’ve been neglecting you.” He murmurs, leaning down close to your face. His breath is warm as it fans across your skin. You try to lean up to kiss him but he pulls back just out of reach. “I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t you prove how sorry you really are?” You say, your fingers bunching the fabric of his shirt.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your hands. “I think I can do that.”

He finally leans down, pressing his lips against yours. They’re slightly chapped but you don’t care, leaning up as far as you can to push against him. He kisses you hard, scraping his teeth against your bottom lip. You moan against his lips, sliding your hands up to his shoulders.

“Missed you.” He murmurs against your lips.

“You were the one neglecting me.” You say, pulling back.

He hums, sliding his hands down to your ass and squeezing. “Neglecting myself too. I’m not wasting any more time.” He says, leaning down to kiss you. “Get on the bed.” He growls.

“No.” You say, pulling away. “I’m in charge.”

The growl rumbling in his chest lowers in pitch, his eyes darkening but you don’t move, standing there strong despite your omega’s desire to do as you’re told. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction. He chose to neglect you, so you’re going to make sure he pays for it.

His growl softens as the tension in his shoulders relaxes. He toes off his slippers before passing you to head towards the bed. You rear back, slapping his ass on the way. He grunts, jumping slightly at the impact. He glances at you over his shoulder with a playful look before he climbs onto the bed, settling himself in the middle.

You take a moment to stare at him, taking in the sight of him on your bed, the place that’s been your safe haven for months. It’s not a nest, but it’s the closest you can get.

The sight of your alpha in it makes your pussy tingle.

You make your way to the bed, climbing onto the edge. You crawl over to him, sitting yourself up on his thighs. He stares up at you, his hands sliding up your legs.

You push them back onto the bed, shaking your head. “No touching.”

He grunts, but keeps his hands flat on the bed.

You lean forward, trailing your fingers across his cheek, feeling the prickle of his beard across your fingers as you trail them down his jaw. You continue your path down his throat, sliding over his Adam’s apple before dipping into the space between his collar bones. He swallows thickly, and you watch the way his throat bobs. You sit up on your knees, bending over him to sink your teeth into his throat. He growls, his hands closing around the backs of your knees.

His grip is tight, warning.

You don’t let up though, trailing bites across his throat to his neck. You sink your teeth into the skin below his ear drawing another growl. Your teeth leave red marks down his neck to his shoulder, where you sink your teeth in as hard as you can. He lets out a deep growl, his hand slapping your ass hard.

“Fuck.” He grunts as you let up, leaning over him.

You put your hands on either side of his head, staring down at him. “I thought I said no touching.”

“Almost took a chunk out.” He says, trailing his hands up the backs of your thighs.

“Good.” You say, sitting up on his stomach. “You bit me, it’s only fair I bite you.”

“You’ve bitten me lots of times.” He says, laying back.

“Yeah but mine won’t leave a scar.” You say, trailing your fingers down his chest.

You push your hips back, your clothed pussy pushing against the bulge in his sweatpants. You lean down, dragging your tongue across his chest before you reach his nipple, closing your lips around it. A breathy moan leaves his lips as you suck on the bud, tracing circles around it with your tongue. He sucks in a breath as your teeth scrape across his nipple, your lips curling around it to suck hard.

His hand lifts to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. You pull away from his nipple with a pop, sitting yourself up over him again.

“I said no touching.” You say, pushing his arm down. “For a military man, you don’t listen very well.”

“I never was good at following orders.” He smirks. “Only giving them out.”

You huff, forcing his hands under your knees. “Gonna have to tie you up.”

“How are you going to do that?” He lifts a brow at you.

“I’ll figure it out.” You smirk, pushing yourself back so you’re seated over his hips.

You run your fingers across his soft stomach, trailing them through the soft hair that makes a line directly where you’re headed. He’s hard under you, his bulge prominent through his sweatpants. You’re equally as aroused, panties so wet you’re probably leaving a spot on his pants.

You slip your fingers under the band of his sweatpants, finding nothing but skin. Oh, he’s gone commando underneath. You never took him for the type. You know Johnny freeballs a lot, and so does Simon, but you never thought John would as well. Maybe he hoped to get his dick wet tonight. If not by you, then someone else.

Lucky for him it did turn out to be you.

You push yourself up onto your knees as you slide his sweatpants down, revealing his cock. It’s hard and red, the tip already leaking. He’s this turned on by you and you haven’t even touched him yet. He really has been neglecting himself. You push his pants down as far as you can, his legs lifting to kick them the rest of the way off.

You sit yourself on his strong thighs, resting one hand on his hip as you drag a finger up the length of his cock. He shivers, hands clenching the sheets as you tease his head, running your finger over his weeping slit.

“So hard already.” You muse, smearing his precum down the length of his cock. “Barely touched you.”

“Told you I’ve been neglecting myself.” He grunts as you spit into your hand before finally gripping his cock.

You hum, squeezing the base before slowly dragging your hand to the top. He twitches in your hold, more precum spilling out of his tip. “If you were better behaved I might let you cum right now.” You lean down, your breath fanning his cock. “But you just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

He twitches in your hand again as you drag your tongue from base to tip, flicking it along his slit. He groans, hands pulling at the sheets. The scent of him is heavy in the air, the muskiness of his arousal mingling with your own sweet scent. You’re dripping on his thigh, leaving a wet patch where you’re seated.

“You gonna cum? Make a mess all over yourself?” You hum, slowly stroking his throbbing cock.

“Yes,” he breathes, his hips pushing up against your hand.

“I don’t think so.” You say, dropping his cock from your hand.

He lets out a growl, his head lifting to stare down at you. “You little minx.”

You shrug. “Should have been good for me and kept your hands to yourself.” You sit yourself back between his legs, pulling your panties off and tossing them onto the floor. “If you can last until I cum, then maybe I’ll be nice to you.”

You climb up over his hips again, your hand wrapping around his cock. You don’t even need to prep yourself before you line him up, sinking down onto him. Your baggy shirt blocks out his view of his thick cock spreading you open. He groans, his head tilting back as you squeeze around him, sinking down until you’re seated on his hips.

Oh god how you’ve missed his cock.

It fills you just right, spreading you open and pushing against all those lovely little spots inside of you. It might just be the perfect cock, but then again, you’re likely to think that about all of them in the moment. Four perfect cocks attached to four perfect men.

How truly lucky you are.

And how lucky they are to have you.

You start to move your hips, rocking back and forth on John’s cock. His hands are still gripping the sheets so tight you’re worried he might rip them. Oh well, that would be a problem for later.

John bucks his hips as you lift yourself, spearing his cock back into you. You force your weight down, pinning his hips to the bed. “Be good.” You warn him, despite the pleasure reeling in your brain. The desire to give in and let him pound you into the mattress is strong, but you’re in too deep and have to keep control for now.

You continue to rock your hips, rising up and down along the length of his cock. His head is lifted, neck straining as he stares at you, watching your body move. His lips are parted, his chest rising and falling heavily with his breaths. He’s holding himself back, trying to keep control on himself. He could easily take over, force you to submit, but he lets you play this game.

For now.

You press your hands against John’s stomach, feeling the muscles contract as he breathes. Even after so much time he still has kept some of his strength. You can imagine him doing his pushups and situps in the morning, keeping himself agile and strong just in case.

You wonder if he’ll continue that even after retirement.

You can imagine he will. He’ll always have that need to be ready just in case.

That protective edge will never leave the back of his mind, no matter how relaxed he gets.

That almost makes you sad.

Your hands push into his stomach, using him as leverage to bounce on his cock. You’re quickly growing tired, and the press of his cock inside you has you rapidly approaching an orgasm. He’s pulsing and twitching inside of you, and you’re shocked he’s lasted this long. A true testament to his inner resolve.

He was being bad on purpose.

You don’t doubt that one bit.

It’s all a game to him, indulging this desire to be dominant for a moment. It’s a game you’ll gladly play, though, even if for just a moment.

“Fuck,” You breathe, reaching under your shirt to rub your clit.

John groans as you squeeze around him, his head falling back as he gets closer and closer to his own orgasm. Eventually he won’t be able to hold it. Eventually he’s going to lose control and cum without your permission. You’re tempted to push him that far, but at the same time you’re desperate to cum on your alpha’s cock.

High-pitched whines leave your lips as you desperately grind against his hips, fingers rubbing rapid circles around your clit. “Gonna cum!” You gasp, body shuddering as pleasure ripples through you.

“Cum on my cock.” He grunts, hands leaving the sheets to grip your thighs.

You don’t care, too close to the edge to pay much attention to him. You’re too busy chasing your own high.

Your orgasm slams into you, your hips jerking as you spasm around him. He lets out a deep moan, fingers indenting your thighs as he holds on for dear life. He won’t cum yet. He’ll be good and hold off for you despite the way you’re gripping him like a vice, your body trying to milk his own orgasm.

You pull yourself off of him, sitting back on his thighs as you take his cock in your hand. It’s slick and shiny with your juices, your hand slipping along him easily as you pump him. “Cum for me.” You breathe, squeezing your hand around his cock.

He cums with a deep groan, hips lifting as he finally gets relief, painting his stomach with his seed. You jerk him through his orgasm, seeking every last drop he can give you until he’s going soft in your hand. He’s breathing heavily, chest heaving as he slowly releases your thighs, dropping his hands back to the bed.

You crawl your way back up to his face, leaning over him as he tries to catch his breath. “So good for me.” You breathe, still damp and slick between your thighs. You know he’s getting hard again. You can smell the thickening of his scent in the air.

You press your lips against his, leaning down to rest your body against his chest. His arms come up, wrapping around you, pinning you there. You pull back just slightly, staring down into his eyes. “Fuck me like you missed me.” You breathe against his lips.

“Yes ma’am.” He says, his hands bunching your shirt around your waist. You sit yourself up just enough that he can pull it over your head and drop it on the floor.

You lean yourself back down, pressing your breasts against his chest as you kiss him again. He groans against your lips, trailing his hands across your skin.

“So fucking soft.” He grunts, squeezing your hips. His hands are rough against your back, still calloused despite his lack of handling weapons regularly. Maybe it’s just part of him, something he’ll never lose.

You don’t mind it one bit.

He wraps his arms around you, pushing up as he rolls you over onto your back. He hovers above you, elbows pressed into the mattress on either side of you. He stares down at you for a long moment, eyes tracing your face.

“What?” You ask, worrying there might be something wrong.

“Forgot what you looked like under me.” He grins playfully.

“Well, take a picture. You can share it to the group chat.” You smirk.

He chuckles. “No. This is just for me.”

He leans back down, pressing another kiss to your lips. He does kiss you like he missed you, soft and tender yet passionate and devouring. It has your toes curling and he hasn’t even touched you.

His lips leave yours to trail down your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin to leave marks just as you did to him. You shiver as he presses a kiss to your mark, the skin tingling from his touch. Your entire body is tingling as you give over control to him, submitting to him and what he’s going to do to your body to prove he really did miss you.

He kisses his way down your body, pausing for a moment to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, giving them the same attention you did to him. Your lips part in a breathy moan as he sucks on the sensitive bud, scraping his teeth along the skin before releasing it with a pop. He gives you a smirk as he continues down your body, licking a circle around your belly button before sliding even lower.

He trails kisses down your pelvis, ending with a kiss just above your clit. You lift your head up, watching him as he stares at your pussy, still slick and sensitive from your first orgasm. He hums, his thumbs spreading you open.

“Just as pretty as I remember.” He says.

A snarky remark dies on the tip of your tongue as he drags his tongue through your folds. You flop back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as he finally reaches your clit, pressing a soft kiss against it.

Your lips part as he flicks the tip of his tongue against your clit, toes already curling again as he circles the still sensitive bud. His fingers keep you spread open as he licks another stripe through your folds before his lips wrap around your clit. He sucks hard, a sound almost like a mewl leaving your lips as pleasure shoots through you like an electric shock.

Your fingers curl into the sheets as John continues his relentless assault on your clit, slurping at your folds like a parched man. His tongue draws shapes across your clit, swirling and flicking, his lips closing around it and suckling hard. Your legs are shaking already, toes curled as he feasts on you like he really did miss you.

“Fuck…” You whine, pushing your hips up against his face, your thighs trying to close around his head. You don’t care that you might suffocate him. You doubt he’d complain about dying between your thighs. Out of all the ways he could go…

“Feel good, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your clit, sucking on it again.

“Yes!” You moan, your hand reaching down to slide through his hair. He cut it recently, back to the normal short length he wore on base. They’ve all cleaned up a bit, likely due to their belief they were all headed back to their old lives.

Now things have changed.

Your back arches off the bed as John continues to eat you out, pushing you closer and closer to another orgasm. You were already sensitive from the first, and the mix of his tongue and the burn of his beard on your inner thighs has you rapidly approaching a second.

“Cum for me.” He growls, scraping your clit with his teeth before wrapping his lips around it.

Your orgasm hits you like a truck, your entire body shaking as waves of pleasure course through you. You can barely handle it, colors erupting behind your eyes as you writhe on the bed. John continues to suckle at your clit, working you through your orgasm.

He finally relents once you’re shaking with overstimulation, pulling his face back from your pussy. His beard is damp with your juices, lips shining. You hold your arms out for him, inviting him to crawl back up so he’s wrapped in your arms.

“Good girl.” He murmurs.

You can taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you, his knee hooking beneath your leg and pushing it up. You wrap it around his waist, pulling his body as close as you can. His hand slides beneath your back, coming to rest between your shoulder blades. He cradles you as he slips a hand between your bodies, still kissing you as his cock brushes against your damp pussy. You’re still wet despite two orgasms, worked up by the touch and smell of your alpha.

You whimper against his lips as he pushes into you, your body welcoming him in gladly. A sigh leaves his lips as you squeeze around him, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. John leans his forehead against yours as he sinks completely into you, his hips pressing flush against yours.

“Fucking feel so good wrapped around me.” He breathes, pausing there for a moment as he presses soft pecks across your face.

“Missed you.” You whisper, wrapping yourself around him as tightly as you can.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, pressing his cheek against yours. “Shouldn’t have been neglecting you.”

“Make it up to me.” You say, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before nipping it gently.

He hums before he starts moving, rocking his hips against yours. You feel so full, his cock pressing as far as it can into you with each thrust of his hips forward. It’s slow and soft, John taking his time to try and prove to you just how much he missed you, trying to make up for just how much he’s neglected you over these last couple weeks by keeping his distance.

You would have accepted him back with open arms immediately. You have missed him, despite your tumultuous emotions surrounding your alpha. You love him, you always have, even in those moments when he hurt you. You know they weren’t intentional, done out of malice in a desire to hurt you as much as he can. You know he loves you too. You can tell just by the way he handles you so delicately, how he’s tried to make up for his mistakes in the best ways he knows how.

He keeps his arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as he rocks against you. You moan softly in his ear, clinging to him like he might slip away, like this might be a dream you could wake up from any moment. Deep down you know it’s not, but at the same time that fear that this is all in your head runs rampant.

John presses soft kisses across your face as he makes love to you, almost as if he can sense your fears, your doubts and he’s trying to brush them away. Your nails dig into his back as he shifts his hips, his cock brushing against that spot inside of you with every thrust. It has warmth spreading through your entire body, electricity coursing through your veins, sparking every inch where his skin touches yours.

“Alpha,” You whimper, clinging onto him for dear life.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers in your ear, tightening his hold around you, lifting your body to meet his.

He moans softly, the sound rumbling in his chest as you squeeze around him. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, heat blossoming between your thighs where his cock is sliding in and out of you slowly and steadily. You’re going to cum just like this, in the tenderness of this moment, a reuniting of your bodies after so long apart.

You can tell he’s getting close too, the occasional falter in his thrusts, the way his cock seems to pulse inside of you. He’s grunting and moaning in your ear, your own moans soft in the quiet of the room. Only the harmony of your bodies mingling together in pleasure can break the quiet that’s settled over the house in the darkness of night. Not even the rain dare fall and break this moment between you.

“John,” You breathe his name with a sigh as your back arches, pressing into him as you cum.

He’s not far behind, moaning your name into your ear as he spills into you, rocking his hips as he fills you.

He stills, resting some of his weight on you as you both lay there in bliss. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s grounding in the best way possible, his body pinning you to the bed, pussy still stuffed full of his cock. The doubts of this being real slowly float away, melting into the abyss as you breathe in his woody scent. It shoots back into the very primal parts of your brain, soothing your omega until she turns on her back in submission.

You’re crying before you realize it, tears leaking out the sides of your eyes. John shifts his weight, pushing up on his elbows so he’s staring down at you. “What is it? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You shake your head, a quiet sob leaving your lips. You can’t put into words what you’re feeling. Bliss? Relief? That quiet ease of lingering grief you’ve been holding onto for so long finally dissipating?

John shushes you gently, cupping your face in his hands as you cry. You lean into his touch, nuzzling your face against his palm. “I’m so sorry.” He breathes, tears shining in his own eyes.

“Don’t hide from me again.” You breathe, a sob stuttering in your chest.

“I won’t.” He says, pouring nothing but conviction and truth into his voice. “I promise I won’t, and I’ll keep that promise.”

“You better.” You sniffle, pulling him down against you once more.

You lay there, the tears slowing as you hold him. There’s something so raw and intimate about this moment, sweat-slick bodies locked together in such a total way as you both allow such vulnerability. It speaks volumes of your trust in him to carry you and his trust in you to hold him. That is what you’re made for at the core of your instincts. To comfort, to care, to be the warm, open place for your alpha to retreat to. The safe space he can be vulnerable in.

Your tears slow to a stop, your breathing evening out as you lay there under the weight of him. Something has transpired in this moment, some hurdle the two of you have jumped over together in your relationship you hadn’t even realized was there. Some empty space has been filled, a hole patched.

John lifts his head, staring down at you for a moment before he leans down, pressing his lips to yours. You kiss him softly, smiling at the tickle of his beard on your skin. You wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

He finally releases you after a moment, sitting himself up on his knees. You wince as his softened cock slips out of you, your body feeling deliciously sore. “Come on,” he says, trailing a hand down your leg. You feel sticky as the sweat starts to dry. “Let’s shower.”

You take his hand as he climbs off the bed, welcoming his aid in standing. Your legs are still trembling a bit, feeling unsteady as he leads you to the bathroom. You sit on the closed toilet lid as he starts the shower, waiting until the temperature is perfect.

“Come on,” He says, slipping his arms under you to carry you under the warm spray.

You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold on as the warm water pelts against your skin. He stands there for a moment, holding you as he stares down at your face.

“What?” You ask, smiling at him.

“Nothing.” He says, smiling back. “Just can’t get over how beautiful you are.”

Your face warms at his compliment, your arms wrapping tighter around his neck. “Stop it.”

“Never.” He says, leaning down to kiss you again.

You kiss him back, keeping your lips locked together as he slowly lowers you to your feet. You stand on your toes, back to the spray as you kiss him. Warmth is blooming beneath your skin again as his hands slide over your hips.

He turns you around, letting you get wet in the spray before he grabs the soap, lathering his hands. He drags them across your skin, cleaning the dried fluids from your body. He takes his time with your breasts, cupping them in his hands as he drags his thumbs over your nipples. There’s a stirring beginning in your stomach again, warmth starting to sink down from your stomach to your pelvis.

His hands abandon your breasts to slide lower, trailing over your stomach before slipping even lower. He presses against your back as his hands scrub at your inner thighs, wiping the juices that have begun to dry against your skin.

Your teeth sink into your lip as his hands travel upward, one of them slipping between your legs. His fingers are gentle as they rub through your folds, still sensitive from three orgasms. His middle finger drags over your clit, making your hips jerk. You can feel him growing hard against your back, your ass pushing back against him as he continues to tease your clit.

“Fuck,” You breathe, starting to dampen between your thighs and not from the water spraying you both.

You push yourself forward, bending so your hands press against the tile wall. You push back against his ass, grinding against him.

He gets the message, pulling back just slightly before the tip of his cock drags through your folds. You’re still sensitive as he pushes into you, your pussy fluttering around him. He groans, the sound echoing around the tile walls of the shower as he presses in until he’s flush with your ass. Your hands push against the wall, pressing you back against him to take him as deep as you can.

“Fucking irresistible.” He groans, his hands gripping your hips as he starts to thrust into you.

His thrusts are quick and sharp, the antithesis of what they were just a few minutes before. Gone is the intimacy and the vulnerability, instead desperate need taking its place. It’s not about making love anymore, instead it’s feeding into that primal need taking over.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the bathroom as he fucks into you hard, using his grip on your hips to pull you back against him as he thrusts into you. You can do nothing but stand there as he uses you, fighting to keep from slipping in the water still spraying both of you from overhead.

Your moans are short and sharp, nails scratching at the tiles as you get closer and closer to the edge, forced onward by the drag of his cock against that spot inside of you. It has your legs shaking, body pushing back against his as your back arches.

“Come on,” He grunts, his thrusts starting to get sloppy. He has to be sensitive still too.

Your legs do nearly give out as his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles against the overly sensitive bud. You brace yourself against the wall, John’s arm wrapping around your stomach to keep you upright as he continues his assault on your clit.

“Cum for me.” He grunts, his hips snapping against your ass.

“Fuck…” You whine, legs nearly spasming as you gush around his cock, another orgasm slamming into you.

He curses as his thrusts get sloppy, his hips pushing hard against your ass as he grinds into you. His fingers don’t let up on your clit as he continues to chase his own high, pushing you close to the point of overstimulation. You can feel another orgasm rapidly approaching, your entire body trembling.

“That’s it,” he grunts, pushing against your clit.

Your arms nearly give out as another orgasm washes through you, just barely keeping yourself from face-planting into the wall as he thrusts hard against your ass twice more before he stills. His warm cum spurts into you as he orgasms, his head falling back as he groans low and deep.

“Bloody fucking hell.” He grunts, hands holding your hips up as you shake from the intensity of your second orgasm.

He pulls himself out of your overstimulated pussy, still spasming as his cum starts to drip out of you. He wraps his arms around you, lifting you up so you’re pressed against his chest.

“So fucking good for me, you know that?” He hums in your ear, pressing a kiss to the lobe.

You whine at his praise, a shiver running down your spine as your omega beams with pride.

He washes you clean again, taking his time washing your hair for you. You do the same to him, running the soap over his skin. You pause around his scars, gently caressing each one. It’s easy to ignore them sometimes, forget about them and their meanings. Sometimes you can’t help but stare, worry knotting in your stomach as you stare at the ones too close to vital organs. Close calls and the possibilities had those wounds just been slightly lower, slightly to the side.

Tonight you try to ignore the meanings of them, cleaning his skin until he nearly shines and the water starts to go cold.

He reaches around you to turn it off, a shiver running through you as the cool air in the bathroom hits your skin. He’s quick to wrap a towel around you, drying you off as much as he can before drying himself.

You head back into your room, forgoing clothes as you climb into the bed naked. The sheets are slightly damp and smell like sex but you don’t care. John joins you just a moment later, forgoing clothes as well. He lays down on his back, opening an arm to you. You saddle in close to his side, tossing an arm around him as he pulls the sheets up around you. You press your nose into his chest, breathing in the clean scent of soap and the natural scent of him beneath. It calms your mind, slowing down your thoughts.

“Get some sleep.” He murmurs into your damp hair, kissing the top of your head.

You hum, already halfway there as your eyes slip closed.

It’s already light outside when you wake.

The light is shining through the gap in the curtain, pulling you from the sweet arms of sleep. It’s warm under the sheets, your back pressed up against something solid. You let out a groan as you stretch, joints popping. You’ve been in this position for a while.

“Morning.” A soft voice says, making you turn your head. John is still with you, reclined up against the headboard.

“What time is it?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes.

“Just past seven.” He says, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone.

“What’re you doing?” You ask, turning around to face him.

“Looking at houses.” He says, swiping across his screen.

“Houses?” Your sleep-addled brain can’t quite comprehend what he’s saying.

“For us to move into.” He says, glancing down at you.

It takes you a moment before the tears start to gather in your eyes. “Huh?” You push yourself up onto your elbow.

“We’ll have to go back to base for a short time while my retirement paperwork gets processed, but then we’ll have to have somewhere to go after that goes through.” He explains. “I’ve been looking at some places for a while.”

“A while?” You blink at him, trying to hold back the tears.

He nods. “Since before I left to go after Shepherd.” A tear falls at the implications of his words. “So...you’ve been planning this for a while?”

He nods again. “It’s been playing around in my head. Just took some time to finally settle.”

You scoot yourself closer, leaning your head on his shoulder. You take a couple breaths to compose yourself, to not let the emotions overflow again like they did last night. He’s been considering retiring for a while, he’s even been looking at places to move to. He’s been planning this a lot longer than you knew, than you thought.

“I like this place.” He says, showing you a listing of a nice looking modern house.

“Where is it?” You ask, looking at the photos as he swipes through them. It is nice, new and clean looking.

“Scotland.” He says.

“Scotland?” You frown. You always thought he’d want to stay in England.

“It’s a good place to retire.” He says, pausing on a photo of the backyard. “Been looking at places on the coast.”

You can’t stop the tears now, frantically wiping at them as they fall. “The coast?”

He nods. “Just for you.”

You wrap your arm around him, curling in close to his side. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, leaning his head on yours. He really has been paying attention. He really has been putting a lot of thought into you and what you’d like, where you’d be happiest and the most comfortable.

“Thank you.” You breathe, trying to hold in your sobs.

“Of course.” He says, squeezing you tightly against his chest. “I want you to be happy. You’ve gone through so much shit already, you deserve to live out the rest of your life where you’ll be at peace.”

It’s a strange jump from the no-nonsense alpha you’d met when you arrived in his life. The alpha dedicated to his job, his team, saving the world. The alpha that willingly put you second because that’s what was expected of him, because that’s what he needed to do. The alpha that broke promises to you because of the good of the world mattered more to him than you.

You sniffle, hugging him even tighter, so much it probably hurts. He doesn’t complain though, letting you cling to him as you need to.

You wonder what changed, what happened to cause this sudden shift in his priorities. Maybe it was almost losing you, maybe it was those times you got angry with him, screamed at him because he wasn’t listening, because he was neglecting you emotionally, mentally, physically. Because he wouldn’t give you what you needed and expected you to be fine. Maybe it was simply your existence here in this cottage where nothing mattered but healing and living a normal life. Maybe he finally realized just how much life on base affected you and he was able to look past the blinders the military put on him from an early age.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for this.” You murmur.

“Just be happy. That’s all that I need.” He says, kissing the top of your head.

You smile softly, releasing your tight hold on him. “This means so much to me.”

“I know.” He smiles. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

“You’re so good to me. It’s a nice change.” You tease.

He chuckles, his hand sliding down to your hip. “I’m going to ignore that.”

You giggle, sliding your hand down to rest on his stomach. “What other places are you looking at?” You ask.

“A few places.” He says. “Ones with enough space for a big bed.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow at him. “How big are we talking?”

“Big enough for at least three.” He says, his scent starting to thicken in the air. “Maybe enough for five.”

You bite your lip, images of tangled bodies, lips and hands all over filling your head. The four of them gathered around you as you lay there, open and ready for them. Heat starts to pool in your stomach, your thighs rubbing together.

John’s chest rumbles with a growl as your scent starts to project into the air. “What’s on your mind.”

You smirk, sliding your hand under the sheets. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Screamin’ fucking Jesus again?”

“They’ve got a lot of time to make up for.” Kyle shrugs, pulling the tea bag out of his mug and dropping it into the trash.

“It’s like they’re tryin’ tae torture me.” Johnny whines, dropping into a seat at the table.

Kyle pours some milk into his mug before joining him. “You can always go outside.”

“Might have tae.” He grunts, putting his head in his hand. “I cannae take it.”

“You’re hard right now, aren’t you?” Kyle asks, taking a sip of his tea.

“Like a fuckin’ rock.” Johnny says, leaning back in his chair as he runs a hand across his groin. “Cannae take listenin’ to those sweet noises. I just want tae stick my face between her legs and make them shake. Tha’s all.”

“You’ll get your chance.” Kyle says. “She’ll be coming for you next.”

“I hope so.” Johnny groans, dropping his head into his hands.

Thudding steps come down the stairs, Simon appearing. He pauses, glancing at your door before shaking his head. “Girl’s busy these days.”

“As long as she’s having fun.” Kyle shrugs.

Johnny almost whines, head still in his hands.

“Needy little pup.” Simon mumbles, dragging a hand through Johnny’s newly cropped mohawk as he passes. “Probably hard in your shorts, huh?”

Johnny lets out another sound, running his hand over his face. “I cannae take it.” He pushes himself up to stand, beelining for Simon in the kitchen.

“Uh uh.” Simon says, turning him around before Johnny can get a hand on his dick. “Go sit back down and be good.” He delivers a sharp slap to Johnny’s ass.

Johnny lets out a frustrated groan but does as he’s told, sinking back into his seat at the table. Kyle hides his smirk in his tea, ears perking up as the moaning in your room quiets.

“Quick one this morning.” He muses, hiding his own stiffy under the table. The mental images of you and Price together is almost too much for even him. What he wouldn’t give to bear witness to that again. His alpha and his omega lost in their pleasure together. He wouldn’t even have to participate. Just watching would be enough.

There’s a few moments of silence before your door opens, John exiting looking rather pleased. You follow him, hair slightly mussed and a dopey smile on your face.

“Good morning.” Kyle says, smirking at his alpha.

“It is.” John says, heading for the kitchen, a pep in his step.

“Morning.” You say dreamily, a fucked-out look on your face.

Johnny mumbles something, staring hard at you before rising to his feet, the chair squeaking on the floor from the suddenness of his movement. “Cannae take anymore.”

He crosses the space between you quickly, brushing the placemats off the table before he’s lifting you. You drop on your back on the table, the wood trembling from the force of it. Johnny kneels between your legs, tossing them over his shoulders before his face disappears from sight.

Your head drops back, thudding against the table as a moan slips through your lips. Kyle’s own lips part as he watches, a slurping sound rising from between your thighs.

“Oh fuck.” He breathes, watching the top of Johnny’s head bob as he eats you out. His stiffy is now rock hard, pulsing painfully in his pants.

“Fucking mutt-” Simon goes to move forward but John stops him with a hand on his chest, watching your back arch off the table as Johnny continues to slurp at your pussy.

“Let him.” He says, dropping a hand to adjust his own pants. “He’s suffered enough.”

Your moans start to fill the air, body writhing on the table as Johnny sucks at your clit, the wet squelch of his mouth cleaning the remnants of John from your pussy loud in the air. He’s eating you like a man starved, but you suppose he is.

Your hands dart out, gripping the edges of the table as your legs start to shake, overly sensitive from what John gave you this morning, and likely last night.

“Gonna cum!” You gasp, thighs squeezing around Johnny’s head but he doesn’t seem to care. He’d gladly die in your pussy if he had to.

Kyle can’t take anymore either, slipping a hand into his pants. “Fuck…” He breathes, the sounds coming from Johnny almost obscene. He’s moaning almost as much as you are, fingers indenting your thighs from how hard he’s holding onto you.

“Come on,” Simon says, moving around the table. “Be a good boy and make her cum.”

Johnny moans against your pussy, sucking hard on your clit. Your body shudders, back arching off the table as you cum against his tongue. Johnny moans, sticking his tongue into your pussy to catch every last drop of you.

You’re breathing hard, hands still gripping the edge of the table as Johnny continues to lap at you, pushing you towards overstimulation.

“That’s enough.” Simon says, wrapping his hand around the back of Johnny’s neck, yanking him up to stand. “Let the poor girl breathe.”

You continue to lay there on the table, legs dropping over the edge, still shaking just a bit.

“Look at you.” Simon tsks, licking the side of Johnny’s mouth where your juices shine on his skin. His hand drops to the front of Johnny’s boxers, pushing against them at the wet spot on the front of his shorts. “Came in your pants again, didn’t ya?”

Johnny groans, nodding unabashedly.

“Fucking whore.” Simon spits, slapping Johnny’s ass. “Go clean yourself up.”

“Yes, sir.” Johnny moans, stumbling his way to the stairs.

Simon turns his gaze to Kyle, his hand slowing in his pants. “You need to go clean yourself too?”

Kyle swallows thickly, pulling his hand out of his pants. He shakes his head. “No, sir.”

Simon scoffs. “Should try a little harder, then.”

Kyle does almost cum in his pants then, his cock twitching as Simon’s mean side comes out.

“Come on.” Simon says, lifting you up so you’re seated on the table. “Up and at ‘em princess. Gonna get your pussy juice all over the table.”

“Bit late for that.” You murmur, sliding off the edge and into a chair.

Simon grabs the cleaning spray and a rag, tossing it to Johnny as he returns. “Clean up your mess.”

“Yes, sir.” Johnny says, spraying down the table.

Kyle’s cock is still throbbing in his pants, painfully hard as he tries to focus on his tea. He should excuse himself to the bathroom, jerk himself off real quick, but instead he remains seated, enjoying the pulsing in his shorts just a little too much.

“You’re really doing it?” You ask, sinking down on the couch.

“Hmm?” Kyle hums, looking up from his phone.

“Retiring?” You continue, tucking your legs up under you as you face him.

“Yeah.” He shrugs, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Why? You don’t have to.” You say.

“Because I want to.” He explains, draping an arm across the back of the couch. “John is right. You deserve to have a happy life with your pack and I want to be there for it. I’ve done my time and I think I’m ready to have a normal life.”

“You’re giving up your career for me.” You say quietly, almost hesitantly.

“It’s worth it.” He shrugs again. “I’d rather you be happy knowing I’m always going to be there than stressed I might not be coming home. It’s not fair to you to live with that stress.”

“But Simon and Johnny…”

“They’re going to do what they’re going to do.” He says. “That’s up to them and what they want. This is what I want. I want to live a normal life with you and John. He’s going to need the support for a while.”

“This is going to be hard for him, isn’t it?” You say.

He nods. “It will be a hard adjustment. John’s never been good at living a civilian life. Even when he’s had chances to go on leave, he never fully steps away. Giving it up cold turkey is going to be hard on him. He’s going to need help, support, someone who understands. No offense to you.”

“None taken.” You say. “He’s going to need you.”

Kyle nods. “That’s why I want to be there. It wouldn’t be fair for me to try and help from a distance. You’ll need help too, trying to adjust to a normal pack life again. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left you both to flounder.”

You lean your head against his arm. “You’re so good to us. Too good.”

He smiles. “Nah, I just love you both.” He wraps his arm around you, pulling you in against his chest.

“I love you too.” You say, relaxing against him, and you mean it.

You love all of them so much it almost hurts.

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[ggukivrse]

study break - part one | jjk

summary. in which you’re all distraction and no remorse, and jungkook keeps coming back for more

pairing: jungkook x f!reader

genre: college au, established relationship, smut (?)

word count: 1.4k

warnings: jk wears glasses (yes that is a warning), oc and jk are both menaces, kissing, making out, allusions to sex

note: this is result of me listening to house of cards on repeat while ovulating. if you guys like it, i might do a part two with proper smut :>

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Jungkook’s apartment is dimly lit, warm in that comfortable, lived-in way you’ve come to crave more than you probably should. A soft playlist hums from the speaker in the corner, barely louder than the sound of your breathing.

His living room looks the same as always — chaotic in the most him way. Hoodies thrown over chairs, open notebooks stacked beside the couch, a half-empty bag of chips spilling onto the ground.

You’re both on the floor, backs against the couch, knees almost brushing. Your laptop’s abandoned by your side, dark screen catching the glow from the window. His is still open, cursor blinking like it’s mocking your lack of productivity. 

It’s supposed to be a study night. Like the five others you’ve had in the last two weeks.

But Jungkook’s wearing that loose white t-shirt again — the one that clings to his skin just a little when he stretches — and those damn grey sweatpants that should be illegal.

His hair is messy, dark strands falling across his forehead in that careless way that looks intentional even though you know it isn’t. His glasses are slipping down his nose again, and he keeps pushing them up without looking away from the flashcards in his hand.

The sight of him — relaxed, comfortable, stupidly hot — should be background noise by now.

But it isn’t.

Your gaze drops. to his jaw, to the slope of his neck, to the curve of his thigh under those sweatpants, to the way his arm flexes when he flips a card.

And suddenly, studying the notes in front of you feels like the least important thing in the world.

You let out a dramatic sigh, dragging your fingers through your hair and flopping your head back against the couch.

“I’m so bored I might actually combust,” you mumble.

Jungkook barely glances over. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time.”

His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. he flips another card. “Then stop texting me to come over.”

You roll your head to the side, eyes narrowing. “You could say no.”

He finally looks at you, eyes dark and unreadable behind his glasses. “Have you met you?”

Your stomach flips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he says, slow and deliberate, “You say ‘wanna study?’ and I stop thinking about anything else. That’s not normal, by the way.”

You blink. He’s back to looking at his cards like he didn’t just casually say something that made your heart punch your ribs.

You watch him for another beat, then let your hand drift — casual, like it’s nothing — to the edge of his sweatpants. You toy with the drawstring, looping it around your finger. Not pulling, just... touching.

“You’re not really helping me focus, you know,” you say softly.

“Funny,” he says without looking up, “I was about to say the same thing.”

You smile. Not sweet — sharp. “You could kick me out.”

He turns his head slowly, meets your eyes again. There’s a flicker there — of something teasing yet dark. “You think I don’t want to?”

Your breath catches.

But you don’t back down. Instead, you tilt your chin slightly and close the small distance between you, your knees knocking together now. “You never do.”

Jungkook huffs out a laugh — low and breathless — and leans his head back against the couch. His eyes close for a second like he’s trying to pull himself together.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

You shrug one shoulder. “Maybe I do. Maybe I just like seeing how long you’ll last.”

He doesn’t answer right away, just turns his head to face you again. He looks at you in a way that makes your whole body feel too warm. Then, slowly, he shifts. His thigh brushes against yours, firmer this time, and his hand — the one that was holding the flashcards — drops to his lap.

“I’m not made of stone, you know,” he says, voice low.

“No,” you murmur, eyes dropping to his mouth. “You’re not.”

Neither of you move. Not really.

But the space between you shrinks anyway. Electrified. Waiting.

His gaze drops to your mouth. Yours does the same.

“You’re evil,” he mutters.

You smile. “You love it.”

He brings his hand up to cradle your cheek. “I really fucking do,” he says, not even trying to hide it.

His lips meet yours before you can think of a snarky comeback.

Jungkook kisses you like a starved man — like he’s been holding back for too long and now that he’s had a taste, he’s not letting go.

It steals your breath. Literally. Your lungs forget how to work for a moment as your mouth parts for his, the soft slide of his lips over yours turning quickly into something more intense. Hungrier. You can feel the warmth of it spread instantly — through your chest, down your arms, pooling in your stomach.

You don’t think. You just move.

Shifting up onto your knees, you climb into his lap and straddle him with ease, hands coming up to cup his jaw. He makes a soft sound against your mouth as your fingers slide into his hair, nails grazing lightly at the roots. his hands find your waist immediately, fingers squeezing — grounding, claiming, maybe both.

Your hips settle against his, the stretch of fabric between you suddenly way too noticeable. You can feel the tension in his thighs, in the way his fingers flex against your waist, how his chest rises and falls just a little too fast under you.

You tug gently at his hair and he lets out a low sound, something between a gasp and a groan, muffled against your lips. It makes your stomach flip, sharp and electric, heat blooming between your legs.

He kisses you harder.

His hands roam — sliding up your sides, over your ribs, skimming the underside of your shirt. Every touch is deliberate, slow but unrestrained, like he wants to memorise every inch of you with his palms. When his thumbs brush just beneath your bra, you inhale sharply, your lips breaking from his.

You lean back, taking in his form: glasses askew on his face, tilted enough to look ridiculous, your tinted lip gloss smeared across his lips, flushed and shiny from kissing, painting the corners of his mouth like you’d marked him.

Something about the sight makes your heart thud faster.

“Here,” you murmur, breath catching, as you reach up and gently pull the glasses off his face.

He blinks, eyes slightly unfocused, lashes fluttering as he tries to reorient himself — like he forgot where he was the second your lips left his.

You set the glasses aside carefully, then glance back down at him. “Better,” you whisper.

Before he can say anything, you dive back in — mouths colliding again, your fingers back in his hair like you can’t stand to not be touching him. His hands move too, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, spreading warmth across your skin.

His hands settle at your lower back, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel him now — cock hard beneath you, obvious and impossible to ignore. You rock forward slightly, not to tease, not intentionally — just to get closer — and he groans into your mouth again, the sound deep and low.

You bite back a smile, pulling back just enough to look at him again. His cheeks are flushed, lips pink and swollen, eyes heavy-lidded and focused only on you. He looks drunk — drunk on your lips, drunk on your taste, drunk on your touch.

“You’re really bad at studying,” you whisper.

“So are you,” he shoots back, breathless, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

His hands slide up under your shirt before he connects your lips again, fingertips dragging gently along your spine. You shiver, leaning into him, your nose brushing his as you kiss and kiss and kiss until the world feels far away — until the only things that exist are his hands, his mouth, the heat of his body under yours.

And fuck, if this is what procrastination always feels like?

You never want to study again.

→ read part two here

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[wonderlandwalker]

Two can play (but three's more fun) | Steve Harrington x reader x Eddie Munson

stranger things masterlist / inbox

summary: when Steve catches Eddie staring a little too long at his girlfriend, he doesn’t throw a punch—he extends an invitation. And as Eddie quickly learns, Steve doesn’t just share; he teaches, with slow, filthy demonstrations. tags / content warnings: smut, just pure filth really, posessive steve, desperate eddie, a lot of swearing, I couldn't help it, maybe some repetitive words but smut vocabulary just has it's limits word count: 5.2k

a/n: I got insanely stoned and wrote this so if it came out too horny i'm sorry, also im ovulating oops. I've prolly been very inconsistent with grammar tenses but I can't be bothered to check it. I usually correct my grammar after i've already posted so the masterlist link has significantly less errors than earlier versions

The living room was bathed in the flickering glow of the TV, some forgotten horror movie playing on low volume—The Thing, maybe, or was it Halloween?—its eerie soundtrack warping under the weight of the thick, sweet-smelling haze curling through the air. 

Eddie had outdone himself with this new strain, something sticky and potent that left his limbs heavy and his usual sharp edges dulled into something languid and warm, his thoughts perhaps a bit too syrupy.

“—I know I talk a big game, man, but fuck. I have no clue what I’m doing when it actually comes down to it.”

His voice was a low mumble, words slipping out like he hadn’t meant to say them at all. He tipped his head back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling as if it might hold answers.

Steve blinks at him, slow and rhythmically, before snorting. “What, like… at all?”

“Yeah, man. Like—”  Eddie waves a hand vaguely, the silver of his rings glinting as he moves. “How the fuck am I supposed to know what sounds are real and which ones are fake? It’s fucking Russian roulette.”

The next reaction from Steve is immediate, no hesitation. Just a lazy, knowing smirk as he stretches his arms behind his head. “Huh. Well, once you know the difference, it becomes pretty obvious.” He pauses, just long enough to take a quick glance over Eddie’s face. “If you really need some pointers, I can ask my girlfriend if she wants to help you out.”

Eddie nearly comes crashing to the fucking floor.

Because fuck. He’s had a crush on you for, like, forever. Not that he’s ever admitted it out loud — not when Steve Harrington has a reputation for rearranging the faces of guys who so much as look at you wrong. Eddie has seen it happen: some poor asshole at a party, fingers skimming your ass as you passed, and bam — Steve’s fist in his jaw before anyone could blink. There’s even a rumour some other idiot once stared just a little too long at the way your lips wrapped around the neck of your beer bottle and then slurred, “Wanna spin the bottle?” Word is, Steve dropped him in one hit. No warning. No theatrics. Just pure, primal instinct.

So yeah, Eddie’s kept his mouth shut.

But now? Now Steve is watching him with this lazy, half-lidded expression, like he hadn’t just detonated a goddamn bomb in Eddie’s head.

“You’re fucking with me.” Eddie pleads, his voice rough.

Steve just grins — slow, deliberate — his eyes dark with something Eddie can't name. “Nah, man. She’s actually really into that kinda stuff.” His voice drops, gravel scraping over each word, and Eddie’s stomach flips “And I’d do anything for her.”

The air feels thick as Eddie’s pulse roars in his ears, his throat suddenly bone-dry. Was this a test? A trap?  Christ.  Harrington was going to be the death of him, and worse—Eddie knew he’d fucking thank him for it.

His fingers twitch at his sides. “...Yeah?”

Steve’s smile only widens, but his eyes soften. “Yeah.”

When Eddie shows up at your place the next night, he’s strung tight enough to power Hawkins twice over, his pulse hammering in his throat. He’s spent the last twenty-four hours convincing himself he’d imagined the whole conversation, that there was no way Steve Harrington just offered— 

And then you open the door.

Dressed in nothing but one of Steve’s old band tees, the fabric riding high on your thighs, you greet him with a smile that damn near stops his heart. “Hey, Eddie.”

His mouth goes dry. And before he can choke out a response, Steve is behind you, hands sliding possessively around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. And then — Jesus Christ.

The kiss Steve gives you isn’t just heated — it’s filthy. All tongue and teeth, your fingers twisting in his hair as he backs you against the doorframe, his hands already under your shirt like it’s a regular Tuesday afternoon.

Eddie’s knees nearly give out.

“Watch,” Steve murmurs against your lips when he finally breaks away, his gaze flicking to Eddie over your shoulder. His voice dark and commanding. “And pay attention.” 

Then, right there in the doorway, Steve pulls the shirt over your head — meticulously slow, like he wants Eddie to memorise every second. And, well — Eddie does.

He memorises the way your breath hitches when Steve’s fingers brush over your ribs, the way you arch into his touch, the soft, real sounds spilling from your lips as Steve’s mouth finds the top of your breasts— 

Eddie’s throat protests as he swallows, fingers twitching at his sides like he can’t decide whether to bolt or drop to his knees.

Steve notices —of course he does— and his lips curl into something dangerously close to a challenge. “You just going to stand there, Munson?” His hands slide down your hips, squeezing just hard enough to make you softly gasp. “Thought you wanted to learn.” Eddie manages to get control over his brain just long enough to answer “I— Yeah. Fuck. Yeah. I do.”

Steve hums, pleased, and spins you around to face Eddie fully, his palm splayed possessively over your stomach. “Then get over here.”

It’s not a request.

Eddie moves like a man in a trance, close enough now to feel the heat of your skin, to catch the intoxicating scent of your perfume. His gaze darts between your face and Steve’s fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over your collarbone.

“First lesson,” Steve murmurs, leaning in to nip at your earlobe.  “Don’t just touch. Listen.”  His free hand reaches out, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and dragging it toward you. “Feel how she reacts.”

Eddie’s fingertips brush your waist—hesitant at first, then firmer when you shiver under his touch. His breath hitches as you lean into him, lashes fluttering when his thumb grazes the delicate curve of your ribs.

“Good.”  Steve’s voice is low, eyes locked on Eddie’s every twitch. “Now kiss her.”

Eddie’s head jerks up. “What?”

Steve’s grin is all teeth. “Unless you don’t—”

“No, I—fuck.” He surges forward, crashing his mouth against yours like a man starved. It’s messy and desperate, and he barely gets a taste before Steve yanks you back by the waist, eyebrows furrowed in disapproval.

“Jesus Christ. Not like that.”

Eddie stumbles after you as Steve kicks the door shut behind them. “It’s like you were raised by wolves.”

Eddie opens his mouth to protest—then snaps it shut. Because Steve’s right. He’s a wreck.

“What are you waiting for, a written invitation?”  Steve’s voice is rough with impatience. “Kiss her again.”

Eddie hesitates—just for a second—before lust wins the war. This time, when his lips find yours, it’s still hungry, but it’s also aware, his movements more controlled. For a heartbeat, he’s terrified Steve will deem him unworthy of you altogether and kick him back to the curb—until you moan into it, until your fists twist in his shirt and drag him closer.

Steve groans in approval against your shoulder. “That’s it,” he rasps, pressing you forward just enough that Eddie can feel your heartbeat against his chest. “Now slow down. Make her want it.”

Eddie whimpers, but obeys, pulling back just enough to tease your lower lip between his teeth before licking into your mouth like you’re water and he’s been dying of thirst.

The sound you make — the soft, wanting whine—it's the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Steve pulls you back again, but this time, there’s satisfaction in his grin. “See?”  His thumb swipes over your kiss-swollen lips, smug. “She likes it when you take your time.”

Steve doesn’t let go of you—not really. Even as he nudges you toward the couch, his palm stays glued to the small of your back, steering you like he owns every inch of space you move through. Eddie doesn’t need to be told to follow; his pulse hammers in his throat, fingers flexing like he’s already imagining the weight of you beneath them.

“Sit.” Steve’s order cracks through the air, and Eddie drops onto an armchair like his strings have been cut.

You don’t get the chance to join him. Steve catches your wrist, yanking you back against his chest instead. His mouth brushes your ear, voice a low, possessive hum: “Nah, sweetheart. You’re staying right here.” His fingers trail down your arm before guiding your hand to Eddie’s jaw. “Let him earn it.”

Eddie’s breath stutters. Christ. Up close, you’re devastating. The way your eyes shimmer with pure lust, the way your lips part—just slightly—when Steve’s fingers skim over the lace of your bra. The syrupy moan you let out when he pinches your nipple over it, just enough to make your back arch—

“See that?”  Steve’s voice is rough against your ear. “She gets loud when she’s turned on. You just have to know how to listen.” Eddie nods, swallowing hard. His hands hover over your hips like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve under his touch. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Jesus, Munson. You’re not going to break her.” He grabs Eddie’s wrist, pressing his palm flat against your stomach. “Feel how warm she is? How fucking desperate?”

Eddie’s fingers twitch. He can feel it—the rapid rise and fall of your breath, the way your skin burns under his touch.

“Now”, Steve murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder, “show me what you’ve learned.”

Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice.

This time, when he kisses you, it’s relaxed—calculated. He licks into your mouth like he’s savouring it, one hand sliding up your ribs while the other tangles in your hair. And when you moan, when your hips jerk forward like you just can’t help it, Eddie groans against your lips like he’s just discovered fucking religion.

Steve watches, eyes dark with approval. “Better,” he rasps. Then, with a smirk: “Now get on your knees.”

Eddie freezes, and Steve arches a brow,“got a problem?”

“No—fuck, no.”  Eddie’s already sliding to the floor, knees hitting the carpet with a thud. His hands find your thighs, gripping just tight enough to feel the muscle tense under his fingers.

Steve’s smirk widens. “Good.”

The praise goes straight to Eddie’s dick.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp—and God, Eddie’s never been so hard in his life.

Steve’s voice is a murmur as he trails a path down your throat, bruises already blooming under his mouth. “Now, make her beg.”

Eddie’s breathing is ragged as he looks up at you—fuck, the way your pupils are blown wide, the way your chest rises with every shaky inhale. Steve’s fingers are still tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing a stray strand behind your ear with a tenderness that feels domestic. Your eyes meet Eddie’s just before they flutter shut, and it’s all the permission he needs. His mouth finds the inside of your knee first, lips dragging slow and hot up your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. Steve hums, tracing your ribs and sliding your bra strap down your shoulder. His palm cups your breast as it spills free, kneading with a lazy possessiveness that has your hips jerking forward — but Eddie holds you steady, determined. 

His tongue traces past the waistband of your panties like he’s trying to memorise the shape of you, and when his eyes flick up to Steve, all he finds is lust, raw and unfiltered. So Eddie hooks his fingers into the fabric and pulls, dragging it down your legs as he kisses a trail after it, reverent even in his hunger. His fingers work you with surprising precision, his gaze desperate for approval — and when he curls them just right, you gasp, arching into his touch with a moan loud enough to make Steve’s smirk falter. He wasn’t expecting that.

The slip in Steve’s control sends a thrill through Eddie, and he murmurs against your thigh, voice rough: “You sound so fucking sweet — bet you taste even better.”  Steve’s grip tightens on your hip, hard enough to bruise, but you don’t seem to mind.

He’d meant to teach. Now, he’s learning.

And the way you’re unravelling under Eddie’s touch stirs something awake inside of him. Eddie’s got a musician’s dexterity, his fingers able to coax sinful melodies from you with every twist. When you whimper Eddie’s name, Steve’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t stop him. Just watches with a gaze darker than the midnight sky itself as Eddie’s breath ghosts over you, your thighs trembling. “Please—”

The word barely leaves your lips before Eddie adds another finger, crooking them until your thighs squeeze around his wrist. He groans against your skin, resting his forehead against your leg as the vibration tears another broken sound from your throat. He fucks you with his fingers — slow and deep, then fast and relentless, like he can’t decide whether to savour you or ruin you.

Eddie, drunk on your praise, dares to glance up at Steve with a smirk. Steve’s nostrils flare, but instead of shutting him down, he drags a thumb over your cheek and growls, “You gonna cum for him?” You can’t even answer. Your back arches, toes curling, and Eddie drinks it in like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. The moment you shatter, he loses it. He’s not sure what destroys him more — the way you choke out his name, begging him not to stop, or the filthy, approving rumble of Steve’s voice as he speaks, “Good girl.”

Eddie finds himself at an impasse, torn between begging for more and staying silent as the two of you decide his fate. His fingers twitch where they grip your thighs, his breath ragged, his entire body coiled tight with anticipation—and fear. Steve detaches himself from nipping at your collarbone when Eddie wavers, his movements faltering. A reprimand flashes in Steve’s darkened gaze, sharp enough to make Eddie shudder again. “Didn’t you hear her, Munson?”  Steve’s voice is a low, warning growl. “She told you not to stop.”

But Eddie freezes. The reality of where he is—what he’s doing—hits him like a freight train. He has no idea how to continue.

But Steve doesn’t tolerate hesitation. His hand fists in Eddie’s hair, yanking him forward with a rough, “Stop thinking.”

Eddie obeys like a man possessed, and the moment his tongue drags over you, his whole body jerks—holy shit. You taste even better than he could’ve dared to dream. Sweet, addictive, and the way you gasp when he flicks his tongue over your clit?  He’s ruined. Forever.

Drunk on you—on the way your fingers tighten in his hair, the way you’re so wet it’s coating your thighs—he laps at you like his life depends on it. Steve watches with drowsy satisfaction, his palm sliding possessively up your stomach to cup your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple just to hear you whimper for him again.

“Listen to how she sounds when you do it right,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with contentment. “Isn’t it the most beautiful sound in the world?” He doesn’t wait for Eddie to answer. Instead, he tilts your jaw toward him, locking you in a searing kiss. You moan into Steve’s mouth as Eddie continues, his tongue relentless, his own desperate noises vibrating against you. Steve chuckles darkly when Eddie whimpers, his cock straining against his jeans just from tasting you. He hasn’t even touched himself, but he’s so close he’s shaking.

“Are you going to come just from this, Munson?” Steve drags him off you by his hair, grinning at the dazed, wrecked look on Eddie’s face. “Fuck, look at him, darling. He’s a mess.” Eddie’s lips are slick, his chest heaving, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black. Steve doesn’t give him a chance to recover. He pushes Eddie back into the armchair, his grip firm, dominant. Then he guides you onto the couch with a smirk.

“You did good,” he tells Eddie, voice dripping with condescension. “Now let me show you great.”

Steve doesn’t waste time. In one smooth motion, he hooks his hands under your knees, spreading you wide —putting you on display— before dragging you to the edge of the couch. His gaze locks onto Eddie’s, making sure he’s watching as he leans down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, a shudder running through you at the sensation. “See how she shivers?” Steve murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, laced with something Eddie can only describe as devotion. “It’s because she knows what’s coming—” Then he devours you. 

Unlike Eddie’s frantic, eager strokes, Steve’s tongue moves with precision — deliberate, decisive licks that have you arching off the couch within seconds. He teases you, circling your clit until you’re gasping, then he pulls back with a cruel smirk.

“Steve—” you whine, fingers scrambling at his hair. “Patience, sweetheart,” he muses — before sucking your clit between his lips, hard. Your cry echoes through the room, and Eddie’s hands clench into fists, his hips jerking helplessly as you overwhelm his senses without even touching him. Steve doesn’t let up; he works you with his mouth until your thighs tremble, until your moans grow longer and heavy, until you’re right there—, and he pulls away.

“No, no, baby, please—” you beg, but Steve just clicks his tongue, amused, sliding two fingers into you without warning. “Look at her, Munson,” he orders, curling his fingers just right, making you sob beneath him. “This is how you give her what she deserves.” His thrusts are ruthless, his palm grinding against your clit with every movement. You’re a writhing, whimpering mess, your nails digging into Steve’s shoulders as he fucks you on his fingers, his eyes locked onto Eddie’s the entire time.

“She’s close,” Steve taunts — he doesn’t even need to look at you to know, too busy watching the way Eddie’s jaw clenches.  “You want to see what happens when she comes on my hand?” Eddie can’t even speak. He just nods, frantic. Steve smiles wickedly and makes do with the response. “Then watch closely.”

He crooks his fingers again, pressing deeper, and you don’t just shatter — you explode. Your back bows like you’re possessed, broken screams tearing from your throat as you squirt, and Eddie swears he’s seeing stars. Your hand finds Steve’s bicep, clinging desperately, like you’re afraid he’ll stop. Eddie can’t look away; he doesn’t dare blink — if he misses a single second of this, he’ll never forgive himself.

Steve works you through it, drawing out every last spasm until tears streak your face, until you’re oversensitive, trying to squirm away. Only then does he finally relent, licking his fingers with a satisfied hum before brushing featherlight kisses up to your neck. The moment you feel his proximity, you meet him in a kiss — not heated like before, but purposeful, delicate, like Steve is guiding you back to reality with it. He doesn’t rush you; he just lets your fingers weave through his hair until your breathing steadies. Then, he speaks again. “That”, he says, “is how it’s done.” He meets Eddie’s stunned gaze. “You shouldn’t even be thinking about getting your dick wet until she’s clenching around nothing.”

Eddie’s so hard it hurts. His cock throbs against his jeans, neglected and aching, precum soaking the fabric. He’s never been this turned on in his life—and the worst part? Steve knows it. The bastard smirks, dragging a thumb over your lower lip. You suck it in eagerly, tongue swirling, before he pulls away and stands. It’s a fucking performance. Steve undoes his belt like he’s savouring the way Eddie’s eyes cling to his hands, the leather slipping free with a final, damning shush. You whimper, still boneless from your orgasm, but your eyes flutter open when Steve’s palm slides up your thigh, squeezing. “Please, Steve?” you breathe, and his grin turns feral. “Not yet, love.” He glances at Eddie, whose throat bobs under the weight of his stare. “Munson hasn’t earned it yet.”

Eddie’s stomach drops. Fuck. He’s dripping in his pants, his hips twitching like a fucking teenager, and Steve’s going to make him wait?  But then— 

Steve grips Eddie’s chin, forcing his gaze up. “You want her?” he asks, voice rough. Eddie nods, greedy. “Then prove you can take care of her.” And just like that, Steve shoves him onto the couch with you. “Do it like I showed you.”

For a heartbeat, Eddie can only stare—at the way your breath hitches when he touches you, at the way your eyes lock on Steve, who’s sprawled in the armchair like it’s a fucking throne, lazily stroking his cock. Your lips part, and Eddie swears he sees your mouth water—fuck, it’s obscene. His hands tremble as he touches you—really touches you—this time. His mouth finds your thigh, kissing up the sensitive skin, trying to mimic the way Steve had worshipped you earlier. But when his tongue drags over you, your breath catches—wrong—and Steve’s low chuckle cuts through the room like a knife.

“Christ, Munson,” Steve sighs, his grip tightening around his cock. “You’re thinking too hard.”

Eddie grits his teeth. He is. He’s thinking about the way Steve had made you scream, the way your back arched off the couch like you were trying to fuse into him. He’s thinking about the fact that Steve’s watching, lazily stroking himself while Eddie fumbles like a virgin.

And the nail in the coffin? You’re watching Steve too. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, eyes heavy with desire—but not for Eddie.

“Fuck,” Eddie rasps, pulling back. His voice is wrecked.“I can’t—I don’t—” Steve leans forward, fingertips ghosting over your throat as you keen toward him. “You can,” he growls. “Stop trying to perform. Just feel her.”

Eddie’s breath comes in sharp bursts. This time, when his mouth finds your cunt, he doesn’t think. He listens. To the way your breath catches when he licks a slow, experimental stripe. To the way your hips jerk when he sucks just there. And when your fingers fist in his hair—finally—it’s not to guide him, but to hold on.

“There,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with approval. “Now you’re getting it.” Eddie moans against you, the vibration pulling a whimper from your throat. Fuck. He’s dizzy with it—the taste of you, the sounds you’re making, the way Steve’s gaze burns into him like a brand.

But then Steve stands. Eddie barely has time to register the loss before Steve’s dragging him up by the collar, spinning him around to face you—really face you. Your lips are swollen, your chest heaving, your thighs slick with Steve’s work.

"Look at her," Steve growls, his voice a dark scrape against Eddie’s ear. "Don’t just glance—really look."

And Eddie looks. He sees the damp flush between your breasts, the way your hips lift like you’re already chasing it, the way your pupils blow wide when Steve’s thumb swipes over your bottom lip. "She’s not yours," Steve breathes, dragging his teeth over Eddie’s earlobe. "But fuck, look how bad she wants you to try."

Eddie’s pulse races. Then Steve steps back, gesturing like a king permitting a subject to kneel. "Go on. Make her forget my fucking name."

So he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the noise in his head, to sync himself with the thrum of your heartbeat beneath him, to dissolve into every breath you take. He wants to belong here, in this moment, where Steve’s approval hangs heavy in the air and your pleasure is the only thing that matters — success. A satisfied hum from Steve when Eddie finally finds the right rhythm, a broken moan from your lips. But your eyes — your eyes stay locked on Steve, even as Eddie’s mouth works you over.  It’s still him you want. Hunger battles with pride in Eddie’s chest. He hates how badly he craves this—how much he needs Steve’s approval—but god, he longs to pull those sounds from you himself, to unravel you with nothing but his touch. And so he moves like a man possessed, single-minded in his mission to play you like an instrument, to pluck every string until you snap.

Your taste is intoxicating, something he’s already addicted to, something he’s not sure he can live without anymore. Your eyes scrunch shut as pleasure blooms, so lost in it that you don’t even notice Steve speeding up his strokes, his grip tight on his cock. Eddie gets close—so close he can practically taste your climax—but you linger on the edge, just out of reach. He’s aware he’s missing something, some final piece to send you over, but he can’t find it. Then your eyes flicker open again, searching for Steve’s gaze like it’s the only thing that can save you. And Eddie knows—he’s pushed his luck too far. Steve’s patience snaps—not with his pleasure, but with Eddie’s failure to give you yours. Next thing he knows, he’s being dragged back, the warmth of you ripped away too soon. Steve looms over him, a predator in human skin, annoyance rolling off him in waves. “If you want to get a chance to fuck her,” Steve growls, voice dripping with challenge, “you’re going to have to do better than that.” 

Eddie’s brain becomes the mental equivalent of a dropped Wi-Fi signal—because did Steve just imply—?

Every touch, every taste Steve has allowed him, Eddie has devoured with insatiable hunger. But now it hits him—this is more than just a demonstration. Steve might actually let him fuck you. Or he would have. Now, Eddie isn’t sure he’ll ever get the opportunity again. A sharp, breathy cry from you yanks him from his thoughts. Steve has already turned you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees, one foot perched on the armrest behind you like a damn king claiming his treasure. Eddie is so close to your face now, your slick still glistening on his chin as you blink up at him, dazed. Steve teases your entrance with his cock, just enough to have you pushing back, begging for it. And for one glorious, heart-stopping moment—you look at Eddie.

Not at back at Steve.

At him.

Your gaze is pure, primal desperation—like he’s the one you need. Steve drives into you in one brutal thrust, and your eyes screw shut in ecstasy. You sob Steve’s name, but your eyes flicker back open as you you look at him.

“Baby, please—” And it dawns on him—you are begging Steve, but not for Steve. No, you’re begging for permission, your gaze locked onto Eddie like he’s the only thing anchoring you to earth. He doesn’t know what you’re asking for, but Christ, he already knows he wants it just as much. 

Steve, of course, does understand. He drags his cock into you agonisingly slow, pressing tender kisses along your spine even as his voice comes out harsh. “You think he deserves it, honey?” You whine, desperate, but Steve doesn’t need more than that. He leans over you, his thrusts deliberate, sinful. “How could I ever say no to you?”

And fuck, Eddie gets it now—gets why Steve turns possessive, gets why you love it. He’s watching the two of you move like a single entity, Steve’s hips rolling into you with a precision that rewrites Eddie’s entire understanding of sex. And the real tragedy? He’s pretty sure you’re only getting started. Your fingers fist in Eddie’s collar, yanking him down hard. His breath stutters as your lips take him in, hot and needy, and he doesn’t think—just reacts, his hands tangling in your hair as Steve’s thrusts rock you forward, forcing Eddie deeper into your mouth. You moan around him, the vibrations nearly undoing him right there, but then your hand tugs at his belt loop like it’s personally offended you, and Eddie’s thoughts fry into static. What do you want? He glances at Steve for answers, but the bastard just laughs, driving into you harder like he’s savouring Eddie’s confusion.

And God help him, Eddie looks. It’s downright pornographic. Steve’s cock glistens as he pulls out, your body clinging to him like it never wants to let go, and every time he sinks back in, you clench, a broken noise tearing from your throat.

As Eddie freezes, you take matters into your own hands, undoing Eddie’s belt with ruthless efficiency. The zipper’s barely down before his jeans pool at his knees. He looks at Steve again—helpless—but Steve just shakes his head, smirking. “Jesus, Munson. Keep up.”

Your fingers brush the straining outline of his cock through his boxers, and his hips jerk. Your mouth finds the spot beneath his ear, teeth scraping, and—fuck—it nearly sends him over the edge right then. You’re not gentle. You know exactly what you want. In seconds, his dick is in your hand, your grip perfect, and the first stroke has him grinding his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. He wants to keep his eyes open—to watch, to devour every detail of every second—but his body betrays him. A shudder wracks through him, his lashes fluttering helplessly before his head falls back, lost to the crushing wave of ecstasy."

“Fuck—!”

Steve’s voice cuts through the haze, dark with amusement. “That’s it, sweetheart. Show him how good you can be.” His hand tangles in your hair—not guiding, just holding—like he wants Eddie to see he’s the one in control. That every gasp you make, every shudder Eddie can’t suppress, is because Steve orchestrated it.

“Bet he’s never felt anything like you.” Eddie’s thighs tremble, his cock twitching against your tongue. He’s close, too close, and Steve knows it—fuck, he’s enjoying it. “Look at him,” Steve murmurs, dragging his cock out of you just to slam back in, punching a moan from your lips.  “Already shaking for you.  Bet he wishes it was him inside instead.” His thumb swipes over your clit, and you whimper, your rhythm on Eddie faltering. “But he’s got to earn that, doesn’t he?”

Earn it? Eddie’s vision blurs at the edges. He’d shamelessly beg if it meant— Then your tongue swirls over the head of his cock, and he chokes, almost falling forward into you.

“Steady,” Steve warns, though his voice is anything but calm. “You cum before she does, and I’ll make you watch while I fuck her twice as hard.”

Eddie’s groan is nothing short of pure agony. Steve fucks you more slowly then—cruel, like he’s savouring Eddie’s torment—dragging his cock almost all the way out before sinking back in, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to make your eyes water. But your dedication doesn’t waver; if anything, it burns hotter. “Shit—”  Eddie’s hips jerk involuntarily, but you swallow him deeper, humming around the salt-bitter heat of him. His fingers scramble at the cushions, knuckles white. “Jesus, sweetheart, where the hell did you learn—?”

Steve’s laugh is a dark, knowing thing against your neck. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading you wider as he presses inside, slow, letting you feel every fucking inch. “She’s full of surprises,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “But you’re not going to last long enough to find out, are you?”

Eddie’s groan disintegrates, the way you swirl your tongue around him, the slick pressure of your throat—it’s nothing like the groupies who’d thrown themselves at Corroded Coffin. This is ruination. This is worship. Your mouth works him with practiced greed, and Eddie’s vision blurs.

“Fuck, I’m not—I can’t—” 

“Yes. You can.” Steve’s voice doesn’t leave room for argument—this isn’t a suggestion; it’s a command. His hand moves from your scalp to your nipple, pinching just shy of pain until you whine around Eddie’s cock. His other hand slips between your legs, circling your clit with filthy precision. “You going to come for us, sweetheart?” he rasps. You nod frantically, lips stretched lewdly around Eddie. “Good. Let him see.” You break with a cry, muffled around Eddie’s cock, and Steve growls as your body clenches around him. “That’s it,” he grits out, hips snapping harder, “that’s my girl—” Eddie’s spellbound.

 Steve fucks you through it, your tears smearing Eddie’s thighs. His breath comes in punched-out gasps, cock twitching against your tongue—

Steve loses control first. A guttural groan tears from his throat as he spills inside you, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades.

Eddie’s hips stutter when you whimper, oversensitive, as Steve grinds into you one last time—claiming you like he wants to brand the feeling into your skin. And then— “Fuck!”  Eddie’s back arches, his cock jerking as you pull off with a slick pop, begging Steve for mercy. He comes untouched, frustration and relief searing through him as he gasps your name like a prayer. Steve laughs, low and satisfied. Eddie’s too wrecked to care, chest heaving—until Steve’s next words send him tumbling straight back into want.

“Let me know if you’ve got any requests for the next lesson.”

[vaaaaaiolet]

Six years have gone by since 1998. Two since the death of your first (and only) love. So when the dead come knocking at your door after your life went to hell without warning, you have a tough time welcoming him back in. In Leon's defense, his hands were tied. You? You'd put your life almost unforgivably on hold after he blindsided you.

Maybe the only way to get you to listen is to tie yours.

STRICTLY MDNI!! f / m make-up sex after a reunion gone sour. ANGST GALORE. established relationship but it's Messy, plot spans pre-re2r to re4r, character study (scar tour!!), Foreplay: The Movie, good bdsm etiquette...leon doms PLS STAY WITH ME. light bondage + blindfold, The Chair™️, munch MARATHON, emotions (read: LEON) keep edging you before an extremely self-indulgent dicking down. consensual unsafe sex, PRAISE, lil bit of mean ft. leon's possessive streak + morning after <3

a/n: anon req gone wildly wrong. welcome back to ovulation week with vivi, THE MOST UNORIGINAL BITCH ON THE PLANET 😭 i read a fic about getting tied to a chair and discovered something about myself. now i’m convinced daydreaming about bondage w/ leon is how i passed finals. oops. pray i survive second sem y'all🧍

word count: 6.3k 🤡 // read on ao3

“The heart has its reasons which reason does not know.” - Blaise Pascal

Like any good breakup scene, it starts with rain. 

A torrential downpour. Poseidon’s wrath lashing down the panes of your living room windows. The terrific sound of it is only drowned out by the hum of your TV set, the one source of light in this dark room and you, a moth to flame, circle it, afraid of getting too close lest you burn. 

The President’s on tonight. His daughter’s back safe and sound, having been spirited away to Spain. The press release is overjoyed to report that one indomitable man brought her back in a matter of days. President Graham declares it with a triumphant fist: an American hero stands in front of us tonight, and the crowd erupts in cheers for the First Daughter’s savior, but honest to God, you couldn’t give a shit about his heroics.

Not when Leon’s right there. Suited and tied. 

Or as close to living, breathing Leon as you could hope to get.

You inch closer to the screen when the camera pans over a face you haven’t seen properly in six years.

Sandy hair two shades darker, baby fat bereft on now-chiseled cheeks. It’s easy to pick apart the pixels of the man’s profile when he’s staring at the audience. Heart knocking against your ribs, you can’t help reaching out and tracing the angle of his jaw, this uncelebrated member of the President’s security entourage on national television who’s unknowingly subbing in for your once-boyfriend. Long-term, long-distance lover, if you wanted to flatter yourself. 

It doesn’t matter now. It’s getting late and dreaming should be done in bed. You reach for the remote to turn the prerecorded program off, and the rain starts falling – no, knocking – exceptionally harder against your front door. Urgently, like it wants in. 

And then the rain calls out your name.

The floorboards creak under your feet when you go to investigate through the peephole. A powder blue eye stares back.

“Who is it?” you call out, voice shriller than you’d like.

“Open the door, please? I’ll explain inside. It’s freezing out here.”

“I don’t let strangers in, sorry. Who are you?”

The rain answers in a familiar timbre that sends shivers down your spine. “Trust me, just this once.”

The doorknob clatters in surprise at the twist of your wrist, and swings open to reveal the man from your TV set, now escaped and peering at you through dewy lashes the pixels had hidden. Your eyes flit across his features: it’s the very same jawline, black suit identical to the one on your screen. Exactly the man your brain had tried hushing your heart from recognizing.

Your hold on the doorknob trembles.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Leon offers you a ghost of a smile as the storm pelts down his shoulders. “May I come in?”

“You watch the news a lot?” he ventures after a few minutes.

“Huh?”

Once the initial shock of Leon’s appearance subsides, something acrid settles in your bones. The silence between you two stretches like taffy waiting to be pulled. It sticks in your throat without much coming out to abate it. What else can you do when the dead rejoin the world of the living?

Make light conversation. You can do that. 

“Leon, I thought you died.” Or not.

He shoots you a half-grin. “I wouldn’t die on you just like that, you know.”

“You practically did,” you retort, voice going thick. 

You find old habits hard to break. It’s nothing new. You’re perched on the armrest of your couch, a familiar penchant Leon had smiled at when he shut the front door behind him. His habit of shaking his hair dry like a puppy also hadn’t gone away, much to the traitorous delight of your heart. You’d almost giggled when he accidentally sprayed you with rainwater doing it. 

Now, you’re watching him fold his suit jacket over one of your kitchen chairs with his back turned to you, an odd bulge in its left pocket threatening to send the whole thing crashing to the floor at any moment. Other secrets hang in the air like ghosts. Leon’s tie sits drying on top of your radiator. You think you should tell him to peel off his soaked dress shirt, he might catch a cold otherwise, but are you allowed to say that anymore? 

Worse still, why do you want to?

“I saw you on the news. That’s why,” you reply a beat too late. “You told me in your last letter that you were going to work for the government. Something to do with the President, and ever since then I…I turn it on when something big happens.”

Leon stops fiddling with his jacket, turning to you with wide eyes. “That was-”

“Two years ago?” You swallow. “I know.”

The letters sit burning holes in a box under your bed, all stamped and postmarked with no return address since 1998. The last day you’d seen him alive and breathing. 

Leon was the boy you’d hold hands with under desks in high school, a high school sweetheart as textbook as they come. You’d ditched prom to wish on shooting stars in the back of his first car, let him be the first to slip off your spaghetti straps when kissing grew too chaste to convey the giddiness in your chest. 

Puppy love turned into something perennial. Real. He’d carried moving boxes up the stairs of your first apartment, and you right after. You’d watched him rise through the ranks of the Academy. Cheered front row at his graduation, let him spin you in your highest heels right in front of your parents. Blushed when he’d squeeze your hand tighter walking past the jeweler’s at the mall. 

And you’d soaked Leon’s chest with tears before he rushed off to Raccoon City that September night so long ago, steely resolve in his eyes and a promise on his lips to come right back after doing his sworn duty.

Leon never returned. His letters did, though. 

Envelopes from seemingly nowhere – blacked out epistolary updates you’d read on your bathroom floor that grew briefer as weeks spiraled into months. 

What you could piece together from what wasn’t censored under an increasingly watchful eye was that Leon was under a government contract, fighting tooth and nail in some kind of training program that couldn’t have been any run-of-the-mill police kind. Something he had as little agency over as the frequency of his letters, he’d promised you. He was going to come home one day. Just one more month of training, one more mission, one last test. 

Leon was furious in his final message when he found out about the deal with the White House. The censor didn’t go through as much as it should have; you’d never been more grateful for the oversight as you tilted the page to read his scribbles in the margins.

Then came a terrifying radio silence. 

You waited each month afterwards for the postman to stop by your mailbox. Waded through a snowstorm in January to make sure the post office had your new address when you moved in 2003, practically begged the lady at the counter to check if they’d mixed up your letters with anyone else’s in the meantime. Nothing. 

“Two years, Leon,” you grit out, digging your nails into the leather of your couch. The tail end of his name takes on an ugly shape in your mouth when you rise to your feet, “I waited two years not knowing if you were alive or not.”

No one had answers to his disappearance except for the one you’d endured ever since he left: move on. 

The way he holds his tongue now, too, sets sparks alight in your throat. “And you want to know what happened to me since then?”

“Tell me,” Leon says softly.

Your voice falters. 

A dead man walking would take the breath out of you in any case, but it does even more so now that Leon looks larger than life – no longer an afterimage on TV and coming over to where you stand. Even with his shirt sleeves plastered to them from the rain, Leon’s arms look used to heavy duty; there’s a broadness in his shoulders he didn’t have out of the Academy. 

His mouth pinches when he stops a tentative foot away from you. “Tell me,” he repeats, frowning at your averted gaze. 

He’s waiting for you to speak. So close you could touch him, blood pumping through his veins just like you’d once prayed for until your breath ran out.

And it pisses you off. 

He doesn’t get to have it this easy.

“No.” 

Confusion colors his exclamation. “No?”

“No.” You smile bitterly at the ground when he backs off an inch, raising your chin to look him in the eyes as your own start to sting. “You don’t get to be the good guy. You don’t get to come barrelling back into my life, how’d you know I live here anyway…”

“I found out as soon as I could, you don’t think I’ve been worried sick about you-”

“Not after you cut me off!” 

“It’s not that simple!”

Two years. 730 days. Your throat so hoarse from crying the night before that you’d called off work some mornings. 

“You know what I think, Leon? I bet you thought I’d wait on you forever.”

He blinks fast, taken aback. “I wouldn’t- I couldn’t do that to you.”

“So you’d have come back even if I didn’t?”

Didn’t. A flicker of something soft crosses his face. “Really?”

With your heart beating out of your chest, you cross your arms and spit out a haughty, “Of course not.”

Leon stares.

The resulting silence stretches half a minute.

It’s a tepid standoff at first, made worse by you searching his person up and down. You wrack your brain for his old tells: a jumping muscle in his jaw, a furrow of his brow. Angry, pink cheeks accompanied by a crestfallen pout. 

Nothing. He’s dead silent.

So you double down. 

“My friends told me to settle down, said it wasn’t safe living alone,” you sniff, rocking on the balls of your feet. “So unless you-mmf!”

Lips, crashing onto yours. Burning warm. Two seconds of affection before a tongue flicks brashly over the seam of your stunned mouth. Your brain in overdrive. Leon no longer a foot away but pressed so fiercely against you that your camisole starts going see-through from the water still saturating his shirt. 

Your hands feebly come up to his chest, not to push him off like you should, but to cling to his collar. Old habit.

Fuck. 

“You’ve gotten mean, sweetheart,” Leon grins razor sharp, whispering into the corner of your mouth. “It’s a good look on you.”

“I’m not…” God, he’s kissing the sense out of your head. Your lungs suck in his breaths like a failed attempt to go cold turkey.

“Sure you are, lying to me like that. Watching the news just in case I’m there.” 

Rough hands dig under your thighs. Hoist you up like you’re made of feathers.

“Only your shoes on the shoe rack. Heels I bought you.”

Your feet dangle in the air, your head’s not used to the drop in air pressure this high. You’re being lifted – where? 

“You think I’m that dense, baby?” 

The sound of wooden scraping scratches your ears as you register one of your kitchen chairs being dragged to the middle of the living room. You’re plopped unceremoniously down. 

And with your vision swimming, you notice Leon finally taking off his shirt. Unbuttoning it with fervor, throwing the fabric onto the floor so hard there’s a wet thwack!, and suddenly, he’s knelt at your feet, looking up at you with teeth chattering from the chill and a blizzard brewing in his eyes.

The raging storm outside nearly quiets for him to tell you, “We’re gonna do it this way.”

A cocktail of resentment and curiosity churns in your stomach. You stare daggers at the ceiling. Leon snatches his tie off the radiator and wraps it around his hand, checking if it’s dry by now. 

It is. Good. 

“Since you don’t want to look at me so badly,” he hisses, “you won’t need to look at me at all.” He unfurls the tie and lays it flat against his palm. “This is going over your eyes so I can actually get something inside your head. And you’re going to feel everything I say, okay?”

“I feel cold. You got my shirt wet,” you spit back.

“Then take it off,” Leon says smoothly.

How rude. Utterly uncouth. 

You’ve never flung off an article of clothing faster. You’ve got nothing to hide, you’re fucking better than to play meek to his games. Your bra barely hides how your nipples pebble in the frigid air, and Leon sucks in a breath at the sight. You’re wearing blue lace. His favorite.

His tone softens a fraction of a degree when he instructs, “You say ‘stop’ and it’s over. Tell me you understand.”

“I do.”

The silk wraps gentler around your eyes than you expect. The living room disappears into velvet, and your fingers twitch, itching to fly at your face and investigate the cause of this new pitch black.

“Hands down. I need them more than you do.” 

Leon’s voice ripples in the darkness. Oh God. That must be why people do this sort of thing. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks, almost in awe.

Fuckfuckfuck. He wasn’t supposed to tell this early. 

“...a little.”

Your hand gets lifted into the air, your index and middle fingers separated from the rest. Leon touches their tips to the hollow in the middle of his collarbone, and right here, you feel the flutter of life. Wingbeats matching the race of your own heart. 

So is he.

There’s movement, butterfly wings brushing against your cheek when he reaches up to press a kiss there. Your fingers fall away from the base of his throat and land on a raised patch just below his right shoulder. It’s…almost star-shaped. Rough. 

“You have a scar here,” you breathe. “How’d you-”

“Bullet wound, 1998. I want you to keep going.”

You could’ve dug your nails into it. Scratched off one more reminder of the day Leon left you in the dark. His tie leaves you blind, but you don’t need sight to feel the trust Leon still has in you as he invites your fingertips to his chest. You go gentle into the good night with his voice to guide you.

“Knife scar,” he whispers. Soft, like how you trace over the mark. 

Your fingertips shake over his ribs.

“Burns from saving a little girl. She had eyes like yours.”

The trek is arduous, nonlinear. The same injuries show up again and again, scattered across his body like fireworks. You think you’re fine, using one hand for the job and clutching the other to your heart so it won’t break, and then you slip, grab onto his shoulders for support, and your palms fall over the flat of his back.

Two symmetrical gashes spread across his shoulder blades – Icarus’ wings singed off.

“I’ve tried saving a lot over the years, sweetheart,” Leon goes quiet, a new grief clogging his flow of explanation. “Thought I could have it all at first, you and this job. I wrote you less, told myself you’d already moved on, but you’re right, I…I wanted to keep you.” You discover tears sound thick when he laughs. “I’ve lost so fucking much these six years and I don’t know why I can’t bring myself to lose you too.”

“The kids in high school,” trembles your own voice, “they said I’d run away with you, but you ended up running from me.” 

“When you’re all I have left?” Leon brings your palm to his cheek. “How could I?”

“But you did!” you sob, banging weak fists against his chest.

You remember the pity, the snide judgment. Declining invites and frustrating friends when you’d flake on blind dates set up to get you out of the house. Switching excuses every time somebody back home called and inevitably asked, So when are you and Leon going to visit? Warring against logic (of course he’s fucking dead) and the arrested development of your heart as you rolled dice on his return. Four years in a stupor of when, two of what now?

Spending all that time at odds with yourself and the world turned you into a real tough kid. A callous bitch. Eventually, you forced yourself to explore your options like a grown woman should. Tried your hand at anything legal to forget the sinking feeling in your chest. Had a phase where you’d wake up in a stranger’s bed only to go home and collapse, rereading Leon’s letters in the cardboard box under your own. If it was steel that marked his back like this, yours is streaked with flint.

And that’s exactly what you tell him. 

Immediately, his shoulders straighten. “So you’ve gone on a few dates.”

If he wanted to be polite about it, yes.

“Did they fuck you as good as I did?”

You splutter. A cold zephyr breezes over your breasts when Leon exhales. There’s a rattle of metal – his belt, you register faintly – and your eyes squeeze shut behind your blindfold when he rises from his kneel, leaving the space between your thighs empty. 

“That is one hell of a greeting after six years, sweetheart.” His chuckle is dark, delightful. “Hands behind your back.” 

“You’re not fucking arresting me right now, Leon, I don’t know what you’re playing at,” you squeak when he loops leather over your wrists. Annoyingly, they fit perfectly in his palm. “Have you lost your mind? You- I still can’t see!”

Leon’s hold goes still. “Is that a stop?”

You huff indignantly. 

He shakes your wrists. “I don’t mess with that shit. Do you want me to stop?”

“…no.”

“Good. Comfortable?”

Embarrassingly enough, the back of your kitchen chair isn’t half bad to have your arms around. Giving your newly bound hands a wriggle, you answer Leon with a quick nod, and he presses his lips to the back of your head in confirmation. He circles back between your thighs, a vulture in the dark. Your knees shove open courtesy of two calloused palms. 

“Lift your hips,” is your next instruction. And then, “These are coming off.” 

Your bottoms slide off in a fleeting caress down your legs. A cushion pushes between the surprised arch of your back and the chair’s straight one, leaving your bare, trembling- oh God. 

Oh God. He’s-

“You’re going to hold perfectly still and let me say hello to my favorite girl, sweetheart. Poor thing hasn’t gotten any attention since I’ve been spoiling you with all my talking.”

A kiss falls onto your clit. Your hips jerk up – oh shit! 

Leon seizes the opportunity to lick into your entrance before further coherent thought can form in your brain. 

He must’ve planned it, counting on your brainless reflexes to push your hips further into his scorching mouth. You get points for being brave, though: swallowing screams, pretending your thighs aren’t fighting to clamp around his head, attempting an escape to your happy place when really, this is it – this painstakingly sweet suction on your nerves.

He pops off with a wet smack! magnified by your blindfold. Slurs, “Missed this pussy so fuckin’ much,” dives back to trace figure eights around your clit with the tip of his tongue. 

You pretend the icy air is curling your toes for ego’s sake. Try and stave off morbid curiosity. “You…didn’t see anyone? All this time – hah!”

“Do you have any idea,” suck, “how many times I’ve come into my hand thinking of you?”

Your heavy head falls back with a wail.

“How many times I’ve fucked my fist to your name?”

“Leon!”

He pulls away at your keening cry, deaf to any begging to come back. “You just never know what’s good for you, baby. You don’t listen to your friends, you let me tie you up like this, fuck yourself on my face…” 

There’s rustling, and your living room bursts with color as a sharp tug untwists the knot of Leon's tie behind your head. You enter the world in tears all over again. 

“Pleasepleaseplease, I was so close-”

And when the darkness subsides, you’re free to lay eyes on the perpetrator. 

Leon.

Leon with his hair mussed to high heaven, pushed to his forehead by the greedy grind of your hips. Ocean eyes surveying you over a mouth flushed red with cheeks to match. A fallen angel at your feet, working his sinful tongue inside his mouth as he breathes.

Blood thumps through your veins. Your chest heaves. The chair is sticky, uncomfortable; entirely your fault. Your hands writhe behind your back as you struggle to sit up properly against the pillow and salvage some of your pride.

Leon’s gaze fixes on the floor. “I didn’t. Didn’t have time, didn’t want to. Whatever you want to call it.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, throat swelling with thorns, and he groans like you kicked him in the ribs.

He rises to his knees as you slump; reaches behind the chair to unbuckle your restraints, shaking his head. “Yeah, I should be. I put you through hell for six years. I came back from Spain expecting to introduce myself to your fiancé or something, you know? Should’ve brought flowers at least.”

A hot tear slides down your cheek. 

It was Leon. On the news. The President’s daughter, the rescue. 

The hero.

This is how you welcome a hero home?

Spying your arms wilted at your sides, Leon takes the opportunity to press his mouth to the plush of your inner thigh. This time, it’s a warming salve when he kisses into your skin, unlatching only to move an inch and repeat, sucking roses the shape of his mouth onto the softest parts of you.

He rasps into your slick flesh, “Just let me have this, and I promise I’ll go.”

And he noses his way back into your folds, quickly giving up on flowery notions to feast like a man starved. You’re lulled to sleep by the lap of his tongue before he starts working it with the prowess of a Swiss knife, soothing and scalding in turns as it digs into your now oversensitive cunt. The scrape of his 5 o’clock shadow on your inner thigh makes for a maddening mix.

It all sends you crumpling over his head with a cry. 

His hungry hand pays no mind, scrambling under the lace of your bra to knead at your tender breast, thumbing at your nipple. You pay back the favor, fisting chunks of his hair as your arousal drips down his chin, and Leon’s thanks arrive in the form of guttural whines you’d forgotten you could wrench from him. 

So goes Leon’s last meal. You’d be enjoying it too if your brain hadn’t finally caught onto what came out of his mouth before he turned it into a decoy.

I’ll go.

Good luck fighting the itch to interrupt. 

You yank hard, and he moans complaint through a mouthful of pussy. “It’s not gonna work,” he gasps when you wrench his face from between your thighs, demanding explanation. 

“So you’re just going to walk out on me again?” you snap through a haze of tears. “What about what I want?”

“You want this?” 

Leon shoves your hands deeper still, wincing when he purposely digs your nails into his scalp. 

“Pull. Make it hurt,” he swallows, voice cracking. “Tell me to get the hell out. Tell me you hate me for breaking your heart. Find someone who’s in your life enough to love you right, and let me set you free, sweetheart, please. I can’t take it.”    

By all means, you should take his offer. 

Pull out every damn strand of hair on his head. Give him a taste of his own medicine. Go on for God’s sake. What happened to drinking yourself to half to death, trying to water down the fear that Leon beat you to its doorstep?

Think about never having to wake up to the cold side of your bed again. Don’t think about how perfectly Leon’s cheek cradles into your thigh. How he lets you map the moles on his neck when you have trouble falling asleep.   

Finally having a shoulder to cry on, someone who sweeps you off your feet, inside jokes that confuse everyone but you two. Forget how Leon won your heart as a teenager doing exactly that. 

Getting called pet names that make you blush in front of your friends: baby, angel, darling, sweetheart. Don’t you dare imagine each one rolling off Leon’s tongue the first time he crowned you with them.

Do not, above all circumstances, remember that wrapped in your arms right now is the boy who, after saving the President’s daughter all by himself, ran back to you within hours of his return. Who’d waited for you in his own way.

Your hands drop to cup his cheeks. Wetness makes your thumbs slip when you brush them across — the rain had to have dried off long ago. And with eyes misting shut, you thread your fingers as tenderly as you can through Leon’s hair, and press a kiss to the top of his head. 

“You’re really doing this?” Leon’s whisper wavers a decibel above hope.

Hotel citrus stings your nose, and you wonder how long it’ll take to replace it with the scent of your shampoo. 

You’ve missed this. Missed him. 

“The clearance I have after this mission, it’s insane,” he’s twenty-one again at the touch of your lips, gushing in disbelief over his badge coming in the mail with you at the kitchen table, “I-I couldn’t believe I got them to let me go right after the press release. Alone! I can’t be home all the time but it won’t be like before, I can actually come back, and if you want me to-”

But unfortunately, the relentless throb between your legs forces you to school your expression into anything except elated at the unfolding prospects.

“Leon.”

His grin flashes white. “Yeah?”

“If you came back just to eat me out, I’ll kick you out for real.”

It must be fun, you gripe, thinking straight without soft breaths fanning embers between your legs like a sadistic bellows for the past ten minutes; ruining your cushion beyond hope of wash or repair. 

Leon lets out a barking laugh, head thrown back, and aghast, you bat at his chest. 

“Mean really is a good look on you. You don’t want to talk details?” he teases, pulling you in for a kiss that tastes like desire – like you.

“Not when you’re- you know-” you splutter, antsy.

“Oh, come on. Say it.”

“You used to be nice to me!” 

Sadly for you, you’ve kissed him giddy, and giddy turns him cocky real fast. 

“I’ll give you whatever you want if you tell me, angel. Four words.” He grins, tucking a hand between your thighs to interrupt your squirming and raising the other to count, “‘Leon. Please…’”

“Fuck me already!” you cry, and it’s three, but he sweeps you up in a blur of limbs anyway.

Bra strap falling off your shoulder. His mouth sealing onto yours. Pussy sobbing for attention over the crotch of his dress slacks. Leon groaning at the feeling of you soaking through fabric covering a held-off arousal so hard there’s no way it doesn’t hurt. His endurance training had come in handy, it seems.

There’s a blind fumbling in the dim light as he grits out a “Gladly,” and stumbles out of your living room in a mad rush, sacrificing his shoulder to several walls for the sake of kissing you breathless.

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking like Bambi. You sure you can make it?”

“Leon Scott Kennedy, if you don’t take me to bed right this second…” 

“And here I was trying to be nice. Bedroom?”

“On the right,” you pant, clawing his mouth back onto yours again. 

He follows through, no reconnaissance training needed to find the door you direct him towards with your foot. Either the heat’s better here, or it’s every cell in your body buzzing with anticipation when he flicks the nearest lamp to life. You pull him onto the bed with you, silk sheets caressing your bare skin as you scooch to make space for Leon to crawl up and over you. 

The sharp rasp of a fly zipping undone cuts through the air. He hisses in frustration, patting his pockets. “Shit, I don’t have a-” 

“Condom?”

“Yeah. You still keep them in your nightstand?”

You worry your bottom lip. “Not for a while, I haven’t, um, done anything in a bit, but I’m on the pill and I’m clean.” Please, please, don’t let this be a dealbreaker. “Is…that okay?”

“Holy shit.” Leon whooshes out a breath, grinning as he leans back on his knees. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

It’s a go. Your stomach swoops with rollercoaster adrenaline.

He balls up his slacks, kicks off his sodden boxers (your chest puffs with pride as he tosses it to the floor), and parts your trembling legs painstakingly slow in comparison. Sharp eyes rove over the love bites littering your thighs, admiring his handiwork. You bite the inside of your cheek, devil on your shoulder itching you to tease, and let your hands skitter across over the juncture of your thighs where Leon’s focus lingers.

“Spread yourself for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs. 

You do. Let your fingers dip into your arousal, gasp at the cold air kissing your folds when you bloom for him. Roses all over your thighs when you’re his prettiest one. He leans down and kisses the bud at your center, sending the most pleasant electric tingle running up your spine. 

“You promised,�� you whine, craning your neck to see his face framed between your thighs again. “Need you inside. Please.”

For once, Leon indulges you, but not without himself too. 

“Turn over for me. Oh, I know,” he coos at your pout and the upset buck of your hips, “give me a chance, angel. I’ve been dreaming of this for years. Planned out every fucking detail.”

You flip over with a huff. One broad palm lifts your pelvis into the air, easy as anything, and the other slips a pillow between your thighs, making sure the plump cotton nestles right up against your swollen clit. You give your hips a tentative grind and promptly gasp at the shot of pleasure. Friction at your command, leaving Leon free to run wild.

He tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Good?”

“Mhm...”

You face the headboard, stomach to the sheets and blood roaring in your ears. Blind again to what he has in store for you. Slick pumps sound from behind – Leon finally planning to make good on his word – and the head of his cock nudges at your weeping entrance, teasing the now-fraying nerves lining your slit, so close to where you need him that your breath audibly catches.

He waits. Pulls your strings taut –

Hisses, “I’m gonna fuck out every memory of anyone you’ve been with while I was gone.”

– and cuts them loose.

Your scream ricochets off the walls when he plunges in.

It shouldn’t be pretty. There’s nothing pretty about the haze of green that clouded Leon’s vision for a selfish second while yours was at his mercy not long ago. Your one-night stands translated to competition in his head. He’s only a man. But there’s something undeniably pretty about the divine arch of your back that has him spellbound when your cunt swallows him to the root in a single go, suffocatingly sweet.

“Goddamn, you’re tight!” 

Leon’s fingers sink into the fat of your hips as he fights for balance. You’ve got a mattress to claw; he’s only as stable as his pride. He lets you catch your breath after the first thrust, has your addled brain waxing poetic when you swear you feel his dick throb in time with his heartbeat inside you. 

It doesn’t help that he’s got a mouth on him. “Pussy sucking me in like she doesn’t want me to leave,” he gasps when you clench.

Your fingers curl proudly into your bedsheets. 

It’s a game of push and pull from here. Leon’s hips drag back, and with all the agony of too many nights with his right hand and your name for company, he starts carving into the meat of your ass. 

You make a strangled noise, and eventually improve to, “Oh, ohmy- ohmygod!”

He can’t keep his hands off you. They span your lower back, cup your breasts in turns, explore the drenched underside of the pillow you rut against in time with his thrusts. You’re handled with just enough precision to keep you speared on his dick, all so Leon can watch, gobsmacked, how your drooling pussy opens up for him. In-out, in-out. A scene out of his wet dreams.

Your cries syncopate with the slam of his thighs against yours, an embarrassing, pornstar-worthy, “Ah-ah, ah-ah!” that you’d have more shame over if you weren’t busy getting the brains fucked out of you. 

Leon realizes the beauty of the present tense with each inch of his length you coat in your arousal over and over again. 

“Look so pretty taking me like this, my perfect girl, doing so fucking good, look at you…” 

The pressure building in your stomach rears its head. Threatens to push you over.

“I missed you so much,” you sob into the sheets, “so fucking much, I can’t, I don’t know how to- oh!” 

“Won’t leave you ever again,” Leon pants, tilting your chin so he can see your pretty face. “Never- oh my God, you’re close, aren’t you?”

Call it intuition, instinct. If you were close before, Leon’s fingers rushing to your clit cement your theory; he’s never been wrong about it, even as a rookie.

Your hands scramble to claw at the back of his neck.  

“Fuck, you are!” he exclaims.

Home stretch. Leon’s hips threaten to stutter, so he sinks his teeth in your shoulder in a desperate bid to keep them steady. 

For you, the pain of it is primal, flavored with a need for connection that has you groping blindly to lace his fingers through yours. Instinct all over again. 

For Leon, it’s how you kept him going all this time; you’ll keep him grounded now. He’s not going to last otherwise. 

You listen, face planted to the bed. Wait for the last thread to snap, for Leon’s gasp at the final flutter of your cunt around him. Your orgasm doesn’t come in a babbling, sputtering, break of the sound barrier, no – it comes as a gentle push.

A trust fall off the edge with Leon right behind.

You see bright light. Nothing of the abyss you plunged into when he left. There’s a jerk behind your navel, and pleasure starts curling upwards from your stomach like the licking of a comfortable fire. Your ears pop from the ecstasy flowing through your veins and it’s almost as if you can hear its crackling embers right here, right now as Leon fits so perfectly inside you. 

In and out. In and out. In-out, in-out. You breathe, and he breaks. 

He spills into you warmer than sunshine. Molten gold, filling your cracks like kintsugi. The air admits, “I love you”, having trouble telling apart which of you said it first.

He’s got a week on his hands. A week of wonders stretches in front of you, seven whole days to figure out how this new arrangement will work. 

“It’s as much as they’d let me call off on such short notice, but we’ll take it from there,” Leon murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

He’s back in your arms where he belongs. Morning peeks through your blinds with the sun’s face washed clean from last night’s rainstorm, and if you open your window right about now, you could say hello to all the flowers blooming in celebration. 

You can get to that later. You’ve got more pressing matters on your hands, like taking headcount of the constellation of moles dotting Leon’s chest and introducing yourself to the new ones. You have a feeling you’ll learn them by heart real soon.

“We can figure it out together,” you hum, content with your head propped against the headboard. 

An exhilaratingly real concept. 

“Together.” Leon breathes lightly. “Yeah.”

“And you know, I think that’s more than enough time to buy me real flowers.”

He chokes back a not-so-subtle cough. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“If you want to make up for how I’ll have to wear pants and turtlenecks to work for the next week, yes,” you poke into his chest, fighting the smile tugging at your lips.

“But you hate flowers! You say they always die on you!”

“No girl actually hates flowers, Leon!”

“At least I didn’t show up empty-handed. Give me a sec, sweetheart, I almost forgot.”

Leon pecks your forehead, slipping out of bed to pad to the living room. He comes back, having fetched his now dry suit jacket with the curious bulge still threatening to spill out of its left pocket, and hands it to you like a cat would a dead bird at your doorstep.

You give the creased clothing an unimpressed stare.

“Look in the pocket,” he insists, climbing back under the comforter.

You pull out a half-melted pack of Ferrero Rocher.

“Okay, well, they weren’t supposed to do that and I think I left them by the radiator…”

He’s lucky they taste just as delicious melted. You’ll have to give him a lesson in gifting before the holidays roll around because he’ll be here to celebrate them for the first time in six years – a thought sweeter than the chocolate-flavored kisses you peck onto his cheek. 

And in between the shining candy wrappers and Leon’s blond hair tickling your neck when he presses you into the bed again, this time, you think everything gold might just stay. 

fun (and spicy) fact about chocolate, and psst, find more of my work here!

reblogs + comments are very much appreciated, they keep fics from dying out <3 take care and i love you!

divider by @/adornedwithlight

[reilemon]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Under The Stars ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

♡︎ pairing: Xavier x fem!reader

｡°⚠︎°｡MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)｡°⚠︎°｡

♡︎cw:unprotected sex, tent sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, pussy job, cum swallowing

♡︎word count: 3.9k

♡︎synopsis: What happens when you share a tent with your crush? The story starts where the memory Precious Bonfire ends.

♡︎a/n: I wrote this during my ovulation week. Also, I went over this once, so if you see any mistakes, no you don't.

♡︎ special thanks to my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for reading and helping me with this!

banner by @cafekitsune

Xavier looks up from the game card “Ah, I figured out what I want my payment to be.” He smiles softly at you and hands you the card, “Tell me when you’re overwhelmed next time.”

A little confused, you absent-mindedly take the card that’s not even yours. “That doesn’t sound like a payment.”

“Well, it is.”

“No, it’s not. Think of something else!” You say with playfulness in your voice. Of course you don’t mind accepting to “pay him off” in this way, but he’s been so helpful and resourceful today, that you’d feel bad for asking for more assistance.

He just shakes his head and stands up from his seat in the camping van, and walks away. End of discussion, I guess.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆

You spent a few minutes sitting alone in the van, decompressing, but also thinking of ways to return the favor. Seriously, what’s a good way to show him your gratitude? You know he’s not doing this because he expects something in return. Xavier is a genuine and sweet soul, someone who is reliable (except in the kitchen) with a soothing presence. He never seems overwhelmed, even when he lights his oven on fire.

You sigh wistfully. You were hoping he was going to say “Let’s go on a date!” or “Can I sleep in your tent?” or maybe “You know, the front of my pants is feeling a little tight, could you lend me a hand –“ you blush, hiding your face in your hands. If only.

You glance at your phone to look at the time. You decide you’ve spent enough time away from everyone, letting your mind wander – how big is it? – okay, you really need to focus and go back to your colleagues.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆

The rest of the evening went uneventful – you hung out with your friends, cleaned up the mess and then took a relaxing shower. Somewhere between cleaning up and the shower, you swiped a pack of chocolate covered strawberries from the mafia game winner. You wanted those strawberries the moment your eyes landed on them in that pile of snacks.  And you’ll buy them later and give them back, so technically you’re borrowing them!

Besides, you want to give them to Xavier as a small thank you. He deserves more than this, but it will do for now.

Anyway, after the refreshing shower, you’re looking around the campsite. Most of your colleagues are cozying up in their tents, only a few still talking and drinking outside. Where’s Xavier?

You saw him earlier hanging out with others, but now… your eyes land on his figure, lounging by a tree away from all the tents.

You approach him. “There’s no way I’m letting you sleep outside.”

Xavier, not opening his eyes, says “I have no problem sleeping outside.”

“Well, as the captain of this group, I very much do.” You extend your arm towards him “C’mon, you can sleep in my tent.”

He opens his eyes as he hears the offer. “Are you – “

You grab his hand, “Yes, the tent is big enough for the two of us.” You suddenly remember that you only brought one blanket, but this summer night is nice and breezy so it shouldn’t be an issue.

Hesitant at first, Xavier nods and gets up while holding your hand. He moves his backpack to your tent and goes to take a shower, giving you time to change into pajama shorts and tank top; not really appropriate in this situation, but who cares!

As you spread out the blanket over the sleeping mat and two pillows, (yes, two, the other one was meant for your knees), you sit there waiting for him and then you realize – wow, it’s kinda fucking cold in here!

You were so focused on being a good captain and taking care of everyone that it completely slipped your mind that you should pack warmer pajamas and maybe a sleeping bag; it doesn’t matter that it’s summer, nights are always colder in the woods.

As you wonder if the blanket will be warm enough, from the corner of your eye you notice Xavier approaching the tent. He’s wearing a loose white t-shirt and gray cotton shorts. You move a little to make room for him, and when he crouches to step inside, your eyes are glued to his muscular legs. The staring makes you miss the way Xavier’s eyes take in your figure, the smooth skin of your thighs and your pebbled nipples poking underneath your top.

You quickly shift your gaze to his face; he’s looking around the tent. Suddenly you’re nervous. It hits you that you’ll be sleeping next to Xavier in this small ass tent. You feel an awkward tension, so you say “I hope this is enough room for you! I don’t have one more blanket but I do have an extra pillow!”

Xavier chuckles, and gives you a reassuring smile. “It’s good enough for me. I just hope you’re comfortable with this.”

“Of course I am!” You say very convincingly. As you nervously shift, your thigh grazes the box of strawberries. Right, I almost forgot! You take them and offer the box to him. “Here, a small token of my gratitude.”

He eyes the fruit, not taking them immediately. “Where did you get those?”

“The winner gave them to me.”

“Really?”

“I stole them.” You say with a shy smile. Some things are just impossible to hide from him.

He chuckles, “I’ll take them, but only if you have some as well.”

You agree and he opens the box, placing it between you two.

You’re the first one to try them, and you’re so pleased that your little crime paid off. And by Xavier’s little mm!  you know that he enjoys the sweetness of chocolate and the strawberries as well. You sit there for a while, eating and chatting about whatever; mostly about the books he’s been reading and the new game both of you started playing.

You don’t feel that tired anymore. It’s probably the shower that washed away all the fatigue of the day. And the adrenaline from talking, not only talking but sharing a tent and then later sleeping next to your crush. You’re actually so excited you could run laps around the campsite, but at the same time so flustered you don’t know what to do with yourself.

After you take another bite of the fruit, you notice that Xavier’s eyes are lingering on your lips? No, your cheek?

His hand slowly goes towards your face, and you stand still, unsure of what he wants. His ring finger gently wipes the corner of your mouth.

He smiles, “You had some chocolate there.”

When he’s about to lick his finger, you joke “Hey! You’re taking my chocolate!”

He stops for a second, looks at the finger, then at you. “You’re right. Do you want it back?” He asks with that teasing glint in his eyes as he holds the digit in front of your lips.

You’re stunned for a moment, trying to read the situation. Does he really want you to lick it off?

Okay, you can play along; with your eyes on his, you start to lick the chocolate. Xavier’s eyes widen for a split second, his lips slightly part as he watches you lick and suck his finger clean. It made his shorts tighter, and he hopes that you don’t notice the outline of his erection on his gray shorts.

And you’re so frustrated at yourself because of how wet this little interaction made you.

When you’re done, with a light blush on his cheeks, he pulls back his hand and clears his throat. “You’re really good at this.”

You only sheepishly smile and continue the conversation like nothing happened.  

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆

“You didn’t bring a sleeping bag?” Xavier asks as you as you both get ready to sleep. It’s gotten late, it’s dead silent as everyone around you is sleeping or trying to fall asleep. You’re surprised that Xavier managed to stay awake this long.

You admit that you forgot the fact that it’s colder at night here than back in the city. “But the blanket should be big enough for both of us.” You offer to go ask someone for one more blanket, but he refuses and says that he’s worried about you being cold.

His eyes scan over your barely covered body “I can borrow you my hoodie. But it smells like campfire.”

“I’m gonna to be fine. Let’s just go to sleep.” You reassure him (and yourself). With that, both of you lie down, your backs turned, and cover yourself with a blanket that is not enough for two people.

Xavier lets you take most of it, but tries to not make it obvious, so he holds onto it, only his back covered.

Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes pass, you don’t know. You just can’t fall asleep. Not only because your ass is freezing, but because he is lying right next to you. And judging by his deep breathing, he’s asleep. Of course he is. You turn on your back and stare at the stars peeking through the mesh screen of the tent. You don’t want to move around too much or step outside because you don’t want to wake him. He’s had an exhausting day too.

You turn on your side, facing his back. You can’t see much in the dark tent, the only light source being the moon and the stars, and faint fairy lights outside. But it’s visible enough to admire his light fluffy hair and how wide his back is. You crave to trace your fingers over his shirt, through his hair… you completely took over the blanket!

You cover his figure, but then you’re a little exposed. With a sigh, you move closer to him as quietly as possible. Now, time to turn around in the same manner. But, Xavier is already switching to his other side, turning to you, and you’re so close, almost nose to nose and he opens his eyes.

You’re holding in your breath, freezing in place. “Sorry.” You whisper. “I just wanted to cover you.”

His sleepy eyes stare at yours, then at your lips. It takes him a second to register your words. “You’re still awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you cold?”

You take second before answering “Maybe.”

“Turn around.”

You do as you’re told expecting him to roll you into the blanket like a burrito and then you’d feel really bad. Those thoughts evaporate when you feel his warm arm slip around your waist, pulling your back against his strong, yet soft, chest, while his lower body keeps a respectful distance.

His breath tickles the skin of your neck, making you shiver. “Is this okay?”

You only muster a squeaky ‘mhm’, and then he falls silent again, with his face nuzzled against your neck. You close your eyes, and try to count sheep.

One sheep…two sheep… your arm gets uncomfortable so you place it over his that’s resting on your waist, the contact making his hand search your hand, entangling his fingers with yours, and then pulling you in a tighter embrace.

Exhaling a shuttering breath, you continue… three sheep… you’ve been keeping your legs pin straight this whole time and they’re starting to feel stiff and sore. But if you bend them, they’ll be exposed to cold air, but if you curl up you’ll be pressing your butt against Xavier’s crotch, or at least lower belly.

Four sheep…

The gentle whisper of your name against your ear makes you yelp. You thought he fell asleep.

Xavier repeats your name, and you can hear the smirk on his lips “Position yourself however you please. I want you to be comfortable.”

You exhale a breath you’ve been holding. “Okay.”

You move into the fetus position, making yourself as comfortable as possible, warm in his embrace, your bottom keeping an awkward distance from his lower half.  You bite your bottom lip and try to regulate your breathing. He can probably feel how fast your heart is beating. You think how it’s unfair that he can feel how flustered you are.

You feel his slow heartbeat, but you can’t see his feverish red cheeks.

“Is it better now?” He asks.

“Yeah, it’s just that...” It’s just that your legs and buttocks are still cold.

When you don’t finish your sentence, he nudges your neck with his nose. “Your legs are cold.”

The hand on your waist moves and his fingers lightly glide over your upper thigh. When you don’t protest, he starts caressing, warming up your skin. The contact makes you hot between your legs, making you unconsciously rub your thighs and arch your back, your butt backing up against his front. 

You immediately flinch, jolting your middle forward outside the covers. “Sorry.” You mumble, your cheeks burning in embarrassment, your body staying in that awkward position.

Xavier can’t help but laugh at the position you’re in. He rubs your shoulder in an attempt to console you. “It’s okay. I don’t mind”

It takes you a few seconds to muster up the courage to go back under the cover, closing the distance between your bodies, letting him spoon you.

You feel like you could melt in his arms; he’s so warm, smells like fresh linen and herbal hair shampoo. Even though you’re still nervous, your body is able to relax and press further against him, unintentionally grinding your soft bottom against his quickly hardening length.

Your pussy clenches as you feel his clothed hard dick against you. He doesn’t say anything, but shift a little further from you.

You don’t know if it’s the weariness, the horniness, or the boldness (if you can call it that), that makes you whisper. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” And you close the distance again, this time slowly sliding your ass against him to prove your point.

A shuddering breath leaves his lips, as he starts moving at your pace. He shifts to rest on his elbow and his hand moves up to cup your cheek, and you turn to face him, your hips halting the movement.

He gazes into your eyes and nudges the tip of your nose with his. He softly breathes your name and his soft warm lips leave a feather light kiss on yours. He waits for your reaction with those puppy eyes that always make you weak.

With the hand that was under you, you hold the side of his face and pull him into a soft kiss. Your lips softly graze and nip as Xavier adjusts his body, elbows resting on either side of your head, his chest resting against yours, but his pelvis is hovering against yours.

You decide to be the one to take the next step; fingers of one hand run through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your tongue glosses his bottom lip and slipping inside, tasting his. The other hand pushes down his lower back, and he takes the hint.

You gasp into the kiss as his dick grinds right between your clothed folds, grazing your clit just right. Your cheeks and core are burning as Xavier starts rutting waster and harder, you can feel his heartbeat pounding against your chest. Both of you are panting between kisses, suppressing moans and whines.

He breathes against your lips “We should stop.” When he notices a flash of disappointment on your face, he adds, “It’s so easy to hear everything here.”

You nod. “Yeah, you’re right.” You gulp and take in deep breaths. Your tent is the furthest from the rest, but still close enough to hear if someone is getting it on.

He rolls over to his side, still facing you. His eyes take in your features as his fingertips graze over them. He pulls you in by the back of your head into a slow kiss. Your lips taste each other, tongues licking, his teeth playfully nibbling your bottom lip.

The hand on the back of your hand travels over your jaw to hold your chin, and a deep sigh leaves his lips. He whispers, “It’s so hard to hold back.” and the continues tasting your plump lips.

Those words make your panties wetter than they were. You throw your leg over his hips and soon you’re straddling him, and his arms envelop you, pressing your body flush against his, his hips bucking up to meet yours once again.

But you crave more contact and so does Xavier. At the same time, Xavier pulls down his shorts and you take off yours. A whimper escapes your lips as you sit back down on his rock hard dick, your sexes only separated by thin fabric.

He pulls you into a deep, hungry kiss, his hands grabbing your ass, moving your hips in the same rhythm with his. The friction feels so good, too good. Your pussy is creaming so much, making a mess of your panties and his boxer briefs. Then he shifts his hips a little and his cockhead starts hitting and rubbing your clit over and over, and you’re mewling and panting into the sloppy kiss.

He smirks against your lips. “Honey, I need you to stay quiet. I don’t want anyone else to hear you like this.”

The heat pools in the bottom of belly. “Xavier, I’m close.”

“Yeah? Is my little bunny feeling good?” He pants, and by the twitching of his cock, you think he’s close too.

You hold back a disappointed whine when he puts a distance between your hips, but then you feel him push down his boxers freeing his throbbing dick. He pulls your panties to the side and brings your hips back down, your dripping pussy lips sliding against his thick length, and he immediately locks your lips with his, swallowing your moan.

He has you in a tight embrace, one hand on the plump flesh of your ass and the other on the back of your neck. His lips leave a wet trail from your lips over your jaw to the shell of your ear, and you listen to his restrained pants and grunts.

His hot breath fans over your ear “Let’s come together.” He pulls up both of your shirts a bit, and you feel his hard ab muscles tensing against your skin.

You can only nod as the tip starts hitting your clit again, and in a few seconds you’re coming undone on top of him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, muffling your moans.

Xavier follows shortly after, his cum spilling over both of your bellies.

You take a moment to calm down and you notice that he’s still as hard. You come up to meet his gaze.

His eyes are veiled with so much lust and craving. “I – “

“Please, fuck me.” You need more.

With those three magic words, he’s on top of you again, his shirt and the blanket disregarded somewhere in the corner. He pushes your tank top over your breasts, his hot lips latching onto your nipple while his fingers play with the other one, while his cock is sliding with ease between your slippery folds.

You know that he wants to prep you more, but you feel like you’ve been edged for too long, your hole clenching around nothing.

Xavier’s breath hitches against your nipple when you reach down and wrap your hand around his member, feeling how long and thick he is (he’s longer than your thought).

He comes up and holds your gaze as you tease the tip against your soaking entrance “I need you now.”

His hand switches with yours, slowly easing into you, his gaze never leaving yours. He swallows thickly, and cursing under his breath as he feels your walls clench around him.

And you’re a mess under him, biting your lip to contain your moans and whines, but your pussy is already fluttering around his length, second orgasm building up.

When he’s finally buried to the hilt, he rests his body on top of yours, neither of you caring about the slippery cum between you, if anything it spurs you on even more.

He slowly starts rolling his hips, his lips leaving open mouth kisses over your collar bone and your neck. You fingers find purchase in his hair and nails lightly scrape the skin over his taut back muscles. In your daze you take a moment to admire his strong back and then you move your hand from his back to grab his biceps. Fuck, you wish there was more light here.

Xavier’s lips lock with yours in a sloppy kiss, his tip grazing your sweet spot with every thrust while his fingertips rub your sensitive bundle of nerves. His voice is raspy from all the strangled groans, “You’re squeezing me so hard, princess. Are you gonna come for me?”

You only manage a small moan in response, and you don’t even care if you’re loud. And the wet smacking of his pelvis against your creamy cunt is already giving you away.

You barely give any warning as suddenly another orgasm crashes over you, his free hand covering your mouth. He coos in your ear that’s right and you’re so pretty and sweet names that you barely register as you whimper against his hand and your pussy spasms around his cock.

As you come down from your high, he picks up the pace and soon you notice him twitching inside you, his hips stuttering and his pants becoming shallower.

He murmurs “Where do you want me?”

You fight back the urge to say ‘inside’, you want him to fill you up so bad, but now is not the place to make that kind of mess.

Still, you don’t want spill it outside. “Use my mouth.”

His face burns and his dick painfully throbs at those words. You rest on your elbows as he pulls out and straddles your waist, his hand resting on your head.

You let him guide the tip past your lips, and you swirl your tongue around it tasting your mixed juices. He swallows a moan as you take him in deeper; swollen lips enveloping his cock, tongue swirling, tasting him, and grazing his pulsing veins, and he can’t help the pang of jealousy that hits him with how good you’re at this.

Pushing those thoughts back, he caresses your cheekbone with his thumb. “You’re taking me so good.”

He starts thrusting, unable to hold back much longer. He whispers between pants “Tap my arm if I go too hard.”

You hum against his length, focused on relaxing your throat as his cockhead starts hitting more and more with each thrust and stutter of his hips.

You feel him throb hard in your mouth, and his hand travels under your chin. You hear him demand with a strangled groan “Look at me.”

Your eyes lock with his, the sight of you sucking him in with a fucked-out face making him tip over the edge, filling your mouth with his hot cum.

He takes shaky breaths as he twitches in your mouth as you suck him and swallow each drop, not letting anything go to waste.

After he pulls out, he sits next to you and gives you a chaste kiss on the lips.

He holds your face in his hands, his nose nudging yours. “Are you okay?”

You nod and kiss him again. And then you feel cold air hit the wet spots on your body. You chuckle “We need to get cleaned up, though.”

With that, you wipe yourselves with wipes and dress up to make an awkward walk towards the bathroom. You just hope that no one heard what you were doing in the tent. Or the shower.

[witerh]

To have. To hold. To breed. || husband re: vendetta!leon

NSFW!

warnings: fluff, soft/dom, reader!housewife, kisses, on the table, pussy eating, hole inspection, fingering, mating prees, deep fuck, ovulation, impreg, aftercare

notes: i admired asmr and my imagination was not enough to come up with another name, lmao (my one of the drabbles on dirty stories with leon for women's day, other drabbles can be seen on my ao3)

rating: mature

summary: leon step through the front door, he accosted by his woman. the smell of your cooking, the sound of your moving about in the kitchen. he have no choice but to follow his senses. when he sees you, all sweet and lush and prettied up for him, every ounce of tiredness in his body fades and the only thing on his mind becomes...

It's already sparkling outside, darkness fills the horizon and the noise and smell of cooking fills your home. You were standing at the stove, preparing dinner in the form of chicken and a side dish.

The muffled roar of a motorcycle distracts you, because most likely…

It is your husband coming home from work.

Leon’s life as a government agent was full of danger and chaos — his missions took him to the darkest corners of the world, and it often felt like he was married to his job, not to you.

The traumas were already in his brain dented with nightmares and memories as if for the first time. Every mission weighs on Leon more than the last. He hasn’t been the same since Raccoon City, and every year seems to put more strain on him than the last.He’s getting older now. His line of work has never given him the opportunity to settle down and start a family — not that any girl would want a guy who drunk himself half to death.

But you are like someone else and despite the obstacles of his work you were able to become something more than friends.Now you and Leon have been together for many years, not counting the year of your marriage. There were hard times and pleasant things, but you always got through it together.

He tries to spend more time with you, to be closer and more open, to communicate more with friends and acquaintances. This attempt to get rid of the burden of the past helps.

The smile has begun to appear on his face much more often when he is in your pleasant and cozy company. He is already on the mend and may be able to get rid of his nightmares.

Thanks to the psychologist.

Leon was coming home from work after hours of nonstop reports and paperwork, the younger recruits dumping all of their mess onto the old man. He fiddled with his keys before opening the front door to his house, huffing to himself as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.He quickly stripped off his jacket, hanging it up before going further into the not quiet house. All faded away as he saw his precious little wife cooking on the kitchen; this gorgeous view from the back along with a fitted apron and a cute bow at the back, this hand stirring something (which he is always sure of it) delicious in a frying pan.

Wrinkles appeared on his handsome face when he smiled and you immediately noticed his steps.

Familiar arms wrapped around your waist, his broad chest pressed against your back while he inhaled your scent against your neck. “Well aren’t you a beauty standing at the stove… beautiful as a picture for me”, he whispers into the crook of your neck.

“Hey, Leon”, he doesn’t see your smile but you are very happy to see him. You turned your head towards him to catch a glimpse of him melting in your presence. “You should take a shower and then you can hug as much as you want.”

“I know I’m all dirty, but let me hold you for a moment.” He breathes deeply and fully. “I just need my girl in my arms.”

But despite your words, he doesn’t leave you, just sighs deeply and hums. Finally, he can relax from all this paperwork.

“I missed you, princess”, he surrenders in your arms, his shoulder muscles relaxing. “The work was hard, I had to take on all the work myself… These recruits can’t be relied upon.”

“All this time I could only think about how I would return home to my sweet wife.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, swear on my heart”, he confesses to you. “I knew you’d be here, beautiful, sweet smelling, with something on the table to fill my belly. Remind me why I work so hard…”

He falls silent again, closes his eyes and breathes calmly while you work over the stove. But something catches his attention, causing him to open his eyes and move his head off your shoulder, but not pull away from your back. He tilted his head to the side, and damn, a smile appeared on his lips at the sight before his eyes. His eyes were already sparkling with joy and it seemed like the fatigue had instantly fallen from his shoulders.

“Hold on now, what is this?” He laughs deeply, grinning toothily. “You’re already trying to push your fat ass against my cock, like if you’re hungry for it… Are you desperate yet, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you bites bottom lip and your back arches slightly. You’re sure he’s noticed it too. “Yes, I am. I need you so much, Le—…”

“Yeah?” he asks again, interrupting you mid-sentence and you were left with your mouth open in bewilderment. “Here’s how… I need to see myself make sure my sweet wife needs «help» as much as she says.”

He pulled away from you, turned and looked around the table set: lace tablecloth with plates and forks and this is for you both this evening. You always set the table for your dinner or breakfast. Everything has to be perfect, right?

“Every night you set this table so pretty, even when it’s just you and me sitting at it.” he moans in pleasure looking at all this beauty. “As much as I want to ruin that, I need something to lay you down on.”

He admired and still admires this, that you bring everything to perfection, but now it interferes a little with his plans. He pushed the plates away with his hand, making a dull thud as the dishes smashed against each other, causing you to look back at the sound.

At one point he grabs your hand and gently pushes you onto the edge of the table that he cleared especially for you. “Mhmm… There you go.” he guides you, helping you to sit more comfortably. “Lie down right here, precious.”

“Keep your legs over this table, push your butt against edge…” He nods, watching as you try to do as he asks. “There you go, good girl…”

“Now spread those pretty thighs open.”You spread your legs, looking puzzled at Leon and his face as he examines what’s under the apron. And you’re there without panties: as strange as it may seem, you were already wet. That's nature.

“Look at this delicious little pussy,” he notices teasingly, leaning closer to your core. “You’re already hungry for it, aren’t you?

”His breath touched your sensitive skin and it was pleasant — you could admit it but with great defeat. If only you knew that you had already lost...

“Oh!” you sigh and blush at his words. You can’t just give in to your husband and tell him that you missed him all day. “What are you talking about?…”

“You know what am i talking about right now. It’s all juices on your thighs… they flow down right on your ass on…” he notices, looking up at your face and then back between your legs. “Let me give my hands under knees to open you up.”

You didn’t object, you just spread your legs even more for him to make it easier. Your fingers tightened on the edge of the table, your knuckles even turned white.

His strong hands grabbed you under the knee, the other placed on his shoulder as he brought his face closer to your pussy. His hot breath fanned over your lower lips.

“God damn, sweetheart… she’s so pretty that I just wanna…”

Lips pressed against your pussy, wrapping them around your clit, kissing and licking, giving and encouraging attention to this pearl. He heard your surprised cry with pleasure and pushed him to go further, but your legs reflexively wanted to squeeze together, to which he looked up at you.It was hard to resist locking his legs together and he chuckled because of it.

“Ohh… Nah-huh, baby, they stay open for as long as I want it be,” He pouts weakly, pretending to be offended. “Don’t pretend you don’t want it.”

“Don’t pretend you just accidentally forgot to put on panties this morning.”

“Damn, you found me out,” you laughed. “Okay, I won't. Just don't stop, okay?”

He nods with satisfaction at your answer. “Mhmm, good. So keep those gorgeous thighs open for me…”

The tongue flicks at your clit, sucking and lightly touching it with his lips, but quickly replacing the pain with his lips. He changed and played with the clit, using his tongue first and then his lips, making you go crazy.

He explores your vagina, giving it his time and attention, for which you are so grateful to him. He is already skilled at this and it is not difficult for him to go down a little lower… and, oh, your humming encourage him as his tongue penetrates you, so full of your juices.

Leon enjoys your excited sighs, even a little proud that he can satisfy his little wife like this.The tip of the nose does not forget to replace his lips and presses enough while he works a little lower and wets his bristles which gently tickles you.

“Fuck, you are just flowing,” he is breathing heavily. “…I swear I can do this all day… all night.”

“Oh my God, Leon”, you grip his hair tightly, guiding him with a strong grip. “I feel so go-o-od… Please don’t stop..”

“You like it, huh?” he smiles weakly and does not resist your fingers, allowing herself to be your puppet. “Of course you like it when I run my tongue over your needy clit…”

Based on his words, he lifts his head and again his tongue attacks your clit, circling it with the tip and lubricating it with warm saliva. From your clit he moves down again, painfully slowly, making your body shudder with need.

“Fuck, I love the way your pussy looks after I run my tongue all over it,” He moves his face away a couple of centimeters to see what he has done to you. “…What if I just run my thumb over this littlе clit just like…”

And your “ahh!” reaction makes him laugh deeply and keep his thumb pinched a little longer for fun. “Tha-at’s, baby…”

His hands were getting tired of holding your hips, and as much as he wanted to explore you with his tongue, he had to use his fingers to do it. You don't mind, do you?

“Put your hands behind your knees, keep your legs open for your husband, sweetheart,” he still leaves your pussy unattended in order to remove his hands from under your knees. “so that he could carefully these holes looking over…”

“Yes…” you nod and as quickly as possible replace his strong grip with your weaker one.

Pulling his face away a little, his fingers came into play. His index finger began to circle around your vagina, collecting all your moisture and his saliva. “This little pussy looks so tight…”

“It doesn’t matter how many times I fuck her, right?” he raises an eyebrow at you and then at your pussy before carefully starting to enter inside. “She always hugs me, good and tight.”

“Damn.. yea-ah,” You grit your teeth, feeling all the moisture surrounding his long finger. “She was made for you.”

“Ohhh, look how it flows…” He draws your and his attention to this, already noticing how the juices have moved to his knuckles. “Is this pussy really desperate for my cock, sweetheart?”

“That’s little hole beg me to hurry up and come inside?” At his next tease, you nod desperately, asking for the little he can do for you: “Please don’t stop looking me over.. and hurry up, I want your dick.”

“Okay, baby, okay. I’m not giving you dick yet, i’m don’t stop looking you over.” he comforts you, running his hand over your cheek. “I have to make sure my sweet wife is okay, right?”

“Yes, you are right, Leon,” You nod, looking at him and agreeing, because he can’t leave his wife desperate and needy on their kitchen table.

“Safe and ready to breed up, nice and full…” he ponders, looking again at your dripping pussy. “I can give you something… how about the finger?”

“The finger?” you ask him again with interest.

“Maybe one of your thumbs will help cool this hot pussy down a little?” he looks up at your face and asks you because he wants you to enjoy. “Howdo you think?”

“Yes, I want your finger,”

“Let’s see…”

His finger penetrates into the hot place inside you, where it is so hot and wet. Your walls squeeze his knuckles so hard that he can only breathe deeply.

“Damn it, precious, did you follow all the rules for me?”

“Make sure nothing gets in that pussy until daddy gets in there…” he praises, his finger begins to pump inside you, starting at a slow pace and touching your vulnerable spots so that you bend over on this edge of the table. “No wonder you’re so eager for it.”

“Uh-huh, I was only waiting for you…” you hum with ragged breaths as he tortures you with this tempo and those blue eyes right on yours. “I need you.”

“You are here alone, in this house, all day, and you have nothing to feed on except thoughts and memories”, he assumes and now gives you what you wanted all day while he was not in your cozy corner. He is already trying to correct your situation with his finger. “I guess it’s clear now why you crave my dick every time I step foot in the door everyday…”

The pace suddenly quickened, your juices flowing down your thighs and further down to your ass cheeks. His face leans closer and he kisses the tip of your nose, blowing his hot breath on your hot face: “Damn, you’re too wet today, baby.”

“Just look at your ass… it’s all wet too.” he thoughts and pulls away from your face still continuously stretching you before stopping and returning her gaze to you. “Speaking of…”

He pulls his finger out with a wet pop and he immediately hears your whine through clenched teeth. The emptiness inside you didn’t suit you at all. “Hush, hush, hush, don’t cry, sweetie. Daddy will be inside you again soon.”

“You have one more hole I need to check on,” he consoles you with assured words. “Even if I don’t use it today, it’s my husband’s responsibility to make sure, that his wife is in top shape… and that includes her tight little ass.”

You choked. Your walls gripped him tightly and he sighed heavily. He hasn’t fucked you in the ass for a long time, so now you’re squeezing him like a vice.

“Fuck… looks like this cute little hole is hungry too,” He puffs and moves his finger back and forth. “I might have to make an effort to use it more often… to make sure she gets as much love as your little pussy.”

The finger began to move more actively inside your hole, to stretch you and tease you enough to hear “aghh” of yours in response.

“Your juices are everywhere. Atta girl.” he remarks with a cheerful tone, looking at how your pussy is oozing more and more. “On me, on you, on the tablecloth.”

A light trickle of your arousal flows right down your ass and he enjoys watching it. So wonderful. But he had to let your holes rest for a moment because his patience was running out.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he announces to you, hearing your whining, because he left you empty. “I need in.”

His fingers unfasten his belt with a loud thud, followed by his fly. His trousers are slightly below his knees. He bares his cock, grabbing the base and using his fist to stroke himself a couple of times, even though precum has already appeared on the tip.

“Are you ready, honey?” he asks to which you nod and say the cherished “yes”. He accepts your answer and, gripping the base, enters you with a heavy sigh.

He allow himself to run the tip of his cock over your wet folds, down and up, and then along before gently entering. He sighs feeling you squeeze him tightly.

“Fuck… that’s it, honey, I’ve got your legs.” With a strong grip, he replaces your hands and does not allow you to twitch. “Mhmm… thank you for holding on to them for such a long time.”

“Time to do all the work for daddy”, he sighs. “Just let me pull your knees up by your ears and stick this dick deep…”

He does as he said, pinning your knees between the table and his strong hands to increase the pace inside you.

“Fuck, that’s it baby, you can take it”, he praises you and strokes your hair with his free hand tenderly despite his careless thrusts. “Do you like it when I’m so deep inside you?”

“Yes, yes, I like it…” moan. and another moan flew from your lips as you looked at him through your eyelashes. “Don’t stop…”

“I didn’t mean that, darling”, he grins at you, baring his teeth in a toothy grin. “Tell daddy he owns you, baby,” sigh “Tell daddy that you belong to him,” sigh “Tell daddy that your little holes are meant for him and him alone.”

“You own me, I belong to you, all my holes are meant for you and only for you”, you gasp and swallow hard as you try to think. “This is just for you.”

“I never get tired of hearing this”, he moves his hand lower and grabs your wrists, trapping them in “shackles” from his strong grip. “But your body is fucking happy to let me know that.”

His hips snap against yours as he claims you on the kitchen table. The room filled with the obscene sounds you both made in the haze of lust.

His head dropped down and he began kissing your neck, watching as your head fell back and your eyes closed as he thrust especially deep.

“Shh”, he sighs between kisses on your skin. “Don’t forget to breathe.”He licks your full skin, wrapping his lips around it and leaving a light hickey on your skin before pulling away again and watching his mark before looking back down at your connection. Your cheeks are red.

“Mhmh… clings to my cock every time I pull it out, covering everywhere with juices”, he notices with a grin, watching how your pussy absolutely doesn’t want to let him go from her grip. Just like you. “It’s fucking impossible to just get out of you. Atta girl.”

A small growl escaped his lips as you hugged him tighter due to his teasing. You panted beneath him, chest rising and falling. He knocks hoarse moans out of your throat.

“Please, don’t stop, Leon..!” you hiccup, your slick hips jerking in response, creating a pleasant friction between you both. “You won’t pull it out when you cum, right?”

“Please, don’t pull it out!”

“Hush, darling. Don’t worry, don’t cry. Daddy won’t pulling out.” he consoles between kisses. “You forgot that I have access to the calendar on your phone too…”

He leans closer, lowering his voice: “I know you’re ovulating.”

“Ahh?!” you sigh and get annoyed because he hid it and now he uses it as a tease. He pulls away with a laugh, hearing your gasps and grinning toothily.

“I’m going to impregnate that pussy, baby”, he promises, almost putting his hand on his heart. “I gonna fill you up so that in a few months you will be bare and pregnant in this kitchen… with proof of my love for you growing in this pretty little belly…”

His promise hangs in the air and you, knowing his tenacity to follow through, already know what he will actually do. But you don't mind. You've long dreamed of children, of that family from glossy magazines or movies..."

“Yes... get me pregnant Leon, please.... I need in this so-o-o ba-a-ad-d...”

you're pulling the letters and it's a fat hint that you're so desperate in your own words. You really need that pregnant belly. With the thought of pregnancy, your walls contracted around his cock as if by reflex and he sighed with sensitivity.

“I feel you tightening around me, darling,” he notices. “Is my dick rubbing against your precious place?”

“Mh-mhmm,” you nod to him in mute agreement. “Is that so, precious?” he raised an eyebrow though he knew it was true. He just wanted to hear your words, not your mooing. “Use your words.”

To accurately get his point across he clicks his hips against yours, reaching almost to the cervix. He didn't hurt you, but it made you shudder.

“Y-yes... you're rubbing against my place...!”

“Let me play with this soaked clit,” he offers you teasingly, releasing your hands from his grip to pay attention to your pearl. “Let’s see how long it takes you to …—”

“That's what you need to cum, isn't it?" It was the last straw for your patience: your back arched, your thighs clenched desperately as you trembled and squirted onto him. You finally got your discharge for that excruciatingly long evening of combined teasing and research. You really walked a thin tightrope, at the risk of getting lost in your own hands of pleasure with your husband (as it happened).

“Leon!” you moan his name with stars in your eyes and a dryness in your mouth. You need air and he slowed down so that his sweet wife wouldn't suffocate under him.

“Fuck..” he clenches his teeth. “You’re still fucking clinging me.”

He could feel your spasms inside, the way your walls desperately hugged his cock as you came on top of him.

"I can't help it, honey", you exhale and cool down under the symphony of his thrusts, you're getting aroused again.

“Milk all the cum out of me”, he orders softly. “Make me make you have a baby!” He needed you as much as if he were the last man in the desert and you were an oasis.

The thrusts became uncontrollable, a growl escaping his lips.

Leon enjoyed these just as much as you did; he needed to be buried inside you to death, he wanted to feel your squeezing walls around him forever. Those dirty thoughts drove him to orgasm.

One more push and he exploded inside you, making another push.... a push, and one more push. The force was exhausted, but the power of wanting to make your family with baby (or even two) more was stronger. He would be glad to see everyone.

“Nah-huh, don’t move”, he mumbles to you, noticing your movements. “I need to fill you with cum deep…”

In a couple minutes that seemed like moments to both of you, he was able to catch his breath enough and freeze inside you to make sure every drop got inside of you. He brought his face closer to you and finally let your knees off his hands only to hug your face with the palms of his hands

“I’m going out, precious”, he whispers in your ear, allowing you to relax a little. “But don’t move, I’ll carry you to the bed, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t move.”

With a wet pop, he pulled his soft cock out of your depths and semen began to spurt out of you right onto the kitchen tablecloth. You rest in his arms as he lifts you up with ease and holds your knees and back, holding you close to him. Your arms wrap around his neck. When he carried you to bed, you lay there while he started looking for some napkins to take care of you. “Will there be a second round?”

“No, the second round will be later”, he laughs. “I’m going to run you a bath and then make you take a nap.”

“You know, I love it when my wife looks well-rested and well take careful.”

“Will you join me?” you asked him, tilting your head to the side.

“My hunger for food can wait, you know?" he laughs deeply running a napkin over your genitals "Of course I'll join." You just laughed tiredly and kissed his cheekbones, hugging him and bringing his face closer so that your breath burned each other faces.

"What do you wanna choose: bubbles or a bath bomb?" He is thinking and needs your help in choosing. "I want..." you think before you answer him: "both."

"Both? My spoiled girl..."

thanks for reading!