#let it takes us oh just let it take us away

[kashverse]

Imagine someone making mama reader cry and minisukuna is just roasting who man her cry’s ass, while sukuna is trying to hold back from murder

i didn't wanna make the mamakuna's reading this cry, so have a bit of banter instead. i hope this is what you were requesting for!

rule number 1 in a sukuna family barbecue is to kiss the cook—aka mamakuna, aka you.

rule number 1.2? only babykuna and sukuna can kiss the chef. no exceptions.

but the most important rule—the one etched in stone, the one more sacred than sukuna’s secret steak rub recipe—is rule number 2:

never. insult. the cook.

so when yuki, choso’s plus one, decides to run her mouth at the absolute wrong time, saying, “not gonna lie, this chicken is kinda dry,” there is an immediate, deafening silence. choso, sitting next to her, freezes mid-bite, eyes darting around like he’s witnessing a live execution. nanami takes a slow sip of his beer, very wisely deciding he wants no part in whatever is about to happen. gojo, ever the shit-stirrer, grins and leans in. “oh-ho-ho, you done fucked up.” meanwhile, you? you just blink.

"oh?"

it’s just one word, but it’s enough to send chills down the spines of everyone within earshot. sukuna, who had been manning the grill (read: standing around looking important while you did all the real work), slowly sets down the tongs.

his jaw twitches. his veins pop. he looks two seconds away from committing murder.

"who made the food, yuki?" he asks, voice dangerously calm. yuki, still blissfully unaware of the shitstorm she’s just walked into, shrugs. "i dunno, the caterer?"

sukuna exhales through his nose, like he’s actively trying to keep his soul from leaving his body.

"your caterer is literally sitting right there," choso hisses under his breath, eyes darting to you. yuki, now finally putting two and two together, has the audacity to look sheepish. "oh. uhh…"

but before she can say anything else—

"DODOHEAD!!"

everyone turns to look at babykuna, who is fuming, tiny fists clenched, eyes ablaze with unwavering rage. "how dare you," she huffs, looking as offended as if yuki had personally spit on a framed picture of you.

"i—it’s not that deep—"

“SHAME ON YOU, POOPIEHEAD!!” babykuna stomps her foot, dramatically clutching her heart like she’s a widow in a soap opera. "mama’s food is the best in the whole world!"

"i didn't mean—"

"take it back!" babykuna demands. yuki blinks, caught between disbelief and fear.

"uh…?"

"TAKE. IT. BACK."

babykuna’s arm lifts. her grip tightens around the precious stuffed labubu in her hand. and before anyone can stop her—

"oh, hell no," sukuna mutters, finally snapping.

"you listen here, you ungrateful shit—"

"okay!" choso interjects, physically holding his brother back before this barbecue turns into a crime scene. 

"yuki," he hisses, “apologize before you get us both killed.” yuki, now 100% convinced she is not leaving this barbecue alive, raises her hands.

"okay, okay! i’m sorry!"

"say it like you mean it!" babykuna shouts, labubu still armed and ready.

"i mean it!!"

yuki, now sweating bullets, looks at you.

"your food is great. i love it. i’m sorry."

babykuna narrows her suspicious little eyes.

"hmph."

after ten long seconds of dramatic silence, she finally lowers labubu.

"...i forgive you."

yuki exhales in relief.

"but don’t do it again, dodohead!"

sukuna grumbles under his breath, still looking like he wants to throw hands. but then you, grinning, lean over and kiss his cheek. "down, boy," you tease. "i don’t need you getting blood on my good plates."

he grunts. “whatever.” but he still sends a glare yuki’s way.

“next time, i will let babykuna throw the labubu.”

[ovrgrwnivy]

CLASSIFIED ; spencer reid

synopsis ; a sleepy morning turns into spencer falling over himself to get to work on time, forgetting his badge behind him.

includes ; spencer reid x fem!reader, kissing, getting interrupted by the bau, secret relationship

sunlight flittered through your blinds, heat radiated off your boyfriend who laid beside you, his arm draped over you as he slept peacefully. you card your fingers through his hair, unintentionally stirring him from his sleep.

“oh, i’m sorry baby” you apologise, voice soft in an attempt to keep him from waking up any further “go back to sleep.”

it was a rare day off for spencer, by your second date he’d told you he was in the bau, by your fifth you had gotten used to work tearing him away. but despite the annoyance, you had gotten used to it. you understood his job was important, you understood that evil wouldn’t take a break just so you could keep your boyfriend all to yourself.

when you asked him how personal time worked, he admitted to you that his team didn’t know he had a girlfriend. it stung a little, but when he explained that his job would be putting you at risk it softened the blow.

you’d heard the horror stories, how his boss’s wife was killed just so the unsub could get to him, about another girl who had been shot simply for being an agent.

it sucked, but you understood why, at least for now, spencer didn’t want to broadcast you all over the office.

“don’t wanna,” spencer mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder as he blinked his eyes open “don’t wanna waste my one day off.”

you couldn’t help the small smile that appeared when he said that, days off may be hard to come by but spencer made sure you were the sole focus for every second of them.

he propped himself up on his elbow, his other hand tightening its grip on your waist to pull you closer “c’mere, pretty”

his sleepy voice makes the words sound even better as you lazily wrap your arms around his neck, your fingers toying with the hair at the back of his head.

he presses a lazy kiss to your lips, which quickly spirals into something deeper. his hands grip at your waist, desperate, like he was afraid that if he loosened his grip you’d disappear.

trails of nips and kisses are dragged along your neck as he moves to hover over you, your breathing is shallow, fingers tightening in his hair as his hand slides over the surface of your stomach, fingers tracing along the hem of your underwear.

“fuck,” spencer mumbles, long fingers slipping under the fabric agonisingly slowly “you look so pretty, baby, so pretty under me.”

you let your eyes fall closed, his mouth still attached to your neck as his fingers ghosted across your skin.

until his phone rings, eliciting a frustrated groan from you both. you watch as he reluctantly reaches for it to see who’s calling. you don’t need to ask, his irate expression tells you it’s work.

“yeah?” his tone is blunt, uncharacteristically so but you can’t exactly blame him “what? no, i’m not supposed to be — right. fine.”

he doesn’t need to explain what’s going on, you already know by the way he jumps out of bed and hurriedly starts getting ready to head into work.

it’s immature, you know, but you can’t help but cross your arms in annoyance as you watch him bolt back and forth around the room.

“sorry, baby.” spencer sighs, easily reading the mixture of frustration and disappointment in your expression “i’ll make it up to you, promise.”

you hum in agreement as he presses a kiss to your forehead, promising to call you when he could before disappearing out of the room, and in turn, your apartment. you stay in bed a little longer, feeling sorry for yourself and worrying about your boyfriend at the same time.

the floor is a mess, both yours and spencer’s clothes strewn around as well as decorative pillows and comforters. as you begin picking clothes up from the floor, your eyes fall on a small, rectangular piece of leather hidden under a pair of socks.

spencer’s badge.

you gnaw on your bottom lip, conflicted on what to do. by now spencer would already be at the office, calling him to come back would cut important time from his schedule. but without it he’d be in trouble.

you needed to bring it to him without airing his personal business to the entire building, which is how you ended up signing in as a visitor who was here to meet with agent derek morgan.

the only name you heard from spencer that you could remember confidently.

a serious looking woman showed you the way to the bau office, your fingers nervously drumming on the leather cover of the badge as you headed up the elevator.

all hope was lost once you stepped out, two glass doors showcasing the expanse of the office filled with people shoulder deep in whatever they were working on.

you look around the hallway like a deer in headlights, unsure if you could just walk in or if you could just give the badge to someone else to pass on to spencer.

“you okay!?” a cheerful blonde approaches you, seemingly from nowhere. arms stacked with files and carrying a coffee cup at the same time.

“uh,” you’d feel guilty adding to her workload “do you need a hand?”

mentally you face palm, cursing yourself for your lack of social skills in the simplest of situations.

“please!” the woman gasps, the ceramic mug wobbling in her hand “hotch is going to kill me if i spill coffee all over his case. i already told him ‘mister hotch sir, it would be easier to go digital’ but nooo.”

you laugh softly, taking the mug from her unstable hand and tugging open the door for her.

surely you could enter with someone who was actually allowed in the office.

“follow me!”

she’s speeding ahead, a woman on a mission, up the steps and into what seems like a conference room. you trail behind apprehensively, not wanting to get either of you into trouble by just swanning in.

“if there’s any dismembered bodies or general badness on the screen i swear to god!” she warns, rounding a corner and disappearing into the room.

you hang back awkwardly, partly because you have no business in there but mostly just in case there was any dismembered people on display.

“you’re all good!” her head pops around the corner and she motions for you to come in, so you do.

there’s barely time to register your surroundings, a circular table with a group of people sitting around it. you spot spencer instantly, you don’t even attempt to guess who everyone else is.

his head is buried in a case file, so your presence is unknown to him. which isn’t a surprise considering you’re not meant to be in the building let alone the office.

“garcia, we talked about this.”

a stern voice comes from a tall, serious looking man. you didn’t need to be a genius to work out he was most definitely spencers boss.

“right.” the woman, garcia, presses her mouth into a thin line as she gently takes the mug from your hands “do you know where you’re meant to be, lovely?”

“oh, uh, here actually.”

as you retrieve the badge from your back pocket, spencers head snaps up at the sound of your voice. his eyes widen slightly and a small smile makes its way onto his face.

“hey, what are you doing here?”

his question catches you off guard, even more so when he gets to his feet and moves around the table towards you.

wordlessly, you hand over his id, the perfectly rehearsed excuse of finding it at a cafe stuck in your throat now that spencer had made it known you weren’t a stranger.

“how did i — thank you.” his smile widens slightly, his hand resting on your waist briefly as he pressed a thankful kiss to your temple “i’ll call you on the plane, okay?”

you knew he wasn’t trying to brush you off, but he was evidently busy and you had no actual reason to still be here.

you nod, face warming up when he gives you another quick kiss before you go, sending a tiny smile and a brief wave towards the rest of the team.

as you gently shut the door behind you, you aren’t quick enough to miss the questions thrown in spencers direction. even laughing softly at garcias exclamation of “spencer has a girlfriend!”

[carnalcrows]

BRAT TAMING - THANOS

pairing: thanos x top male reader

synopsis: There is an uninvited guest at your solo smoking session.

content warnings: 18+, bottom thanos, weed, begging, breeding, creampie, orgasm denial.

word count: 1.1k

A/N: I can't find the req to this 😭😭

The arena was nothing but cold steel, bloodstains, and the constant fear of death looming over you. So, when you finally managed to find a hidden spot away from the cameras, you lit up a blunt that you had managed to somehow sneak in, inhaling deep, letting the tension in your body ease for the first time in days.

You didn't expect company, but then again, of course someone would show up.

"Tch, you’re really bold, huh?" a cocky voice piped up, and you turned to see him—Thanos, the purple-haired loudmouth rapper. His presence was unmistakable, as was that damn grin that screamed trouble.

He plopped down next to you without asking, nodding toward your blunt. "Pass it."

You considered telling him to piss off, but there was something almost amusing about his audacity. With a sigh, you handed him the blunt, watching as he inhaled like a pro.

"Damn," he exhaled, smirking at you. "Didn’t think a guy like you would have good taste."

"And what kind of guy am I?" you asked, raising a brow.

"Boring. Too serious. Probably one of those dudes who thinks he's got everything under control." He chuckled, flicking ash onto the ground. "Bet you're the type who likes to be in charge, huh?"

You side-eyed him. "And what about you?"

"Oh, me?" He grinned, leaning back on his elbows. "I like to piss people off. Keeps things interesting."

He kept running his mouth, going on about how he was the best rapper in Korea, how people worshipped him, and how, if the cameras weren’t watching, he’d probably be throwing the guards around like rag dolls.

You let him talk, dragging slowly on the blunt, waiting for the moment he'd slip up. And, sure enough—

"Bet you’ve never met someone like me, huh?" he teased, his gaze flicking to yours. "A guy who knows he’s hot shit and doesn’t take orders."

You let out a slow, deep breath and turned to face him completely. "You don’t take orders?"

"Nope," he said smugly.

"So what if I told you to shut up?"

His grin widened. "I’d probably talk even more."

You leaned in, closing the distance between you two. His breath hitched for just a second—not enough for anyone else to notice, but you did.

"You talk too much," you murmured, taking the blunt from his hand and pressing it to your lips. His eyes followed your movements, his usual cocky expression faltering just a little.

"And what, you gonna do something about it?" he taunted, but his voice was quieter now, his bravado teetering on the edge.

"Maybe," you mused, tilting your head. "But I don't think you’d last five seconds without running that mouth of yours."

That did it. His smirk twitched. "Tch. You wish."

"Prove it."

He went silent.

The air between you both got heavy. He wasn’t used to someone checking him like this. Every muscle in his body was tense, like he was waiting for you to make a move.

You leaned back slightly, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."

"Tch…" he scoffed, but you could tell—he’d lost the game. The brat had been tamed.

"Maybe I do like to be in charge," you admitted, standing up and stretching. "But it looks like someone likes being put in their place, too."

He huffed, looking away, but the slight flush at the tips of his ears didn’t go unnoticed.

"Shut up," he muttered, but he didn't move away as you stood over him, asserting every ounce of control you had.

"Make me," you challenged.

Without warning, he pulled you in by the front of your tracksuit, crashing his lips onto yours.

You were mildly surprise, but you reciprocated the kiss with a sense of eagerness, you hands gripping onto his waist.

Wary of any guard that might pop up from a corner, you pushed the purple-haired man further into the tight spot, pushing his pants down and lifting his legs up without prior warning.

He gasped– looking up to face you, but you were too busy with you fingers, spitting on your hand and letting it slid onto his naked hole- making him flinch.

Once you felt that your saliva had worked enough, you tugged down your own track pants, revealing your erection.

The other man's eyes widened, he had never seen a cock so– big before.

Without warning, you pressed the tip in his hole– making his head hit the wall with a loud moan– before which you covered his mouth with the hand that wasn't holding him up.

“Fucking brat– can't stay quite even when you're filled to the brim, hm?”

Unable to respond– he merely whimpered, pretty eyes rolling to the back of his head as you sheathed yourself in him all the way to the brim.

You buried your head in the crook of his neck and pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, groaning at how tight he was.

Your repeated thrusts kept Thanos mumbling incoherently even with your hand covering his mouth. You merely rolled your eyes and pistoned into him even deeper– making his back arch against the wall.

Soon– you felt yourself at the brink of release and didn't bother to pull out, coating the other man's insides a pearly white.

Thanos hadn't come yet– but you slowed down your thrusts, making the man whine.

“You thought I would let you off that easy? Beg for it.”

You removed your hand from his mouth, and the other man immediately began blabbering and begging for you to let him cum.

After listening for a minute or two, you had grown hard again, and began to resume your thrusts– making him let out a loud moan.

Your other hand worked on his cock, slowly jerking him off as compared to the rapid pace you were fucking him at.

Soon, he felt his orgasm wash over him like a waterfall, and came all over your hand.

You kept him upright, and found the blunt discarded on the floor. Thankfully it was still lit.

You picked it up and placed it in Thanos’ mouth, to which he groaned– head falling back as he inhaled deep.

You slowly placed him down, cleaned him up with some cloth that was lying around and sat down next to him, taking the blunt from his mouth and inhaling the smoke.

The silence between you both lingered even after the blunt was long gone.

Thanos didn’t say much after that. For the first time since you met him, he seemed thoughtful—or maybe just trying to figure out why he let you get under his skin so damn easily.

"We're gonna pretend that didn’t just happen?" he finally asked, standing up beside you.

You smirked. "Nope."

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and muttered, "Next time, bring more. We’re not done."

You watched him walk away, his usual cocky stride slightly stiffer than before. You just chuckled, shaking your head.

"Yeah," you murmured. "We’ll see about that."

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[ill0usainte]

Had to tell her that dick off limits I hop on it at night, I'm a menace.

pairings: rafayel x possessive!reader

cw: unprotected sex, cowgirl, overstimulation, whiny!rafayel, crying, dom!reader, cum play, sub!rafayel, playing with paint, needy!rafayel (come on, it's him we're talking about), possessiveness, jealousy (sorta), he loves possessive women sm

You can't convince me that Rafayel isn't a whiny sub while you're riding him.

You didn't like the way women were so touchy and flirty towards him during his art exhibition earlier. But you know damn well, that Rafayel is still going to be the one crying later.

His back was laid against the floor of his studio. He panted heavily, trying to catch his breath. His white-collared shirt fell off his shoulders, buttons not in place. He whined against your touch-- body reacting to every move you make.

He flutters his lashes, eyes glassy as he looked at you with his blue orbs, his gaze filled with love and lust-- face flustered as he whimpered.

His lips quivered, feeling his gritty cock inside your warm pussy. Just right after Rafayel entered your tight hole, he immediately came.

Can't resist how it sucks his whole cock so good--your walls clenching him inside.

Resting his head against your bare chest, whimpering like a puppy, apologizing to you like a blabbing mess.

You did this to him.

This man will let you; use him, make you do everything to him-- just to please you.

Oh god, what would the sea even react if they found out how freely and unhesitantly their sea god submits himself to a mere human?

You can't help but grin, adoring his pitiful state. Feeling his cum leaking out of your throbbing hole, dripping down to his cock. You leaned over and pulled him into a heated kiss, earning a moan from him between.

Hot tongues dancing inside as he savors the taste of your plump lips.

You pulled back from the sloppy kiss, his lips swollen as he looked at you with his lustful eyes. Saliva connected your lips and his-- the look on his face was begging for more. You caressed his cheek with your hand; Rafayel leaned into your touch as he placed his hand over yours, moving his head and placed a soft kiss on your palm.

You leaned back, the way your tight hole swallowed his whole cock, the way it clung to it-- makes it hardened more as it twitches inside of you.

Your soft hands resting over his pelvis-- soothing it circles with your thumb as you smeared his cum and your juices together.

"Mon amour, p-please... 'lease, use me as you please." He begged, as if he were pleading you to take control over him. His mind went hazy; he was in pure ecstasy. Keeping his pace-- pounding his cum deep inside your womb.

He's so desperate-- to feel you, touch you, and be inside you.

Trying to catch your breath, you placed one hand on his chest while the other reached out for the brush with wet paint. Holding it, you positioned it against his pelvis, which was already smeared with his cum and your juices.

Fuck, he finds it hot when you're in control-- dominating him as you please. And most especially-- how possessive you are.

As you ran the brush against it, you wrote something with bold, capital letters. Rafayel pursed his lips, his body quivering with every stroke of the brush.

After finishing, you threw the brush away. He leaned in to see what you had written:

"MY PROPERTY. ♥"

He loves possessive women!

[bunnybeaches]

141 s/o’s love language is bicep chewing

Price literally could care less. He’s been with you for so long that at this point he’s used to it. Whether it be laying in bed or while he’s working, you’re always nomming on that bicep.

”Honey I’m almost done I promise” John adjusts his glasses as he types away at his laptop in bed. He’s been working all night and frankly you’re tired of it, so you do what you always do. Bite on your favorite chew toy, his bicep.

“Oh dove you really couldn’t help yourself could you? Give me two more minutes” John just chuckles as you chew on his arm. Seems he’s just as stubborn as you are.

Now Johnny will chew on you right back. This man has absolutely no shame. Two playful idiots chewing on each other? sign this man up!! Will absolutely get turned on by this doesn’t matter when or where.

He’s wearing that shirt. That one compression shirt that hugs everything soooo perfectly. His stupidly perfect pecs, toned abs, and god those arms. Those biceps. You can’t help but take a small bite!

“Did ye just bite me?” Johnny stares at you with a dumbfounded expression before he’s tackling you to the ground. Chewing on your arms, soft tummy and your amazing thighs. “Don’t start a fight ye can’t win my love.”

Sweet baby Kyle doesn’t even notice you being silly. Thinks it’s something you do to calm yourself down. At the market? nom. Training? nom. Everywhere? nom.

“Baby can you hand me the list please? I want to see what’s on it.” Kyle looks at you but your mouth is on the bicep of his right arm. Not even chewing your mouth just gently resting there. He stops pushing the cart and moves to stroke your hair. “You ok love? The shoppings almost done then we can go home” He lets you chew or relax your mouth for however long you need.

Simon completely ignores you. You could bite him hard and man wouldn’t even bat an eye. Just like John he’s used to his silly wife’s antics.

Simon lets out the heaviest sigh you’ve ever heard. You really were trying to watch a movie (key word trying) and you decided you needed a little snack. No not that snack, your husband’s delicious bicep. Nothing not a word or anything after you bit down. Your husband just keeps watching the movie. Nothing can get him huh?

Anon i hope i did your ask justice! i accidentally lost it whoops

[enhard]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚ ✩

sim jaeyun — “use me” (MDNI)

(wrote this just thinking how jake has pretty veiny hands to match his big veiny cock ♡︎)

pairing: bf!s.jy x fem!reader

: you’re pissed at your boyfriend for ignoring you but luckily he knows the best way to help you calm down… using his fingers of course ! but that’s not all

cw: smut, fingering, hand kink, size kink, riding, cockwarming, creampie, squirting, lots of stretching out, pet names, praising, fucking while on call with others, jake is just packing ughh </33

You love your boyfriend, obviously, but you started hating how he spent more time playing with his friends rather than hanging out with you.

Every time he had free time you’d ask him to sleep over at his and he accepted whenever you would ask. However… he would spend his time clicking away at his computer screen, his pretty fingers moving along the keyboard keys.

You’d sit with your arms resting on your knees, curdled up on his bed watching him.

“Hurry through here so we can corner these guys.. come on, faster, faster!” he says, speaking to Heeseung, Jungwon and Sunghoon through his headset. He’s been playing with them for hours now, and you just spend your time listening to him. The blue light from the screen emits onto his glasses, spreading on his whole face.

You scrolled your phone for a bit, but how much more could you scroll really? You desperately needed his attention, you missed his sweet words and his touch.

Without wanting to disturb him, you walk behind his gaming chair, wrapping your arms around his abdomen. He had to watch how he reacted cause the others could hear his every movement. “Oh..hey my love, what’s up?” he says, still focused on the screen. Your mood changes again, seeing how uninterested he is, not even bothering to look at you. You quickly take your hands off him and back off, that move making him look back at you for a split second.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, shooting another enemy.

“Forget it, i’m going home.” you say, the want to stay getting lesser and lesser.

“Wait.. what? what do you mean..?” he says, immediately grabbing his headset to take it off his head. He leaves the keyboard in the middle of the online game, faint sounds of the guys’ screams coming from the headphones.

“I wanna go home.” you look down.

“I’m sorry my love… I was totally ignoring you. I didn’t realise. I’ll leave the game right now.” he gently grabs your hands, looking up at you like a guilty puppy.

You stop him. “I’m just mad at you. How can you invite me over then just.. ignore me like that??” you snap.

He looks down again. “I’m acting so stupid. I’m sorry.. is there any way I can make it up to you?”

As he’s massaging your fingers with his, you look down, noticing the way his joints move. The amount of small veins he has in his hand and how easily you can trace them with your touch. You stare at his slender fingers, his perfect trimmed nails… just getting an idea.

“Jake..” you whisper, pulling him into a soft kiss. As you lean in, he grabs onto one side of your jaw, pulling you closer to him. You almost sit on his lap, before he stands up to make you walk back to his bed. You both make out for a bit, barely getting enough of each other’s lips.

He lays you on his bed, getting on top of you to continue kissing you. It’s just like he knows what you want to forgive him. “Let me make you happy… what do you think?” he smiles softly. You just nod, looking up at him with desperate but determined eyes.

His fingers slyly cross your neck, down your collarbone and down your shirt. He uses one hand to massage your whole chest through your large shirt. He slowly touches you all over, before stopping at your hips, where the shirt ends. he moves his fingers up your shirt, on your abdomen, finally sliding it off you from above your head. Your breasts now fully in his view, he smiles upon looking at them.

“You’re so damn perfect. I love you so much.” he says. his fingers cage your tits with a squeeze, trying to make the best of it with how much time he has until his members realise he’s gone.

“I love you too baby.” you say back shyly, biting your lip after watching his veiny hands touch you all over. His fingers are genuinely perfect, the way his hands are so soft on your plush skin, pretty pink knuckles and hands just a little cold to make you shiver.

He finally moves down to your pants, sliding them off in one move, making you spread your legs a bit so he can take them off. You’re just left in your underwear now, already soaked. You’re waiting for his slender fingers to welcome your pussy with a touch, but he has other plans. Instead, he picks you up in his embrace, legs wrapped around his waist. Your wet underwear leaves an embarrassing stain on his plain white shirt but he doesn’t mind.

He buries his head into your neck while he walks back to the desk. “You’re so wet for me, love.” He says satisfied. “Now you better stay quiet, the mic is on you and… you don’t want them to hear you, do you?” you look at him a bit scared of the situation, but you shake your head. “Good girl, stay quiet for me then.” he reassures.

Jake sits back down on the chair, making you sit on his lap, facing him. He places the mic of the headset right close to you telling the guys that he’s finally back. He puts the headset on one of your ears, letting you hear him aswell with the other. Now his friends are just talking about random things while you hear them with one ear, and your boyfriend’s voice in the other. You stay completely quiet but he makes a move, leaning in to your face to tell his members that he’s going to be away from his keyboard for a bit again.

After he says that, he leans back into his chair and immediately rips your underwear off. He makes a big hole in them not even bothering to take them off. Jake shyly touches your sensitive clit with the bud of his thumb, tracing small circles around it. He looks at what he’s doing the entire time, admiring how wet you could’ve gotten for him in this time.

He pulls his fingers away to shove them in your mouth, making you lick and suck on his fingers for a minute or so. The fingers get coated in your saliva, and he pulls them out to continue touching your clit. You succeed staying quiet, grabbing his shoulders with both your hands. He picks up his pace, beginning to squeeze the sensible skin, pinching it and dragging it with his fingers. “So good.” He whispers. You close your mouth shut, trying your hardest not to make a sound, the guys’ voices echoing through your head.

After he’s done abusing your clit, he moves down to your folds, touching all over them with his wet fingers. He stops at your desperate hole, slowly pushing one finger inside. You close your eyes, your lips parting at the sudden feeling. Your body jerks up automatically as you let out a heavy breath.

As your eyelids connect, they crush two sweet tears in between them.

Jake reaches for the mic, holding it in his palm so the sound muffles. “I barely shoved my finger inside, princess. Stay still.” He says, moving his fingers slowly in and out of you. Your juices run down his knuckles as you sit there on his lap shamefully. You grab onto his shoulder blades, trying your best to stay quiet.

He takes his hand away from the mic, placing it on your thigh instead. He sneaks another finger in, making you leave out a small sound. He looks up at you with his glistening puppy eyes, smiling ever so slightly with the corners of his mouth. He picks up his pace significantly, the feeling of his fingers so deep inside your core making you want to scream right there. If there’s one thing you love about your boyfriend’s physical appearance it HAS to be his hands.

They’re so soft, perfect for holding or.. you know, feeling.

He takes really good care of his hands, specially for you. He makes sure he stays on the top of his hygiene mostly for moments like these. You slowly lean in to give him a quiet kiss, muffling a moan that was forming in the back of your throat. The buds of his fingers rub against the best spot as he curls them inside, making you leave out a louder sound. Luckily his members were preoccupied with the game and didn’t really pay attention to what they heard.

Jake’s eyebrows raised slightly, speeding up even more. You start shaking your head, barely being able to contain yourself anymore. Your poor underwear is stuck to your skin, almost fully wet against it. “J…Jake.. I can’t please.. i… please…” you plead in a faint whisper.

“What’s that, love? tell me clearly.” he says, clearly knowing what you’re about to say but he still loves teasing you for it.

“Gonna cum…. oh m… fucking days. Please. Let me.. cum..” you whisper so slightly again, the sound barely hitting his ears.

“Keep quiet though, i’m letting you finish don’t worry.” he keeps going, massaging your thigh with his other hand. You immediately feel the knot in your stomach unleash with a large gush that spreads down his fingers and onto his sweatpants. You cover your mouth with your hand really tightening your palm on your face.

He smiles in satisfaction, pulling his fingers out to shove them inside his mouth. He licks his fingers to be able to taste you on his tongue, and he finally grabs onto your ass. He gives it a little playful slap before grinding you on him. You manage to calm your high down just to focus on him. You look down at his bulge forming in his now wet stained pants.

Jake has always been hard to take, in other words, he’s just packing. It never demotivated you to take him whole, no matter how much he stretched you out. Even his half-hard dick is hard to grab with one hand. That’s why when you slide his sweatpants off, you smile at him before barely wrapping one hand around his cock. You lazily stroke him to get him rock hard, your wet pussy just patiently waiting right next to it.

“Are you gonna be able to take it?” he looks at you understanding, knowing how before you would end up so stretched out after. You nod your head, sure of your actions this time.

“I can.” you reply. Once he’s fully hard, you trace a finger on the veins on his dick. Each and every one. You lick your lips before letting out a string of saliva fall down his cock, lubricating it a bit before positioning his tip on your hole. You take a deep breath as you sit on him slowly. He stretches you out more and more, and he insists on slowing everything down for you but you were so desperate to have him inside you that you just didn’t care anymore.

He keeps telling you to stop for yourself, to pull out if it’s too much. Instead you shush him, leaning your head back as you let yourself down on him. When you finally take him whole, your body shakes slightly at the feeling. You feel so full right now, so stretched. But there’s no way you’re pulling away.

His members start wondering where he is, and how they keep hearing breathing as he’s not in the game and he’s been missing for so long already. You panic a little upon hearing them ask about Jake but instead you just close your eyes, feeling his tip in your deepest spot.

“Oh fucks… sake. You’re so.. damn huge.” you whisper cry to him. He giggles a bit, only looking at you the whole time. “Let me see you move on it.” he grabs onto your waist gently.

You suck on your bottom lip as you sit back up, then back down on him. You start off with small bounces and somehow it never gets easier, no matter how many times you’ve both done this before. You do go slow for your own good, and he lets you go at your own pace.

He admires your pretty face contorting in all ways to his dick, but that just might be his favourite part. He loves how you react. You try your best picking up your pace, figuring he might’ve gotten bored already.

But it was the exact opposite, he didn’t mind, he wanted you to feel comfortable. You grind yourself on him a bit faster and he lets out a groan. “You’re so tight around me.. sweetheart..” he thinks he hasn’t stretched you out enough beforehand. “We can.. do it..” you say, already out of breath.

You spread your legs a bit more, releasing a bit of tension on him. You succeed bouncing on his big cock, whilst using his shoulders as handles. “You’re taking it so good..” he whispers. You go faster at his praises.

He’s been stretching you out for a while now, and it definitely got easier over time. The slight discomfort turned into satisfying pleasure for you. His swollen tip hits your g-spot every single time, making you want to cum right there. However, he’s been wanting to finish ever since you started. You feel so good wrapped around him he’s surprised he hasn’t let out a moan yet.

He rests his head on the chair enjoying your every move on him. You go faster again, getting closer to cumming again. Your puffy cunt is crying at this point, while you let out a slight moan with every bounce.

At this point his friends might’ve caught on, but you couldn’t care less, you just needed him and that’s it. You keep going for a bit before, before rolling your eyes back to cum. “I’m— again… I… oh m… Jake..” you struggle.

You don’t get to say anything else because you instantly finish again, your thighs shaking on top of him. You moan ever louder than before and your squirt runs down his legs now. He bites his lower lip, making you keep going with his palms on your ass. Your tired body keeps bouncing on him, and after a few more bounces, he cums all deep inside you. His dick twitches in sync with his moans after pulling out. His cum slowly pours out of you and onto the chair. You both sit like that for a few minutes to regain your thoughts, but instead he just grabs your ass again, shoving you back onto his cock.

A bit of cum shoves back into you too, a white ring forming around his base. You wrap your arms around his neck, as well as your head buried deep into it. You give his hot skin multiple kisses with heavy breaths. You both end up sweaty, breathing your lungs out. He keeps his dick inside you, without moving you or anything. He moves his chair back to his desk, getting that headset off you. Before placing it on his head, he gives your exposed ear a kiss. “Such a good girl, you took me so well.” he says before putting his headset back on and fixing his mic to his mouth.

“Hey guys, sorry I was gone for so long. Just wanted to make my girl happy.”

[usedtobecooler]

the sinclairs' new neighbour arrives out of the blue on a random friday night in may and subsequently becomes the object of eddie munson's desires.

tw: explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni. virgin!eddie, oral male receiving, eddie's pov. pathetic amounts of pining. no use of y/n.

you've been around after every hellfire meeting for a month now, waiting with legs crossed and swinging from a fold-out table as you sit patiently for them to wrap it up, and fuck if you're not the most distracting thing eddie munson has ever laid eyes on.

you join in on the end-of-game conversations every week, a genuine little interest in the lilt of your voice as you ask questions and join in with the banter, which usually consisted of ribbing mike wheeler for being a little shit.

and, eddie's not dumb, okay? he knows you're only here because you're picking up the sinclair siblings every week, taking a bit of the load off steve harrington, who's been designated chauffeur for a year now, much to his own dismay.

but, sometimes, he thinks you maybe like being here and spending late friday evenings in their presence. and it's a nice little delusion for eddie to live in until he's home and safely tucked under his sheets, thinking of your cute laugh and your flirty smile when he slides a hand under his sleep shorts.

he's only a man. a pervert of a man, absolutely. but he'll feed into his delusions and feed into his daydreams, because it's not hurting anybody but himself in the confines of his room.

things are shadowy and hazy this particular friday, and eddie sure as shit is not on his game. he's stuttering and fumbling over his words, which wheeler is using to his advantage like the dickhead he is, mocking eddie with every fuck up with that stupid fucking face he makes.

eddie calls it a day earlier than usual because his head just isn't in the game damnit, and henderson claps him on the back on his way out, giving him this sincere smile which eddie kind of hates because dustin usually takes every opportunity to add himself into their shithead-ery.

oh god, he was worse than he thought. he needs to hang his hat up and give his job over to zombie boy byers immediately.

eddie doesn't get out of his head quick enough to realise that harrington arrived and left with all of the kids in tow, the sinclairs included.

so when you arrive at the door a half hour later, a confused look on your face, eddie's face fucking falls.

"damn, did harrington want his old job back that badly he kidnapped my kids?" you laugh quietly, all sincerity and jokes as you look around the empty room, eyes landing on eddie with a sparkle.

"it's my fault, i let everybody go early and i-" eddie groans, putting his hands on his hips then dropping them to his sides, "i didn't think. sorry, sweetheart."

sweetheart. why'd he fucking say that? someone needs to get the shotgun and put him down like old yeller.

eddie makes himself busy by packing away all his stuff, pointedly not looking in your direction because he's an idiot piece of shit, and who knows what other mess will come out of his mouth if he keeps letting himself look at you.

"you seem stressed, eddie," you observe quietly, a statement. you cross your arms behind your back, fingertips linking together, "is there anything i can do to help?"

eddie lets out this little self-deprecating laugh, a mirthless smile on his features, "unless you stop showing up here, no, there's nothing you can do."

a hurt look flashes across your face momentarily before it disappears again, masked over with a confused furrow of your brows, "oh. i'm sorry, have i done something wrong?"

eddie's fucking this up. he's a fucking idiot, who apparently can't talk to any girl who isn't ronnie or little erica sinclair.

"just, y'know, consuming my brain so much that i can't focus on anything else lately, so." eddie admits, deflated as he slumps into his chair and rolls his neck until he's looking up at the ceiling. his throat clicks audibly, dry and scratchy.

"oh." you say again, a relieved sigh escaping you as you kick a leg out to bash his shin lightly with the toe of your boot, "why didn't you say something? that's- that's okay. lucas kind of figured, he told me your moon eyes were annoying him."

eddie's kicking them all out. hellfire will be no more. he's sick of these damn kids.

he covers his face with his hands, rubbing against his two day stubble with calloused fingertips. a useless groan escaping him, "sorry, i wasn't trying to be obvious. girls don't. hmm."

eddie stops himself with a grunt, trying to narrowly escape the word vomit that threatens to spill out. he's nervously jiggling his leg, the chains on his jeans clattering together obnoxiously loud in the otherwise quiet room.

he feels your presence enter his orbit, the soft press of your hand on his knee stopping the motion of his jerky leg.

"don't be so nervous," you scold playfully, voice light like you're trying to hide a smile, "i'm not anybody to be nervous around. i like that you noticed me, that i'm somebody you're interested in."

eddie's hands fall away from his face at that, and he blinks blearily, head lolling until he catches sight of you crouched down in front of him, staring up with these gorgeous eyes that eddie just wants to get lost in.

"really?" he asks dumbly, brain short-circuiting at the sight of you knelt down like this in front of him, his stupid mind wandering into filthy territory.

"really." you nod, smiling up at him with this thousand-watt thing that he's sure could power the whole of hawkins, "i'm interested, too. in case i wasn't being obvious enough by hanging around here willingly every week."

you weren't obvious at all. not at all. or maybe you were and eddie's just a fucking moron.

"can i help relieve some of that stress now?" you ask, head tilted to the side in question, "i'm only down here anyway."

eddie's brain melts out of his ears, he's pretty sure. his tombstone is sure to say here lies eddie munson, killed by the insinuation of a blowjob.

"oh, you don't have to- you really don't have to, ha, your hands are on me, fuck-"

the conversation kind of fades out after that, and you're all action dropping from your deep squat to thud your knees against the floor softly.

and you're so pretty on your knees for him, eyelashes fluttering across the apples of your cheeks that are flushed and warm. eddie practically melts into his chair as you paw at his jeans, fluid motions and featherlight touches like you've done this before, and god he doesn't want to think about that right now, that you've done this for other guys before him. not when you're laid out below him and nudging in between his spread legs with pursed lips, spitting over the flushed head of his dick to dampen it further.

"you should- you should know i've never done this bef- fuck, fuck," eddie stutters over his words, fingers clawing into the arms of the chair when you begin mouthing hot and wet over the leaking slit that continues weeping pathetically with every lave of your tongue.

he tried, okay? he tried to tell you, but he's a weak man and - and you're fucking looking at him with these pretty, knowing eyes like you had a clue from the beginning, and fuck was it really that obvious?

he clenches his eyes shut, trying to will away the images of a neon sign over his head that scream eddie munson, adult virgin.

you start off slow and savouring, lapping at him with these kitten licks and mouthing down the bulging vein on the underside. eddie thinks he's delirious, because he's surely imagining the way you're inhaling the musky scent of him, moaning prettily as you do.

"mm, fuck," eddie groans quietly, hips shakily punching up when you finally sink down over the head of his cock properly with your lips wrapped tightly around your teeth, the wet heat of your mouth enveloping him in a way that makes him feel fucking insane.

he didn't know it would feel like this. his brain is gonna explode, scanners style.

your hand reaches blindly for his, guiding his fingers to slide into your hair, and his eyes fly open to meet yours, a pretty haze covering your orbs as you nod slightly to give him the go-ahead to curl his fingers.

"ha, you're gonna fucking kill me," eddie murmurs, but he's gently pulling ever so slightly from the root at the base of your skull, because he may be a virgin but he's not fucking clueless, right? he's read enough skin mags to know how to pull hair properly.

you whimper high pitched and your eyes finally flutter closed, letting eddie move you up and down with his firm hand as you alternate between sucking and drooling all over his length.

he's aware that he's looking at you like he's in love, okay? he can't help it. you're literally sucking the soul out of him, moaning around his girth and running your tongue over him like he's the best thing you've ever tasted. like he said before, he's weak.

"you- you're so good at this, oh my god," eddie's eyes roll back into his head when your free hand runs from where it's gripping the meat of his thigh to slide between his obscenely wide legs and cup his balls, rolling and squeezing them between your fingers.

the room is filled with the whining, high-pitched noises that eddie's really trying his best to hold in at risk of sounding like an absolutely pitiful virgin, and the wet noises of your mouth working over his cock, the slick slide of your fist jerking off what you can't quite reach.

eddie's stomach clenches, and holy fuck this is over too quick, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed because, because-

"i'm coming, you're making me come, holy fuck-" eddie's words die with a groan that sounds breathy and pathetic even in his own ears, his fingers burying so tight in your hair and pulling as he arches in on himself and jerks his hips in aborted little thrusts. he feels the plush of your lips brush against the wild, untamed curls at the base of his cock and he lets out a weak grunt, feels his length throb and spurt out another weak dribble of come at the sensation.

he's so delirious when he finally comes to that he's all but dragging you up from where your knees have to be aching on the floor, dragging you into his lap, and fuck sake his soft cock is still out and covered in spit and come and-

your mouth is on his in a hot press of lips and teeth and tongue, eddie's so out of his element here but the taste of his own spend on your tongue is as addictive as it is mildly disgusting.

"you got a mattress in the back of that van of yours?" you mumble between kisses, smiling into it.

"mhm, yup, a-ha," eddie nods wildly as he chases your mouth with his own, "i think i need some more stress relief. i hear burying your face between a pretty things legs helps."

eddie definitely does feel like he's dying when your thighs wrap around his ears and lock him in face-first.

and what a way to go that is.

[elysianightsss]

AAAHHHHH! HI! So sorry to bother you, but I read the neurodivergent reader x 141 and AHHHHH I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING, DROOLING, CHEWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE they wont let me out

i have a little idea… how would poly 141 react when they find out your job isnt this cute barista or something along those lines, but just a regular stocking associate or a cashier for some huge corporation. like, they know you work. and every time you leave, they see you die a little on the inside from having to go to *insert shitty job*. They just didnt know that you were working there and now they are trying whatever they can to convince you to quote your job and stay home… i know i would rather stay home and take care of them than going to my job…

Oh anon I love your brain! As someone who used to be a cashier before I got my fucking wonderful, literally no joke amazing office job, I fuck with this. I’m writing them as roommates tho don’t know why just deal with it😘

It starts off with a debate over what time you get up in the mornings given how tired you seemed today. But then they realise, they don’t even know what you do for work. Johnny predicts that you’re one of those cute baristas in sweet little aprons with how good the flavoured coffees you make him in the morning when he’s back from his run, are.

Kyle can’t seem to fathom you’re not the office sweetheart he seems to picture you as. Though you’d been living with them for almost over a year now, the guys were gone before you left for work and back long after you arrived home. Still he had it in his head the whole time that you were putting on tight pencil skirts and heels in the morning before going off to work. Something he argues tooth and nail with Johnny about.

John scoffs hearing the guys argue, usually keeping out of it, but this time he can’t help himself when he interjects with, “Yer both chattin shit. She’s obviously a baker with those mouth watering pastries she makes us.” Now that opens up the argument further.

Simon is the only one who doesn’t speculate, instead he walks right up to you on a Sunday night as the guys are all readying themselves for bed and you’re making your lunch for tomorrow. “Luv.” He calls, you glance at him, eyes honing in on the way his grey sweatpants hang low on his hips. Dangerous, dangerous man.

Looking back to the fruit you were slicing, you hum in acknowledgment, “Wot’s ya job?”

You bite back the grin that fights to split your face in two, turning to him you see he visibly softens at your little smile, “I’m a cashier.” You answer, ears tinging red a little. In all honesty you were embarrassed that you worked for one of those big corporations. The dreams you had once but were never able to reach are like a damp on your heart. Like a festering mould that only grows in the worst conditions.

Sometimes you enjoy the people, there are some nice ones that overcome the bad interactions. But everyday you pull on the trousers and trainers, and that itchy uniform top, you wish that a snowstorm would lock you inside the house. You pray to receive a call telling you not to come in due to a fire that started in the bakery. Your heart aches to be told you’re allowed to go home early even if you won’t be paid as much at the end of the month.

Simon hadn’t said much after you told him, his eyes darkened a little when he asked if you enjoyed it and you had answered swiftly and without hesitation; no.

Then suddenly, the guys are leaving for work a little later in the morning. The same time as you. John offering you a lift to work, Johnny making you coffee instead of the other way around, Kyle giving you one of his soft jackets so at least your arms will be comfortable even if your torso is covered in that itchy material.

Simon is the one who places his hand on your forehead and tuts beneath his black surgical mask. You scoff when Simon says he doesn’t think you should go in today, “I feel fine.” You counter with a frown, pushing his big paw away and shoving your feet into the uncomfortable trainers.

John stares down at them like they’ve offended him personally, “You own comfier shoes lass.” Johnny comments and Kyle nods in agreement.

“I have to wear them.” You say quietly wondering why they suddenly have such an interest in your work attire. Have to. Well, that just wasn’t acceptable. The guys didn’t think you should have to do anything.

The weekends were a little weird too. You would usually cook them meals and sweet pastries or cakes with how hard they worked, they deserved nothing less. But Johnny is ushering you away from the kitchen when you walk past the dining table and the marble counter island to make him a coffee.

John says no thank you in the most strained way you’ve ever heard it when you offer to make him a sweet treat. He deflates even further into the sofa when you look offended at his decline. Kyle pulls you close to him on the other side of the couch, putting an arm around you, he continues reading his book but it’s out loud this time.

You sigh snuggling close to him, head on his shoulder when Simon brings over one of the many plushies you’d left on the floor of the lounge, again, and one of the many soft blankets you’d unnecessarily bought for the house. Maybe you could get used to this, you thought as your eyes started to blink slower. It had been a really long week, with lots of assholes. A week of sitting in that uncomfortable chair had done a number on your back too.

You’re just lucky that you’d said from the very beginning that you won’t work weekends, at least you could have those to yourself. The guys became even more attentive, not that they weren’t before, but it increased tenfold. And you wondered why.

Why Kyle is packing you a lunch box everyday now. Why Johnny is cuddling up to you at night just so you sleep warmer, better. Why John is willing to race away from very important paperwork to sit outside the big supermarket you worked at just so you didn’t have to take the bus home. Why Simon keeps buying you lush smelling soaps, bath salts and those sparkly bathbombs he knows you love, you have so many now you don’t know what to do with them. Even when you ask him to stop, he shakes his head and grunts out, “Baths are good for sore muscles.” And that’s all you get.

You just want to know why, what brought all of this on. And most of all why it all suddenly stops.

Almost like a calculated mission, like a big discussion had happened before hand. All of it stopped. They had left long before you got up for work, no lunch ready to go, no soft jacket waiting by the door, no cuddle reading sessions on the weekend, no more new bath stuff, no more lifts and an expectant look in John’s eyes when it gets to dinner time.

They’d done a total three sixty. Like they wanted to show you how good it could be with their help, how much easier life could be, going to work could be, only just to take it all away.

That’s exactly what their plan had been, Simon’s idea mostly with little suggestions made by the rest of them. They all executed it thoroughly, now all that’s left for them is to compete the final step.

“Doll I think you should quit your job.” John goes first, you frown excessively. What the hell is he talking about, you think.

“Have you gone mad?” You huff. John knows you’re annoyed with them, hell they all know you’re angry by their actions. But it’s a necessary evil.

“Not yet I don’t think,” John jokes and feels a little lighter when the corner of your lip quirks up slightly, “I am serious.” He says simply, his blue eyes burning into you before he walks away. You think it so odd, strange that he says that out of the blue.

And then Kyle says it too. Coming into your room with the same baby Yoda squishmallow Simon had placed in your lap two weeks ago, and the same blanket. He gestures towards your bed, it’s subtle but you nod. Failing to hide his grin, Kyle gets snuggled up under the blanket with you, your arms wrapped around the plushie.

He’s halfway through the book, hand brushing through your hair scratching at your scalp deliciously when he broaches the subject, “Bun?” You scrunch up your nose, blinking your eyes open to look at him accusingly. The sight makes him chuckle softly, you’re screaming with your eyes, how dare you make me open my eyes and be fully conscious.

He leans forward before he can stop himself and rubs his nose against yours sweetly, something he tells himself later was just to butter you up before talking. It wasn’t.

“I don’t think you should go to work anymore.” He says simply, with ease, his voice calm.

“What?” You blink rapidly waking yourself up fully to actually take in what he just said.

“Just something to think about bunny.” He shrugs and goes back to reading with that damn lulling voice. You don’t stop him, don’t interrupt but your mind is swirling the same way it had the day before when John had said something similar.

Johnny is not so tactful, shovelling his breakfast in his mouth. Half masticated bacon and scrambled eggs rolling around in his wide open trap, when he spits out the words. “Quit yer job lass, no one wants to be stackin shelves and scannin someone else’s shit all day.” He scoffs washing his food down with the caramel flavoured coffee you made him five minutes ago. He’s quick to put the plate in the sink and place a sloppy kiss on your cheek. His head bend slightly, eyes level with you, “Think about it pet.” He pats your cheek lightly and earns a much more harsh smack to the back of his head by Kyle on the way out of the house.

And finally Simon…well Simon…um Simon just did what he thought was best, what he thought was necessary, what he thought would get you to comply the quickest…

You pant harshly, fingers gripping onto the light bronde hair painfully hard, yanking with each stripe Simon licked up your cunt. You barely noticed John walking passed your open bedroom door with a smirk, Simon had his face buried so deep in your pussy it was hard to think, hard to conjure up your own name let alone open your eyes and catch Kyle and Johnny pushing your door open a little wider and watching for a moment before Kyle drags Johnny away.

Simon’s broken too many times to fix, crooked nose brushed against your clit wonderfully, tongue fucking into your quivering hole making you buck your hips desperate for the release he’d been denying you for around twenty minutes now.

“Say it.” Simon cooed, encouraging you gently. Shaking your head, teeth biting down on your lip, holding on as tightly to your words as you held onto Simon.

Simon grips your jaw in his big paw, a sharp look comes across his features as though he’s about to scold you when you meet his gaze, thumb rubbing your clit in tight, rough circles to keep the stimulation enough, to keep you there on the edge so he has you right where he wants you.

“Say it and you can cum.” He promises, your eyes widen, stinging harshly with their own promise of tears should you keep this up.

“b-but-“

“No buts. We’ll take of everything sweetheart, oll ya afta to do is write the resignation letter, then stay here as our pretty little housewife.” He kissed your clit before moving his thumb back in its place, circling slower this time. You gasp, a broken sob wrenching itself from your chest as your orgasm starts to slip away with the lack of stimulation.

“Please! Please Si! I-“

“Oll ya afta do is say it. Quit, find yourself a cute hobby, cook and clean for us a little. Oll ya afta do is say yes and I’ll let ya cum luv.” He grins evilly when you whine, blowing on your cunt before licking a hard long stripe from your puckered asshole to your swollen, throbbing clit.

“yes! please yes I’ll quit just pl-“

Simon doesn’t let you finish your plea, devouring your pussy like a man starved. He licks, sucks, and flicks your clit, slipping his thick fingers inside your clenching, empty hole thrusting them in and out doing his best to match the pace he set with his tongue on your clit.

You cum hard, untamed. Back arching uncomfortably, limbs shaking rigorously and Simon slurps up everything you give him. You lay there trying to catch your breath when Simon crawls up your body to hover over you. His eyes meet yours when he grins, “Good girl. Now why don’t we get started on that resignation letter hmm.” It wasn’t a question.

Safe to say you happily quit your job.

[formula-ghost]

The Driver (FC43 x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: After years of being with your boyfriend, Franco Colapinto, you should feel secure and ready for your budding future. When old anxieties creep in, will your relationship withstand the pressure?

WORD COUNT: 9.5k 

WARNINGS: Semi-public car sex (reader and Franco are both switches, fingering, p in v). Angst, mentions of cheating. Heavy mentions of marriage, incredibly Champagne Problems coded but I have to stick to the Måneskin theme. Probably incorrect geographical depictions of Spain. Reader has an anxiety disorder/struggles with mental health. Same universe as Supermodel/RYD (in RYD, Franco’s Aston Martin contract is only one year, so we’re just skipping ahead here). 

A/N: You all asked for Franco car sex and instead I gave you emotional pain :) I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing for RYD!Franco, I just love him too much. After this I’ll keep writing for Wildflower and then maybe do a few one shots before the next series perhaps? Either way, hope you enjoy!

TAGLIST: [COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO MY FRANCO TAGLIST!]  @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm  @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle @aliwritex

If you gonna set fire to the night, baby let me be the lighter

If you’re already high and you wanna fly, I’ll be the hit that takes you higher

If you wanna love when you touch the sky, you can be my midnight rider

If there’s nowhere to go when you wanna go wild, I wanna be the driver

After getting his first multi-year Formula 1 contract—complete with a hefty sign-on bonus—there were three things that Franco Colapinto needed to buy. 

The first was a house for his parents. 

He led his mother around the massive home, showing her every little detail that he had noticed when he chose it, all perfectly arranged according to her taste. At first, she wasn’t sure what her son was doing; he had wanted it to be a surprise, so he didn’t tell her anything. 

“Yes, Franquito, the home is beautiful,” she said, craning her neck to look at the high ceilings, the sunlight from the massive windows illuminating her face. “But why would you buy a house here in Argentina? You’re hardly ever home, you can just stay with us in the off season.”

Franco, like his mother, was a pragmatist. He’d never buy himself a mansion in Argentina unless he had retired from F1 and decided to settle down. But his career was just getting started. 

She continued, “I mean, you and YN don’t need this much space—”

“It’s not for us, Mami,” he said, finally letting loose the smile that he’d be fighting all day. He was never able to keep secrets, too much of a chatterbox. “It’s for you.”

“Franco—”

“Mami,” he said, already anticipating her hesitation. “It is the least I can do. I can never repay you for all you’ve done for me.”

“That’s my job. You don’t need to repay me.”

“Maybe I don’t need to, but I want to.”

Tears had begun to well up in his mother’s eyes. She knew it was impossible to stop him. It was every athlete’s dream to make enough money to buy their mother a house one day; she wouldn’t take that from him.  “I’m so proud of you, mijo,” he said, enveloping her son in her arms. “You have made me proud beyond measure.”

It was Franco’s turn now to tear up, though he blinked them away and smiled. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I figured something was up,” she laughed, “this house is too much my style for you to buy it. I think YN would like it, though. How is she doing?”

“She’s good,” he answered, unsure of how to proceed. His mother let him pause, knowing he was about to say something. “I’m… thinking about asking her to marry me.”

“Oh, wonderful!” she replied, her smile now stretching ear to ear. 

“We haven’t talked about it yet, though. So don’t get your hopes up. She might not say yes.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” his mother questioned. “You’ve been together for years, through thick and thin.”

“I don’t know,” he said, scratching the back of his neck in nervousness. “We just…haven’t talked about it. I’m nervous.”

“Well, don’t ask her until you’ve talked about it. But I see no reason why she’d say no.” She reached out to smooth over a piece of his hair that was stuck up at an odd angle. “Take your time,” she continued. “If you all aren’t ready now, there’s no harm in waiting. You have the entire rest of your lives to be together.”

Franco gave her a weak smile, his expression still plastered with nervousness. “But when you do get married,” she continued, as if it was a fact, “I expect grandbabies.”

He laughed, despite knowing that she was dead serious. That would be a bridge to cross later.

For now, he had a second purchase to make: his first real car. 

Franco, despite being a Formula 1 driver, had always been down to earth. When he drove for Williams, they had to fight him over taking the bus every day. Even in his early days, his future had been too unstable to spend all his hard-earned money on something like a flashy car, especially since he’d be away so often that he’d hardly be able to use it.

But now, he knew that the time was right, and he’d more than earned it. So, when Franco woke you up at the crack of dawn to go to the luxury dealership in Madrid to pick up his new car the second that they opened, you obliged him despite the hour being far too early. 

As the salesman handed him the keys, Franco beamed as if he was holding his newborn child, his eyes wide with love and anticipation.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands up and down along the hood of the flashy luxury car.

You stood back, afraid to even touch this car that was more expensive than your net worth. 

“She’s perfect. She’s the most perfect car I’ve ever seen.” He looked up at you, smiling like a giddy child. “Isn’t she perfect?”

You smiled back, amused by Franco’s happiness. “It certainly is a nice car.”

“It’s not just a nice car. She’s a machine.” You chuckled back at him. “Let’s go for a ride.”

You were honestly a little scared of getting in the car. But when Franco crossed over to open your door for you and help you inside, you couldn’t tell him no.

Sitting inside, you had to admit that it was a really nice car. Franco yapped on about the technical abilities of the engine, but it was in one ear and out the other—despite his many years in F1, you couldn’t say you had learned anything about the machines that your longtime boyfriend drove for a living. But you loved to hear him talk, especially when he was this happy, so you nodded as if you were listening intently. 

Franco went to back up the car, putting his hand on your headrest and leaning over his shoulder. The move showed off his prominent muscles and instantly melted you. Even after all these years, it was the little things that you never got tired of. 

He sped along the highways, giggling to himself as he heard the engine rev and felt the smoothness of the ride. His smile never wavered as he increased his speed and weaved through the slower cars. 

He skipped the exit that would lead back to your home, though. “Where are we going?” you asked.

“I want to show you something,” he said, being intentionally vague with his intentions. 

You raised an eyebrow. Franco wasn’t one for surprises; he talked too damn much to ever keep them. If he hadn’t told you before now, it must be something serious. 

He moved his hand over to hold your thigh, another one of those little things he did that still made you crazy no matter how many times he did it. “Trust me, amor,” he said.

Of course, you trusted him. So when he exited the highway and began driving into the Spanish countryside, you said nothing, instead choosing to enjoy the feeling of his hand rubbing soft circles into your thigh as the trees blurred past you and the engine purred.

After a while he finally slowed his speed, bringing the car up to an empty overlook off the main road. Through the tinted windows, you could see that this place was hidden, nestled off by the trees so that you could only get here if you knew where you were going. The view was gorgeous; miles and miles of lush greenery, and in the far off distance, the city that you had just left. 

“Wow..” you whispered. “How’d you find this place?”

“I used to run on these roads out here when I was younger,” he said, admiring you as you admired the view. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“I don’t get to come here much anymore,” he said. “I never thought I’d come back here one day as a Formula 1 driver.”

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. His face had the slightest tinge of blush, so subtle that only you could see it. 

“Come on, let’s get a good look,” he said, turning off the engine and opening his door.

You got out of the car and softly gasped again when you saw the view with your own two eyes, rather than through the tinted glass. It left you breathless.

You sat cross legged next to Franco on the grass, taking in the sights of the countryside around you. For a while you were quiet, just soaking in the sounds of nature. 

Then Franco broke the calmness. “Have you ever thought about getting married?”

His voice was soft, but his words startled you. “Married?”

“I mean, we’ve been together for a while. About time, no?”

Truthfully, you had thought about marriage quite a bit. The mere idea of it scared you. And talking about it scared you even more. 

“You sound enthusiastic,” you joked. 

“You know what I mean.” He looked down, clearly also nervous for this momentous discussion. Still, he kept his voice light and steady. “I love you. I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“I’d hope not,” you chuckled. But your attempts at diffusing the tension with humor failed.

He adopted a more serious tone. “YN, I want to marry you,” he said. His eyes looked up to meet yours, and for some reason, you felt your heart drop into your stomach. “I’m not proposing right now, but it’s something we should start thinking and talking about.”

You looked out into the distance and took a shaky breath. Why was this so difficult?

“So, talk to me, amor,” he said. 

“You want to marry me?” you asked, your voice small and squeaky.

“Of course I do,” he replied, brushing your hair out of your face. Now there were no barriers between you. “You’re the love of my life.”

You wanted to cry. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just so…final. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then we work through it, like we always do.” He was right. Your relationship with Franco had certainly had its rocky patches, but he treated you like a queen. You two overcame every obstacle, including your own mind that often worked against you. You often felt like you didn’t deserve someone so patient and kind. 

“Things change when you get married.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not saying any of this lightly. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Even after years of loving him, it still surprised you whenever Franco told you that he thought of you. You could never get used to existing in his head when you physically weren’t there.

“What do you think about?” you asked, moving closer to him.

He reached his arm around your waist, resting his hand on your hip. “I think about you, in a white dress. We’d be in the church in Argentina.” You knew the one. He’d gone there growing up, and had shown it to you several times when you went to visit his family. “And we’d have a ridiculous party, into the morning,” he said smiling, leaning his head down closer to you. “And, a while after that, maybe a few months or a year or so, you’d be eating for two.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop your eyes from watering. “That sounds…”

“Perfect?”

No. You were going to say real. That sounds real. And it scared you. 

Truthfully, you could imagine the wedding, and the babies, and the many happy years of being Franco’s wife.

But you could also imagine the distance. The exhaustion. The bitterness. 

“Growing up, I never thought I’d get married,” you said, shifting the conversation. “I just… I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to marry me,” you laughed. 

“I do,” he said. The effect of his words weren’t lost on you; the same words he would say to take the vow. “I want to marry you.”

You had told him a long time ago that your insecurities weren’t something he could fix. He remembered that, and he respected it. But still, it always broke his heart when he realized that even after years of loving you, those old wounds refused to heal. 

“Why?” you asked. Your head was beginning to hurt from holding in all the tears. 

“Why?” he echoed, incredulous at why you’d even need to ask such a ridiculous question. His voice held no malice, though. “Because I love you.”

“Don’t you get tired of this?”

“Of what?”

“Of…me being difficult for no good reason?”

“You’re not being difficult. Marriage is a huge deal, obviously. I don’t want us to rush into it if you’re not ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

He sighed. “Then…well, honestly, that would break my heart. I’d want you to work through whatever is holding you back. But I’d be with you every step of the way.”

You looked away into the distance. Part of you wanted to run and disappear in the thick foliage of the Spanish countryside. The other part of you wanted to bury your head in Franco’s chest, finally letting go of all the reservations that had haunted you for years. 

You knew Franco. You loved Franco. You trusted Franco.

So why were you still so afraid?

“Mi amor,” he said, gently guiding your head so you had to look at him. “Do you want to get married?” He tilted his head closer to you. 

You knew what he was asking. Not if you were ready right now, not if you were scared; but deep down, in your heart of hearts, did you want to marry Franco Colapinto?

“Yes,” you whispered. Just as he didn’t have to explain, neither did you. He knew what you meant; yes, but I’m scared. Yes, but I’m not ready. Yes, but I’m afraid I’ll never be ready.

He brought his lips to yours, gently kissing you as you let the few tears that had been welling up in your eyes finally go. When he pulled back, he wiped them away.

“We don’t have to make a decision now,” he said. “We’ve got time. I want us both to be ready.”

You kissed him again, this time more forceful. There was nothing sexier than a man with emotional intelligence. 

He pulled away again to finish his thought. “Just keep thinking on it, okay? We can talk about it as much as you want.”

“Okay,” you said, smiling as he looked at you.

“What?” he asked, his own playful smile dancing across his face.

“You’re so hot when you respect my boundaries.”

He laughed. “Mi amor, that’s the bare minimum.”

“Keep going,” you joked, “I’m so close.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, leaning down to kiss your neck. “I’ll start misbehaving.”

“Maybe I want you to,” he said, sharply inhaling as he gently bit the skin on your neck, sure to leave a mark.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he nibbled on your earlobe. 

“Get me home and show me how horrible I am, then,” you teased, reaching out to touch his waist. 

“We don’t even need to get home.” He reached up to hold your neck with one hand as he continued kissing up and down your jaw.

“Here?” you said, darting your eyes around. 

“In the car,” he said, his voice already getting breathy. 

“No,” you urged. “It’s new.”

“Exactly. We have to break it in, no? Or bless it,” he said. His hands were beginning to roam underneath the hem of your shirt now.

“You’d never forgive me if I messed up the seats.”

“They’re leather, it cleans easy. I can get it detailed.” He stifled your next complaint with a deep kiss. “No one is ever around here. And the windows are tinted,” he whispered into your mouth. 

You laughed. “You’re a freak.”

“I’m your freak. And don’t lie, you love it,” he said, snaking his hand down to tease its way under your skirt. “I can tell how much you love it.”

You stopped him before his hand could go any further—after all, you were technically still in public. 

“Get in the car, whore,” you joked, before Franco hopped up and nearly sprinted to open the car door and set his seat back as far as it could go. 

He sat in the seat and patted his lap. “You joining me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, getting up to meet your lover at the car and carefully climb onto his lap, occupying his lips with a deep kiss that he moaned into. 

“Did you plan this?” you asked. 

“Plan what?” he said, a devilish grin across his face. 

“Bringing me out to your scenic spot to fuck me in your new sports car?”

“Wasn’t planned at all. I’m a spontaneous man.”

“Mhm. How many other girls did you bring here before we started dating?”

“Less talking, more fucking, yeah?” he said. You probably didn’t want to know the answer. But that was all in the past. Franco was yours—he had been for years now, and he wanted to be yours forever.

There would be time to think about that later. Right now, all you could think about was the beautiful boy sitting beneath you, looking at you as if he needed you as simply as he needed air. You could feel him hardening beneath you. 

You shifted your weight to straddle him, grinding down on his length, eliciting a sharp exhale from him. 

“You’re so needy today, Franco,” you said as you ran your fingers through his soft curls.

“I’m always needy for you.” He brought his lips back to yours, hungry for the taste of you. His lips trailed down to your jaw and neck. “YN, you don’t know what you do to me…”

“I think I can feel it,” you joked, softly grinding your clothed pussy over the growing bulge in his jeans. 

“Don’t tease me,” he begged, roaming his hands up the hem of your blouse.

“But it’s so fun,” you said, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “I love to see you fall apart underneath me.”

“Fuck, YN—”

“Less talking, more fucking, no?” you said, mocking his statement from earlier. You met his mouth in a kiss, and he moved his hands down under your skirt, running up and down the soft skin of your thighs. When he finally teased his fingers over the wet spot that was already growing in your panties, you softly inhaled, showing your desire for him. 

“I’m not the only needy one,” he teased, breathing in the smell of your perfume and shampoo, his head buried in your neck. 

You softly moaned as he moved your panties to the side and began circling his fingers around your clit. 

“Franco, fuck…”

“What happened to all that talk, huh? Or are you too busy trying not to cum on my fingers?”

All you could do was breathe as his fingers found their way inside of you, pumping in and out to prepare you for his cock. 

“Don’t try to stop it,” he said, “let go. Cum for me.”

You obeyed, your legs shaking as your walls pulsated on his fingers. You whimpered into his neck, steadying yourself by holding him. 

He kissed your cheek, but wasted no time in unzipping his jeans and plunging into you while you rode out the waves of your orgasm. He let out a breathy moan as he felt the sweet warmth of you wrapped around him. 

You were overcome with sensation; the burn of his cock stretching you out, the last dregs of pleasure now mixed with the pain, and the burn in your legs from sitting in the same position for too long.

It was all the more motivation to bounce up and down on his cock, finding a steady rhythm as he guided his hands to your hips.

You rested your head next to his, moaning into his ear with every thrust. The small space of the car may be cramped, but you couldn’t help but appreciate the intimacy of the moment. Franco’s eyes were closed in sensual bliss, his breath ragged as you increased your speed.

You wanted to watch him come undone from the sinful pleasure that your pussy brought him. 

“YN—” he moaned, his hands digging hard enough into your hips to leave bruises, “Oh, God, YN, you always feel so fucking good. So good for me.”

You whimpered from both the praise and the pleasure. You had to slow down—the fast stamina was too much on your legs, which were now burning from the awkward position you were stuck in. 

“I think you were made for me,” Franco whispered. “And I was made for you. See how well we fit together?” He took control, lifting you up as if you were weightless and bouncing you up and down on his own. You yelped at first, then your surprise gave way to bliss as you both chased your release. 

But Franco was relentless in his praise. “You’re my fucking soulmate. I wanna fuck you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Franco, I’m so close—”

“Cum for me, mi amor. Again.” His own voice was strangled with desire, so close to his own peak.

With a high pitched whine, you obeyed, and the heavenly feeling of your walls contracted around him brought your lover to the edge soon after. 

And when you did both finish, you held each other, too tired to even move from the uncomfortable position from the car. 

Franco was a talker. You always knew that. He loved nothing more than to fill your ears with sweet nothings when you made love. But the context of the conversation that just transpired weighed on you, even with the comfort of Franco’s hands rubbing small circles into your back as you both tried to catch your breath. 

“You okay?” he asked, and you murmured in response, unable to form any coherent words in the aftermath of everything. “Let’s get home and we can take a shower, yeah?”

A warm shower sounded heavenly right now. You awkwardly shimmied your way into the passenger seat and took one last look at the view, thankful that the overlook was still deserted. You sighed as you settled in and buckled your seatbelt, relishing the relief of finally being able to stretch your legs. 

“Hey,” Franco asked as he readjusted his seat and turned on the car. “Are you okay, really?”

“Yeah,” you said. It was true; you were exhausted, overwhelmed, and hurting, but it was all worth it for him. 

He leaned over to kiss your cheek and smiled before putting the car in reverse. 

The third item that Franco had to buy was the ring. 

Truthfully, the conversation hadn’t gone as smoothly as he would have liked. In his dreams, you'd jumped for joy when he’d broached the subject, and you’d live happily ever after.

But despite his disappointment, he understood your hesitancy. He was just as afraid to ask the question as you were to say yes. He knew that your struggles with self esteem and anxiety were lifelong. He knew all this about you from the very beginning, and he loved you anyway. 

Still, it was times like this when it broke his heart that he couldn’t fix it. 

It didn’t matter. You’d come around eventually, you always did. And you had been honest when you said you wanted to marry him—there was just a lot of stuff in the way, mentally and emotionally. 

So yes, he’d wait a while before he popped the question. But that didn’t mean he had to wait to buy the ring. 

He knew the exact one. You had fallen in love with it years ago, when you had worn it in a PR shoot for one of his high profile sponsors. Though time had passed, he still remembered the sadness in your eyes when you had to give it back after the photoshoot. He had vowed to himself that day that he’d earn enough to get you that ring.

And now he finally had. 

A few days after your conversation, he found the now faded card that he had stuck in his wallet and called the number. When the same brand rep picked up, he exhaled, letting go of his fear.

“Franco! How nice to hear from you. I was beginning to think we’d scared you away.”

“No,” he laughed. “The opposite, actually.”

“Let me guess. You’re ready for that ring?”

‘How’d you know?”

“I’ve been doing this a long time. When a woman looks at a ring like that, and she’s with a man that truly loves her, it’s just a matter of time.”

He had swiped another ring of yours to get the measurements, and he completed the entire order over the phone on his drive back home from a day of pre-season meetings. He had three months before the beginning of the new season, and he wanted to propose before that so you could start wedding planning once the season started. Would three months be enough time for you to think about it? He didn’t know. 

But he couldn’t wait any longer. The giddiness was eating him alive. 

You could tell something was amiss, but the idea of a proposal was the last thing on your mind. 

Franco was hiding his phone from you. Which meant that Franco was hiding something important from you, and he was doing a horrible job of it. 

Your lover was never the type to be quiet or secretive about…anything really. He talked too much. You had to physically restrain him every Christmas from spoiling what he got you weeks in advance. So if there was something that he was truly trying to hide, it was something major. 

And it scared you. 

The thought that you had been holding back for years finally broke through one night where he put his phone face down at the dinner table after his phone lit up with several notifications. 

“Who’s texting you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice innocent despite the rush of dread that was rising in your stomach.

“No one,” he answered, too quickly for your liking. You didn’t respond. 

You knew Franco was attractive. Every girl would kill to have him. He was kind, funny, beautiful, and flirtatious. But he was yours. Right?

Franco had never crossed the line before. You trusted him with your life. But something within you just felt deeply, deeply wrong, and it came spilling out later that night when he tried to touch you. 

His phone was left on the nightstand, untouched since dinner; his focus was on you, running his hand up and down your side, gently dressing his lips to your shoulder as you faced away from him.

“Not tonight,” you whispered, unable to keep your voice from shaking. 

“All you alright, mi amor?” he asked, pulling back your shoulder to make you face him, seeing how you were desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. 

“I’m fine,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek.

Even after all your years together, Franco never quite knew when to press on and when to keep quiet when you said those two infamous words. And he didn’t have much time to think, because you rose from the bed and left the room, mumbling about needing a minute to get fresh air. 

You stepped onto the back porch and took a deep breath, steadying your heart rate and calming your nerves, if only for a moment. The night air was serene; you felt vile contaminating the peace with your anxiety.

Would this last forever? You couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t felt this push and pull. You wanted to tell Franco to go, to relieve himself of the burden of your mental illness. You wanted to bottle up every insecurity, every doubt, every negative thought into a vault that you didn’t share with anyone. 

But you couldn’t. If Franco left you’d be broken. You couldn’t stop yourself from letting these thoughts and fears control you. In the past, therapy had helped, but you knew this was a weight you’d always have to carry. And that made you miserable. 

So yes, maybe it was for the better that Franco move on, find someone better, more stable, and build a life with her. 

“Mi amor?”

Franco’s voice broke your hopeless contemplation. 

“Talk to me,” he said. 

You just shook your head. He must be so tired of reassuring you, endlessly, knowing that it didn’t help one bit. 

“YN,” he urged, “you know I don’t like it when you try to shoulder everything alone.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. That was all you could say. “I’m sorry that I’m like this.”

“Like what?”

“Impossible.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean. We have the same conversation over and over again. Don’t you get tired of it? Of having to reassure me and it never helping? Of me crying over every little thing? Franco, I’m a mess!”

“YN…” he sighed, “When have I ever said any of that?”

He was right. He had never expressed any frustration regarding your mental struggles. He had always been there when you needed him. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Have you just been up in your head, or did something happen?”

You contemplated lying, but you knew better. “You set your phone face down at dinner.”

“I— did you think I was…?”

“It’s not you, Franco. It’s never you. That’s the worst part. You have to deal with all of this and it’s not your fault at all,” you said, not even allowing him to say aloud what you both knew was true. 

Franco took a deep breath. “YN,” he said, calmly, “let’s go back inside and go through my phone.”

“No—”

“Yes,” he commanded. “I want you to be 100% confident that I love you and only you.”

“Franco—”

“Let’s go.”

He had a firmness in his voice that only made your anxiety worse, and immediately you felt horrible for even insinuating anything to the opposite. But he was your rock of reason in times like these when your anxiety took over, and so you followed his command, unlocking his phone when he handed it to you. 

As expected, there was no incriminating evidence, just far too many unopened emails and messages left on delivered. Even his recently deleted texts showed nothing. 

The buzzing that you had been so afraid of turning out to be…emails from a jewelry company?

“I ordered a custom necklace for your birthday,” Franco explained. “They’ve been so difficult, though. They lost the order and then sent me the wrong thing. It’s been hell.”

You handed back the phone with your head hung low, ashamed. “I’m sorry I ruined the surprise.”

“You know I would have ruined it beforehand anyway,” he said. “I’m not upset at you.”

“You should be. You deserve someone who trusts you.”

“You do trust me,” he said, “I know you do. It’s not you that’s saying this.” 

Fuck. Franco really did know you too well. 

“You know why I stay with you, even with all this?” You looked up at him, curious for the answer. He had never been this direct before. He continued, “Well, first of all, because I love you. But even during times when I’m frustrated, I remember everything we’ve been through, when you forgave me and were there for me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so close to losing you and it terrified me.”

Once again, your eyes were watering. He said, “I promised myself that if you really gave me a chance, I’d never forget it. I’d be there for you and be the best boyfriend I could be. Because…” he paused, searching for the right words, “I know that some of why you feel these things is because of how I acted in the past. I’ve done my best to make it right, but some things never leave you.”

“When did you become so damn wise?” you said, laughing through the tears as he smiled and wiped them away. 

“You bring out the best in me.”

The conversation was laid to rest then. Franco held you until you fell asleep, safe in his arms. As he heard your soft breaths even out, he grabbed his phone and frantically searched for a necklace to buy to cover his lie.

He hated lying to you, but in this case, what else was he to do?

The necklace and the ring arrived a few weeks later, right before you all were scheduled to take a flight to Buenos Aires to spend the rest of the break with his family. 

But he had a plan. The break in Buenos Aires would be one to remember—for your “birthday” he was also flying out your friends and family for a few days. He had the whole idea plotted out, with help from many others, to plan a surprise karting birthday celebration, with all your loved ones there. Then, he would propose.

It seemed so perfect—surrounded by all your loved ones, doing a fun activity, the perfect balance between public and private. He knew you’d love it. He knew you’d say yes. 

He was giddy as he carefully packed the two jewelry boxes in his luggage, surrounded by clothes for safe keeping. 

And as the day of the birthday party came closer and closer, he could barely hold in his excitement. Everyone knew but you; he had colluded with every guest, telling them his plan and getting their blessing to finally ask you to spend the rest of your life with him.

Everything was perfect. The day before, you parents and friends arrived, and Franco told you everything but the grand reveal. 

He gave you the present, a beautiful necklace that complimented your tastes perfectly. You split a bottle of wine amongst loved ones, and your parents brought out their own gift: a photo album of pictures that they’d never been able to show Franco. 

You cringed at the embarrassing baby photos and records of bad middle school haircuts, but you couldn’t help the tipsy smile on your face. You leaned your head on Franco’s shoulder as he flipped through the pages.

Franco’s mother got out her own photo albums, showing picture after picture of him as a baby, his blonde curls and toothy grin smiling from ear to ear. 

“You were such a cute baby,” you giggled, and he blushed.

“Were? I’m still a cute baby,” he joked, kissing you on the cheek.  You scrunched your nose and smiled.

You were so in love with this man that it hurt.

That night, when you all retired to your room, he rubbed your back, enjoying the simple quiet between you two.

“I love you,” you said to him out of the blue. He smiled; he said those words often, and you always said them back, but it was rarer, more meaningful, for you to say them unprompted. 

“But it’s not fair. You were a cute baby and you’re cute now. You can’t have both,” you giggled. 

“We’d make cute babies,” he teased, and you blushed. 

“You trying to find out?” you responded, the alcohol in your veins giving you more boldness.

“Not when you’re this tipsy,” he said. “Besides, I need to put a ring on your finger first.”

At the mention of marriage, you sobered up quickly. You hadn’t really been thinking about that conversation you’d had back in Spain—in fact, every time you thought about it, it just made you more anxious, so it had the opposite effect of you actively avoiding it. 

Of course, you were still scared. You loved Franco more than words could say, and that was the problem—it was so good that eventually, it would have to not be good. It was a backwards logic, yes, you had convinced yourself that at some point, things would only be able to go down. 

You didn’t want to lose this beautiful thing you had created. But Franco had said he wasn’t planning to propose any time soon, right? In your mind, you still had plenty of time. 

But Franco did not, and the next morning was chaos.

His phone was blowing up with last minute organizing and words of encouragement from your friends and family in the proposal plan group chat. He was sweating bullets, constantly checking his pockets before you all left for the kart track to make sure that yes, he had the ring. He contemplated putting it in his bag instead, but he didn’t want to lose it, so he ultimately settled on his pockets.

He knew that he needed to stop checking them or else you’d notice and ask. You were always observant, in that way. 

But every time he sat down, the stupid box kept falling out of his shorts. The pockets were too small. He’d just have to check one last time before he left the house and be careful. Yes, everything was going to go according to plan. 

And as you all arrived and he changed into his race suit quickly, all he could think about was the speech he had tried to memorize. You were a woman who appreciated words; he wanted to express how you made him feel, but in his head, he kept stumbling over them. 

YN, you make me so happy. No, too simple.

YN, will you make me the happiest man in the world? No, too cliche.

YN, I never knew happiness until I saw your smile. No, too melodramatic. 

He’d have to figure out the words as he said them. For now, he’d just focus on enjoying the moment with you. 

And that wasn’t hard; you were as giddy as a child as you sped around the track, spinning out and pushing the poor kart to go faster and faster. 

Franco had arranged a tournament of sorts; of course, he had spoken with everyone beforehand to rig you as the winner. 

On your end, you knew everyone was letting you win. You were awful at karting. But it was your birthday event, after all. You didn’t care, you were having fun. 

It came down to the “championship” battle: you versus Franco. Of course, you knew your boyfriend would let you win, as he always did, but you loved the rush of adrenaline as the wind whipped past you anyway. You couldn’t stop smiling as you crossed the finish line and took off your helmet, flipping your hair out. 

You heard Franco stop his car behind you and get out, too. 

“I can’t believe YN won!” Franco’s mother said, smiling wide. 

“Thank you all for so graciously giving me that win,” you joked, looking to all your family and friends circled round, cheering for you. Franco was behind you still. You almost turned to him, but his mother interrupted. “Let me take a picture!”

This was the moment. All he had to do was take the ring out of his pocket and get down on one knee. 

He reached in his pocket and pulled out… nothing. 

His pockets were empty. 

He looked back at his father, the fear of God in his eyes, and patted his empty pockets. No one said a word. 

His mother, now done with taking the picture, leaned over to give you a hug. She sent a death glare to Franco over your shoulder, but still gave him the time to sprint back to the locker room to try and find the goddamn thing. 

He ran faster than his F1 car could drive, cursing under his breath at how stupid he could be. He could still save this, though. 

He found his bag and shook out the contents, frantically searching, until finally, at the bottom of the bag, he saw the box. He must have stuck it there while changing and forgot about it.

He let out a breath with enough power to shake the entire building. He opened the box to get a quick glance just to make sure everything was okay.

Except, everything wasn’t. There was no ring in the box.

He had grabbed the empty necklace box. 

Knowing you were far enough away to not hear him, he sweared very, very loudly. Unbeknownst to Franco, his father had followed him back to the locker room.

“Did you find it, mijo?” 

“I brought the wrong box,” he said, “This is for the necklace.”

His father sighed. “Franco…”

“I know, I know.”

“We can still fix this. Give her the ring at dinner!”

“I guess I’ll have to,” Franco said. He had never been more disappointed in himself. He had ruined everything. 

“Hey,” his father said, “chin up. You’ve still got this. The ring will be the perfect end to the perfect day, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, still not entirely convinced. But you would be wondering where he went soon; he couldn’t stay and mope too long.

His father left him to go relay the information to the rest of the group. Franco took a few deep breaths as he changed, mentally readying himself to see you again. He put on a smile as he saw you waiting for him outside the track with the others. 

“So, we’ll all head back and get ready, then meet for dinner tonight?” his mother said.

“Sounds good,” Franco answered, wrapping his arm around you as he walked you back to the car. 

Thankfully, when you got back to his parent’s house, you immediately wanted to take a shower and wash your hair, giving him time to search the entire room. Which he did, from top to bottom, and he still couldn’t find the ring.

It was just…gone. He had gone through every compartment of his suitcase, every pocket in his clothes, every hiding space. Still, it was nowhere to be found. 

His parents even helped him look, carefully parsing through every possible place until it was too late. You were nearly ready for dinner, and they all had to rush to get ready to make it to the restaurant in time for the reservation. 

Franco texted the groupchat the horrible news—he had fucked up. He had lost the ring. There would be no proposal. 

Kind words flooded his phone, but they meant nothing to the depressed Argentine. He had planned this out so perfectly; how did it end so badly?

And the worst part? He couldn’t even tell you. 

The atmosphere at dinner was more somber than usual. His sister had bought a bottle of nice champagne that would now have to go unopened. He would just have to propose some other time.

That’s what he reminded himself, every time the thought came up and threatened to choke him. Maybe next time he would fly his family out to Spain instead. He wasn’t in any rush. And you’d never have to know how badly he fumbled. 

Well, while you didn’t know the details, you could tell something was up. You mentioned it to Franco on the way home.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, and Franco cringed internally. He was always bad about hiding his emotions. 

“No, I’m fine,” he answered. 

“Well, everyone at dinner just seemed…off.”

“Probably just tired.”

You just hummed to yourself, refusing to allow your thoughts to wander any further. You, too, were tired. When you got back to the house, you both started to get undressed, taking off your fancy heels and jewelry.

You took off your necklace—the beautiful gift that Franco had given you, that you’d now treasure forever—but the box wasn’t on the nightstand where you had left it yesterday.

“Franco, have you seen my necklace box?” you asked from the bedroom. He was in the bathroom washing his face, and only barely heard you over the running of water. The mention of the box just made the whole night worse.

“Yeah, it’s in my bag,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow. How had your necklace box ended up there?

You leaned down to his bag, rustling around until you found the familiar box, though it was heavier than you remembered. 

When you opened it, you were nearly blinded by the glint of a beautiful diamond engagement ring. 

It was familiar; the same ring you had fallen in love with years ago. And it was in Franco’s bag. He had…bought you an engagement ring.

He was going to propose.

You could feel your heart rate increasing by the second. But you weren’t ready. You had only talked about it a few weeks ago. You were scared. 

It was okay, though. It was okay. You would just put the ring back. You’d find a way to hint to him that it wasn’t the right time. You could just fake it. He’d never have to—

“YN?”

You looked up at Franco’s face, widened with shock. You didn’t respond.

“Where did you find that?”

“In your bag.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I—” Franco was too stunned to speak. You quickly closed the box and put it back in the bag.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see anything. This never happened,” you said, your voice rapidly talking without even thinking. You got up to leave the room, too anxious to stay seated, talking to yourself even after you were out of earshot of your lover.

Franco sat on the bed and sighed. Now he had majorly fucked up. First of all, how had no one found the ring in his bag, even after 3 people looked in there? And second of all, how did you find it?

But that wasn’t the biggest issue anymore. His plan had already been ruined, but he knew by the look on your face that your surprise was not a good one. He saw that fear that nestled itself into every crevice of your expression. 

You weren’t happy to find that ring. Not because it had ruined the surprise element—you just didn’t want him to propose.

He now had two options. He could do what he knew you’d want: act as if nothing ever happened and never broach the subject of marriage for several years to come, allowing you to shove away all those scary feelings until you’d deluded yourself into thinking you were over it. 

Or, he could do what he needed to do, and talk to you. 

He took a deep breath and followed you outside.

You were sitting on the back porch. Not crying, just quiet, looking out into the backyard. When Franco sat next to you, you didn’t say anything. He reached out to grab your hand, and you let him, softly admiring how he curled his thumb around your palm in soothing circles. 

“The plan,” he began, “was to ask you today. At the karting track. But I brought the wrong box.” He softly smiled at the absurdity of it. “When you were getting ready we were all frantically looking for it. I don’t know how we missed it.”

You just hummed in response, unsure of what to say. You needed to be honest. You needed to say the difficult things.

You began, though your voice felt choked. “Franco, if you would have asked me today, I would have said no.” You felt his hand tense up. “I mean, I would have said yes, because everyone was there. But…”

You trailed off, your words fleeing from you now. 

“I don’t understand,” Franco confessed. “We’re happy. You’re happy with me, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then why don’t you want to marry me?” His voice dripped with sadness, and all you wanted to do was hold him. You turned your head to face him, and the deep sorrow in his eyes nearly brought you to tears.

“I do want to. I just…”

“I’ve done everything I can to be good to you. I’ve tried to always be there. I know I’m not perfect, but—”

“It’s not you, Franco. It was never you.”

“Then why? What can I do?” His voice cracked, seeping with hopelessness and frustration. “If it’s not because of me, then what am I supposed to do?” 

You got up. “Come here,” you said, and led him to the living room. The home was quiet; his parents were asleep, and the vast emptiness of the home was eerie. 

You grabbed the photo album that your parents had given you, and sat down on the couch, motioning for Franco to sit next to you. 

You opened it to a picture of you at your 4th birthday party. In the photo, you grimaced though the uncomfortable sensation of a plastic party hat. “Do you see her?” you asked him. He nodded. 

“I remember feeling like this when I was that little. This…fear. I desperately wanted friends but was too afraid to talk to anyone.”

You flipped to the next page, pointing to a photo of you sitting alone in a park, a forced smile across your face. “What do you notice about this picture?” you asked him.

Franco leaned in closer to look. “I don’t know,” he said. 

“I’m alone. See all the other kids in the background?” 

You kept flipping until you found the first photo of you when Franco knew you. You were fifteen, smack in the middle of your awkward teenage years, in the stands at one of his races. 

“I remember that,” he said. 

“That’s me, spending time with my first real friend,” you said. “I didn’t know it yet, but I had a huge crush on him,” you joked.

“He was going to ask you to marry him today. And you just told him you would have said no.”  

“I know,” you said, trying to be gentle with your tone. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’re not just asking me. You’re asking her. And she feels so alone, and she’s scared to trust anyone.”

Franco sat with the thought for a moment, before getting up to grab his own photo book. He opened it to the first page, and pointed to a photo of him as a toddler, wrapped in a scarf, toothy grin spread wide. 

“And that’s who asked you.”

You felt a knot of emotion in your stomach break. All you wanted was to cry. 

“This goes both ways, YN,” Franco continued. “I understand that you’re scared. But I can’t fix that fear. Only you can.”

The dam broke, your tears flooding forth. He was right. So you told him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you said, and he wrapped his arm around you, rubbing your back through the tears. 

“I’m not perfect either. I shouldn’t have rushed it, I was just excited.”

“Don’t apologize for being excited to propose,” you laughed through your tears. “I should probably go back to therapy.”

“If you think that’ll help,” he said.

“It will,” you sniffled. “I just… I’ve been so afraid that I’ve been ignoring all the signs. I should have seen this coming. You’re never that excited to let me beat you in karting.”

He smiled at your banter. You continued, “But really, you’re right. I’ve just been avoiding this because I’m scared, getting up in my head. I just feel so happy and that scares me, because at some point it has to fall apart, right? You’re never happy forever.”

“You’re not unhappy forever, either. Of course we’d have rough spots. But that’s the beauty of marriage,” he said, “you vow to be there for each other through it all.”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?” you asked, meeting his gaze. 

His eyes were full of compassion and love. “I’m the lucky one.” He leaned down to kiss you. 

You didn’t really believe him. You still didn’t understand how someone so perfect could love you, someone so…broken. But one day you would. You had to.

The next year was difficult. You began your healing journey again—a journey you were convinced you’d be on your entire life. But you’d do it for him, and for you. 

And slowly, bit by bit, the wounds began to heal. 

It wasn’t linear. With Franco’s new contract, he had lots of attention and responsibilities. He was away from home more. He was tired, stressed, more short-tempered. There were arguments. Some days it felt like you took one step forward and two steps back. 

But you made it through. For every argument there was an honest conversation. For every night away there was a sweet gesture or text message to remind you that he still loved you, and from it grew a solid, blooming trust. For every mistake—on both ends—there was an apology and a commitment to be better. For every night of tears, there was a night of laughter with the man you loved most in the world. 

And by the end of the season, you and the relationship were stronger than ever. 

Of course, things weren’t perfect. But the fear that had once held you hostage was an adversary you knew you could overcome. 

Franco kept the ring in his nightstand. You had found it again one day while cleaning. It wasn’t really hidden, as if to say, we’ll get to this later. It was no secret now.  You just put it back in its place and smiled, going on about your day. 

But Franco had been giving the proposal much thought. He decided against inviting anyone again, wanting it to be a tender moment of vulnerability between you and him.

No, he wanted this time to be simple. Honest. 

He just hoped you were ready. 

A few weeks before the beginning of the next season, he took you out to the place where all this had begun; the outlook in the countryside, where he first told you that he wanted to marry you.

This time, he double and triple checked to make sure the ring was there in his pocket. 

The sun was setting over the Spanish countryside, painting the sky rich shades of orange and yellow. The air had cooled with the impending coming of night. 

He opened your car door and set up a blanket on the ground, where you sat and he laid his head in your lap, letting your fingers run through his hair as a way to calm his nerves. 

He took a deep breath as he sat up, and you knew what was coming. Again, he had rehearsed a speech, but almost instantly forgot it the second he opened his mouth. 

“YN,” he began, looking you directly in the eyes, “I… I love you. So much. More than words can say.” He was nervous, swallowing before he continued, letting his eyes wander off to the picturesque view. But he had more important things to be looking at. 

“I can’t imagine a version of my life without you in it. I grew up with you. I want to grow old with you. You’ve made me into the best version of myself. We’ve gone through so many things and come out on the other side so much stronger. And I want this,” he said, reaching out to wipe away the happy tears that now flowed down your cheeks. “I want to be with you. Even though we’re both imperfect, even though we both have our problems to work through, YN, I want to do this with you, forever. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up next to you. I want to have children and grandchildren with you. I…” he trailed off, not knowing how to finally say what he really wanted to say.

You smiled through the tears. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring, flipping it open and showing it to you. 

“Marry me,” he whispered. 

Your smile widened. “Yes,” you answered. “Yes.” 

He kissed you with a fervent passion. When he pulled away, his smile couldn’t be contained.

“She said yes!” he cried out, though you both were alone. “I did it! She said yes!” You laughed at his antics.

In a few weeks, you’d have the official photo shoot where he got down on one knee. You’d show the world the carefully constructed version that was all they got to see.

But this was real. And maybe it was imperfect; maybe he hadn’t really asked, more instructed, and maybe he hadn’t gotten down on one knee, and maybe, yes, you had found the ring beforehand. 

But this was real. In all the ups and downs, the hurt and healing, this love you shared with your now fiance was real. The world didn’t get to see that. 

And maybe that fear was still within you. It was smaller now. And when you had seen that shine of the ring, maybe you had felt it rise within you again. But you knew now that it was just a feeling, something you could control. You didn’t have to ignore it or let it reign you. It was just there. 

It wasn't real though. And this was. The cold metal of the ring slid onto your finger. The feeling of Franco’s lips on yours. The strain in your face muscles from all the smiling. His hand around your waist, pulling you closer as the sun dipped below the sky, leaving you and your lover alone in the dark—yes, this was real. 

And this was yours; he was yours.

For the first time in a long time, you knew you had nothing to fear. 

[carisc4pshaw]

Morning delays

In which Spencer and Fem!Reader are late for work yet again because Spencer can’t keep his hands off her. (Smut!)

word count: 1.3k

tags: porn without plot, Smut, co workers, late to work, love, boyfriend&girlfriend, long term couple, showering together, sex, intimacy, P in V, unprotected P in V, Minor breeding kink, raw sex, 18+, fingering (f receiving), mentions of oral sex (f receiving), nipple play.

warnings: 18+!! whole thing is smut, unprotected sex (don’t be like them guys!)

notes: I don’t think I missed any tags anyway this is the most sexual thing ever written so I hope you horny people enjoy it.

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Just before you and Spencer had fallen asleep last night you had set the alarm for 7 am, it probably wasn’t enough time to get ready in the morning but you had a late night watching a movie with your long-term boyfriend not that either you saw much of it because before you got to the halfway point Spencer was on his knees between your thighs sucking your clit and circling your entrance, sliding his tongue into you until you had reached multiple orgasms.

You were certain the alarm hadn’t gone off yet because usually that would wake you straight away but today you were awoken to your boyfriend’s hands up your shirt resting on your breasts and tweaking with your hard-ish nipples. 

“What time is it?” You asked Spencer with a soft moan. 

“Almost 7 am.” 

“Baby we don’t have time, the alarm is about to go off,” You moaned halfway through what you were saying. 

One of Spencer’s hands slid down your stomach, “You want me to stop?”

“Well no…”

“Is your pussy already wet for me darling?” Spencer whispered into your ear. He wasn’t one for dirty talk all the time but when he did it the throbbing between your legs was only ever worse. You needed him badly and by the feel of things, he needed you too. 

You nodded, “Yes Spence.”

“Can I feel?” His hand still moving lower. 

“Yes,” With your signal he slid his hand under the waistband of your panties avoiding your clit as he ran a finger through your folds to collect your wetness, “Mhm Spence.”

“Beautiful, you’re so wet,” He spoke just before the alarm went off. With one quick movement, he took his hand from your panties and switched the alarm off before positioning himself between your legs. 

His large hands landed on your waist gripping you firmly. He leaned down attaching his lips to a nipple swirling his tongue around it for a couple of minutes until moving on to the next. 

His mouth pulled away from your nipple with a loud pop. He rested his hands at the side of your hips playing with the lace of your underwear. 

“Can I take them off now?” He looked straight into your eyes. 

“Please,” You said with a breathy sigh. 

Spencer pulled them off leaving them somewhere in the room, you’d find them later.

“What do you want?” Spencer asked, one of his hands running from your waist to your hip back and forth. 

Your eyes trailed between the both of you where you could see his erection through his boxers. 

“I want that,” You smiled sweetly and innocently. 

“What?” Spencer smirked. 

“Your dick.”

Spencer nodded, “Let me warm you up first.”

With that, he pushed your legs further apart his hands resting on the apex of your thighs, his thumbs nudging your folds due to the size of his hands. 

He used one of his left thumb to run back and forth over your closed folds. 

“Stop teasing we don’t have much time.”

Without another word he plunged his index finger inside of you, quickly curling it inside of you knowing exactly where your most pleasurable spot was. 

“Oh my god. Spence another!” You moaned with a little shout. 

“Yes baby,” Spencer pushed his middle finger inside, pulling them out a small way to push them back in much harder hitting your g-spot as hard as he could.

You reached down between you pressing two fingers to your clit and rubbing it in a quick motion. 

“Oh fuck, Spencer don’t stop,” You moaned loudly throwing your head back. 

Right as you felt your walls begin to tighten around his fingers and that familiar coil in your stomach he pulled his fingers out leaving your core pulsing around nothing. 

“What the fuck babe,” You groaned. You were frustrated, the tears began to well in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry, it just happened when you were frustrated or in this case when you couldn’t reach your peak of pleasure apparently.

“Hey no baby don’t cry,” Spencer wiped the tears from your eyes, “I’m going to make you cum I promise.”

“Why did you stop?” You frowned.

“I wanted you to cum when I was inside of you,” He ran his hand down your hair.

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?” Spencer asked giving you a kiss. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” You reached for his boxers pulling them down just enough that his erection sprung out of them before he discarded the material completely. 

“How do you want me?” Spencer asked. 

You blushed biting your lip, “Like always.”

“Honey, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

You hid your face in his neck, “Raw,” You muttered.

Spencer smirked, you usually did it like that now that you had been together for three years and knew you were both clean but he loved hearing you say it. 

He rested his dick against your folds rubbing the tip against your clit to relax you again after leaving you without an orgasm a few minutes ago. 

You loved how his veins felt against you when he did that but right now you just craved him filling the empty space inside of you.

“Please,” You stared into his hazel eyes that were clouded with lust.

You breathed in deeply as he pushed the head inside of you slowly, his fingers coming to your clit to help as he entered you. He wasn’t too girthy but he had length and his head always stretched you out the perfect amount that you experienced a slight tweak of pain before the rush of pleasure.

Spencer wasted no time in picking up the pace pounding in and out of you quickly since you really had to be leaving soon, mornings were always for rougher faster sex and the evenings were for when he wanted to spend hours worshipping every inch of your body.

His tip grazed the nerves inside of you with every thrust and that partnered with the firm circles on your clit you knew you weren’t going to last very long. 

“Close already honey?” Spencer moaned feeling your walls tightening around him. 

“Fuck! Mhm,” You couldn’t speak anymore without a sting of moans leaving your mouth. 

“Good girl, hold it, I’m almost there,” Spencer thrust harder, your skin slapping together and your hips colliding.

“Spence please,” You moaned. 

“Yes okay baby okay,” Spencer groaned, “Do you want me to pull out?”

“No inside please.” 

Two more thrusts and you came around his dick just before he spilled his seed deep inside of you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Spencer kissed your forehead which had a few beads of sweat on it. 

“You felt so good,” You couldn’t help biting your lip and giving him a satisfied look. 

“So did you sweetheart. I’m going to pull out okay?” 

You nodded as he pressed his thumb against your clit only to make small circles as he removed himself from you. It was slightly overstimulating but you knew he was just caring for you and nothing more.

“We are so late, we still need to shower,” You said looking over at the clock. 

“I thought we could shower at work, you know training is first on the schedule you’re just going to get sweaty again,” Spencer shrugged getting up from the bed to find the pieces of discarded clothing. 

“Excuse me? I’m showering before we leave,” You said with your eyes widening. 

“Why?” He asked and you hoped he was reading. 

“Because we smell of sex, from last night and this morning and I have ropes of your cum inside of me.”

Spencer smirked, “Leave it there, that’s pretty hot.” 

“You’re insane,” You rolled your eyes and got up from the bed.

“I was kidding, take a shower but I do like the thought of me being inside of you like that.”

Again you rolled your eyes, walking toward the bathroom, “Are you joining? We will save time and water.” 

“If I ever say no to that question, know there’s something wrong with me,” Spencer said following you through to the bathroom. 

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[hisfavegirl]

Duty And Desire - Aegon I Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary : As you stood in the shadow of your duties, Aegon began to notice the smallest things about you—the way your eyes flickered when you thought no one was watching, the quiet strength you held within yourself. His words, when he spoke to you, lingered longer than they should have, making your heart race with a mixture of confusion and longing. But what began as mere moments of attention soon blossomed into something far more complicated. He was no longer just your king, and you were no longer just his wife. In his presence, the walls you had built around yourself began to crumble, and the desires you had long buried inside began to surface.

Word Count : 7.4k

Aegon I Targaryen Mastetlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The laughter that fills the chamber is soft yet genuine, a rare moment of peace between the three of you. Rhaenys lounges beside you, her head resting in her hand as she watches you with a knowing smile. Visenya, ever poised, sits behind you, her fingers weaving through your hair with the skill and precision she applies to all things.

“You have been patient,” Rhaenys murmurs, her voice carrying the warmth of an elder sister who has always looked after you. “More patient than most would be in your place.”

Patient. The word makes something stir within you. You had been patient, waiting in the shadows while Aegon ruled, while his other queens shared his nights and bore him children. You had never demanded his attention, nor sought to claim what had never been freely given.

Visenya, quiet yet always watching, speaks next. “Aegon notices more than you think,” she says, her fingers tightening slightly around your braid as if to ground you. “He is not blind.”

You blink, turning slightly to glance at her over your shoulder. “If he notices, he does not show it.”

Rhaenys laughs, the sound rich and full of amusement. “Oh, little sister, you are clever, but in this, you are blind. The dragon may be slow to stir, but once he does, he does not turn away so easily.”

The thought lingers, curling around your mind like a whisper of prophecy. Aegon has never sought you out, never claimed you as he had his other wives. And yet, Visenya and Rhaenys speak as if something inevitable looms on the horizon.

“You think he will come to me?” you ask, almost hesitant to give voice to the question.

Visenya hums thoughtfully. “I think he already has.”

You frown, confused, but Rhaenys only smirks, as if she knows something you do not. You do not press them for answers, but as the night fades into morning, their words stay with you, curling like embers waiting to catch fire.

The morning air is crisp, the distant roar of dragons filling the skies as Rhaenys and Visenya take flight. You watch them disappear into the horizon, their dragons nothing more than specks against the vast sky. Unlike them, you remain on the ground, where you have always been—watching, waiting, but never truly seen.

You turn away from the sight, intending to return to your chambers when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Come,” Aegon calls, his voice steady yet carrying an unmistakable command.

You hesitate for only a moment before following the sound of his voice. When you step into the dining hall, you find him already seated, a feast spread before him. His silver hair gleams under the morning light, his presence filling the room with an aura of quiet authority.

Wordlessly, you take your place beside him. The weight of his gaze is heavy, but you do not meet it. Instead, you keep your eyes lowered, focusing on the meal before you. Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words. You can feel him watching you, as if searching for something in your expression.

“You are quiet today,” Aegon finally speaks, his voice softer than before.

“I have little to say,” you reply simply, keeping your tone even.

He exhales sharply, as if amused by your defiance. “And yet, when you are with our sisters, your tongue is sharp enough.”

You glance at him then, finding a hint of something unreadable in his violet eyes. He is studying you, as he often does when he thinks you do not notice.

“If you wish for conversation, husband,” you say, voice carefully measured, “then you must ask the right questions.”

Aegon hums, leaning back in his chair. “Very well, then. Tell me—will you come to my chambers tonight?”

Your breath catches for the briefest moment, but you recover quickly. You should have expected this. You are his wife, after all. It is your duty to obey.

But you do not answer immediately. Instead, you hold his gaze, searching for something—perhaps sincerity, perhaps something more.

“Do you ask this as my husband or as my king?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aegon tilts his head slightly, as if considering your words. “Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckles—a quiet, low sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You are not like them,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Visenya would command me. Rhaenys would tease me. But you… You always make me think.”

You lower your gaze once more, unsure of how to respond.

Aegon leans forward then, his voice dropping to something almost intimate. “Come to me tonight,” he says again, but this time, it is not an order. It is an invitation.

You do not answer. Not yet. But as you rise from the table, his words linger in your mind, curling around you like a flame waiting to consume you whole.

The candlelight flickers softly, casting golden hues across your chamber as you sit by your vanity, hands delicately folded in your lap. Your heart thrums an uneven rhythm beneath your ribs, anticipation curling in your stomach like a coiled serpent.

“Bring me the best,” you had told your handmaidens earlier. And so they had.

A gown of the finest silk drapes across your form, a deep shade that flatters your complexion. Your hair is carefully arranged, each strand in place, cascading in soft waves down your back. The scent of the most fragrant oils clings to your skin, a subtle mixture of jasmine and amber, meant to entice.

You exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

What am I doing?

It is not as if this is your first time in Aegon’s presence—he is your husband, after all. And yet, the weight of tonight feels different. He had not ordered you to his chambers; he had asked. The difference, however slight, sends your thoughts into disarray.

A soft knock at your door pulls you from your reverie, followed by the unmistakable sound of giggles.

Your eyes narrow even before the door swings open.

Visenya and Rhaenys stand before you, their faces alight with amusement, their matching violet eyes gleaming as they take in the sight of you—adorned and waiting.

“Oh, sister,” Rhaenys purrs, stepping into your room without invitation, her golden hair catching the candlelight. “You look like a bride on her wedding night.”

Visenya smirks, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Technically, she already had her wedding night. But I suppose it does not count if the groom never visited her bed.”

Your face heats instantly. “Must you both be so insufferable?”

Rhaenys twirls a lock of her hair, her grin widening. “We only came to check on you, dearest sister. Imagine our delight when we found you like this—dressed as if awaiting a lover.”

Visenya raises a brow. “Which, I assume, you are.”

You scowl, turning away as you fuss with the bracelets on your wrist. “Aegon asked me to come to him tonight.”

Rhaenys gasps in mock surprise. “Did he ask, or did he demand?”

You hesitate. “He… asked.”

That earns a genuine reaction from both of them. Visenya pushes off the doorframe, and Rhaenys tilts her head, intrigued.

“Interesting,” Visenya murmurs.

“You sound surprised,” you note, glancing at them.

Rhaenys folds her arms, considering. “Our dear brother, Aegon does not ask for things, sweet sister. He takes. For him to ask you to come to him… that is something new.”

You try not to let their words affect you, but a small, treacherous part of you holds onto them.

“So, tell us,” Visenya presses, her smirk returning. “Do you intend to go?”

You glance at the mirror, at your own reflection—the way the candlelight softens your features, the way the gown clings to your form. You think of Aegon, of his gaze lingering on you at breakfast, of the way his voice had softened when he spoke.

“I—”

Before you can answer, another knock sounds at the door. This time, it is not accompanied by laughter.

Your handmaidens scramble to open it, revealing a messenger dressed in the black and red of House Targaryen. He bows slightly before speaking.

“His Grace awaits you.”

Silence stretches in the chamber.

Rhaenys bites her lip, barely holding back a delighted smile. Visenya simply watches you, her expression unreadable.

Your heart pounds.

“Well?” Rhaenys teases. “Shall we escort you, dear sister? Or will you find your own way?”

You take a steadying breath and rise from your seat, smoothing out the fabric of your gown. You do not need an escort.

You walk past them, your head held high.

Let Aegon wait.

The door looms before you, the carved dragon sigil of House Targaryen illuminated by the soft glow of torches lining the hallway. You inhale slowly, willing your heart to steady.

Behind this door, your husband awaits.

Your fingers curl slightly against your gown as you steel yourself. You have shared meals, exchanged polite words, stood beside him in court—but this, standing outside his chambers in the dead of night at his request, is different.

The air is thick with anticipation as you finally lift your hand and push open the heavy door.

Inside, the chamber is warm, the glow of the fire casting long shadows along the stone walls. The scent of burning wood and aged parchment lingers in the air. Your gaze lands on Aegon immediately.

He is seated by the hearth, one leg stretched out lazily, a goblet of wine dangling from his fingers. The firelight flickers across his bare chest, his tunic hanging open, revealing the lean muscles of his torso. His silver hair is slightly tousled, as if he had run his fingers through it more than once.

His violet eyes lift to you the moment you step inside.

You see the way they move—slowly, deliberately—drifting from your face down the curves of your body, tracing the fine silk of your gown, lingering at the delicate swell of your waist before traveling lower. You feel the heat of his gaze as if it were a physical touch.

A shiver runs down your spine, though whether it is from the warmth of the chamber or the intensity of his stare, you cannot say.

You part your lips to speak, but before you can utter a single word, Aegon moves.

He rises from his chair with unhurried ease, his tunic slipping further off his shoulder, exposing more of the smooth, pale skin beneath. His steps are soundless as he approaches, closing the distance between you in mere moments.

Then—click.

The sound of the door locking behind you sends a jolt through your chest.

Aegon stands before you now, mere inches away. He does not touch you, not yet, but his presence alone feels overwhelming, like standing too close to a flame.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You hesitated outside my door.”

You swallow. “You heard me?”

“I always hear you.”

The words send a different kind of warmth through you.

Aegon leans in, his breath fanning against your cheek. “Why did you come?”

You know why. You know what he expects to hear. But something about the way he asks—the way his voice lowers, rich and smooth—makes you pause.

“Because you asked me to,” you admit softly.

He hums, as if pleased by your answer. “And if I were to ask something more of you?”

Your breath hitches, but you do not look away. “That depends on what you ask, husband.”

His lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk. “I think we both know what I want from you.”

His fingers reach up, brushing against your wrist, a touch so light it is almost a whisper. Your pulse quickens.

“Tell me, sweet wife,” Aegon murmurs, his voice a low purr. “Will you give yourself to me tonight?”

Your breath is steady, but your heart is not.

Aegon’s fingers are slow as they work on the delicate buttons of your gown, each one undone with an excruciating patience that sets your skin aflame. His eyes, violet and piercing, do not leave yours—not even for a moment.

“You say it is your duty,” he murmurs, his voice like silk laced with something darker. “But is that all this is to you?”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

“I am your wife,” you say, though the words feel small in the space between you. “It is my duty to—”

He exhales sharply, cutting you off. “Duty.” He repeats the word like it offends him. “I did not summon you to fulfill an obligation.”

Another button undone. Then another.

“I want all of you,” he continues, his tone lower now, rougher. “Not just because you must. But because you want to.”

You shiver at the weight of his words.

Aegon’s fingers brush against your collarbone, tracing the newly exposed skin with a featherlight touch. His warmth seeps into you, making your breath hitch. He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an expression that is unreadable.

“Tell me, sweet wife,” he murmurs, leaning in so that his lips hover just above the shell of your ear. “Do you want this? Do you want me?”

Your pulse pounds in your throat.

You could lie. You could tell him what he expects to hear, what a dutiful wife should say. But something about the way he looks at you—hungry yet patient, demanding yet restrained—makes you hesitate.

You have watched Aegon from the shadows for so long. You have seen him fight, drink, command armies, laugh with your sisters. But now, here, in the quiet of his chambers, you see him as something else. A man who, despite his crown, wants not power, but you.

Your hands, trembling yet determined, lift to his chest, pressing against the exposed skin there. You feel his heartbeat beneath your palm—steady, strong, waiting.

“I want this,” you whisper.

His breath stirs against your cheek. “Say it again.”

You meet his gaze, your voice steadier this time. “I want you, Aegon.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, and then his hands are on you—not rough, not hurried, but firm. He peels the silk from your shoulders, letting it slip down your arms, pooling at your feet. The cool air kisses your bare skin, but you barely register it.

Aegon lifts a hand to your face, cradling your jaw as he studies you, as if memorizing every inch of you.

“You are mine,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “And tonight, I will make sure you never forget it.”

And then, finally, he kisses you.

Aegon cradles you in his arms as if you weigh nothing, his grip firm yet gentle as he carries you toward the massive bed draped in silk. His lips never leave yours, and you can feel the hunger in his kiss, the restrained desperation that has been brewing for so long.

The moment your back meets the soft bedding, he hovers over you, his body pressing into yours, yet he does not rush. His thumb brushes over your cheek, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes you shiver.

"You have no idea how long I have waited for this," he murmurs, his voice thick with something unreadable.

Your breath catches. "Aegon-"

He silences you with another kiss, slow and deep, drawing the air from your lungs. He kisses you as if savoring every second, as if this moment is something sacred to him. When he pulls away, his violet gaze is darker, filled with emotions you cannot name.

"You are the only one who has never demanded anything from me," he says, his fingers tracing the outline of your lips. "Not power. Not a crown. Not a child. You have given me nothing but your presence, your quiet loyalty—" He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. "And yet, you are the only one I have ever wanted."

Your heart clenches at his words. You had always been the overlooked wife, the quiet one, the one people whispered about because Aegon had never called for you as he had his other wives. You had assumed it was because he did not desire you, that you were merely a political arrangement, a piece on the board of conquest.

But now, here he is, looking at you as if you are the only thing that matters. Your fingers trail over his tunic, tracing the exposed skin of his chest, feeling the warmth beneath your touch. "If you wanted me, why did you wait so long?"

Aegon smirks, but there is something almost vulnerable in his expression. "Because I was a fool," he admits. "Because I did not want to ruin you." He leans closer, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth. "You are not like the others. You are not meant to be caged or conquered."

Your breath shudders at his words. "Then what am I meant for?"

His fingers slide down your arm, his grip tightening slightly. "For me," he whispers. "You were meant for me."

A silence falls between you, thick with the weight of unspoken truths.

Then, slowly, His fingers skim over your bare skin, eliciting a gasp from your lips. He watches you, his gaze never straying, as if committing every inch of you to memory.

"You are mine," he murmurs, his hands framing your waist. "Say it."

Your throat is dry, your pulse wild, but you manage the words. "I am yours"

A satisfied hum leaves him. He presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "And I am yours," he confesses, as if it is a secret only meant for you. "Tonight, I will prove it to you."

As soon as Aegon pushes into you, a sharp pain spreads through your body, and a soft cry escapes your lips. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body struggles to adjust to the unfamiliar intrusion. Aegon stills above you immediately, his breath ragged, his hands framing your face with unexpected gentleness.

"Shh," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your damp cheek. "I'm sorry, love. I know it hurts." His voice is rough, thick with restraint. "Breathe. Just breathe, sweet girl."

Tears well in your eyes as you cling to him, your body trembling. It is too much, too overwhelming, but Aegon does not move. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses along your skin, whispering soothing words against your ear.

"You are doing so well," he murmurs, his fingers tracing delicate patterns over your sides. "So perfect for me."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will the discomfort away, trying to focus on the warmth of his body against yours, the way his hands never stop moving, never stop comforting you.

"Tell me what you need," he says softly, his lips ghosting over your temple. "I'll do whatever you ask of me."

You hesitate, then exhale shakily. "Just... give me a moment."

Aegon nods, his forehead pressing against yours. His fingers intertwine with yours, holding your hands tightly as if anchoring you to him. The pain begins to dull, slowly replaced by a strange warmth that spreads through your limbs. You shift slightly beneath him, and Aegon groans, his control slipping for a brief second before he catches himself.

Your name leaves his lips in a desperate whisper, his hands tightening around yours. "Gods, you feel-" He cuts himself off, exhaling harshly. "Tell me when."

You swallow, meeting his gaze. His violet eyes are darker than you have ever seen them, filled with longing and something deeper, something raw. He is waiting, holding himself back for you.

A flicker of courage sparks in you. You nod. "Now."

Aegon curses under his breath, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before he moves, slow and careful. The pain still lingers, but there is something else now-a heat coiling in your stomach, a sensation unfamiliar yet not unpleasant.

"That's it," Aegon breathes, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. "You're taking me so well."

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepens his thrusts, still gentle, still measured, but more confident now. A soft gasp leaves your lips as the pleasure begins to build, overtaking the pain. Aegon notices, his lips curling into a knowing smirk as he kisses your jaw, your neck, the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"You like that, don't you?" His voice is husky, teasing. "I can feel you squeezing me, little wife."

A whimper escapes you, and Aegon groans, his movements growing slightly more insistent. His hand slides down, tracing the curve of your waist, your hip, before gripping your thigh and pulling you closer.

"You were made for me," he breathes, his eyes locked on yours. "Say it."

Your head feels light, your body burning beneath him, consumed by the sensations he is giving you. "I-" You swallow hard, your voice trembling. "I was made for you."

Aegon growls in satisfaction, his lips crashing against yours. He drinks in your gasps, your moans, his pace quickening as he chases the pleasure that coils between you both.

"'I'll never let you go," he vows against your lips. "Never."

Aegon grips your hips tightly, his breath hot against your ear. His voice is low, possessive.

"Don't hold back," he murmurs. "I want them to hear you. I want them to know you're mine."

Your cheeks burn at his words, but before you can protest, he moves-faster, deeper, his thrusts becoming more demanding. A sharp gasp escapes your lips, and he groans in approval.

"That's it," he praises, his hands sliding up your back, pressing you closer against him. "Let them hear who you belong to."

Your nails dig into his shoulders as pleasure overtakes you, your body trembling beneath him. You try to muffle your sounds against his neck, but Aegon isn't having it. He grips your jaw, tilting your head back so he can see your face.

"Say my name," he commands. "Louder."

You barely recognize your own voice as you cry out, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. Aegon groans, his own control slipping.

His movements become rougher, more desperate, as if he can't get enough of you.

"You feel so perfect," he rasps. "Like you were made for me.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he curses under his breath. His forehead presses against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he drives you both closer to the edge.

And then—he finds it. That spot inside you that makes your entire body jolt. Your head falls back against the pillows, a broken moan escaping you. Aegon smirks, his grip tightening.

"There," he growls. "That's the spot, isn't it?"

You can only whimper in response, the pleasure overwhelming. Aegon's pace grows relentless, chasing your release with singleminded determination.

"Come for me," he urges, his lips brushing against yours. "Let go."

Your body obeys before your mind can catch up, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your back arches, your voice raw as you cry out his name. Aegon follows moments later, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as he buries himself inside you, claiming you completely.

For a moment, there is only the sound of your ragged breathing, the heat of his body pressed against yours. Aegon brushes damp hair from your face, his gaze soft despite the hunger that still lingers in his eyes.

"Mine," he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. "And I'll never let you forget it."

You looked at aegon hesitantly, the question you wanted to ask was too risky. he opened his eyes and realized that you were watching him "What do you want to ask sweet wife?"

Hesitantly you murmured, "Are you not satisfied with me?" your voice is less than a whisper.

Aegon blinks at you, momentarily stunned by your question. His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. His golden hair is tousled, his skin still warm from the intimacy you just shared.

"Not satisfied?" he repeats, his voice thick with disbelief. He studies your face, searching for the source of your doubt.

You avoid his gaze, feeling foolish for asking. "I just... I know with Rhaenys and Visenya, you wouldn't stop. I heard the servants talk about it." Your fingers play with the fabric of the sheets, unable to meet his eyes. "But with me, you just stop. I just-"

Aegon cuts you off with a deep chuckle, his hand cupping your cheek, tilting your face to look at him. "Do you truly think I would have stopped if you had asked?" His smirk is teasing, but there's something more in his gaze-something raw, something possessive. "Or do you think you could have even found the words to ask me to?"

Heat rushes to your face as the memories of the night flood your mind. No, you hadn't asked him to stop. You hadn't even thought about it. From the moment he touched you, all logic had left your mind, leaving only the overwhelming desire to have him closer, deeper, forever.

Aegon's thumb brushes against your lower lip. "I've had many nights with them, yes," he admits, his voice quieter now. "But none like this." He leans in, his breath warm against your lips.

"With them, it was duty. An expectation." He presses a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth before whispering, "But with you... gods, with you, I couldn't stop even if I wanted to."

Your breath catches at his words, at the intensity of his confession. Aegon had never spoken to you this way before-not as a husband merely fulfilling an obligation, but as a man who had wanted you, who had lost himself in you.

His lips trail along your jaw, his voice growing husky. "Tell me, my queen, did you want me to stop?"

You shake your head without hesitation, and Aegon chuckles darkly. "| thought so."

He shifts on top of you again, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin. "And if you still have any doubts," he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, "perhaps I should remind you just how much I want you again."

His hands move, his touch reigniting the fire between you, and you realize that you will never again question whether Aegon Targaryen desires you.

You could feel him holding back, "You don't need to hold back Aegon" He freezes at your words, his hands stilling against your skin. His violet eyes darken, his brows furrowing slightly as he searches your face. The muscles in his jaw tense as if he's holding something back, something raw and dangerous.

"You don't understand," he murmurs, voice rough. His fingers tighten on your waist, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you grounded. "If I let go, if I take you the way I truly want, I might break you."

You shiver at his confession, at the sheer restraint he has been holding onto this entire time. Aegon Targaryen, your husband, the conqueror, the dragon-he is afraid. Afraid of hurting you.

But you are a dragon too. You have been raised among them, molded by their fire, and you are not fragile.

You cup his face, your thumb grazing the scar that runs along his cheekbone. "Aegon," you whisper, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "I know what I'm asking for. I know who you are." Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging gently. "I am not some delicate thing that will shatter under your touch. I am your wife. And I want you-all of you."

Aegon's breath shudders. His hands tremble as he grips your hips. His restraint, his control —it's hanging by a thread.

"You say that now," he mutters, his voice strained, his forehead pressing against yours. "But when I take you the way I want-"

"Then take me," you interrupt, your lips brushing against his. "Show me."

Aegon lets out a low growl, his patience finally snapping. His mouth crashes against yours, consuming you with a hunger that has been caged for far too long. His hands grip you tightly, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the shift instantly-the loss of restraint, the unraveling of his carefully controlled passion.

"You asked for this," he warns, his voice a deep rasp against your ear. "Don't beg me to stop later."

You meet his eyes, fire burning in your own. "I never will."

Aegon groans, something between reverence and possession. Then, he moves, his grip unrelenting, his body pressing you down into the mattress as he claims you without hesitation, without holding back.

You gasp, arching against him, your fingers clawing at his back as he takes what is his— what has always been his. Aegon kisses you fiercely, swallowing your cries as he moves with a desperate need that shakes through both of you.

"Mine," he growls against your skin. "You are mine."

And for the first time, there is no hesitation, no fear. Only fire. Only you and him, burning together.

Aegon's laughter rumbles deep in his chest as he watches you writhe beneath him, his grip on your chin firm but not painful. His violet eyes burn with something primal, something possessive, and the heat of it makes your breath hitch.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his thumb stroking your lower lip. "So beautiful, so perfect like this. My little queen, coming undone beneath me."

You whimper his name, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he moves with deliberate, punishing thrusts. Each one sends shockwaves through your body, making your mind hazy, your vision blur.

Aegon chuckles darkly, leaning down to kiss your forehead, his lips soft against your overheated skin. But his next words send a fresh shudder through you.

"I want my heir in you," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. "I want to see you swollen with my child, to watch you carry the blood of the dragon inside you."

Your breath falters, a soft moan slipping past your lips at his claim. He watches your reaction closely, smirking at the way you tremble beneath him.

"Do you want that, sweet wife?" he taunts, slowing his movements to a deep, languid pace that has you gasping. "Do you want to give me my heir?"

"Aegon-" You whisper his name like a prayer, your fingers curling into the sheets, your body arching into his.

"Say it," he demands, his grip tightening on your waist, his breath warm against your lips. "Say you want to carry my child."

Your heart pounds, your mind swimming in the overwhelming sensation of him-his heat, his strength, his desire. And when you finally find your voice, you give him what he wants.

"Yes," you breathe, your eyes locking onto his. "I want it, Aegon. I want to give you an heir."

Aegon groans, his control snapping completely as he captures your lips in a searing kiss, his body moving against yours with renewed intensity. His hands roam possessively over your skin, his touch branding you as his own.

"You are mine," he growls against your lips. "And soon, the whole realm will know it."

Aegon watches you, mesmerized by the way your body moves beneath him, how your breasts bouncing with every thrusts he gave you, how your lips part as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. His name spills from your lips like a prayer, your nails digging into his arms as he drives into you with a pace that leaves no room for escape.

"Gods," he groans, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "You have no idea how beautiful you are like this, how perfect you look beneath me."

You barely register his words, your mind lost in the overwhelming pleasure he's giving you. But Aegon isn't done yet. His hands grip your hips tightly, anchoring you to him as he slows his thrusts, dragging out each movement with a teasing precision that has you whimpering.

"Open your eyes, sweet wife," he commands, his voice rough, edged with desperation.

You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze-wild, filled with fire, with something deeper, something that shakes you to your core. His hand cradles your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

"You always ask why I won't let you join the war," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your parted lips. "It's because I can't lose you."

Your breath catches, his words sinking in even as your body trembles beneath him. His grip tightens, his eyes burning into yours.

"I can fight battles, I can burn cities, but if i were to lose you-" He shakes his head, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. "I would lose myself."

Your hands cup his face, pulling him down for a kiss, slow and deep, pouring everything you feel into it. Aegon groans into your mouth, swallowing your sighs, his body claiming yours completely.

"You belong to me," he whispers against your lips. "And I will never let anything take you away from me."

And with that, he thrusts into you one last time, his body tensing, his grip on you bruising as he finally finds his release, pulling you over the edge with him.

He collapses against you, his breath heavy, his heart pounding wildly against your own. And in the quiet after, as he holds you close, his arms wrapped around you like a shield, you know that there is no place safer than here, in his embrace.

Aegon's breath hitches as you slowly lift yourself onto his lap, your thighs trembling from exhaustion, but you ignore it. Rhaenys's words echo in your mind-Aegon likes it when you take control. And now, as you straddle him, his hands resting uncertainly on your waist, you see the truth in it. His violet eyes widen slightly in surprise, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words come.

Instead, you lower yourself onto him, taking him in inch by inch, and a deep groan rumbles in his chest. His grip on your waist tightens, fingers digging into your skin as if to steady himself.

"Gods," he breathes, his head falling back against the headboard. "You're going to be the death of me, sweet wife."

A small, breathy laugh escapes you as you place your hands on his shoulders, your fingers tracing the muscles there, feeling them tense beneath your touch. You move slowly at first, rolling your hips experimentally, and Aegon's response is immediate—a low, strangled moan, his hands sliding up your back before gripping your hair and pulling you in for a bruising kiss.

"You enjoy this, don't you?" he murmurs against your lips, his voice laced with amusement, but also something deeper— something desperate.

You meet his gaze, your cheeks flushed, your breaths shallow. "You do too," you whisper, testing your power over him by shifting your hips again. His whole body tenses beneath you, his nails pressing into your skin.

His laugh is rough, almost breathless. "I do." His hands trail down to your hips, guiding your movements now, his patience slipping away as he urges you to move faster. "Take what you want from me, my love. I am yours."

The way he says it-so open, so raw-sends shivers down your spine. You move with newfound confidence, chasing your own pleasure, and Aegon watches you with something akin to awe. His hands never leave your body, touching you wherever he can, like he's memorizing you, like he needs to feel you to believe this moment is real.

"You look divine," he murmurs, his voice strained. "Like a queen sitting on her throne."

You whimper at his words, at the fire in his eyes, and he groans when you clench around him in response. His head falls forward, his lips finding your throat, his teeth grazing your skin before he kisses the spot tenderly.

"I should've taken you like this from the start," he mutters, his hands gripping your hips tighter. "Should've let you ruin me."

Your heart pounds at his confession, at the way he surrenders to you so completely. You lean down, capturing his lips with yours in a slow, deep kiss, and Aegon swallows your moans, his arms wrapping around you as if to fuse your bodies together.

He's close now-you can feel it in the way his cock start twitching inside of you, in the way his grip tightens, his breath growing heavier. And when you finally tip over the edge, calling his name like a prayer, he follows immediately after, his arms holding you close as he loses himself in you completely.

For a long moment, neither of you move. You simply rest against him, your foreheads touching, your breaths mingling. Aegon's fingers trace lazy patterns against your back, his hold on you possessive yet tender.

"You are my undoing," he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. "And I would let you ruin me over and over again."

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you curl against his chest, and for the first time since your marriage began, you feel like you truly belong to him-not just as his wife, but as his equal, as the only one who could ever bring the mighty Aegon the Conqueror to his knees.

Aegon moves swiftly, his strong hands gripping your waist as he flips you onto your back. A surprised gasp escapes your lips, but he silences it with a deep kiss, his body pressing down against yours, molding you into the mattress beneath him. His warmth surrounds you, his presence consuming every inch of your being.

He pulls away just enough to meet your gaze, his violet eyes burning with something primal, something possessive. "Mine," he murmurs, his voice rough yet tender. "Say it."

You shudder beneath him, your hands sliding up his arms to grasp his shoulders. "Yours, Aegon. I'm yours."

A dark smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, satisfied with your answer, and then he moves -slow, deliberate, sinking himself back into you as if to claim you once more. You arch into him, your nails digging into his back as waves of pleasure roll through you.

"Gods," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "You feel-" His words cut off as he thrusts deeper, eliciting a breathy moan from you. He shudders, his lips grazing your skin. "So perfect. So fucking perfect."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, wanting to feel all of him. He grunts at the movement, his pace faltering for a brief moment before he grips your thighs, anchoring himself to you.

"I've waited for this," he confesses, voice hoarse with need. "For you." He lifts his head, his nose brushing against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "Do you know how long I've dreamed of this, of you?"

Your heart stammers at his words, your fingers tangling in his silver hair. You press a soft kiss to his lips, whispering, "Then take me, Aegon."

A guttural sound escapes him, something between a growl and a moan, and he does exactly that. He moves with purpose, with possession, as if trying to engrave himself into your very soul. His hands roam your body, memorizing every dip and curve, his lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they touch.

And as the pleasure builds, as the world outside this bed fades away, you whisper to him again and again, "I love you, Aegon."

His movements slow for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening slightly as if caught off guard. Then, a soft, almost reverent smile spreads across his lips, and he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss so deep it steals your breath.

"I love you too," he murmurs against your lips, his voice raw with emotion. "More than you'll ever know."

And with that, he drives into you once more, worshiping you, claiming you, making sure that from this night forward, there will be no doubt in your mind-you belong to him, just as he belongs to you.

Aegon watches you with hunger in his violet eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips as he drives into you relentlessly. Your body arches, seeking more of him, your hands clutching his shoulders like a lifeline. Every thrust steals the breath from your lungs, every movement sending you spiraling further into oblivion.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. "So beautiful like this-mine to take, mine to ruin."

Your lips part, a broken moan escaping as his hands roam your body. He knows exactly where to touch, where to press, where to make you lose yourself completely. You're drowning in him, your senses overwhelmed by his scent, his warmth, the sheer dominance of his presence.

"Aegon-" His name falls from your lips like a prayer, your voice trembling.

He chuckles darkly, his grip tightening on your hips as he pulls you closer, deeper. "Say it again," he commands, his breath hot against your ear.

You obey without hesitation, your nails digging into his back as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. "Aegon-please-"

He growls at your desperation, his pace growing rougher, more desperate. His hands slip beneath your thighs, lifting your legs higher so he can bury himself even deeper.

The sensation is too much, your body trembling, your head thrown back as you come undone beneath him. His gaze locks onto your face, mesmerized by the way your lips part, the way your eyes squeeze shut in pure bliss. "Gods, you're perfect," he rasps, his movements never slowing.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he shifts, flipping you onto your stomach. A gasp leaves you as he presses his chest against your back, his lips tracing the curve of your neck. His hands slide down your body, gripping your waist as he enters you again, the new angle sending sparks of pleasure through you.

Your fingers grasp at the sheets, your voice breaking into breathless cries. "Aegon-"

"That's it," he groans, his teeth grazing your shoulder. "Let them hear you. Let them all know who you belong to."

Your mind is a haze, your body nothing but fire and sensation. He's relentless, pushing you further, pulling you under until you're lost in him completely. Your world narrows to the feeling of him, the sound of his breath, the way he whispers your name like a promise.

When you shatter again, it's with his name on your lips, his hands holding you close, grounding you even as he takes you apart. And as the pleasure fades, as your body melts into his, he presses a soft kiss to your temple, his fingers tracing circles against your skin.

"You're mine," he murmurs against your ear, his voice softer now, filled with something deeper, something more. "And I'll never let you go."

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and for the first time, you see it-love, raw and unguarded, shining in his violet eyes. A slow smile curls on your lips as you whisper back, "I was always yours, Aegon."

Aegon's arms tighten around you, his breath warm against the nape of your neck as his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles over your stomach. His touch is almost reverent, as if he's memorizing the shape of you beneath his hands. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the way his grip lingers as if he's afraid to let go.

"I should have taken you sooner," he murmurs, his voice tinged with something between regret and longing. "Should have claimed you the moment you were mine."

You turn slightly in his embrace, your fingers reaching for his hand, gently lacing your fingers with his. "You have me now," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "And I will give you what you want, Aegon. I will bear your children."

A sharp inhale escapes him, his arms tightening instinctively as he buries his face against your shoulder. His lips press against your bare skin, lingering there, his exhale warm and shaky. "You don't know what that means to me," he admits, his voice quieter now, stripped of its usual arrogance.

"Sleep, my queen," he murmurs against your ear, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your stomach.

You sigh in contentment, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Goodnight, my king."

And as your eyes flutter shut, you know this is only the beginning.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow

[honeyyyblue]

✧ it's hard to spend time together when satoru is barely ever home, always away with some mission, due to his reputation as 'the strongest'.

that's why he spends the time he does get buried deep inside you because he knows how rare moments like these are.

moments like right now.

he's fucking you from behind, your tear-streaked face pressed against the mattress as he pounds into you. your molten walls clench around his girthy length and he groans at the feeling.

'that's it, good girl. fuck, you're taking it so well, precious.'

''toru, ngh-,' you're so fucked out you can't even form actual words.

'what's that, sweetheart?'

you manage to mumble something along the lines of 'so full, need more, 'toru'.

satoru's cock hurts at how desperate you sound.

'look at you,' he coos 'always begging for my cock.' you whine into the mattress when he punctuates his sentence with an exceptionally harder and deeper thrust.

'you used to be my sweet angel, so innocent and pure,' he hisses when you clench around him, harder this time 'since when did you become such a cockhungry little slut?'

your cheeks flame crimson. you're embarrassed because, well, he's right. every moment he's away has you thinking about him. his cock, his hands until your own hands creep down your body to in between your legs until you have yourself whimpering his name out to nothing.

you were down bad. and it's not any different for satoru.

'don't worry, baby. if you want cock so bad, i'll give it to you. i'll give you anything- everything.'

he hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you up, your back flush against his broad chest. the new position makes him shift inside you and the feeling has you sobbing.

''toru, please.'

'please what? use your words, baby,' the grin on his face is huge as he watches you try form coherent sentences. his other hand wraps around your throat, pressing just hard enough to weaken the airflow to your head.

''toru, i'm gonna cum,' your head is spinning and you're pawing at the hand at your throat.

'aw, does my baby want to come?' he purrs in your ear.

'yes,' you manage to breathe out.

'then, beg.'

cocky little shit.

'pleasee, 'toru,' you whine, helplessly 'please, please, please. i've been a good girl. just please let me.'

he leans in to press a kiss against your shoulder his snowy hair tickling your skin. 'go ahead,' he whispers against your neck 'come for me, love.'

and god, oh, yes, you do.

your orgasm has you seeing stars, your vision going a little blurry at the white hot pleasure.

the sensation of your walls spasming around his length sends him over the edge, a few more thrusts and you feel him empty inside, his thick release painting your walls white. his hold on your throat loosens and you catch your breaths together as you come down from your high.

he pulls out of you and gently lays you down on the bed, joining you momentarily. you've lost all feeling in your legs and there's a dull ache between them. you slowly turn towards satoru to find him smiling drowsily at you, bright blue eyes hooded from exhaustion. you smile back at him, too tired to formulate a thought. he pulls you toward him and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

'i love you, sweetheart' was the last thing you heard before you drifted off to sleep.

please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.

[eddiesxangel]

Babymoon | Rockstar!Eddie

Summery: rockstar!eddie and pop!princess are back! The two of you take a much needed tropical vacation after having your baby girl.

Cw: smut smut smut, Dom!eddie x sub!Reader, established relationship, Age gap, oral ( giving and receiving), anal play (receiving), fingering(receiving), cum eating, creampies, slight breeding kink, use of mommy+daddy+sir, spanking, 2.3k words

“Hey, Mommy.” Eddie slinks his hands around your waist, pulling you in from behind. He has that tone in his voice when he wants something, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Yes, my darling?” you take the bait.

“We are finally alone” he kisses the side of your neck.

“Yes,” you can’t help but sigh.

It’s been 6 months since you gave birth to little Lila-Rose, and you miss her dearly, even if you and Eddie have been away less than 12 hrs.

This babymoon trip is long overdue. The white sandy beach, the turquoise ocean, and the cocktails were all screaming your name.

“You know what that means?” He continues to kiss your neck as his hands start trailing under your shirt to feel your skin.

“We have been here all of 5 minutes.” You can’t help but giggle. You want him just as badly but you cannot help but tease your fiancé.

“You’re just lucky we didn’t have enough time in the jet for me to be all over you, Angel.”

“Oh is that what I am? Lucky?” You turn in his arms, wrapping yours behind his neck.

“I’d say extremely,” he tucks a piece of loose hair behind your ear before he leans in to kiss you.

You and Eddie are standing in the living room, making out like a couple of teenagers when Eddie’s grip tightens and pulls you in, encouraging you up to wrap your legs around his waist. His strong hands grip the meat of your ass. His hands slink under the rough fabric of your cut-off jean shorts as he walks you to the couch before he changes his mind.

“What’s wrong with the couch?”

“You deserve better”

“Oh is that right? Nothing to do with your old man body?” You giggle and he slaps your ass.

“Oh, you wanna play Princess? Is that it?”

“Yes, Sir” you bite your lip.

It has been so long since you were able to have loud and rough sex with Eddie.

You always were worried about the baby and Violet Rose hearing you and you didn’t want another incident. So very quiet sex was had until Eddie got the contractors in to soundproof the bedroom.

Eddie can’t help but moan and speed walks you to the perfectly made California King that was staged in the centre of the room overlooking the ocean.

You’re thrown on the bed and you can’t help but giggle. You watch Eddie strip his t-shirt, the little blacked out angel wings over his heart catch your eye every time he’s shirtless.

“Like what you see?” He smirks.

“You know I do” You pull him down onto you, the weight of his body delicately balanced above, but you wanted more. You want to feel him, all of him, on top of you.

“You’re wearing too many clothes” Eddie was ready to rip the fabric but then he would lose his favourite pair of shorts.

After what seemed like forever the both of you were finally naked on the bed. Eddie was trailing kisses as he made his way down your body when your phone started ringing.

You both stop and look at one another.

“Don’t answer it” Eddie pleads.

“What if it’s the girls?” You ask.

“Didn’t you tell them we got here safe and sound?” He asks.

“No, I didn’t have enough time, I was being seduced.” You raise a brow

“Fine “ Eddie drops his head on your lower stomachs in defeat.

“Hello?”

“Oh good you guys are alive.” Violet sighs.

“Yes baby, we just got here! Ran into some traffic.” You fib.

Eddie can’t help himself but start to kiss your stomach.

“Everything okay?” You flick your fiancée in the head.

“Ouch!”

“We are okay, is dad okay?” She giggles.

“Oh yeah he’s fine, you know how the elderly are” you smirk knowing you’re about to get punished.

“Okay, I’ll let you two lovebirds go. Stay safe, don’t get pregnant.” She giggles.

“Your dad says hello and he loves you. Call if you need anything okay?” You rush out.

“Okay, love you” you hand up and throw your phone across the bed.

“Elderly, huh? I’ll show you ‘elderly’”

Eddie flips you around as if you were made of feathers.

“Baby, no! I was just teasing!” you giggle.

“Your ass is mine” he growls and a rush of arousal washes over you.

“I’m sorry!” You plead.

“No, sweetheart, you wanted to play, we are playing.” Eddie's palm came down on your ass and it let a sharp slap fill the room.

“Hips up.” You whine but obey.

Eddie’s hands come down, interchanging between each cheek, over and over again until they were almost raw. Slap after slap your pussy swells as you can’t help but get wet for Eddie. He can see how aroused you are. Your clit is so puffy and pussy lips are so swollen, begging to be touched.

“Please touch me” you beg. The need for him was too much, now he was just being mean.

You squirm in his grip but he holds you down as each hand is placed on each cheek, spreading you out for him.

Your sensitive skink feels a single finger trail closer and closer to your centre. A sigh of relief relaxes your shoulders just a bit before you tense again as that finger collects your slick.

Eddie doesn’t say a word when he begins tracing your puckered hole with a slick-coated finger.

“Do you think you deserve it?” He mocks. Teasing your hole, over and over. Not daring to break the barrier.

“Yes, Sir, I’ve been a good girl” you cry, pushing your hips up further to get him to give in.

“I don’t know about that little one.” You feel him tease your hole a little bit more, pushing you to the breaking point. Only the tip pulses in and out of you.

“Please, I want you to fill me” you cry.

Eddie lives for when you get like this for him. It’s been a while since the two of you have play. He won’t give in so easily, the two have you just begun.

“Your wish is my command, Princess”

You perk up and Eddie is standing at the side of the bed. He guides you so that you are face level to his cock.

You smirk knowingly. Two can play at this game.

Slowly, you lick the tip of his leaking head, letting him see how your tongue coats his velvety skin. You continue the small kitten licks then start to kiss down the shaft, licking and kissing his cock, never putting it fully in your mouth.”

“I thought you wanted me in you” he huffs annoyed he’s not getting what he wanted.

“Can’t a woman worship her man?” You finally let his cock slide in.

“Shit” he grips the top of your head, pulling the hair taut. You hum in approval as you work his shaft.

His pubic hair tickles your nose but you pay no mind. You love having Eddie in your mouth, the way he tastes, the way he smells, the way he fits perfectly down your throat, it’s like he was made for you.

Your hands trail up your bare breasts playing with your nipples while your mouth encased his solid cock. The sight before Eddie was getting him so worked up-no longer could he not be in you.

“Need you, god I need you right now”

You slowly release him from your mouth, and a string of spit connects your mouth to his cock before Eddie lifts your chin

“Open”

You stick your tongue and Eddie leans down to lick to pool of saliva off of your tongue before he sloppily kisses you. Tongues dance as he crawls over you.

“Need you’s” and “take me’s” are mumbled as the both of you get tangled between the sheets.

Eddie slides himself into you effortlessly as you lay on your back. His hand hitch’s your knee high and tight to your chest. His hips slowly rock into you, teasing you just how he knows you like until you’re begging him to fuck you hard.

“More” you tuck a piece of fallen hair behind Eddie’s ear. Your hand stays on the side of his head as you play him lower to kiss you.

“Louder, I want to hear you” his hips snap and you moan out.

“That’s more like it”

“Baby” your breath hitched.

“I’m right here, baby”

“Fuck!” Your body arches as he hits your sweet spot.

So cock drunken, your mind goes fuzzy. The only thing that consumes you is how amazing Eddie feels inside of you. How much you love and adore him. How much you missed this version of him.

Yes, you love all parts of him, especially when he is in dad mode, but you both needed this trip. You both needed to let loose and be together.

“Pussy so good, she keeps sucking me in” Eddie watches where the two of you connect and you take advantage of the angle to kiss his chest, then up to his neck. Sucking the thin skin, softly breaking the blood vessels beneath, marking him, claiming him as yours.

“Shit baby” he moans.

“Eddie!” You cry out. Your body is on fire, you can’t hold it any longer. “Please, I need to cum!” Your grip on him tightens.

“Cum” he commands, and you can’t help but listen when he uses that voice.

Your core tightens one last time before your released yourself onto Eddie’s cock.

He pulls out unexpectedly and you start to ask him where he is going when you feel his mouth on your pussy.

Eddie needed to taste how he made you feel. He misses the taste on his tongue.

As Eddie sloppily makes out with your pussy, you can’t help but grind into his face. His nose is at the perfect angle to run your clit on.

You hear him moaning as you use his face.

“That’s it, baby, we aren’t done yet. Give me another one,” he spreads your legs wider with one hand and circles your clit with the other.

“More, please more” You're so close.

“My greedy girl,” Eddie smirks. He knows exactly what you’re asking for.

He lets the hand that is circling your clit sink lower coating it once again in your wet pussy. He keeps going until he’s reached your puckered hole.

You feel Eddie’s mouth on your pussy once more when shortly after his finger starts to play with your hole.

“Oh, Eddie!” You cry as his thick fingers sink themselves into you. The pleasurable pressure that fills your lower half is sending you to another dimension. Your head is so high up in the clouds, that you don’t realize the noise you’re making for Eddie.

“That’s it, baby, sing for me” he slaps your clit and it sends your body jerking into your second orgasm of the evening.

“Oh yes, goooood girl.” Eddie praises as he watches the euphoria, he granted you, wash all over your naked body.

He let you come down as he peppered kisses all over your body, he worked his way up until he got to your breast and stayed there while he slip his cock back into you.

“So full” you sigh.

“You like how my big cock stretches your tight pussy, mama?”

“Yes, Daddy. ‘Make me feel so good.” You cry. You’re overwhelmed by the continuous pleasure that runs through you.

Pump after pump of his cock grazing that spot deep within your pussy walls has orgasm number three building up faster and faster. Long gone were nights of multiple orgasms. You and Eddie were lucky to get one in a week, with your new baby scheduled and all. Your body is deprived for months of bonding with your financé properly, how you want him inside of you at all times. The need and hunger for him have only increased since having his baby. Seeing him with her only makes you want to fuck him more, to commit to him, to marry him.

“Fuck, baby, pussy so good. I’m so close.”

“Yes cum, I want it so bad”

“You want me to fill you up, make another baby?”

“Yes, Daddy, please”

Your hips rock into one another, and your bodies mould into one. He kissed you with so much love behind it. Even if you were fucking, and not making love, he always kissed you like this right before he cums.

Not being able to hold out any longer you release at the same time. Your orgasms take over your physical being before you are both brought down to earth.

A breathy chuckle leaves Eddie as he realizes the sex you were just able to have and are going to have these next ten days in this sandy beach paradise.

“Wow,” you sigh. Your pussy filled with Eddie’s seed. You start to lazily make out with Eddie, exhaustion washes over you but you want him still.

“Not too bad for an old man… Can’t get enough, huh, mama?”

“No” you smile. “Let’s get married”

“Baby, did I fuck you too hard? There is a rock on your finger that already signifies I asked you that already”

You slap his bare ass. “I know that smart ass” you laugh. “I mean let’s start planning, I want to be yours. Officially” you kiss him again. Eddie can’t help but smile. The novelty of you saying those words never will get old.

“Whatever you want princess. I’ll marry you right here right now”

“We can’t do that to the kids”

“You’re right, I need our babies by our side.”

“And Wayne, and my parents” you poke his chest.

“Yes, yes, of course.” he kisses you again to shut you up.

“You trying to go for round two old man?” You giggle.

“You're really asking for it aren't you, Angel?”

“Mmmmmm, maybe” you pinch his tattooed butt cheek.

Safe to say you’re not leaving this room until the early hours of the morning.

Wildflower Tag list: @hauntedfawnn @eddiesghxst @niallerlover8022

@eddiesguitarskills @all-dogs-die

@mimsie95 @mystargirl-interlude @rip-quizilla @munsonology @ali-r3n

@callsignraver @allthingsjoeq @ceriseheaven @amira0303

@mmunson86

@lofaewrites @taintedcigs @take-everything-you-can @lokis-army-77 @hellfiremunsonn

@hellfirenacht @oneforthemunny @Ima1986 @mimsie95

@straykeeks

@crazycat-ladys-blog @starksbabie @hellfire--cult @goth-cowgirl-03 @dashingdeb16

@slayyymisha @xblueriddlex @kellsck @localemofreak

@goodbyeghOst

@nope-thanks @nabiiturner @neurospicynugget @micheledawn1975 @mikromoon

@corrodedcoffincumslut @http-dilflvr @abitchyouhate

[jugheadtheredhead]

now that this is making its rounds again, it’s even more important than ever to foster and grow this hope. im a young queer woman living in the united states rn, do you think that i do not see horrors? i live in a red state. i wake up everyday with crippling fear, but do you know what keeps me going?

hope. that is what keeps me going.

hope doesn’t look like me blindly optimistic about everything and the fact that people think that that is what this post means breaks my heart. hope is knowing things are bad and wanting to change that. so many people have spread hate on this post and missed the point that both op and i were trying to make, hope is so much stronger than fear. every revolution started with hope. every rebellion. every movement. and that is what i say in my original post.

because the world and humanity at its core is beautiful. people can be beautiful. if we work together to take down the people who want us to be scared, who want us to give up, we can build the world that this post is about.

and listen: they take away our rights, they censor our media, they send away our friends, they rob us blind, and you’re really gonna let them take away your hope too? that is exactly what they want. don’t become complacent, don’t say “oh well things are just terrible and that’s life”, because you can make a change.

hope is not ignorance. i am not ignorant. hope is diving into the abyss scared as shit but the only way out is through and there is always, always a light at the end of the tunnel.

i have seen the abyss too. have sat in the abyss. have let it consume me. i will not let the darkness win, i will not live in the abyss forever. why choose darkness and nihilism when you can choose light and be the change you want to see?

In the future, children will think our ways are strange. "Why do old people always grow so much milkweed in their gardens?" they'll say. "Why do old people always write down when the first bees and butterflies show up? Why do old people hate lawn grass so much? Why do old people like to sit outside and watch bees?"

We will try to explain to them that when we were young, most people's yards were almost entirely short grass with barely any flowers at all, and it was so commonplace to spray poisons to kill insects and weeds that it was feared monarch butterflies and American bumblebees would soon go extinct. We will show them pictures of sidewalks, shops, and houses surrounded by empty grass without any flowers or vegetables and they will stare at them like we stared at pictures of grimy children working in coal mines

[aliwritex]

oscar thoughts: college student!reader riding his thigh 18+ 1.2k

notes: he’s a bit clueless in this and it was caused because of this pic. it’s quite silly but i like this don’t be mean

Chess at a house party. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a party and it wasn’t a house. But chess wasn’t really in your plans for the end of semester gathering. Fine, it wasn’t a gathering either, something in between. Your apartment was full of classmates, most of them, dancing, talking or having a drink. But in the corner of the living room sat your roommate and two of his friends, playing chess.

“What are you doing? This is an excuse to not use our brains and you’re ruining it.”

“Oh, come here, you have to play Oscar, he’s too good. Think you could beat him though.”

“Scott, I’m not gonna play chess when I’m hosting a party”

“Cmon, everyone’s set and having fun, have a game, please, Oscar’s feeling a little out of place.”

You were familiar with Oscar, he was friends with Scott, your roommate, and you’d met him a couple times, he was nice, polite and hot. So you sat down, watching the boy replace the pieces to the right spots.

“Best of three?”

“For what?”

“Don’t know yet, i’ll decide while we play” you teased and watched him nod and sign at the table, letting you know you had the white pieces.

Oscar won the first match, you the second, gathering low cheering from your two friends that watched.

“Right, if I win this one, I get to take you to my room for ‘seven minutes in heaven’ or more” you teased.

Said and done, you won the last round. Maybe he let you but you didn’t mind. You both got up and you took his hand in yours, guiding him to the other side of the apartment as your friends cheered on him.

You sat him on the bed and he just stared up at you.

“Are you a virgin?” you bluntly asked the boy and watched him blush uncontrollably.

“I- what? No!”

Watching him stutter made you smile. You walked across the room, taking off your shoes and looking around your vanity for a clip to hold your hair up.

“You sure act like one” you told him through the mirror “relax a little”

Oscar could swear he got a peak of your underwear when you bent over to do so.

“Seeing I’m the winner, think I'm gonna claim my prize. And I’ve wanted to do this for a while”

Your confession made him choke on his breath as he watched you walk over to him. Your finger reached out for his chin, making him lift his head, brown eyes staring up at you through lashes. You kissed his pouty lips, sitting on his thigh. Your action knocked the breath out of his lungs, he could not respond to your kiss for a second.

“C’mon, don’t be so shy”

You guided his hands to your waist, under your flowy shirt. They were cold and slightly shaking but the touch felt good, reassuring. Your short skirt had bunched up around your hips, allowing you to feel his thigh muscles right against your underwear as you kissed. Your hands dived into his already messy hair as your tongue made it into his mouth.

His thumbs caressed your sides softly, a tentative touch that showed him getting more confident. His hands then reached up your back, lifting your shirt to expose your stomach and allowing him to catch a glimpse of a tattoo he didn’t know about, it made him curious.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked when your lips left his to explore his neck.

You chuckled at his question and slowly pulled away from him “Just sit here for me, yeah? Wanna use you for bit”

Your lips met his again and your hands dropped to take his to your hips. Then you started to move.

You had a particularly thin pair of panties on that allowed you to feel the texture of his shorts against your skin as your hips dragged forwards. You moved back, arching your back and letting his hands follow your hips. When you bucked forwards again Oscar understood what you were doing and he was in shock. But as soon as he recomposed himself he spread his legs further, making his shorts ride up.

Then the only thing separating you was your underwear but he took care of that too. His hand carefully and slowly met your middle, tucking your panties to the side. You groaned when you felt your wet lips meet his thigh, his cool skin contrasting with your middle.

Your hips moved faster and the pleasure made your head fall back, letting Oscar watch your body moving, in awe. He could feel your thigh muscles flexing beneath his hands as you moved and he was watching the way your breathing became ragged.

Your hands left his shoulders for a second, just to pull down the straps of your top, it made your boobs fall out of it, right on his face. Then you were back at it, hips moving fast, hands grabbing his shoulders, tits on his face and occasional pretty moans, you were putting on a show for him.

And it was working. He was watching like he didn’t want to miss a second of your performance. And you could feel his hard cock pressing against your knee when you moved. You couldn’t lie, it felt powerful to have him like that, under you, watching so mesmerized. You would love to concentrate on his face to see his reactions but you were already feeling your insides tighten.

Moans started coming out of your lips with no filter, you knew the music in the apartment was loud enough that only Oscar would hear them. Your thighs tightened around his and almost stopped you from moving. You were about to lose your high when his hands met your hips again and helped your movements.

You squeezed his shoulders tightly when you came, legs also tensing up around his till he was trapped. He made sure to keep his eyes on you as you did, watching your face contorting with pleasure, head thrown back and mouth open, a strangled moan making its way out.

He sighed when your head finally dropped to his shoulder and your body relaxed on top of him.

“Didn’t know you had a tattoo” he whispered to the side of your neck as his thumb caressed the mark on your stomach.

“I don’t go around showing it to everyone. Maybe you could see all of it some day though.” you teased as you pulled away, kissing his lips quickly.

A string of wetness connected your cunt to his thigh when you got up, the view making him groan. He watched from the bed as you pulled your straps back up and your skirt down but instead of straightening up your panties you took them off. You thought about it for a second before throwing them on his lap.

“You sort yourself out,” you told him through the mirror again as you let your hair down this time, now allowing him a view of your wet cunt when you bent over, “see you outside”

Oscar just watched you walk out of the room, he couldn’t say anything, just throw his body back on the bed and think about what happened.

[ditzydoe444]

Ok now I need hybrid reader getting fucked by Bruce and dick behind Jason’s back but Jason can smell them on her and he takes her to remind her who belongs to then goes off on Bruce and dick lmao

MDNI 18+

cw: hybrid puppy reader mentions of ears and tails

the moment jason stepped into his shared room with you he could sense something was off. maybe it was the way the bed was a mess, pillows thrown onto the floor, blankets falling into a mess and your limp body asleep.

however, due to your heightened senses and ability to track him down your body instinctively rose from your slumber, your eyes wide seeing him. “jacey!” you beamed, jumping into your arms like you weren’t knocked out sleep a few seconds before.

you smelt different.

he frowned, his brows narrowing as he observed your body in your tiny skimpy shorts that barely concealed anything. “what were you up to when i was away darlin’?”

you grinned, your pearly whites shining, “oh nothing,” you beamed shyly a faint blush on your cheeks as you avoided eye contact. you were hiding something.

jason’s strong hands gripped your chin, forcing you to stare at him.

“what did you do?”

he watched as your face flushed even more. “dick and bruce paid a visit,” you mumbled barely audible as your fluffy ears drooped down. “and?” his voice now stern.

“i didn’t mean it!” your voice high pitched whilst your eyes stared at him pleadingly.

“i was just so hot and bothered an-”

“and what?” his gaze cold, he already knew what happened but he wanted it to come out of your mouth first.

“i was horny and they fucked me,” you mumbled softly.

he nodded, “i knew the moment i smelt you pup,” his voice cold as he stared into your wide puppy eyes.

“i’m sorry jacey! i promise it won’t happen again!” you pleaded, eyes wide and filled with tears at the thought of losing him.

**

jason made sure it wouldn’t happen again, as he was balls deep inside you, making the flimsy bed creak as you whined and writhed underneath him.

“jacey!”

“shut it pup, you need to learn your fucking lesson,” his thrusts were harsh and mean, bullying your sweet spots whilst your gummy walls squeezed him tightly. “need you to know who you belong to and not get your holes filled by anyone that spares you a glance alright?”

“ok jacey!” you whined loudly as you barely took him in, choking on your own saliva.

“might need to get you a collar hm? to show people you’re mine only so you don’t go humping them like a dog in heat.”

he watched as a white ring was formed on the bae of his cock, how your arousal dripped down to his pubes. “jacey jacey,” you mumbled like a mantra, eyes rolling back as you got closer to your edge.

“alright sweet thing, i’ll let you come only if you don’t go bouncin’ on other guys dicks alright? if i find out i’ll edge you so god damn much.”

“promise jacey! i’ll be good!” you yelped as your body bounced with his harsh moments. sweat glistened on your soft body whilst your pupils were dilated, mouth hung open pathetically.

**

jason gave dick and bruce a stern warning, the two clearly did not care. “she came and started humping on my thigh, naked how could i say no?” dick shrugged as he mentally relieved the memory.

the way your fluffy tail seemed to wag seeing two attractive men was a dead give away, and the smell of your arousal filled their nostrils when they saw you. “yeah well she’s fucking mine, so don’t go fucking her alright?” jason narrowed his eyes at the two.

“just make sure she’s not humpin’ us first then we have a deal,” bruce grumbled lowly his pants straining near his crotch just discussing about fucking you.