#masterlist is coming along... fuckin finally right

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time He Got Jealous Of His Twin Brother”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: brothers au, pure fluff, slight Yuuji x Reader but we all know who you’re really here for, Sukuna is down bad, narration is mostly from Sukuna’s POV

Word Count: 1.80k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Sukuna is a fucking geinus.

His plan is full proof. His brothers put him in charge of buying the tickets for some stupid ass movie Yuuji wants to go see, and you always write your work schedule down on the calendar taped to the fridge. Sure, yeah, maybe he had to call out sick for today because this was the only day that Choso had work and you didn’t, but now he knows that his plan will fall perfectly into place. Yuuji is already at the apartment, you’ll come downstairs eventually, and Yuuji will invite you to come to the movie in Choso’s place, making it look like a total coincidence and definitely not something he’s been meticulously planning all week.

Could he have just, I don’t know, asked you to go on a date with him? Of course not, that’s fucking ridiculous. This makes so much more sense.

I mean, you absolutely loved The Human Centipede, definitely weren’t covering your eyes in terror and disgust when he showed it to you, so it’s a no brainer that you’ll just adore Human Earthworm. Hah! What a fuckin’ joke, you’ll be dragging Sukuna out of the theatre within five minutes and begging him to take you out somewhere else without his annoying twin brother.

It’s perfect.

Him and Yuuji are lounging on opposite ends of the couch while Yuuji is going on and on about an Elden Ring boss he can’t beat. Sukuna has his boots propped up on the coffee table and his arms resting behind his head as he half listens to his brother, and more so keeps an ear out for your footsteps upstairs.

“I was gonna try and beat her without summons but she’s kicking my ass, how many tries did it take you?”

“One.”

“Ugh!” Yuuji flops backwards on the couch, grabbing a throw pillow and shoving it over his face, his defeated whines muffled through the plush cotton, “She’s so impossible!”

Footsteps, finally. As you walk into the living room Yuuji uncovers his face, and you stop dead in your tracks, pointing at him, and then his brother, back and forth a few times before rubbing your eyes.

“Holy shit, there’s two of you?”

Oh yeah, I never mentioned my family huh?

Sukuna just gives you a smug smirk, “Three, but the emo one couldn’t make it.”

Yuuji perks up, jolting upright on the couch and giving you a bright smile, “Hi! I’m the normal one!”

You pull a chair out from the kitchen table, plopping yourself down into the wooden seat, “I think I’m gonna faint.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Sukuna is… a fucking idiot.

He knew his brother had a bubbly personality and could get along with literally anyone, but how was he supposed to know that you two would hit it off so well? Yuuji is pulling out all the stops, holding the door open for you, offering to pay for your popcorn, god it’s like he’s trying to get on Sukuna’s nerves.

Granted, it’s not like Sukuna told him that he likes you, but I mean for fucks sake that’s his twin brother! Shouldn’t he have some sort of sixth sense for this kind of thing?

That pink haired fucker has you wrapped around his little finger, you’re looking at him with googly eyes and cheesing like it’s fucking picture day. Ridiculous. Why don’t you ever smile like that for him? He’s funny!

I’m never letting him in the apartment again.

The three of you walk up to the top row of the nearly empty theater, Sukuna making sure to sit right between you and Yuuji. Previews are rolling on the screen as Sukuna is trying his damndest to hide the scowl on his face, his large arms crossed over his broad chest as he watches the way the large screen reflects different colors into your eyes. He didn’t really think this far ahead, he’s got you next to him at the movies but… what now? He’s mentally kicking himself enough as it is for not considering his overly charismatic brother, and now he’s realizing that he doesn’t even know what his own intentions are.

Did he just want to take you somewhere? Is he trying to sleep with you? Does he want to be… romantic with you?

God, what has he become? He’s supposed to be the tough fucking scary guy and he’s not only getting shown up by his nerdy brother, but also getting nervous at the thought of making a move on you.

Yuuji flings popcorn in your direction, making you squeal out a giggle as it gently lands in your hair. Sukuna groans, hardly paying attention as he’s deep in thought, running his finger through your hair and flicking the popcorn away. He’s so consumed in his own head that he completely misses the blush that tints your cheeks at his tender touch.

Should I have even bothered with this? I feel like staying at the house would’ve been better at this point.

A piece of popcorn flies into his eye.

“Ugh,” This is so stupid, Sukuna rubs his eyelid with his thumb, “Watch it, brat.”

Yuuji tosses his hands up defensively and you giggle again, leaning over the armrest and placing your pointer finger on Sukuna’s cheek, tilting his face to turn towards you. Have your eyes always been that bright?

“Ooh, bullseye.” He can feel your breath fanning on his face, you’re so close, but just as abruptly as you leaned in, you lean back into your seat. God, he wants more than anything to tell you to come back, but the words wouldn’t be able to escape his lips if he tried. Unfortunately, all he manages to do is glare down at you and make you shift awkwardly under his gaze, mumbling out a quick apology.

Fuck. I think I scared them.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

From what you’ve been able to gather, this movie is weird. Is it horror or romance? You’ve been having trouble paying attention, far too distracted by Yuuji leaning over the very annoyed looking Sukuna to excitedly whisper tidbits about the movie to you. But every time you look over to Yuuji your eyes can’t help but wander to Sukuna’s profile, the flashing lights of the large screen illuminating his tattooed skin, his bottom lip tutting out to blow the loose strand of his pink hair resting on his brow out of his eyes-

Ah dammit, I’m doing it again.

You’re so confused. Sukuna has been giving you mixed signals all night, sweetly running his fingers through your hair one moment, then glowering at you like he wants you dead the next. He’s so unpredictable, and you’ve been so distracted by him all evening that you’ve hardly been able to pay any attention to poor Yuuji, giving him bright smiles and fake laughs while your mind is completely consumed with Sukuna.

He’s been so grumpy the entire evening, you’ve been feeling like he’s… disappointed? Is he mad his other brother couldn’t come? Is he mad that you took the emo one’s place? Would he rather somebody else have gone to the movie with him? It was Yuuji’s idea for you to tag along, so it’s safe to assume that if Sukuna wanted you here he would have just invited you, right?

But then every now and again his eyes flicker to you, watching. Why is he looking at you like that? With his gaze so uncharacteristically soft, scanning your face like he’s searching for something, from the corner of your eye you can catch him looking at your lips.

Is there something on my face?

You’re ripped from your thoughts as a blood curdling scream erupts from the speakers, making you jump in your seat. You catch the tiniest glimpse of a smirk creeping on the corner of Sukuna’s lips as he sits like a rock, completely unbothered as per usual. You gently kick his foot under the seat, and he presses his large boot onto the top of your sneaker, pinning your shoe under his and keeping your foot locked in place under the sole of his steel toe boot.

You cross your arms over your chest, letting out a frustrated huff at him that only makes his grin grow wider, his face still pointed towards the large screen as he flashes his canines at you. He props his elbow on the armrest between you, resting his chin on the ball of his palm as he peers down at you with a smug grin.

“You ready to get out of here yet?”

Cocky fucker, I swear he gets off on making me mad.

“No.” You snap back defensively.

Unbeknownst to you, his question was not rhetorical. But you’re in it now, determined to sit through this entire movie even if it kills you. You’re bothering him enough just by being here, the last thing you want to do is make him feel like he needs to leave.

His smirk shifts into a grimace as he taps his boot on top of your shoe. You slide your sneaker away but he loops his calf around yours and pulls your leg towards him, gently kicking your foot. If you didn’t know better you’d almost think he was… trying to play footsies with you? You’re not really sure what he’s trying to do, all you know is that he’s still leaning on the armrest between you and probably unintentionally pulling you closer by your leg.

Your arm brushes against his as you try to maneuver your elbow onto the armrest, quietly muttering to him “You’re hogging up all the space.”

He leans down slightly to whisper in your ear, “Tragic. Use the other one.”

You nudge his forearm with your elbow, “Just move your arm.”

He lets out a quiet “Tch” and raises his arm to rest over the back of your seat instead, “This better, brat?”

You nod your head as a blush creeps onto your cheeks, luckily hidden by the darkness in the room. When you relax back into your chair you can feel his arm pressing into the back of your neck and his fingers lightly graze against your shoulder. It feels… kinda comforting, you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to lean into his touch and your heart starts to pound at the thought.

You don’t dare to look at Sukuna, deciding to quietly enjoy the moment. Which is a real shame, because if you did look at him there’s a chance you’d catch the way he’s gnawing on his bottom lip with a face that looks almost as flustered as your own.

He might be enjoying this more than you are, and he might even be thinking that having to sit through this movie might not be so bad after all.

A/N: POV you and Sukuna are two idiots who are into each other but neither of you have the balls to do something about it. Also writing Sukuna’s POV for the narration was SO FUN!!! We love our delusional king who sees you god forbid smile at another person and immediately assumes you’re in love with them Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[mrsbarnesblog]

meeting

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Summary: pregnant sex with Rafe in his office

Word count: 1k

Warnings: +18 ‼️ smut, pregnant sex, unprotected sex, kinda public sex?, sweet Rafe, dirty talk

A/N: requests are open <3

When you decided to take a walk outside and visit your husband in his office, you expected to spend some time with him or possibly have lunch together. But definitely not to be placed on his table with your summer dress only slightly covering your pregnant belly while Rafe was going in and out of you at a steady pace. 

Rafe was still wearing his white, perfectly ironed shirt; his pants were just unbuckled and slightly pushed down. Your eyes tried to focus on one thing but you couldn’t decide what in him looked more attractive to you. His was big, slightly hovering over you, with that familiar smirk on his lips and mischievous glimpse in his eyes. Yeah, your hormones were crazy because of your pregnancy, but having the sexiest man alive look at you like you were the best thing ever definitely added something to it. 

Rafe actually had a planned meeting in that exact room in twenty minutes but it was one of his latest concerns. Not when his beautiful, glowing, very pregnant, and very sensitive wife was spread in front of him. 

“Rafe—people can probably hear us.” You half whispered and half moaned as he gently lifted your leg onto his shoulder, allowing his cock to sink deeper into your greedy cunt. 

“Don’t care, sweets. Let ‘em hear how good you feel.” He grumbled, moving one hand to your heavy breasts and pinching your overly sensitive nipple. “Shit, your tits look so perfect right now, princess. You know I can't resist you when you’re all round and with my baby growing inside. So fuckin’ hot, and look at that… your pussy ‘s just sucking me right back in.”

Your eyes rolled back both because of his words and the way his cock was perfectly hitting that spot inside of you. You grabbed his hand that was currently playing with your tits, too desperate to have Rafe closer, to feel his skin on yours, but you couldn’t do much because of the belly that was already way too big. 

“I need you closer, please.” You almost cried, tears gathering at your waterline, while you tried to stay quieter and not be too obvious for people outside the office.

“Sh-h, baby. You know I can’t lay on you, yeah? Gotta protect both of my girls right here.” His hand slipped lower, gently caressing your bump. “Let me fuck you nice and slow, and then we’ll snuggle the whole evening after I get home.” 

You nodded a few times, eyes locked with your husband’s as his hips gently slapped against your skin. Rafe turned his head to the side, kissing your leg that was still thrown over his shoulder. His lips curled into a smirk, noticing how hungrily you looked at him, barely able to stay focused because of his thrusts. 

“Please don’t stop, Rafe—oh god, I’m gonna cum!” You squealed, arching your back from the wooden table beneath you. One hand was wrapped around Rafe’s wrist, digging your nails into his skin, and the other one was placed over your mouth to muffle your moans.

“Mhm, that’s right, cum for me, princess.” His low moan filled the office, along with the sound of skin slapping against skin and the creak of the table. “Your sweet pussy squeezes the shit out of me. Fuck, gonna make me come too. Want me to do it inside of ya, huh?” 

“Yes-yes, please! I need it!” With the first touch of Rafe’s fingers on your clit, you had finally reached your climax. He wasn’t far behind you, spilling his load inside, while your pussy was pulsating around him and almost not letting him move even for an inch.

“That’s right, take everything.” Rafe moaned, slowly sliding inside with eyes locked on the place where you two were connected. He swore that he could’ve come again just seeing your mixed cum glistering on his cock. “I would’ve fucked a baby right into you right now if you weren’t already pregnant. Shit, you look so hot, you can’t even imagine.”

“Stop!” You smiled through the post-orgasmic fog in your head, keeping your eyes closed. He just gave you another smirk before gently placing your leg down and lowering to kiss your stomach. 

You almost jumped from your place when you heard a quiet knock on the door. Rafe immediately reached behind your back to make you sit upright so that way he could cover your almost naked body from whoever was behind the door. 

“Um— Sir? I’m really sorry to disturb you, but your meeting is in two minutes and people are already waiting here.” Rafe rolled his eyes at the voice of his assistant, who luckily had enough brains to not walk inside. 

“Oh my god, Rafe. It’s— they heard us. They know what we were doing here!” Your eyes were rounded in embarrassment, looking at your almost unbothered husband. 

“You’re pregnant with my baby, princess. I’m sure everyone has already figured out that we have sex.” Rafe smirked at you again. “Give me five minutes!” He said to his assistant before focusing back on you. He helped you get your dress back on properly, put himself away, zipped up his trousers and then sank in front of you on his knees to put your panties in their place. “Are you both feeling alright?” 

“Mhm, but I’m so tired now.” You yawned and lowered your head on Rafe’s shoulder, as he stood up and brought you closer to his chest; your eyes became too heavy to keep them open.   

“I know, baby. C'mon, my driver will get you home, and I will be there as soon as possible, okay? I love you both so much.” He gently touched your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb, then placing a kiss on your forehead, nose and, finally, on your puffy lips. 

“We love you too.” You smiled into the kiss before Rafe helped you get off the table and walked you out of his office. You were trying not to die from embarrassment from all the knowing looks thrown in your direction while your husband proudly placed his hand on your lower back, not even batting an eye at others. 

[choslut]

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ ⌇ DRESS UP DOLL. featuring s. gojo.

↻ satoru gojo loves two things ; money, and playing dress up with his favourite girl.

tags : lingerie, daddy kink, light praise, creampie, possessive behaviour, spanking, light choking, hickeys, overstimulation (if you squint) // wc. 0.8k

author’s note : the first event work !! thank you for all the love you gave to the masterlist post, and i really hope n pray none of these works disappoint. love you all, notes n reblogs are appreciated <3

this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

GOJO loves playing dress up. he has a whole wardrobe in his penthouse apartment filled to the brim with pretty dresses and matching designer purses, along with classy two piece suits and a shoe collection costing a decade’s worth of the minimum wage salary.

he’s proud of his clothing collection, but he’s more proud of the beautiful girl who gets to experience this lush and lavish collection of expensive designer clothing, his own dress up doll who he makes sure looks nice and pretty just for him.

tonight, he’s decided he won’t take you out for a date in the city. he could’ve called his driver, had you dressed in his favourite silk bodycon and sat in a tri-michelin star restaurant in under an hour, but satoru gojo doesn’t feel like sharing his special doll with the eyes of the commonfolk. no, tonight, he’s had you stay in, and he’s still managed to play dress up all the same, but this particular outfit is reserved for his eyes only.

“turn around for me, doll. wanna see that cute little ass of yours in that thong.” you turn yourself on his king size bed and bend over forwards, teeth digging into your bottom lip as he runs a slender finger just along the hem of your lace panties and under the elastic garter. “you like this set?”

“yes, daddy,” you respond, back arching and hips swaying when he snaps the elastic back onto your thigh. “it’s my favourite.”

gojo smiles. “you said this about the one I bought you last week, angel. maybe you just like spending my money.” he doesn’t take offence to the fact that so much of his funds are spent on you. in fact, he’s happy that he’s the one that gets to spoil you rotten, because no other common guy out there could give you even half of what he has.

“i want you to keep this on, okay?” his voice lowers to a soft croon, his large hands scoping the planes of your soft flesh before coming down hard, leaving slightly reddened palm marks against your skin. you nod shakily, and he smiles, toying with the belt on his pants before finally pulling them down to his thighs, along with his boxers to reveal his erect length.

even as he pushes the seat of your panties aside and teases your dripping hole with his tip, gojo can’t help but lament on how god damn pretty you are. your face being buried in the pillows causes your back to arch deliciously, and the way you groan when he slides all the way in has him fighting the urge to cum right then and there.

“you’re killin’ me, doll,” he groans, large hands moving from your ass to your hips, pulling you back on his length. “so fuckin’ pretty, and all mine, right?” you nod helplessly, fingers curling in the sheets when you feel his tip press up against your cervix.

“ ‘n you look so gorgeous in this set, doll. almost like it was made for me to buy it for you, huh?” he wants to ruin you. he wants to tear the lace right off of your back, leave it in tatters on the floor like a child tossing away wrapping paper on christmas day. but he won’t, because it cost him a sweet buck, and he actually likes the way you look in it.

from his position behind you, gojo drinks in the view of the bra clasp straining against your back, and the sight of your breasts pressing against the mattress through the lace, no doubt providing your nipples with delicious friction. his hand slides up to your shoulder and around your neck, pulling you up against his chest.

“mine,” he borderline growls in your ear, hips snapping brutally against your ass repeatedly. “you’re mine, doll. who do you belong to?”

“you, daddy!” tears stream from your eyes as his lips latch onto your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as you feel an all too familiar warm fluid being pumped into your spent cunt. your walls tighten, and suddenly you’re falling over the edge too, twitching in gojo’s grasp as you finally find your climax.

in your lust-drunken haze, you flop back onto the mattress, ass still up and folds leaking with cum as you huff into the pillows. gojo finally slides out, a low whistle sounding from his lips at the sight of you, still clad in your expensive lace as his release drips between your thighs. before it can reach the garter strap, he swipes it up with his fingers and pushes it back inside, smiling when he feels you begin to tremble.

“don’t worry, doll. i just wanted to make sure we don’t get my new favourite set dirty.”

PREVIOUS : N/A NEXT : SHARING IS CARING ft. toji fushiguro + shiu kong

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© choslut — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission.

[bbystark]

♡ ghost figures it out ♡

simon riley (ghost) x reader

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡ donate :)

summary: ghost tells soap he's in love, then he goes home to you with big plans

⚠︎ suggestive themes mdni

a/n: can you guys tell that all i want is to be wifed up by a large man? ;( it is short, but enjoy!

"Soap." His voice cuts through the air abruptly. No response from said man, sucked into his shitty tv dinner and whatever was flickering on the tv. He tries again, voice laced with subtle exasperation. "Johnny."

Soap pauses for a split second, before stuffing his mouth with another bite, not sparing him a glance. "Wut?"

"Think I love 'er."

Soap doesn't think he hears him right. "Wut?" He repeats, staring at his LT dumbly.

"Said I'm in love."

"Fuckin' 'ell, little y/n? You finally fuckin' catchin' on?" Soap slaps his knee, chortling to himself like this was a comedy show. "She finally say somethin'? Cause I know you're brooding arse didn't."

"Fuck are you on about?"

"S' no secret Lt, lass walks around with 'er homecooked meals 'n doe eyes starin' after you. None of us ever thought that woman was just a fuck fer you, was just waitin' for one of you to quit bein' daft."

Simon almost feels himself flush at the overt admission that everyone around him could clearly see what he hadn't until recently. When he had first seen you at the the pub near the recent base the 141 had been assigned to, he told himself it would be a one time thing. Then it was twice, three times, then bringing you along to nights out with his team, because hey, you get along so well, why not? Come 'round the base just to say hey and drop off "leftovers" while you're at it. That's casual.

How true it is that hindsight is 20/20. When Simon doesn't respond immediately, Soap continues on. "What're your intentions with the lass? Plan on makin' er' an honest woman? Think she's in love?"

"Doesn't matter. She's mine. I've got plans, Johnny."

Soap leans back in his chair, scoffing a little while still grinning. "Aye, I'm sure. Always wanted to be a best man." He means it as a joke, but what Simon replies is dead serious.

"I'll do you one better 'n make you an uncle."

Soap gawks a little at that, before making his way over to Simon and grasping his shoulder. "Imagine that, little ghosties runnin' 'round. Never took you for a family man but with a lass like that, who could blame you." He jabs a finger into his chest. "Just put a ring on it aye?"

Soap was convinced that Simon was the epitome of "confused but has the right spirit". Sure he was doing things a little out of order, but it was a miracle the broody bloke found someone like you in the first place.

"Aye. Plan on making 'er a proper wife."

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

When Simon texts you that night, a simple 'I'll be there in an hour.', you figured it was your typical hookup. Still, you had baked cookies and tidied the apartment like you were a doting little girlfriend. After months of being with Simon, but not really being with Simon, you were often confused with the complicated relationship.

When Simon lets himself in through the front door right as your bent over retrieving the cookies from the oven, and watches as your face lights up at the sight of him, he's never been less confused. He finds himself with his hands gripping your hips, ignoring your questions of how he is and if he wants to try a cookie. His nose fills with your perfume and the warm smell of sweets and he's so overwhelmed with how content he feels.

You were home. You were his.

He guides you to the edge of the counter, grasping your plush thighs in his hands and hoisting you to sit on the cold marble, your hands grasping his shoulders as you giggle. He gives you a small smile and spreads your legs, fingers tracing your inner thigh.

He kisses you, and you're no longer confused when he whispers "Whaddya think 'bout marriage?" in your ear, and later, when he was between your legs, a raspy "How 'bout children?"

It was going to be a long night.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

the alchemy | iv. the real thing

pairing: no outbreak!dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

chapter rating: Explicit [18+ only, minors dni, dbf/secret relationship, age gap (joel is 34, reader is 24), oral (f!rec), unprotected piv, talks of birth control, sarah's mom sucks so bad, angst, insecurity, joel being both boyfriend and father of the year, not proofread—may contain some typos but i can’t be bothered to check]

summary: you begin to worry that joel's having second thoughts about your relationship, but he makes sure to clear all of that right up.

wc: 5.5k

the masterlist

You woke up to the feeling of stubble grazing your inner thigh and soft, warm lips soothing the gentle burn it left. Peeling your eyes open, you smiled down at the mess of bed head nestled between your open thighs and lifted a sleep-heavy hand down to comb some of it back. Joel’s head tilted up, nuzzling into your touch as he locked eyes with you. 

“Mornin’,” he said with a smile, his voice deeper than usual. 

“Morning to you too,” you said, chuckling. “What are you up to down there?”

“Havin’ my breakfast,” he replied, lowering his mouth to your bare seam to press a soft whisper of a kiss against your clit. Your laugh was stifled, a moan taking its place as he slid his hot tongue into you, taking his time in savoring your taste with a low hum. 

He’d stayed over after fucking you against the wall last night, even after you told him you wouldn’t take it personally if he wanted to sleep in his own bed instead. But Joel insisted that there was no place he’d rather be than with you, and you were more than happy to welcome him upstairs to your room.

Now, in the golden morning light, you couldn’t be more grateful for his insistence. 

Joel unraveled you with his mouth, then once again with his fingers before finally satiating his need to please—to make up for all the time you’d spent being unsatisfied by your exes. Now it was your turn to feed into your desire to give. 

“Come here,” you beckoned, curling your finger at him to guide him up the expanse of your body for a kiss. Joel’s mouth took just as much care of you there, slowly coaxing your tongue to mingle with his as he ground his hips into your still throbbing cunt. You pulled away with a dazed sigh, your hand splayed across the side of his face. “Want you on your back.”

He grinned at that, turning to kiss your palm. “You gonna ride me, honey?” 

“Til the wheels fall off,” you promised, earning the deep rumble of a laugh. 

Joel fell into position with a smirk, folding his arms behind his head as he watched you swing one leg over his hips to mount him. “G’on then, ride my cock, baby.”

You shook your head, pressing your hands against his chest as you started to rock along the underside of his cock as it lay sandwiched between your cunt and his stomach. “I’m gonna make you beg this time.” 

Joel’s brow arched, his smirk widening to a grin. “I ain’t too proud to beg for it, I hope you know that.” 

“I’m counting on it,” you quipped, bringing your thumb to his nipple to circle it in time with your hips. Joel reacted to that as you’d hoped, although it seemed to shock him. 

“Can’t say I’ve ever had a woman play with my nipples before,” he chuckled, though that all ceased when you brought your tongue down to flick over it. Joel groaned, slipping his hands from beneath his head to grab at your ass, guiding your hips to move faster. “Fuck, I like it, though.”

You gave the stiff peak a nibble, earning a hiss and a buck of his hips. 

“I really fuckin’ like that,” he added, his voice deep and dark and rough. “God, baby.” 

“Mm, what is it?” you asked, toying with him. “You want something?”

“Want that pussy wrapped ‘round me,” he said, unabashed in his desire. “Want to see you bouncin’ on it.” 

Your walls fluttered at the idea of claiming him like that. So much so that you may have intentionally rocked a bit further forward than before to notch his tip into your entrance. The two of you gasped in unison as it slipped inside, not enough to satiate, but enough to tease. After all, he still hadn’t used his manners. 

“Please,” he added, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched you remain firmly in place, keeping just the tip of him inside you. 

You grinned and brought your hips down to sheath him completely inside of you, sighs escaping from both your lips as he nestled in deep. But you weren’t done with him yet. 

You kept yourself there, oh so slightly grinding into him. Joel’s hands tightened on your ass before planting a smack to it, biting his bottom lip. “Fuck, you gotta move, baby.” 

“I’m not hearing any begging,” you said, smiling as the stimulation from his coarse hair against your clit began to send chills down the inside of your thighs. 

“Please move,” he amended, his smile long gone and a wanton look of need replacing it. “Feels so fuckin’ good inside you like this, baby. Need more.”

You rewarded him by lifting your hips up and gliding back down on his length, starting a rhythmic bounce on top of him. Joel’s head pressed back into the pillows, his eyebrows lacing together as his bottom lip slipped free. His lips parted to let out a drawn out moan, the sound causing your hips to stutter and walls to twitch. “Fuck, I love your dick, Joel. So fucking good.”

“Yeah?” His hands roamed up to your breasts, cupping the weight of them before focusing in on the stiff peaks of your nipples. He swiped the rough pads of his thumbs over them before giving them a pinch that sent a spike of pleasure down your spine. “Your pussy feels like it was made for me, baby.”

Joel’s words made you keen, your hips rolling to graze your clit against the coarse hair at the base of him. His hands gripped your hips, keeping you there and urging you to grind against him deep and slow. 

“Keep goin’,” he groaned, his brows furrowed and cheeks flushed. “Keep ridin’ it just like that, baby. Want you to come on it, just like that.” 

“Fuck,” you whimpered, shivering and lust-drunk. You swirled your hips until you were on the edge. Until you couldn’t take any more. Leaning forward, you clung to his sweat-soaked chest, tucking your face in the warm crook of his neck. “Want you to fuck me hard, Joel. Make me come.”

Joel growled at that, his greedy hands palming the flesh of your ass as he started to fuck up into you at a devastating and harsh pace. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ wet, baby. You feel that?”

A soft whine was your only response. You were too fucked-out and lost in your pleasure to manage even a single word. 

“Wanna stay buried in this fuckin’ pussy ‘til I die,” he said, turning his face to nip at your earlobe. “That what you want, baby? Want me deep inside like this?”

“Yes, fuck!” Your entire body shook as his words sent you over the edge, your walls contracting around him like a vice grip. Joel groaned, loud and proud, and rolled you over onto your back with his dick still buried deep inside you. 

“Look at you,” he growled, folding you like a pretzel and marveling at the sight of where you were joined, the slick glide of his cock in and out of your cunt. “Fuck me, this pussy’s gonna make me come, baby.”

“Inside,” you managed in a choked plea, your hands kneading at your breasts as every stroke prolonged your orgasm. “Fill me up.” 

Joel’s hips stuttered at your command, his knuckles turning white as he pressed your thighs to your chest. “Alright, baby. Gonna fill this pussy up just like you want.” 

He leaned forward, slinging the back of your knees over his bent arms as he nestled his face into your neck. Letting out a slew of moans and curses meant only for you to hear, he pressed deep inside of you and gave you exactly what you’d been begging for. “Fuck me. You’re gonna kill me, baby.” 

You laughed, smoothing your hands across the warm expanse of his back as you tried to catch your breath, your heartbeats pounding in unison. “I told you I like you alive, Miller.”

You felt him smile against your shoulder, the brush of his stubble tickling you as he pressed a kiss there. “This might be a little late, but…you are on the pill, right?”

Laughing again, you gave his ass a playful swat. “I might like you, Joel, but not enough to have any little Millers running around.” 

Joel finally gained the strength to lift himself up, a lazy, satisfied smile on his face as he peered down at you. “You’d make pretty babies, though. If the time ever comes.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, or how to feel about the butterflies swarming in your stomach because of his words. So, you chose to ignore it. “You’re awfully handsome in the morning, you know that?”

Joel rolled his eyes and let out a chuckle before rolling onto his side with a long, satiated sigh. “You sure know how to make a man blush.” 

Not wanting to part from Joel just quite yet, you decided to take him up on his invitation to come help him out with his renovations. You had no real intention of getting your hands dirty, obviously, but you’d gladly stand around and supervise. Especially when your reward was a sweaty, focused, competent Joel Miller. 

You watched as he tore out his old vanity, his gray t-shirt soaked with a stripe of sweat down his spine, turning the material darker. His biceps flexed with every knock of his hammer, every forceful tug to rip the nailed-in wood from the wall. It was as delicious as it was absolutely torturous. 

You were reaching your breaking point, ready to steal him away from his work just to break in his bed just as he’d done with yours this morning, but as always, an interruption ruined all of your sinful plans. 

He’d gotten a call from his ex-wife, which was unusual judging by the confused scowl on his face as he stared down at his phone. When he picked it up, he was breathless from all of his hard work, though it did little to soften his biting tone. You couldn’t hear much of the conversation, but you heard enough to understand the fury washing over Joel’s face. 

When he hung up and filled you in, you were just as furious. 

Sarah’s shitty excuse for a mom wanted Joel to pick Sarah up because she was having a “friend” over later on, and didn’t want her daughter around to prevent any “interruptions”. 

What a fucking loser. 

She tried to make it better, telling him she’d be happy to have Sarah back in a few days once her guest had left, but Joel only told her to fuck off and forget it. 

“That’s the last fuckin’ time I let Sarah stay with her,” he grumbled, swiping a hand towel across his face. “What kind of mother chooses a goddamn hookup over their daughter?”

“A shitty one,” you said, shaking your head. “A really fucking shitty one.”

“I gotta go pick her up,” he sighed. “She’s probably fuckin’ devastated. She was so excited to spend the summer with her, and that lasted all of…what? A week?”

You weren’t a violent person, not really. But god, you’d love to beat some sense into Joel’s ex-wife. Maybe then she’d realize what a cunt she was. 

“I’ll text you later,” he said, stepping into your space to rest his hands on your face. He tipped your chin up, pressing a gentle but dizzying kiss to your lips. “We’ll figure things out, alright? Sarah bein’ back home will make things a bit more complicated, but—“

“But nothing,” you said, slipping your hands around his waist. “Sarah being back home is exactly where she needs to be. Don’t worry about us, we’ll make it work.”

He didn’t look so convinced. 

“I’ll walk you home,” he promised, slipping his hand into yours as he led you out of his bathroom and down the stairs. 

He was silent on the way over to your house. Thinking, stewing, trying to figure out the logistics of this thing between the two of you now that Sarah was going to be back with him full-time. You tried not to worry, but deep down, there was this nagging voice that told you that this was where he’d start to pull away and distance himself. 

Joel was nothing if not a good father, and no matter how much he’d like to choose you, he’d never put this relationship above his daughter. And you wouldn’t like him if he did. One of the most endearing things about him was how good of a man he was, even if right now, it felt as though that same goodness would be the thing to lead him away from you. 

In a bid to distract yourself, you called up Maria and asked her if she was free for lunch. You didn’t need to sit at home alone wondering what was going through Joel’s mind and how things might change going forward, and there was no one better at taking your mind off things than Maria. 

“So…” Maria started, a smile playing at her lips as she folded her menu. “Wanna tell me why you ran off last night?”

You sighed, slouching your shoulders. The weight of your secret was beginning to become too much for you to bear, especially with what had happened earlier. You needed to tell someone about the shit going on in your head, and you trusted Maria like a sister. She wouldn’t spill your juicy secret even if her life depended on it. That’s just how she was. 

“If I tell you, you have to promise it stays between us,” you said, just in case. Maria held up her pinky in a silent vow to keep her promise. “Alright, so…you know the guy I was telling you about?”

“Mmhm.”

“It’s Joel,” you said, biting your lip as you gauged her response. There was no judgment there, just a bit of shock. 

“Tommy’s brother, Joel?” she gasped. “No fucking wonder you left! Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I was flirting with him—well, not actually flirting, but still!”

“You’re fine,” you assured, chuckling. “You didn’t know.”

“I promise I was just using him to get under Tommy’s skin,” she said, her tone earnest. 

“No, I know,” you replied. “Joel told me when he showed up to my place last night.”

“Romantic,” she gushed, swooning. “Tell me all about it. Did you two…you know?”

“Yeah,” you said, biting your lip. “A few times.”

“Fuck yeah,” she said, grinning. “And how was it?”

“So good,” you groaned, hanging your head. 

“Why do you look all sad, then? Did he bail or something?”

“No, no. Nothing like that,” you said, sighing. “It’s just that his daughter’s coming back to stay with him after her mom basically kicked her out so that she could fuck in peace. Now I feel like he’s going to distance himself for her sake, and he should. I get why he’d be spooked, you know. But…”

“But it sucks that you’re the one on the receiving end,” she guessed, frowning. 

“Yeah,” you said, shaking your head. “But he hasn’t said anything, so I’m just going to hope for the best.”

“Yeah, don’t get yourself worked up over what could be nothing,” she said. “He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to fuck you and then bail, even over something like that.”

You didn’t want to think about that. It had been so long since you trusted your heart and body with another person. If Joel broke that trust, even for Sarah, you weren’t sure how long it would take you to recover. 

“Enough about me, tell me about you and Tommy.” 

It was Maria’s turn to look lovestruck, which was a rare sight to see. She was never the type to open up to guys, let alone get mushy over them. But here she was, straight up mush. “We spent the night together.”

You gasped, a grin spreading across your face. “You fucked Tommy?”

“And boy, was it good,” she gushed. “I’m not the type to fall quickly, but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna marry that boy.”

“Ew, he said the same thing about you,” you teased, chuckling. “So does this mean you’re official?”

“I told him he needs to take me on a real date first,” she said, a confident smirk on her face. “So we’re going out this weekend.”

“I’ll start planning the wedding.”

A day had passed since Joel left to bring Sarah home. A day full of waiting, a day full of dreading. He’d texted you last night to let you know they were back home and that Sarah was pretty down about the whole thing, but he didn’t say much more than that. The status of your relationship seemed up in the air, at least to you, but you assumed that since he hadn’t said anything about calling things off, the two of you were fine. 

At least for the time being. 

Your dad had come back home in the afternoon, bringing Vic along to stay for the week. And in an attempt to ease the awkwardness that came along with meeting your dad’s new girlfriend, he decided to throw a little cookout on the deck out back that he finally completed. He invited both of the Miller boys over, and though you were a bit on edge about seeing Joel again in that kind of setting, it beat having to sit around the table and make conversation with a stranger. 

You chose a simple outfit for the barbecue—a sundress and some flip-flops—and tried to keep your primping to a minimum, even when the insecure part of your mind told you to overcompensate in order to impress Joel. But you didn’t want to listen to that small voice, especially not when Joel has already seen you in your barest state. 

When the Millers arrived at your house, they both brought guests—Joel brought Sarah, obviously, and Tommy brought Maria. You felt a bit of the tension weighing on you lift at the sight of your best friend and the sunshine of a girl that was Sarah Miller. But even they couldn’t help the way your heart seemed to still at the sight of Joel. 

He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. A completely normal and bland outfit, and yet he managed to make it look criminally extraordinary. But maybe that was just the energy radiating off of him. 

He greeted you at the door with a small smile when he and Sarah arrived, one that looked far too sheepish and polite for your taste. Especially now that you’d experienced the unabashed version. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “Brought some corn on the cob.”

“Thanks,” you said, giving him a timid look. “My, uh, my dad’s in the backyard.”

He pursed his lips, staring into your eyes for a few more seconds before giving you a small nod. “I’ll go say hi, then.”

“Yeah,” you managed, your throat constricting under the effort it took to not voice your insecurities. Joel grazed his hand along your arm as he stepped past you to head into the house, the simple touch almost enough to burn you alive. 

“Hey,” Sarah said, drawing your eyes down to where she stood. She sounded sadder than you were used to, her bubbly joy dulled to something more akin to her father’s personality. It made your heart break. It made your worries over your relationship with her father seem insignificant. 

“Hey, Sarah,” you said, giving her a genuine smile. She didn’t deserve anything less than that. “I’m glad you’re back. I’ve missed you.”

She shrugged, toying with the ribbon that was sewn onto her summer dress. “Wasn’t gone that long.”

God, you hated the fact that her mother had hurt her this badly. 

“Still,” you said, guiding her into the house. “It’s been boring here without you.”

She remained quiet, lost in thought. And that wouldn’t do. 

“Do you want to help me decorate the cake I made?” You asked, leading her into the kitchen where Tommy and Maria stood chatting with Joel. You ignored his presence entirely, as you normally would’ve before you entered into this situationship with him. 

“What kind of cake?” she asked, seeming to perk up a bit. 

“Carrot, my dad’s favorite,” you said, helping her into one of the stools that sat at the kitchen island. 

“My dad likes carrot cake, too,” she said, turning to her father. “Don’t you, dad?”

“I do,” Joel said, his voice a soothing rasp. 

“Guess it’s a dad thing,” you said, giving him a quick glance. Joel was already looking at you, watching as you set the chilled carrot cake onto the counter. 

There seemed to be a million unspoken things lingering in that gaze of his, things you desperately wanted him to tell you. Even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. 

You quickly turned your attention back to Sarah. “I, uh, have chocolate and buttercream frosting. What do you think? Should we do half and half?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, leaning onto the counter. “Do you have sprinkles?”

“I do!” You turned around to rummage through the cabinet for the sprinkles that you’d bought last Christmas, praying that they weren’t out of date. “Looks like we’ve got a few colors, but I’ll let you choose all that while I go wash my hands.”

“Okay,” she said, already looking a bit more like her normal self. 

You headed upstairs to your bathroom, mostly just to take a breather from being in such close proximity to Joel, but stopped halfway up the stairs as you heard the sound of a pair of heavy boots following you. You turned, finding Joel standing at the bottom of the staircase, his eyes trained on you. He nudged his chin forward, a silent request for you to continue on, and you quickly obeyed. 

Once you were in the privacy of the second story, he slipped into the guest room and waved for you to join him. 

“What’s up?” you asked once he’d closed the door. Joel turned to you, shaking his head before closing the distance between the two of you in two large steps. His hands settled on your face, guiding you to his lips for a deep, bruising kiss. 

“Sorry,” he panted as he pulled back enough to rest his forehead against yours. “I just missed you.” 

You let out a sigh of relief. All that worrying faded into thin air as he pressed his lips against yours again, softer this time. “I was worried you’d…I don’t know.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I told you I was committed, and I meant it.”

“I’m not used to guys meaning what they tell me during sex,” you said. It was a blunt thing to say, but it was the truth. You might’ve hoped Joel had meant the things he said, but you certainly weren’t counting on them being true. You’d experienced too many let-downs to ever buy into something like that so easily. 

“Well, I did,” he said, kissing you to seal his promise. “But we’re gonna have to work harder to keep this between us now that Sarah’s around. Unless you want to tell her.”

You furrowed your brows and pulled back to look at him, to see if he was joking, but he looked dead serious. “You want to tell her?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I’d prefer not to lie to her, but I don’t wanna rush you into doin’ somethin’ you’re not ready to do.”

“What if she lets it slip around my dad?” She was a child, after all, and they had a tendency to speak without thinking. 

“Honestly?” He let out a soft chuckle. “I’m startin’ not to give a shit about that, either. But I know I’m not the one who’s gonna have to deal with the aftermath of all that. Not really, anyway.”

You lowered your eyes to his chest as you thought about what he’d said, about the choice he was laying at your feet. Telling Sarah was one thing, but telling your dad? You weren’t sure you were ready for that. 

“Listen t’me, honey,” Joel said, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. “This thing between you and I is the real thing, alright? It’s the real thing when it’s just between us, and it’s the real thing if we choose to let everybody know. My feelings for you aren’t gonna change, and I want you to know that it’s your choice whether we tell them or not. Alright?”

You took a deep breath and gave him a soft smile, one that was born of feeling nothing but safe and respected by the man you’d chosen. It was new and foreign and would take some getting used to, but god, it felt good to be seen and cared for the way Joel saw and cared for you. 

“Alright,” you whispered, too emotional to say anything else. 

Joel stroked his thumb over your cheek and smiled, pecking your lips softly once more. “We need to get back down there before people start wonderin’ where we went.”

“I’ll be down in a second,” you said, urging him on. “Go make sure Sarah hasn’t devoured all the frosting.”

Joel chuckled as he turned to head downstairs, shooting you a quick smile over his shoulder. “No promises on that front.” 

“There you are,” Maria said, grinning as she slid the sliding glass patio door shut behind her, finding you in the kitchen scrubbing away at the sink full of dirty dishes. “What are you doing hiding away in here?”

“Not hiding,” you replied with a smile. “Just…we’ll, yeah. I guess I am hiding.”

“From Joel?” she teased. 

“From my dad and his girlfriend,” you corrected. “It’s awkward, and I’m awkward. Better to just hide out and wait for them to go to bed.”

“She seems nice enough.”

“Yeah, she is,” you agreed. “But I’m not good with change, I guess. And I can tell she’s looking to bond with me, and I’m not ready for all of that, you know?”

“I get that,” she said, coming to join you at the sink. A moment of peaceful silence fell over the two of you as you washed the dishes and she dried them. “Joel’s daughter’s cute.”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling.

“Does she know about you and him?” 

“No,” you said, shaking your head as you turned the tap off and dried your hands. “Why?”

“She was just talking about you,” she said, shrugging. “She told Tommy and I that she likes you, and that she wishes you were her mom instead.”

Your eyes went wide, your heart skipping a beat. “She said that?”  

“Mmhm,” Maria hummed. “Tommy sort of filled me in on the situation, and I don’t blame her for wanting you as a mom instead. Her mom sounds like a cunt.”

“Yeah, she’s…horrible.” 

“I think Joel might’ve overheard it,” she said, biting her lip. “I can’t read the guy for shit, though, so I have no idea what he thought about it.”

Neither did you, if you were being honest. He definitely wouldn’t be upset by it, but he was probably more saddened than anything. Sarah shouldn't have to wish for a mother who made her happy, she should just have it. 

“I, uh, pulled him aside and let him know I knew,” she continued. “I hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” you said, smiling at the thought of at least one person knowing that the two of you were together. It made it feel more real, somehow. “What did he say?”

“He just smiled and nodded,” she said. “It’s cute how just the sound of your name makes him smile.”

It was cute, you thought. Cute enough to make your heart clench. 

“He told me that he was alright with everyone knowing,” you confessed, hugging yourself. “But I’m not sure if I’m ready to let everyone in on it just yet.”

“You can take it one step at a time,” she said. “You already told me, so that’s one step. Tommy and Sarah could be another.”

“Yeah,” you said, nibbling on your bottom lip. “We’ll get around to it.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “You just like the thrill of a secret romance, you sicko.”

You laughed, too, because a part of you did. It wouldn’t last forever, but you liked the fact that the two of you could just be together for a while without the input of everyone else. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

“Maybe you do, what?” Joel’s voice made you jump as he waltzed in from outside, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth as he looked at you. 

“Do y’all need me to stick around as a chaperone?” she said, giving you a playful smile. 

“No, fuck off,” you said with a laugh, swatting the dishcloth in your hand at her. She gave you a wink before making her way back onto the deck, leaving you and Joel alone. 

“I like her,” he said, coming to sit at one of the stools at the island. “Well, as much as I like anybody that isn’t you or Sarah.”

“Yeah, she’s great,” you said, coming to stand across from him. “She, uh, told me about something Sarah said.”

He nodded, his smile fading into something more somber. 

“Broke my heart to hear her say that,” he said, sighing. “Not because of you, just…I don’t know. I just don’t get how her mother can treat her like an afterthought. I hate that she makes her feel like this, like she doesn’t have a mom.”

“I know it’s not the same, and I’d never try to make it seem that way, but I’m here, you know?” you said, shrugging your shoulders and offering him a sympathetic smile. “I’d love her the way she deserves, the way every little girl deserves, if she wanted. If…if you wanted.”

He softened at that, his shoulders relaxing as he tilted his head at you. “Everytime I see y’all together, she’s smilin’. I can’t tell you how much that means to me. How much it’s always meant.”

You long to walk over to him and run your hands through his hair, to kiss him and show him how grateful you are to get to see this side of him, to let him know that he’s a good man—far better than any you’d ever met before—but you could see your father right outside, serving as a reminder of why you had to stay put. Even when it hurt to have to do so. 

“So thank you,” Joel added, suddenly turning bashful. “Thank you for bein’ good to her.” 

“I want to kiss you so badly right now,” you said, frowning and smiling at the same time. 

He smiled, a dimpled, boyish thing that had you ready to climb across this island just to feel that smile against your lips. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

“No, but my dad might,” you said, chuckling. 

Joel glanced over his shoulder at your father, watching him as he sat at the patio table with Vic, Tommy, and Maria. Each of them able to hold each other, to claim each other as theirs. “It doesn’t feel fair.”

You frowned, nodding. “No, it doesn’t.”

With a sigh, he stood up and stretched, feigning exhaustion. “I should take Sarah home. She’s out there sleepin’ in her chair.” 

“Yeah,” you said, your voice soft. 

“You think your dad would be opposed to you babysittin’ her while I go sneak off with this beautiful woman I’ve been seein’?”

You reared back, your brows drawing together. “Excuse me?”

Joel only laughed. “Least that’s the story I plan on givin’ him to buy you and me a couple hours together.” 

Your confusion was replaced with a mischievous grin. “Yeah, I think he’d buy that. Might even be able to spend the night at your place, especially if you’re planning on spending the whole night with this beautiful woman of yours.” 

“Oh, I plan on it, alright,” he husked, his drawl doing things to you it had no right to do. “I’ll grab Sarah and let him know, you go on upstairs and pack a bag.”

Biting your lip, you turned to obey his command, only to be stopped by him again. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout packin’ any pajamas,” he said, eyeing your frame from head to toe. “We won’t be gettin’ much sleep tonight.” 

[reidsworld]

giving old man!logan head in the limo has me feral. i just know theres a dirty mouth on that man

Warnings… fem!reader, smuttt, praise/degradation, oral sex (m receiving), no use of y/n, pet names (baby, slut), this is VILEE (rlly channeled my inner freak), not proofread lol (icl i wrote this on my phone). — you are responsible for the content you consume, if you are not comfortable with any of these warnings or are a minor, DNI!!!

Mars speaks… old man logan has me in a CHOKEHOLDD

Masterlist | Divider from @/saradika-graphics

You had been teasing Logan all night, testing the limits of his patience with every sly smile, every light touch, every whispered innuendo in his ear. The tension had built between you like a fire ready to ignite, and you knew exactly what you were doing.

Logan’s gaze was dark, his jaw clenched as he shifted in his seat beside you. Finally, with a low, frustrated growl, he turned to you, his eyes blazing. “Fine,” he muttered, voice rough, low, “you wanna act like a little slut, I’ll treat you like one.”

That was how you ended up in the back of his limo, sliding down between his legs, your mouth leaving a trail of kisses along his chest, moving lower…

His voice was a rasp, barely more than a breath as he whispered, “Don’t stop.”

Your trailed your hands over the bulge in his pants, making swift work of pulling them down with his boxers, freeing his achingly hard cock.

While it wasn’t overly long— certainly not a length to be ashamed about— it was thick. His cock had a long vein running down the underside with many smaller veins scattered across it. It twitched desperately in his lap, the sensitive red tip oozing pre-cum.

“Holy shit…”

He let out a low chuckle at your words, clicking his tongue at you, “come on, get to work baby.”

You grinned up at him as you leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on the tip, making him nearly growl.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ tease.”

Giggling at his words you smile innocently as run your tongue along the slit of his cock. He threw his head back, groaning, his fingers threading themselves through your hair with a tight but gentle grip.

You sunk your head lower, the head disappearing between your lips. He gazed down at you, “look so good with your lips wrapped around my cock like that.”

Your tongue swirled around his cock, cheeks hollowing, and his grip on your hair tightened, “don’t be shy, I know you can handle more.”

He used the grip in your hair to push you down lower. Saliva began to drip down his cock as he filled your mouth. You used it as lube for your hands which found their way to his shaft, slowly stroking and twisting what was not in your mouth.

“Yeah that’s more like it, knew you could do it.”

You moaned around him in response, the vibrations shooting right through his cock, causing his hips to buck. The tip hit the back of your throat making you gag and slightly choke at the protrusion. But this didn’t make him pull back, he was too desperate he couldn’t stop.

“Y’okay, baby?” he asked, slowing the rate his hand was moving your head but not stopping. You tried your best to give a nod. Once he got your confirmation, he stopped his hand movement, gently thrusting his hips upwards into your throat.

He had let you have control for long enough and now he was getting desperate, he couldn’t wait. He gently tapped on the top of your head causing you to look up at him.

“M’gonna fuck your throat now, baby,” he told you and you nodded, your hands moving to grip his thighs. He used his hand to push your head lower before thrusting up into your mouth. He began to build a steady rhythm, his cock going deeper into your throat with each movement.

“So good, haven’t gotten somethin’ this good in a long time ‘nd definitely not from someone as pretty as you,” he praised, his Canadian accent thickening as his pace increased. You moaned at the praise, breathing through your nose as he pushed in further.

Your knees began to ache from being on the limo floor. As he set a brutal pace, it became messier and messier. His cock was now covered in saliva, you makeup was a mess from the small tears that fell each time he hit the back of your throat.

“Y’look so pretty like this, my little slut,” he grunted out as his thumb moved to wipe one of the tears that fell. You smiled around him and looked him in the eyes. His head fell back at the sight around him.

After a few minutes, you could tell by his demeanour and ever-so-slightly slowing pace that he was getting tired. you moved your hands up to his while looking at him in the eyes. You gave him a gentle nod. His grip loosened from your head before he laid further back against the seat, long arms stretching out.

“Just need a little break, you keep going,” he chuckled, muttering something about being old.

You held onto the sides of his thighs as you quickly bobbed your head up and down his cock. You looked up at him, moaning at the sight. He looked so good— head fallen back, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, letting out little breaths.

This only spurred you on, taking him as deep as possible over and over again. His cock twitched at the back of your throat, a sure sign that he was getting close. You moved one hand to fondle his balls. You gently massaged them, scratching at his scrotum.

“Fuck, m’gonna cum,” he breathed out.

You picked up your pace as you felt his balls tighten in your hand. His thighs flexed and his hips bucked as he let out a lewd groan— almost growl of your name. Feeling his hot cum fill your throat, you pressed your head down, nose touching the hair at the base of his cock.

As he came down from his high, you pulled off him and looked up. He looked down at you with a lazy smirk on his face. He reached out his hand, helping you up from the floor before pulling you onto his lap.

His thumb wiped the half-dried tears from your face, his other hand snaking behind your neck and threading into your hair to pull you into a passionate kiss, his beard scratching at your chin.

As the two of you pulled apart, you grinned at him, “think you still have it in you to fuck me, old man?”

Mars speaks… (again) sorry if this is a bit of a mess, it’s like 1:30 in the morning rn and i wrote this instead of sleeping. any and all feedback is always appreciated🫶

[nameless-jamie]

Hi, I was wondering if you could write a Jamie x reader story but y/n is a footballer just like Jamie and they kinda have similar personalities. You can choose if she plays for Richmond’s women team that they showed in the final episode or for another club. But i think it would be both hilarious and cute to see Jamie hit it off with someone similar to him, like he both finds her insufferable because she’s so cocky but he also thinks it’s hot. Thank you so much in advance ❤️‍🔥

Princess of Pricks

One Shot - Jamie Tartt x fem! reader

Masterlist

Pairing: fem! footballer reader x Jamie Tartt

TW: cursing, suggestive scene/language, very long ff

Summary: Y/N, an Irish striker on the Richmond women’s team, faces off against the cocky Jamie Tartt when the teams are forced to train together. The two banter back and forth, challenging each other on the pitch while their rivalry turns into something more.

Part Two is on its way!

The AFC Richmond Women’s locker room was already buzzing that morning. Boots thudded against the floor, shin pads snapped into place, and someone—probably Niamh, the team’s right winger—was arguing over whether tea or coffee was the superior pre-training drink.

“Irish tea is the only correct answer, gals,” Y/N declared as she tied her boots, her thick accent cutting through the chatter.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re Irish,” Niamh shot back.

“Exactly. Therefore, I’m right.”

A chorus of laughter rippled through the room as the team finished getting ready. They were in good spirits today—there was a big match coming up, and Roy Kent, their gruff, permanently scowling manager, had been particularly fired up during the last few training sessions. Which, for Roy, meant extra yelling and even more creative swearing than usual.

Y/N stood, rolling her shoulders. She was already itching to get on the pitch. As Richmond’s star striker and number 9, she thrived on competition. Nothing got her heart racing like the promise of a match—whether it was in a stadium packed with fans or just a training session with her teammates.

“Come on, then,” she called, leading the team out into the hallway and toward the training pitch.

It was a crisp morning, the kind that promised a good session. The team walked through the tunnel, laughing and chatting—until they stepped onto the sideline and saw Roy standing with the pitchkeeper, arms crossed, looking like he was seconds away from punching something.

Y/N’s steps slowed. That was never a good sign.

The pitchkeeper rubbed the back of his neck. “Pipes under the pitch are fucked.”

“Fucking brilliant,” Roy muttered under his breath. He turned toward the team, voice gruff. “Pitch is flooded. Can’t train here.”

A collective groan rose from the women.

“What d’you mean can’t?” Y/N frowned, glancing at the field. Sure enough, there were massive puddles of water soaking the grass, turning the pitch into a swamp. “We’ve got a match in a few days. We need to train, coach.”

Roy exhaled sharply, clearly thinking. Then, with a grumble, he pulled out his phone. “I’ll sort it.”

The team exchanged glances as Roy stomped off, phone pressed to his ear. A few seconds later, his voice carried back to them.

“Oi, Ted. Yeah, I need a favor.”

Y/N arched a brow.

Ted Lasso? Well. This would be interesting.

Roy returned ten minutes later, his usual scowl firmly in place. “Right,” he grunted. “You lot are training with the men’s team.”

A murmur rippled through the squad, half-surprised, half-amused.

“Wait, seriously?” Niamh asked.

“No, I’m fuckin’ joking.” Roy glared. “Ted’s agreed to let us use the pitch, but we’re combining sessions. So unless any of you delicate fuckin’ flowers have a problem with that—”

He was cut off by the sound of boots against the pavement. The women turned to see the AFC Richmond men’s team already on their pitch, mid-training.

Y/N squinted toward the field, watching them pass the ball around in warm-ups. Richmond’s usual stars were all there—Sam Obisanya, Dani Rojas, Isaac McAdoo, Colin Hughes—along with a few new faces. And then there was him.

Jamie Tartt.

Richmond’s number 9.

He was cocky, arrogant, and, as far as Y/N was concerned, the definition of a twat.

She had, of course, seen him play before—both in matches and in training when the men’s and women’s teams had shared the stadium. And as much as she hated to admit it, he was good. He played with a kind of self-assurance that she recognized all too well. The same way she played.

Annoyingly, he also happened to be fit as fuck, but that was beside the point.

Y/N was still watching him weave through defenders when her teammate Aoife suddenly cupped her hands around her mouth and whistled toward the men’s team.

“Oi, lads! Lookin’ good out there!”

The women’s team burst into laughter as a few of the men looked over in surprise. Dani Rojas grinned and waved enthusiastically. Colin smirked. Sam shook his head, chuckling.

Jamie, though—Jamie clocked Y/N immediately.

His eyes flickered over her, sharp and assessing, before he smirked. “You lot finally decided to watch some proper football, yeah?”

Y/N scoffed, folding her arms. “Oh, don’t feckin' flatter yourself, lad.”

Jamie’s brows lifted, clearly not expecting the immediate pushback. But then—annoyingly—his smirk deepened. “Irish, huh? That why you’re runnin’ your mouth?”

“Oh, you ain’t seen anythin' yet, Tartt.”

Ted’s whistle cut through the air before Jamie could respond. The men’s team jogged toward their coach, only sparing a few more glances at the women.

Roy turned toward the squad. “Alright, we’re splittin’ the pitch. Half and half. You lot do not get in each other’s way.”

Y/N rolled her shoulders, already focused on training. But as the whistle blew and they started drills, she could still feel Jamie’s eyes on her.

Fine, then. If he wanted to watch, she’d give him something to look at.

Jamie Tartt wasn’t used to being surprised.

But as he watched the women’s team train, eyes tracking Y/N, he found himself… well, stumped.

She played exactly like him.

Same flashy footwork. Same cocky confidence. Same absolute refusal to take the easy pass when she could humiliate a defender instead.

He’d seen plenty of talented players before—hell, he played with some of the best—but he had never seen someone who moved like him.

It was annoying.

And a little bit hot.

Jamie frowned, standing near the midfield line as the men continued their passing drill. He hadn’t realized he was openly staring until Sam nudged him.

“Careful, mate,” Sam teased, a knowing smile on his face. “You’re looking a little… distracted.”

Jamie scoffed. “Nah. Just—watchin’, innit.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam exchanged a look with Dani, who grinned.

“She is very good, yes?” Dani said. “A proper joy to watch!”

Jamie didn’t like how much he agreed.

His frown deepened as he watched Y/N take on two defenders at once. Instead of passing, she feinted to the left, rolled the ball under her foot, and absolutely sent one of her teammates with a fake shot before burying the ball in the top corner.

The women’s team cheered. Y/N turned, beaming, and Jamie could feel the smugness radiating off her from across the pitch.

“Oh, fuck off,” he muttered under his breath.

At that moment, Ted’s whistle cut through the air again.

“Alright, folks, bring it in!”

The teams gathered in the middle of the pitch, forming two loose circles. Ted, ever the optimist, was practically beaming as he clapped his hands together.

“Well, I gotta say,” he said. “I am lovin’ what I’m seein’ today. Y’all are puttin’ on a clinic out here.”

“‘Cept for Tartt, who’s too busy ogling instead of trainin’,” Isaac muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

The men chuckled. The women did too, though Y/N just arched a brow, looking Jamie up and down like she was deciding whether or not he was even worth her time.

Jamie crossed his arms. “Ain’t oglin’.”

“Oh, so you weren’t checkin’ me out?” Y/N shot back. “That’s scarleh, Jamie. Here I thought I had a fan.” (scarleh = Irish. embarrassing/tragic)

A couple of oooohs went up from the women’s team.

Jamie felt a flicker of irritation. He tilted his head, smirking. “I mean, you are a bit of a show-off, yeah? But you can’t be all that if you still play for Richmond.”

Y/N didn’t even flinch. “You play for Richmond too, ya tosser.”

Jamie opened his mouth—then shut it.

Roy, who had been listening to this whole exchange with an ever-deepening scowl, cut in. “Alright, that’s enough.” He exhaled sharply, looking between the two teams. “Since you lot can’t seem to shut the fuck up, I got an idea.”

Ted grinned. “I think I know where you’re goin’ with this, Coach.”

“Men against women,” Roy said. “One half. See who’s actually worth talkin’ about.”

The teams erupted in noise—cheers, laughter, shit-talking from both sides.

Jamie, though?

He just looked at Y/N.

And she looked right back.

A challenge.

Jamie’s smirk returned. “You sure you wanna embarrass yourself like that, Irish?”

Y/N took a step closer, tilting her head. “I dunno, Manc. You ready to lose to a girl?”

Jamie’s heart thumped.

Oh, this was gonna be fun.

The teams spread out across the pitch, both sides brimming with energy. The men’s team looked confident—maybe too confident—while the women were locked in, ready to prove a point.

Y/N stood at the center circle, rolling her shoulders as she prepared for kickoff. Jamie was only a few feet away, arms crossed, watching her with that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face.

“You nervous, Irish?” he drawled.

Y/N exhaled a laugh. “Mate, the only thing I’m nervous about is how bruised your ego’s gonna be after this.”

Jamie just grinned. “Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

The whistle blew.

And just like that, they were off.

Sam passed the ball back to Jamie, who turned smoothly, scanning the field. But before he could even make his first move, Y/N was on him—closing the space, pressing high, forcing him to act fast.

Jamie barely got his pass off before she nearly nicked the ball off him.

He frowned.

Alright.

That was how it was gonna be?

Fine.

The match played out fast—faster than Jamie had expected. The women’s team weren’t just holding their own; they were giving it to the men.

Y/N was relentless. Every time Jamie got the ball, she was right there, tracking his movements like she’d been studying him for years.

And it was pissing him off.

She played like she had something to prove. Every touch was clean, every movement sharp, every decision calculated to make Jamie’s life harder. She wasn’t just playing to win—she was playing to embarrass him.

And it was working.

Fifteen minutes in, the women’s team broke through on a counterattack. Niamh sent a gorgeous ball over the top, perfectly weighted, and Y/N—of course it was Y/N—was already sprinting onto it.

Jamie turned and chased, pushing himself harder.

They were shoulder to shoulder now, both flying toward the box, neither willing to back down.

Y/N threw a quick feint, shifting her weight like she was about to cut inside—then didn’t, instead nudging the ball forward at the last second.

Jamie took the bait.

Just for a fraction of a second.

But that was all she needed.

In one fluid motion, she pulled away, her left foot striking the ball cleanly—

—And burying it in the bottom corner.

The women’s team erupted.

Jamie, breathing hard, could only watch as Y/N slowed to a stop, grinning.

And then—just to really piss him off—she did his celebration.

The stupid little wrist-kiss, hands-to-the-sky thing he always did.

Jamie’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, you fuckin’ did not just—”

Y/N turned to him, smirking. “What’s wrong, Tartt?” She tapped her wrist like she was checking a watch. “Don’t like the taste of your own medicine, do ya?”

Jamie blinked. His whole brain short-circuited for a second.

And then he burst out laughing.

Because fuck.

He might actually be in trouble with this one.

The game didn’t slow down after Y/N’s goal. If anything, it got worse.

Jamie played harder. Not just because his pride was at stake, but because every time Y/N touched the ball, she made something happen. It was driving him mad.

Every flick, every trick, every little smug look she sent his way—it was like she was daring him to keep up.

And, fuck, he wanted to.

The match ended in a 2-2 draw—Dani and Colin had pulled the men’s team back, but Y/N had assisted a late equalizer that shut them right up.

When the final whistle blew, neither team looked disappointed. The women had proved their point. The men, despite their initial cockiness, were grinning, clearly impressed.

Except Jamie.

Jamie was frustrated.

Not because of the match—well, partly because of the match—but mostly because he’d never met anyone who made him feel like this.

It wasn’t just the competition. He loved competition. It was the fact that Y/N—this loud, cocky, Irish striker—had waltzed onto his pitch and played like him.

She got under his skin in a way no one else ever had.

And worse, he liked it.

The teams gathered near the sidelines, clapping each other on the back, exchanging handshakes and playful shit-talk. Y/N, of course, was in the middle of it all, glowing like she’d just won the fucking World Cup.

Jamie found himself walking toward her before he even realized what he was doing.

She spotted him approaching and smirked, hands on her hips. “What’s wrong? You look a little tense.”

Jamie exhaled a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, just tryna figure out how someone with your weak-ass left foot managed to score on me.”

Y/N gasped in mock offense. “Oh, you wish my left foot was weak.”

Jamie grinned. “Yeah? Prove it.”

Y/N stepped closer, eyes gleaming with challenge. “Careful, Tartt. You keep lookin’ at me like that, I’ll think you fancy me.”

Jamie’s smirk didn’t falter. “Yeah? What if I do?”

Y/N blinked.

For a split second, Jamie swore he saw her falter.

But then—just as quick—she recovered, laughing like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

“Oh, you’re a cocky little shit, aren’t ya?” she said, grinning.

Jamie tilted his head. “Takes one to know one, Irish.”

Y/N just hummed, looking him up and down. “You’re not completely hopeless, I s’pose.”

Jamie watched as she turned, walking back toward her team without another word.

And fuck.

He was definitely in trouble with this one.

The next morning, Y/N arrived at training to bad news.

“Still flooded,” Roy announced as the women gathered around him, arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Pipes are completely fucked. Dunno when they’ll be fixed.”

A collective groan rippled through the team.

“You’re jokin’,” Aoife muttered.

“Do I look like I’m fuckin’ jokin’?” Roy shot back, eyes narrowing. “We’re training with the men again.”

"Let's leg it, ladies," Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. It wasn’t that she hated training with the men’s team—okay, maybe she did a little, but only because it meant spending more time with Jamie Tartt.

And she was already very fucking sick of Jamie Tartt.

As if the universe was trying to make her life harder, the teams were partnered up for drills—and of course, Roy, in his infinite wisdom, put her with Jamie.

The second his name was called next to hers, Jamie grinned.

“Oh, you feckin’ planned this, didn’t you?” Y/N muttered at Roy.

Roy, in classic Roy fashion, just grunted and walked away.

“Relax, Irish,” Jamie said, stepping beside her, smug as ever. “It ain’t that bad.”

Y/N exhaled sharply. “Jaysus Christ. Let’s just get this over with.”

The first half of training was tolerable. Barely. They did passing drills, finishing exercises, one-on-ones. It was competitive—way too competitive for training—but at least they weren’t actually touching each other.

Until suddenly every drill became a war.

Sprints? She had to beat Jamie. If she ran a 12.3-second sprint, Jamie would push for 12.2. If Jamie hit 15 keep-ups, Y/N would make sure she did 16.

It wasn’t just competition anymore. It was personal.

During a finishing drill, Y/N watched Jamie attempt a ridiculous Rabona shot from outside the box. It went in—just—but she rolled her eyes anyway.

"Show-off," she muttered.

Jamie turned to her, smirking. "Oh, please. You love it."

Y/N scoffed. "Mate, I’ve seen under-12s do better."

"That so?" Jamie arched a brow, stepping closer. "Alright, then. Let’s see you top it, Irish."

Y/N wasn't about to back down.

She grabbed a ball, took a few steps back, and, without breaking eye contact, executed the filthiest outside-foot curler into the top corner.

The entire team howled.

"Fucking hell," Colin muttered.

"She is better than you, Jamie," Dani chirped.

Jamie, to his credit, just chuckled. But Y/N could see it—the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something sharp in his eyes.

He liked the fight.

And fuck, so did she.

Until they got to the last drill.

The worst, though—the actual worst—the partnered stretching.

Y/N immediately turned to Roy. “Are you takin’ the piss, ya feckin' chancer?”

Roy ignored her, just mumbled something that sounded like watch it.

Jamie, on the other hand, looked delighted.

“What’s wrong, Irish?” he teased, stepping closer. “Scared to get a little close?”

Y/N should have walked away. Should have told Roy to swap her partner.

She was already annoyed that she’d been paired with Jamie, and now she was sitting on the grass across from him, her hands pressed against his shoulders, trying to ignore the fact that he was stupidly warm under her palms.

Jamie smirked as he spread his legs into a seated stretch. “Go on, then. Show me what you got.”

Y/N shot him a look. “If you make one inappropriate comment, I will kick you in the face.”

Jamie grinned. “No promises.”

She ignored him, placing her hands on his shoulders again, this time steadier, pushing gently to deepen his stretch. His muscles tensed under her palms, solid and warm, and fuck—why was she noticing that?

Jamie held her gaze, still smirking, but there was something else in his eyes now. Something sharp. Something teasing.

Something interested.

Jamie smirked. "Enjoyin’ yourself there, Irish?"

She pushed harder. "Touch me again, and I’ll break your fingers."

Jamie chuckled. "Touch you again? Babe, you’re the one feelin’ me up."

Y/N shoved him.

Jamie just laughed. Roy gave both of them a warning look from the sidelines.

Y/N cleared her throat and put her hands on Jamie's shoulders again, this time pushing harder than necessary. “Oi, what? You can handle Premier League defenders, but not a simple stretch.”

Jamie chuckled, voice lower now. “Nah, I can handle it.” He let his gaze drop—just for a second—then met her eyes again. “Question is—can you?”

Y/N inhaled sharply.

She hated him.

She really, really hated him.

And yet, when they switched places and Jamie grabbed her hips to pull her into a stretch, she damn near forgot how to breathe.

Jamie’s hands slid to her hips, firm, fingers pressing just enough to send something dangerous skittering up her spine.

Oh, she was in trouble.

"Relax," he murmured, voice lower now, more amused. "Ain't gonna bite."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Pity. You look like the type to."

Jamie blinked. Then—so fucking slowly—it turned into a smirk.

"Wouldn't dream of it, although you look delicious," he said.

Y/N yanked herself out of the stretch immediately.

The problem with training together every day from now on was that accidents happened.

Too many players in too little space. Too many challenges. Too many bodies moving too fast.

And somehow, somehow, in all the hustle and bustle on the pitch Y/N and Jamie kept ending up right on top of each other.

One-on-one drills. Y/N tackled Jamie so hard they both hit the grass, tangled together in a heap.

"Jesus, Irish," Jamie grunted, blinking up at her. "You tryin’ to kill me?"

Y/N, still half on top of him, smirked. "What, can't handle a little pressure?"

Jamie’s hands tightened around her waist for half a second—too long to be innocent—before he smirked at the position they are in. "I'm good with pressure—even better with you on top of me."

Y/N scrambled off him so fast she nearly tripped.

By the end of the week, everyone was talking about them.

"You see them today?" Colin muttered to Isaac as they finished up a passing drill. "It's weird, right?"

"So weird," Isaac muttered back. "They're like... the same person. Different accent."

"They even run the same," Sam added, frowning.

Dani, of course, was delighted.

"They are meant to be!" he declared, positively buzzing. "A true football romance!"

Ted, overhearing, grinned. "Now that is somethin’ I can get behind."

Roy, standing nearby, grunted.

He had been watching, too. Watching the way Y/N and Jamie bickered. Watching the way they shoved each other, how they competed, how Jamie looked at her.

He knew exactly what was happening.

And he did not like it.

"Oi, Tartt," he barked.

Jamie turned, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

Roy narrowed his eyes. "Stay focused."

Jamie grinned. "Always, Coach Kent."

Roy scowled.

He was gonna have to keep a fucking eye on this.

For the past two weeks, training had been hell.

Jamie and Y/N hadn’t stopped competing, hadn’t stopped pushing, hadn’t stopped getting in each other’s heads.

And today?

Today, it boiled over.

It started during a small-sided game—men versus women, just like their first match.

Jamie and Y/N were marking each other. Because of course they were.

Neither had backed down the entire session. Every pass, every run, every fucking look they exchanged was a silent dare.

Then, Y/N got the ball.

Jamie closed in immediately, pressing high, forcing her to turn her back to goal.

She was strong, but Jamie had trained against some of the best defenders in the world. He stepped in, body to body, using his weight to push her off balance.

Y/N dug her cleats into the grass. Held her ground.

Jamie smirked. “Gonna need to do better than that, Irish.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, shifting her weight—then spun him, hard, using his momentum against him.

Jamie stumbled.

And that was it.

That was the moment he snapped.

She was gone, sprinting toward goal, but Jamie didn’t think. He just reacted—lunging forward, going in for the challenge with more force than he should have.

Their legs tangled.

Y/N went down.

Hard.

Coach Beard's whistle blew.

And suddenly, Y/N was on Jamie, shoving at his chest.

“The feck was that Jamie?” she snapped, furious, eyes blazing.

Jamie stepped closer, jaw tight. “It was a tackle.”

“No, it was a fucking cheap shot, you arsehole!”

Jamie should have backed off. Should have apologized. Should have done anything but what he actually did:

He laughed.

“Oh, piss off,” he muttered. “You give it, but you can’t take it?”

Y/N shoved him again.

Jamie’s smirk vanished.

It was too close now.

Too much heat.

Too much everything.

Y/N’s chest was heaving, her hair a mess, her hands still curled into fists like she was deciding whether to hit him or grab him by the collar.

Jamie clenched his jaw. “You done?”

Y/N glared. “Fuck you, Tartt. You're a right pain in the hole.”

And before either of them could do something really stupid—

“WHISTLE. ENOUGH.”

Roy’s voice cut through the tension like a knife.

The entire pitch went silent.

Roy marched over, face thunderous, eyes locked onto Jamie and Y/N like he was about to personally kill both of them.

Jamie huffed a breath, stepping back. Y/N crossed her arms, still fuming.

Roy glared. “You two—inside. Now.”

Neither of them moved.

“NOW.”

Jamie and Y/N exchanged a look—one last sharp, defiant flash of heat—before stalking off toward the locker room.

Roy followed.

The door slammed shut behind them.

Roy paced for a second, rubbing a hand down his face before turning on Y/N first.

“What the fuck was that?” he snapped.

Y/N’s eyes blazed. “Ask him,” she shot back, jerking a thumb toward Jamie. “He’s the one who went in like a fucking pox—” (pox = Irish: annoying person)

“Oh, please—” Jamie started, but Roy cut him off.

“Shut the fuck up! You both are acting like the prince and princess of fucking pricks.”

Silence.

Roy exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look,” he muttered, voice gruff. “I don’t give a shit what’s goin’ on between you two—”

“Nothing’s goin' on,” Jamie and Y/N said at the exact same time.

Roy’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, fuckin’ really?” he muttered. “Then explain why the entire fucking team won’t shut up about you two? Explain why you spend every second of training staring at each other? Explain why you’re both actin’ like a pair of horny, brainless fuckin’ teenagers?”

Neither of them spoke.

Because—fuck.

They couldn’t.

Roy scowled. “Listen, I don’t care what the fuck this is, but it stops now. You hear me? I ain’t havin’ my best player distracted because some little Manc twat’s makin’ eyes at her.”

Jamie bristled. “Ain’t makin’ eyes—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Jamie,” Roy snapped. “You are, and it’s fuckin’ pathetic.”

Jamie rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath.

Roy turned back to Y/N.

“I mean it,” he said, voice low now, serious. “You’re better than this shit. I’ve been where you are. I know what it’s like to get distracted by—”

He stopped. Cleared his throat.

Y/N blinked.

Oh.

Oh, that was what this was about.

Roy Kent, legendary footballer, had been there. He’d been young, cocky, talented. Had been distracted. Had let himself get derailed.

He wasn’t just pissed—he cared.

Y/N swallowed, shifting her weight. “It’s not like that,” she muttered.

Roy just looked at her.

Y/N sighed, looking away. “Alright. Fine. We’ll knock it off.”

Roy didn’t look convinced but grunted anyway.

“Good.” He turned to Jamie. “And you—you pull that shit again, I’ll fucking end you. Fouling my best player in a fucking training match.”

Jamie gave a lazy salute. “Understood, Coach.”

Roy narrowed his eyes at both of them, then turned and walked out, muttering under his breath the entire way.

As soon as the door shut, Jamie sighed dramatically and leaned against the lockers.

“Well,” he drawled. “That was fun.”

Y/N scoffed. “Fuck off outta here, Jamie.”

Jamie chuckled. “Oh, come on, Irish,” he teased. “You’re not a little bit turned on right now?”

Y/N threw her water bottle at his head.

Jamie ducked, laughing, and Y/N—despite herself—felt the tiniest pull at the corner of her lips.

Yeah. She was in so much fucking trouble.

Y/N was determined.

Roy was right.

Jamie Tartt was a distraction.

So today, she was going to do what she should’ve done from the start—shut it down. No banter. No competition. No lingering looks.

Just football.

It lasted exactly twenty minutes.

Y/N ignored him in the hallways of Nelson Road.

She ignored him during warmups.

She ignored him when they lined up for passing drills and he smirked at her like he knew what she was doing.

But Jamie? Jamie lived for this shit.

“Oi, Irish,” he called as she settled into position for the drill. “You alright? You’re awfully quiet today.”

Y/N exhaled sharply. Did not look at him. Did not engage.

Jamie grinned. “Awww. You miss me already.”

Nothing.

Jamie hummed, juggling the ball lazily. “Y’know, studies say that bottlin’ up emotions ain’t good for you. You can tell me if you like havin’ me around.”

Y/N focused on her breathing. In. Out. Don’t kill him.

The team was already starting to notice.

Sam, standing nearby, bit back a laugh. Dani practically vibrated with excitement. Colin muttered, "This is a bad idea," for the fourth time that morning.

But Y/N refused to break.

Which, of course, only made Jamie worse.

During sprints, he jogged next to her, flashing a shit-eating grin every time she glanced his way.

During keep-away drills, he intercepted one of her passes, then leaned in as he returned it.

“Bit sloppy, that,” he murmured. “You feelin’ alright?”

Y/N clenched her jaw. Don’t react.

She went to the gym late that night, hoping to clear her head. The gym at Nelson Road was usually empty this late. The men’s and women’s teams had long since finished for the day, and most of the staff had gone home.

But when Y/N pushed open the door, she immediately spotted him.

Jamie Tartt.

On the treadmill.

Shirt damp with sweat.

Hair a mess, sticking to his forehead.

Moving at a ridiculously fast pace, like he was trying to outrun something.

Like her.

Y/N swore under her breath. Of fucking course.

Jamie must have heard the door because he glanced over his shoulder—then immediately slowed to a jog, a smirk curling at his lips.

“Can’t stay away from me, huh?”

Y/N let the door swing shut behind her. “I could say the same to you.”

Jamie huffed a laugh, tapping the treadmill speed down until he came to a stop. “This is my routine, Irish.” He grabbed a towel from the side, wiping the sweat from his neck. “You, though? This is new.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’ll be gone in twenty.”

Jamie tilted his head. “Oh, come on, Irish. Don’t pretend you don’t love this.”

Jamie was watching her as she grabbed a dumbbell and dropped into a lunge, not dignifying him with an answer.

“You alright?” he asked, voice lighter now. Less teasing.

Y/N exhaled. Focused on her form. “Fine. Grand.”

Jamie hummed. “Dunno. You looked real wound up today.”

Y/N clenched her jaw. Ignored him.

“Didn’t say one word to me all session,” Jamie continued, grabbing his water bottle. “Thought maybe you’d lost your voice.”

Y/N switched legs. Didn’t look at him.

Jamie smirked. “Or maybe you were just trying to ignore me.”

Y/N dropped the dumbbell louder than necessary.

“Jaysus, Tartt.” She turned to him, exasperated. “Do you ever shut up?”

Jamie grinned. “Nah.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. Shook her head. Reached for another weight.

And then—

Jamie stepped off the treadmill and closer to her.

Not much. Just a fraction. Just enough that she could feel him now, warm in the quiet, empty gym.

His voice dropped. “So, which is it?”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Jamie tilted his head. “You ignoring me ‘cause you hate me? Or ‘cause you don’t?”

The air changed.

Y/N’s grip tightened on the weight. “Would ya ever fuck off, Jamie?”

Jamie chuckled, voice lower now. “Awww, c’mon, Irish.” He took another small step, invading her space, gaze flickering over her face. “Admit it.”

Y/N refused to look up. “Admit what?”

Jamie leaned in. “You like it.”

Y/N swallowed. “Like what?”

Jamie’s smirk deepened. “That I get under your skin.”

Y/N’s entire body tensed.

Because fuck him. Because he was right. Because he wasn’t supposed to know that.

Jamie watched her—watched the flicker of something dangerous cross her face, watched the way her hands tightened, watched the way her breath hitched just slightly.

Then, so fucking slowly—

He reached past her, grabbing a towel from the bench behind her.

Their arms brushed.

Y/N froze.

Jamie’s smirk faltered.

For the first time, his teasing edge dropped.

It was just quiet now.

Just them.

His eyes flickered to her lips.

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Jamie inhaled—sharp, steady, deliberate. His fingers twitched.

Y/N felt it happening—that moment. The one where she knew she should step back but didn’t. The one where Jamie should make another joke but didn’t. Everything felt slow.

And then—

The door swung open.

“Oi, anyone in here—oh, fuck, sorry.”

They sprung apart.

One of the Richmond Men's kit men—some kid barely out of university—Y/N thinks his name is Will—stood in the doorway, looking wildly uncomfortable.

Jamie cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, mate. We’re—uh—just trainin’.”

The kid looked between them. Clearly didn’t believe a fucking word.

“Right,” he said. “Well. Carry on.”

Then he bolted.

Silence.

Y/N exhaled slowly. Didn’t look at Jamie.

Jamie pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Dragged a hand through his damp hair.

“Well,” he muttered. “That weren’t fuckin’ awkward at all.”

Y/N let out a breath—half a laugh, half fucking hell, what just happened?

Then, without another word, she grabbed her bag and left.

Because if she stayed, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk away again.

And fuck, was that a problem.

To be continued...

[bambisworlds]

after show special

harry can't wait to get you alone after his concert, so he takes you to his dressing room (1,383 word count)

content warnings, mdni 18+

f!reader, slight dom!harry, sassy!harry, cocky!harry, established relationship, oral (f. receiving), fingering, light squirting, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), light breath play, spanking (once), praise, creampie, no direct character description, use of "good girl", let me know if i missed anything x

my masterlist

this is my first fic, please be nice i'm sensitive lol <3

I bit my lip with a slight smile as I started to record Harry while he sang Watermelon Sugar. Like magnets, his eyes found mine in the crowd. I smiled as his gaze landed on me. I expected him to blow a kiss, or do something cute for the camera like usual, but the look he gave me... I knew I was fucked.

The minute Harry walked off the stage he pulled me into a devouring kiss. My brain seemed to block out the screams of the fans, which got louder when his lips touched mine. All I could feel was him.

"Come with me," he smirks, yanking my hand to drag me along. He pulled me through the hallways until we reached his dressing room. He practically shoved me inside then kicked the door shut and locked it behind him. He walked over and scooped me up into his arms, my legs dangling around his waist. He set me on the leather couch, immediately attacking me with kisses while his hands explored my body like his life depended on it. My back arched off the sofa in an attempt to maximize the closeness between us. His hands moved down to grip my thighs beneath my skirt, squeezing the soft flesh. While our tongues tangled together he pushed my legs up to my chest and pulled away, settling between my spread legs in a flash.

He sat on the balls of his feet as he ripped my panties off, literally. With a moan he launched forward, burying his face between my thighs. The rings on his fingers dug into the sensitive flesh of my thighs as he ate me out with wild abandon.

My lips parted into an 'oh' shape as my head fell back against the couch. My hands blindly reach for something and grip onto the leather cushions of the couch. The lewd slurping and wet sounds from between my legs spurred me on, and the groaning of the leather couch when I fidgeted.

I gasped and reached down to grip his hair as he pistoned his tongue in and out of my hole. My back arches off the bed from the delicious friction. I look down at Harry briefly to realize his eyes have been locked on my face the entire time. His eyes were dark, heated with sexual energy. I shivered under his gaze and he smirked, focusing back on my pussy.

Harry pulled back briefly, spit on my pussy, then went back at it. "Jesus..." I mutter, my eyes fluttering shut as he suctioned on my clit. Harry's hands disappeared from my thighs as he began to remove his rings. He mutters 'stupid fuckin' things' as he struggles to get one off. The second it was off he haphazardly tossed it onto the floor. His left hand pushed my left thigh up against my chest again and he slid his right middle finger into me. I gasp and my back arches from the lewd squelch of his finger pumping into me.

"Fuck," he moans lowly from the audible wetness of my cunt. With a gravelly groan, he began to lick and suck on my clit again, his middle finger pumping in and out of me. I squirt slightly as his finger brushes against my g-spot and Harry moans loudly, his eyes rolling back as he eats me out with renewed vigor, his finger pumping faster.

My moans grow more desperate as my orgasm builds rapidly within me. My mouth drops open and I arch off the bed as I cum. My thighs tremble and squeeze around Harry's head tightly but his ministrations don't relent.

Only when I go limp and the trembling of my legs turn to twitching does he pull away with a satisfied sigh, his lips and chin glistening in my slick. As if unable to resist, he leans back in to place a long lick up my slit before finally rising to his feet.

My eyes follow his face as I stand. My breasts were heaving beneath the tight, black, crop top I was wearing. My eyes flickered down the obvious bulge in his trousers as he rose to his full height and I gulped.

Harry bends down, picks me up, and spins us around so I'm sitting on his lap. He leans in and captures his lips with mine, kissing me hungrily as he shoves my shirt up over the swell of my breasts. Without looking, he yanks my bra down so my breasts spill out and his large hands cup them eagerly. I moan sweetly as I kiss him, tasting myself on his tongue as his hands squeeze and grope at my tits.

I roll my hips as we kiss, rubbing my bare cunt against the bulge in his trousers. Harry smirks against my lips with a dark chuckle, "Need something, princess?" he teases, his breath hot against my lips. He pulls back from my mouth as he unzips his trousers and pulls his cock out. I subconsciously lick my lips, looking back and forth between his face and hardened cock. "Go ahead then," he says flatly. He leans back against the couch with a cocky smirk. It amazed me how he was so sweet to me in everyday life, then turned into a smug bastard whenever we had sex. I'll admit, it's hot.

I reach down and give his cock a few slow tugs before lifting myself and hovering over it. His eyes remain locked on my face as I position the tip at my entrance. My hips rock subtly as I coat the head of his cock in my juices and he bites his lip. His eyes flicker down between my legs briefly before returning to my face. "You gonna play with it all day, or fuck it?" Harry asks flatly. I roll my eyes good-naturedly and slowly sink onto his cock. 

Harry lets out a ragged moan, his head falling back against the sofa. "That's it," he encourages as I slowly work my way down his impressive length. When I lower myself completely, so his balls were pressed against my ass, he hisses, "Jesus Christ."

I refocus on his face. His eyes were blown out and filled with hunger as he stared at me. My hips begin to rock in slow motions and Harry's mouth drops open. 

"Fuck yeah," he encourages, resting his large hands on my hips. He guides my movements, yet allows me to pick the pace. My lips part in a breathy moan as I continue my slow, tantalizing movements. Harry's moans were all the encouragement I needed as I began to bounce on his lap. "Oh fuck," he gasps as I start to bounce enthusiastically on him. He let out a heavy breath with each of my downward thrusts, his green eyes flickering all over my body. 

The wet slap of flesh only spurred me on further. Harry's hands began to roam over my body. They slid up my sides, to my breasts, then up until one of them wrapped loosely around my throat. The display made my pussy clench and he smirked knowingly, tightening his grip. 

Harry's other hand came down on my ass with a sharp smack, "Keep going." he says huskily and I moan desperately in response, picking up my pace. 

"Oh god," I gasp, my eyes squeezing shut as the coil in me threatens to snap. My movements become desperate and erratic as I chase my release. Harry's moans grow louder, his hand tightening around my throat.

"Good job baby, come on my cock," he encourages breathlessly. 

After a few more desperate motions I cum, my body shuddering violently. I let out a shaky moan and fell forward so my forehead rested against his shoulders. 

"Fucking hell," Harry grunts, bucking his hips up into mine as he cums as well. I moan sweetly as I feel the familiar warmth of his cum inside me and roll my hips slightly, prolonging both of our pleasures. After a few moments, I shiver and still on his lap. We both pant as we come down from our highs. "I almost cut the set list in half just so we could do this." Harry chuckles breathily and his head falls back against the couch, sighing in satisfaction. 

if you have any requests including the people on my masterlist please comment them below any of my posts or in my submissions!! (check here: about my blog  to see what things i'm not comfortable with in regards to requests <3)

[ficnation]

Dead Girl Walkin'#1

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female! Reader

Warnings: sickness, usual the walking dead themes

Word count: 500+

A/n: So I had this little idea for a one-shot for a while now, it was supposed to be just something really really short but it kinda turned out to be more than that, so it'll be a smoll shortie series of flashbacks and late night conversations between Daryl and Rick, maybe someone else too??? We shall see. Hope you enjoy it!

I'll add the taglist in the comments later on, probably

Main Masterlist || Daryl Dixon Masterlist

NEXT CHAPTER

The fire crackles between them, casting long shadows on the ground. The night is quiet—too quiet—but neither of them seems to mind.

“I had someone… 'fore it all began,” Daryl mutters, breaking the silence.

Rick glances at him, just for a second, before casting his gaze back to the fire. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask. If Daryl wants to talk, he’ll let him.

Daryl exhales, shaking his head. “Real dead girl walkin’.” A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Would’ve fit right in.”

Rick frowns, waiting.

“She’d have liked me callin’ her that, too,” Daryl continues, voice quieter now. “Had a sick sense of humor. Always laughin’ at shit she shouldn’t. Couldn’t ever tell if she was tough as hell or just didn’t give a damn.” He huffs. “Got along with Merle, though. Ain’t many could say that.”

Rick tilts his head. “That so?”

“Yeah. Thought he was funny. Thought I was funny, too.” Daryl lets out a breath, almost a laugh. “Never did get why.”

A beat of silence stretches between them before Rick asks, “What happened to her?”

Daryl’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t look up. “Hell if I know,” he mutters. “She was barely survivin’ before the end of the fuckin’ world. Always sick, never gettin’ out much. Was born like that.”

Rick watches him carefully, but Daryl just stares into the fire, lost in his own head.

It was a shitty day, too damn hot, and Daryl was already in a bad mood when he stomped up the rusted steps of the trailer.

Merle had dragged him out here to some backwoods lot, said they were meetin’ up with an old buddy for some “business.” Daryl didn’t ask too many questions.

But when the trailer door swung open, the last thing he expected to see was a girl—no older than him—leaning in the doorway with a cigarette between her lips and an amused look in her eyes.

“Merle Dixon,” you drawled, exhaling smoke. “Figured that was your ugly mug pullin’ up.”

Daryl blinked. You were pale—like real pale, the kind that don’t see much sun. Dark circles under your eyes, too, like you never slept. But there was somethin’ about you, the way you looked at him like you already knew him.

“And you,” you said, flicking your cigarette. “You must be Baby Dixon.”

Daryl scowled. “The hell’d you just call me?”

You grinned, tapping your temple. “Good guess. You just got that look, y’know? Like a kicked dog with a temper.”

Merle barked out a laugh, slapping Daryl on the back. “Shit, girl, you nailed ‘im.”

Daryl huffed, crossing his arms. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

You leaned against the doorframe, smirking. You introduced yourself like you were proud of your name. “Ain’t got no fancy title like ‘Baby Dixon,’ though. Guess you’ll just have to come up with somethin’ for me.”

Daryl scoffed. “How ‘bout ‘pain in my ass’?”

Your laugh was loud and real, shaking your head. “I like you, Dixon.”

He rolled his eyes, but damn it if he didn’t kinda like you, too.

Daryl swallows hard, the memory fading. He shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face.

“She’d have made it fun,” he says, voice rough. “This whole end-of-the-world shit.”

Rick doesn’t say anything for a while. Then, finally—

“What’d you call her?”

Daryl huffs a quiet laugh. “Dead Girl.” His throat tightens. “She thought it was funny.”

Rick nods, watching as Daryl pokes at the fire with a stick, lost in thoughts of a girl long gone.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Found Pt. 4 | Poly!141 & Reader

Summary: You, Simon, and Price go shopping, while the two work out their problems, and you get new clothes and delicious Thai chicken.

Word Count: ~3.2k

Warnings: arguing, yelling, cursing, but it gets resolved, cuddles

A/N: reader is starting to come out of her shell a bit, which will certainly make things more interesting…hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Johnny hadn’t come out to the Jeep yet, and for the past five minutes Simon had been about to drive away, one hand on the wheel, index finger tapping away impatiently as he scowled in the direction of the house. They both seemed almost attached at the hip more often than not. You wondered what was holding the werewolf up.

The front door swung open, but instead of Johnny and his ever-wagging tail coming out, it was Price who lumbered out. The little brown fuzzy’s barely visible on his head, which you assumed were ears, twitched as he approached the car, opened the passenger door, and hauled his body in.

The car shook ever so slightly when he pulled the door shut, slamming it loudly in a gesture that made you jump a bit.

“Where’s Johnny?”

Simon asked, his tone calm but the hint of annoyance creeping in. He raised a brow at Price, who huffed with a hint of a growl that had the hair on the back of your neck standing up.

“Said I’m gonna pull my back out choppin’ wood, told me to come with you.”

John sounded more than annoyed, huffing, his sentence trailing off with his voice growing a bit more than brusque as usual, Simon sighing out through his nostrils.

“Not like he’s wrong.”

He mumbled, putting the keys in, turning them, and starting the ignition, before Price growled deep and low. Your breath caught in your throat, muscles tensing as you scooted more away from the middle of the backseat to the right side, body curling up as you tried to focus on the moving scenery outside the tinted window, the car pulling out of the driveway and bumbling along the bumpy roads. Trees blurred into brown and orange masses as Simon sped up a bit, his and John’s conversation speeding up as well.

“Leave it, Price.”

If you were a hybrid, you might’ve been able to smell the souring of John’s scent or the hint of bitter anger that tinted it.

“You’re hardly younger than me, but those muppets don’t blink twice when you’re doing work, do they?”

A pause from Simon.

“It’s..different, Price. We’re different.”

“Yeah, how’re we different? You saying you’re better than me.”

The atmosphere thickened. You didn’t like how angry he sounded, how Simon’s knuckles were white around the wheel, how John was bordering on a growl every word. He seemed pent up. Angry about more than just what had happened today, as if this had been building for a while, longer than you’d been around to see.

Simon didn’t deny it.

“You muppets, always thinkin’ I’m getting too old for this, well I’m not. I’m not too fuckin’ old to chop wood—“

He snarled out, and your hands went to cover your ears, tears pricking your eyes. You didn’t like angry, cussing men. They brought back bad memories, things you didn’t want to think about again, not right now, if ever. Your knees curled up into your chest, and your blurry vision focused on the window.

The trees had turned into walls of rock, with a few darker spots where water was steadily dripping down, and grass crusted over with frost. The little trees that were on the top had lost all of their leaves by now, the cold chill getting to them.

It was cold in the car, too.

They didn’t have the AC on, which made sense, considering the amount of hair on John meant he didn't need much heat, and Simon’s large body produced enough on its own. Or at least you assumed.

Their argument grew a bit more heated, a few words slipping into your ears despite the hands covering them until they were both yelling at each other, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop it!”

You finally yelled, hands still covering your ears, eyes fearful and scared. John’s mouth was still open from something he’d been about to say before they both turned to glance at you and knew they’d fucked up.

Simon took one look at you through the rearview mirror and internally winced. You witnessed the entire thing, an argument that he and John had been having for years now. The old man was too stubborn to let anyone else try and take care of him, shouldering more and more, trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, and getting angry when anyone tried to help him if he stumbled.

John’s anger was gone in a second, replaced with the full internal instinct to fix. His cub was upset because of him. It was his fault. He had to fix it.

Your body language alone was screaming “stay away from me, I will bite your hand off”, as was your scent, but he couldn’t just let you sit all terrified in the backseat, so he tried to calm you down just a bit.

“‘M sorry, cub. Didn’t mean to scare you,”

His voice turned from angry to soft and cooing so quickly it almost gave you whiplash, but it still worked a bit on softening the anxiety churning in your gut. Not enough for you to accept the large hand he was offering, though.

Simon looked at the rearview mirror once again, both behind the car, and then at you once more, and was hit with a sudden realization.

You were afraid, fearful, but he didn’t see any hint of surprise in your expression. You’d been in foster care so long, you’d probably seen all sorts of relationships, maybe even experienced a few, if your earlier request to visit a ‘friend’ was anything to go off of, but you probably hadn’t seen what a healthy relationship was before.

And what he and John had just showed you? That wasn’t healthy, not at all.

So he tried to think of what Gaz would do, ever the virtuous young man, always trying to mend relationships and crossing bridges before burning them completely. He’d seen it just a day ago between him and Soap. Kyle was always thinking about what the other person was thinking and feeling, what they might be going through, putting himself in someone else’s shoes.

Simon might’ve not been the best with emotions, but he could recognize the signs of a minor breakdown. Price hadn’t slept well much this week, before you’d come he’d been worried about getting the room done on time, and since then he’d been worried about you getting comfortable. His short temper made sense. And with such a small, new kid in their home, slowly becoming a member of the pack, it made sense for his protective instincts to be on overdrive, making him shoulder more responsibilities as the leader of the pack.

In fact, he hadn’t seen John this worked up in years, not even with their past fosters.

Simon could have some empathy for the man, and after growing up through his childhood with no good father figure, only his dad abusing his mother and being drunk all the time. You deserved better than what he’d had to see and much better than what he and Price were showing you.

“John.”

He interrupted the man’s cooed words, and John at the lack of nickname and the sheer tone that Simon was using. It wasn’t an unkind tone, it was soft and quiet, much less intimidating than the usual monotone and bland voice he adorned.

It caught your attention too, he could tell. His eyes remained on the road, but he could scent the subtle shift in your emotions, from the fear and worry, a bitter scent, to the shift to a calmer, softer scent. Almost like freshly done laundry, and how soft and warm it is coming out of the dryer.

“Yes?”

He was trying to stay angry, Simon could tell, but it wasn’t working.

Simon took a deep breath, trying to push down the embarrassment he already felt for what he was about to say. It felt strange to acknowledge emotions so clearly, but it was necessary, and if he had to push himself out of his comfort zone to make you comfortable, he would. He’d done better for worse people.

“I...understand that you’re stressed, and feel like we’re undermining you, but we’re just worried that you’re pushing yourself too hard, and not trusting us enough to let us help you. It’s not that any of us are better than you, we just don’t want you taking everything on your shoulders.”

He heaved a shaky breath out, eyes on the road as he pulled into the parking lot of the mall, eyes scanning for a parking spot that wasn’t taken up.

“I’m sorry,”

John finally spoke up, voice rough, but not with anger, only thick with emotion.

“I’ve just been stressed, and trying to keep myself busy. I didn’t mean to…”

His sentence trailed off as he leaned into Simon, and Simon leaned his head against him as he finally found a spot, and pulled into it.

As you sat in the back, watching, John finally pulled away from Simon a minute later, giving a little apologetic smile to you as he opened his door, moving to open yours.

“Sorry for scaring ya, cub. Let’s make it up and go get some clothes, yeah?

He offered a hand, and you found that you took it, despite having to lift your arm a bit for your hand to meet his large, calloused one. He was warm.

Simon came around after you heard him pull the keys out, lock the car, and shut his door. He took your other hand, leaving you sandwiched between the two giant men as you all approached the entrance to the mall, which was a lot of sliding glass doors marked with “Exit” and “Entrance”.

As soon as you entered, your senses were assaulted with the smells and musks of other people and perfume, not to mention delicious food and drinks, as well as bright lights from stores and flashing lights from stands selling kids’ toys. It was loud, people talking unabashedly on the phone, to their friends as they laughed and tripped over their own feet, or to their partners as they walked hand in hand. A few other children your age were there, but no humans.

It didn’t necessarily surprise you.

Simon noticed how overwhelmed you were, and he couldn’t say that he hadn’t expected it. Malls were large spaces packed full of people looking to sell things, and others rushing to buy things. Especially with how most people tended to easily be taller than you, or tower over you, he could imagine you’d be easily intimidated by that, let alone all the options of where to go.

Giving your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze, he spoke.

“We can get clothes first, then decide from there.”

John met his eye, and nodded, silently agreeing with him. You mumbled a little “okay”, before being led along by the both of them to a nearby area in the mall that was a large clothing store, one of the bigger shopping areas than the hallways full of different, smaller stores.

“Let’s focus on winter clothes first, so jackets, scarves, gloves, pants, those sorts of things. Then we can move on to lighter wear.”

You all navigated the store, meandering around before John spotted the “Children’s clothing” sign, and you finally found the girl’s section. From there, you had to narrow that down to the human section among all sorts of hybrids.

That was the one thing you didn’t envy about hybrids, was how hard it must be to find clothing that properly fit their various parts like wings, tails, etc. There was a reason that seamstresses and embroiderers had become much more popular after hybrids really began rapidly spreading and taking over the population. The business was booming.

“What about this one?”

John asked, gesturing to a striped sweater. You could tell from a few glances that the quality wasn’t the greatest, and that it wasn’t made of real wool or fiber, probably just the type of polyester that rubbed against your skin badly. You reached a hand out, disconnecting from Simon, and rubbing against the fabric only to confirm your assumption. You shook your head.

“Itchy.”

You said simply. They tried pointing out clothes and jackets you might like to no avail, probably not understanding the concept of needing fabric to stay warm, considering most hybrids had fur to keep them warm, if not their bodies practically being furnaces.

Finally, you found the absolute perfect jacket. A hoodie that wasn’t tight around the bottom, but baggy enough to where it went down to your mid-thigh, the sleeves weren’t tight, and the hood was loose and wasn’t so heavy that it weighed the hoodie down or strangled you. The inside felt like a cloud, and it was stretchy but also firm enough to keep heat insulated.

When you finally stopped feening over the hoodie, you flipped the price tag over and winced, putting it back. It might’ve been perfect, but it was a ridiculous amount of money for a hoodie. Too much money for a hoodie.

Simon and Price exchanged a look behind your back as you went on to find other clothes, returning twenty minutes later with, as John requested, a scarf, gloves, some sweatpants, and socks. Simon scoped it all out of your arms and put it in their cart, following behind as John began looking for the clothes for lighter seasons, finding it and letting you choose your pick.

Having spent almost two hours in the one place by now, with you trying on various clothes, John said he wanted to make sure they fit right before buying them, and your mild indecisiveness as well. When it was all said and done, you had plenty of clothes for outfits throughout the year, and they checked out.

It was only after everything had been checked out that you saw it.

The hoodie.

Simon held it carefully, scanning it, before ripping the tag off with ease and handing it to you. You opened your mouth in protest at first, a bit embarrassed, but decided against saying anything as you slid it on. It fit perfectly.

It wouldn’t be very easy for either of them to hold the bags and your hand at the same time, so Simon leaned down, getting on one knee, and gesturing to his shoulders, gently picked you up by the armpit, and lifted you until you were sitting on his shoulders.

You blinked in surprise for a moment or two, but eventually, the shock wore off. The internal cringing after seeing a couple go “awwww” at the sight of you, or a group of women giggling to themselves, seeing Simon carrying you, didn’t though.

John noticed, a little smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t mind anyone noticing what good parents they were to the newest member of their pack, it actually made his chest swell with pride.

“You hungry?”

Simon asked, tilting his head a bit to the side to catch a glimpse of you, just so he knew you had heard him. You gave a little nod, being absolutely starving by now, and he chuckled.

“Me too, kid. Let’s see how much we can convince Price to spend on food.”

You’d both convinced him to spend quite a lot on food, apparently, as you both sat down, eating Thai chicken that tasted scrumptious. You devoured it, eating faster than even Simon, and Price was steadily laughing as he watched you somehow shove more food down your throat.

“Save some for the rest of us,”

Price chuckled, watching as you swallowed more chicken, looking up at him with a look more feral than any hybrid he’d seen, before pouting in what he assumed was a joking way.

“I’m just a girl.”

You said, and Simon’s deep, raspy laughs started up at that. He apparently found it funny. You continued devouring your food, filling your stomach until you were all full, something you weren’t used to from your past foster parents.

Price was enjoying his food as well as you all sat at the Food Court, in a little booth table. The lady working the shop had given extra-large servings after taking one look at Simon and Price, knowing big men like them would need plenty of food. She probably hadn’t known how starved you’d been, and by now, you were too hungry to care about eating nicely in front of them.

There was sauce on your lips and your fingers, but you didn’t care, Price wiping some from his beard, Simon using a napkin to wipe some of it from his mouth, before folding that napkin over, and wiping it off your face. You looked at him, a smile tugging at your lips. He tried to conceal his smirk but failed as you burst into giggles. Price laughed again.

After finally finishing off all of the chicken, both you and Simon were in a food coma by now, Price had to drag both of you out of the mall and into the car, climbing into the driver’s seat. You and Simon lagged behind a little bit, before you broke out into a run to the car, yelling a message for Simon.

“I call shotgun!”

“You can’t just—“

He sputtered, racing after you, but too late as you yanked the passenger door open, collapsing into the seat as you shut the door and locked it manually. He raised a brow, but you buckled up, securing your seat with a badly suppressed smile.

He opened the back door, climbed in, and stretched out on all three of the seats in the back, yawning as he didn’t even bother to buckle up.

You and John both looked back at him, you giggling quietly as Simon’s lips twitched, John just shaking his head in fond exasperation.

The drive home was quiet, other than the low-volume music playing in the background as you curled up in the large seat, watching the window, eyelids heavy, but you resisted the siren's call of sleep for most of the car ride, other than a little five-minute nap, or maybe a little bit longer than five minutes.

Or maybe you fell asleep almost the entire car ride, only waking up when you heard Johnny’s excited voice, followed by hushing, and you shifted around, only to find yourself cradled in John’s arms.

“Quiet, she’s sleeping.”

Kyle murmured, and Johnny whined, the sound almost piercing to your ears.

“No, she ain’t—“

And then you slowly blinked awake, finding yourself being shifted from John’s arms to Johnny’s, warm muscle gently caging you in as soft fur rubbed gently against your skin, tickling a bit. His chest rumbled with a deep purr, one that even had you melting further into him, despite not being the same species. It somehow still affected you.

You heard his heavy footsteps thud down the hall, until your bedroom door creaked open, and the soft blankets in your bed surrounded you now instead of him.

You shifted around a bit, finding a comfortable angle and spot, listening to his quiet breathing and loud purring as he kissed you on the forehead, murmuring something so low that you couldn’t hear it, before leaving the room, leaving you to fall asleep.

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[laiiaaa]

MY LOVE, MINE ALL MINE — CARMEN BERZATTO 1. BUTTERSCOTCH — you finally say hello to a familiar face in the city after a little girl bumps into you. (2.7k) masterlist | next | taglist

Carmen keeps track of the running grocery list in his head:

Green onions? Check. Shallots? Check. Rolled oats? Check.

“Alright,” he huffs into the phone, a stupid thing tucked snug between his shoulder and jaw.

“Carm, I’m serious—”

“Nat, I got it, alright? I’ll call the fuckin’ guy.” Strawberries? Check. Eggs? Check. “I’m at the store, ‘n I’ll be back, ‘n then I’ll call him. It’s fine.” Dino nuggets? Check. That way-too-sugary cereal Sofia likes—? Even though he wishes Richie never gave it to her—? Check, check, check, so fuckin’ checked. “Now, do you wanna talk to—”

He looks to his side, where Sofia once stood with chubby little fingers hooked on the cart, that raggedy old stuffed animal always caught in the other fist. Gone. Carmen’s heart stops and catches in his throat. 

Natalie’s voice again, much quieter now that the phone’s not at his ear. “Hello?”

He doesn’t even hear his sister, doesn’t process her words.

He turns around. “Sof?” But she’s not there.

He tries again, facing forward, a little louder. “Sofia?” Nothing. “Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, ending the call without a second thought. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—” 

He shoves his phone into his pocket, abandons the cart altogether, pokes his head into the aisle over. “Sofia.” Nothing. “Shit—”

He can’t breathe. A closed fist shoots to his chest to try and soothe the droughted ache. The ceiling’s closing in from above, every aisle looks the same, his feet are too heavy to carry him fast enough through the store.

Where’s his fuckin’ kid?

You’re spooked out of a fatigued trance by a clumsy little girl at your feet in the produce section. 

She can’t be older than four, her chubby little face framed by golden brown curls, dressed in a cute little black dress and pink tights, ballet flats to boot. By her hand is a well-loved stuffed animal: an orange tabby cat with lint fuzzies along its body, teetering on the edge of the display about to fall into the lettuce.

“Well, hello,” you start.

She peeks up at you through stray curls with a grin. “Hi.”

You do a quick scan of the immediate area but spot nothing other than a worker stocking bananas twenty feet away, another pushing a cart of mangoes. “Where’d you come from, hm?” You perch down next to her and try to offer a warm smile to keep her calm.

“I’m here with my daddy.”

“Yeah? Where’s he at?”

Her lips, shiny with drool, puff into a pout. “I…” Her little voice wobbles, and you know that fucking wobble, that precursor to something uncontrollable and wretched, and for a split second you consider letting her cry, just on the off chance her dad hears it.

But you come to your senses: it’ll take all but five, no more than ten minutes to cover the entire store ground. You graze your hand by her back and offer her the sorry excuse for a cat. “Hey, don’t worry, it’s alright. I’ll help you.”

“B-But…” Those pretty brown eyes of her turn glassy, ready for tears, and her lip quivers, her cheeks puff out.

“I’ll help you find him, okay? We’ll wait right here, and I promise he’ll find you. We won’t leave this spot til he does.”

She hesitates before she nods, gives you a warbled, “Okay.”

You give her your name—something you read or heard from word of mouth, how putting a name to your face makes you more trustworthy. “What’s yours?”

“...Sofia.”

“Sofia,” you repeat. “That’s a very pretty name.”

The dimples that come through with her smile have you swooning, your chest filling with something sweet. A supercut you’ve long since abandoned flits through one of the best and worst years you’ve endured: kisses at the door for hello and goodbye, chilly Chicago mornings spent in someone else’s sheets, serving coffee in thick handmade mugs and being thanked for it with lips pressed to your cheek. But that was a year ago, and it’s long gone. You’re better off now—occupied with work, and running a business, and trying new things, and finding comfort in the solitude of an apartment that’s filled with nothing but the smell of coffee grounds.

Your pointer finger lifts her toy’s head: “And who’s this?”

“Butterscotch,” she says, Butter sounding a whole lot like Buttah.

“Yeah? Where’d you come up with that name?”

“My daddy’s a chef, he teached it to me.”

A chef, you hum, No wonder he’s here at seven in the morning.

And you do just about everything you’d want someone to do if this were your kid: you keep her right where she is like you promised her, you listen to all her stories she has with Butterscotch, you answer the silly questions she asks while she holds your finger in a squishy hand and bears a gummy smile.

Until—

A man wrought with stress approaches. Fitted white tee, loose denim on his hips, beat up Nikes that’ve probably seen better days. Golden brown curls like the little girl’s, only thicker, darkened with age, and half-straightened, probably from the way he runs his fingers through them like he does as he walks toward you and the girl. Buff arms, built shoulders, and they’re littered with tattoos…

Not what you expected. And he looks so fucking familiar, yet you can’t put your finger on it—

“Sofia,” he huffs, and she scurries over to him in tiny yet quickened steps and jumps into his arms, his eyes closing and brows furrowing with a relief that’s palpable as he tucks his nose into her swirling hair. “What’d I tell you about comin’ to the store w’me, huh?” A veiny hand with the letters S O U inked on the fingers cups the back of her head as he sways her from side to side, failing to give her much of a stern look at all despite his frustration. “You gotta stay by my side, I told you, you’ll get lost.”

“But I wasn’t lost, Daddy,” she pouts, “I was right here, and—and I had to find Butterscotch, and you—you weren’t there—”

“Okay,” he soothes, rubbing his hand along her back before he thumbs away budding tears from her fleshy cheeks. “Okay, hon…” He props her at his hip. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You just scared me ‘s all, alright? Didn’t know where you were, had me lookin’ all over for you.”

“...I’m sorry,” she mumbles, clearly upset, nuzzling into her dad’s shoulder as he presses a sweet kiss to her head.

He looks to you, then, and you lend him a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry about her, she’s, uh…” He peeks at her, so lovingly— “She can be a handful sometimes.”

“No, don’t apologize, she was great.” Your eyes drift to his hands. They’re big, strong, like he knows what to do with them around the house, with a baby girl...with her mother, too, though you wonder where that stands. You try not to. “She’s talkative, makes for a fun conversation. A great storyteller, too.”

He smiles, and it’s hearty, with a twitch of a brow as he draws just a bit closer—it’s slight, so slight you almost think you’re imagining things. “Think so? She doesn’t usually, um…doesn’t usually wanna talk to people, y’know?” He hikes her up again, and she turns so that she’s facing you. “Get all grumpy, don’t ya, Sof? Like with your Uncle Richie?”

“But she’s nice,” she chimes in, lifting her head from his shoulder and leaving the cat’s head peeking through. “Not mean like he is.”

Again with that smile, he looks at her with raised brows, bobs her up and down as he holds her tight, like she’s his entire world. “Yeah?” He shoots you back a look, half-impressed. “You don’t wanna see him today, huh?”

“No,” she grumbles, face smushed into his tee. “Can she come to work with us instead?”

“Sof…” He scoffs, cocking his head to the side, and his eyes dart between you and his girl. “That’s not—we can’t just—”

“Pretty please, Daddy…” She pouts at him, pulls on his neck with her arms looped around it, starts trying to lean back to stir up trouble but his hands hold her firm to his torso. “You said Eva and Vivi can’t play today…”

“I—I know, hon— . . . It’s just— . . .” Kissing his teeth, he contemplates for a moment. “She probably has work to do, y’know? Just like I have to work? And how sometimes you can’t come with me?”

“Where does she work?”

“Uhhh…” In an awkward pause, he seems to realize the dilemma. The expectant glance your way is almost painful. “Shit,” he hisses, holding Sofia with one hand to run fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry, I should’ve—I should introduce myself, right?” The pained look on his face makes you think the question is genuine, and he offers his right hand to you— “I’m Carmen, but, um, most people just call me Carmy.”

It clicks: He’s Carmen Berzatto. Not just some guy or some chef in the grocery store you’ve happened to meet, but the guy. The guy who owns the fine dining joint across the street from your cafe; the guy who showed up to the city a few years ago only to revamp his family-owned sandwich shop in its entirety; the guy you’d heard so much about from the gossip around the block between vendors; the guy who left his roots to be something so much bigger than anyone could’ve imagined; the guy who came back with a reputation with none to rival and a shattered family in its shadow. The prodigal son of Chicago. You heard of him but never met.

“Y-Yeah, right, right,” you nod, stumbling for the right words. “I thought you looked kinda familiar.” You take his hand graciously as you give him your name. His handshake is firm, solid, sure of himself, with a callused palm and dry skin and cracked knuckles, an inked-on hand with a knife through its palm on the back of his hand. “You own The Bear, right?”

“I do.” Sheepish, like it’s embarrassing to be successful.

“Cool, cool, I’ve, um, I’ve heard a lot of good things about it, but I’ve never been.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Something warm in your belly comes to the surface and you try to drown it. “I own the cafe across the street—? Just a, uh, a smaller place—” You shake your head as if to dismiss the thought of him even knowing about it. “I dunno if—”

“No, no, yeah, I know that one, a few doors down—” he nods, fervently— “Etta’s, right?”

You smile. He knew of it so quick, with so little detail you want to think it means something. “Yeah, that’s the one.” For fuck’s sake, the guy probably just likes to support his local businesses. Get a grip.

“My sister loves that place, goes there all the time. But I, uh…” A soft smile at his girl. “I don’t usually have much time to go myself…”

“Yeah, I can imagine you’re pretty busy with her.” Unless her mom is in the picture…?

But he doesn’t take the bait—he only smiles, hums with a subtle nod, gives Sofia a pat on the back to get her attention, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Hey, cub, guess what?”

She comes to only slightly, with pale blonde locks like angel’s hair tickling Carmen’s neck. Grumbles something akin to a Hm?

“You know those chocolate chip muffins you like? The ones your Aunt Natalie gets for you?”

Her curls are already caught in her eyelashes. “With the sparkles on top?”

He gives you a knowing look: sugar, not sparkles. “Yes, with the sparkles. Did you know our new friend here runs that shop?”

Her head perks up with a gasp. “What?” Her excitement is so soft, and she can’t even stave off a smile now, tiny teeth shining through to show the dimples in her cheeks again.

“You heard me.”

From her mouth is only a whisper, a doe-eyed look targeted right at you. “No way.”

You smile at her. “Yes way.”

She puts on those puppy dog eyes, looks at Carmen with a pout as she tugs on him again. “Daddy, can we please—”

 In one fell swoop, his hand whisks her hair out of her face. “Uh-uh. Nice try.”

Oh, but she’s a stubborn one. “But please—”

“Not today, baby, we gotta finish shopping, hm? Then go to work?” His eyes dart to meet yours in a knowing glance, a silent apology and excuse to leave. “Maybe I’ll ask Aunt Natalie to get them for you tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

She huffs and buries herself into his neck again, turning away from you now that she’s in a surly mood.

“Okay,” he sighs, smiling to himself, and you can’t deny the comfort in seeing his little girl so cozy with him, like he’s either the only parent around, or he’s really just that good of a father—and husband, or fiancé, or boyfriend, or whatever he might be. You don’t know if you should feel guilty for wanting to pry.

The conversation lulls to a hesitant stop, like neither one of you is sure how to bid farewell—or whether you want to do so at all.

“Y’know,” he starts, with a finality to his tone, “I’ve still gotta—”

“Yeah, me too—”

“And I left the cart in the other aisle—”

“Right, right, of course—”

“And they need me at the—”

“Same here, I need to, uh—”

“Right, yeah, so um—”

“Yeah—”

“I guess I should—”

“Probably—”

“And, uh—…”

“It was nice to meet you, though,” you finish, maybe a little too enthusiastic for only having just done so minutes ago.

But if it were, Carmen doesn’t show it. “Yeah, it was nice to meet you, too. I’ll, uh…I’ll see you around.”

You offer a softened smile. “Guess so.”

And he leaves you with a curt nod before he turns around with Sofia’s face smushed into his shoulder, her arms loosely wrapped around his neck to leave Butterscotch hugged to the nape of it. That’s all you see, then: just a beaten up stuffed animal and springy golden curls as Carmen rounds the corner of the aisle, your breath gone short and face gone warm by the end of it.

Half of it, you’re sure, is the simple brevity of it all: consoling a lost child, to chatting with her father, to finding out he’s a business neighbor. And against your better judgment, the other half of it is a twinge of attraction to him.  Even though he has a kid, and he may very well be married, or at least in a relationship, and by the looks of it, stressed out of his goddamn mind…

But there’s just something about him.

The way he was worried about his daughter like he’s supposed to be, the way he holds her and dotes on her and rubs her back like it’s nothing but natural to him, the heartwarming smile that reaches his eyes just by looking at his precious girl. The hard-earned strength in his hands and arms, the symbolic imagery of his tattoos that you’ve yet to dwell upon in late night hours, the awkward demeanor about him like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to talk to you—or if he even knows how. And all this, you see in a man working down the street, a man you’ve never spoken to until today, who could be the worst person in the world for all you know.

You don’t, is the thing. You don’t know his middle name, or his favorite color, or favorite food, or where he’s even worked, really, other than here in Chicago. You don’t know if Sofia’s mother is still around, or whatever happened to her if she isn’t, or if it’s a topic he breaches freely or not at all.

You don’t know enough about him yet to judge. You don’t know much at all. You don’t know if you want to, whether it’ll send you head first into a mess of pasts not unlike the one you’ve been trying to crawl out of alone for the past grueling months, if it’d upturn all the good you’ve tried to make stick.

But if there’s one thing you do know, it’s that you want to see him again. 

And that you’ll have to make a batch or two of muffins first.

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[skele-ghost]

Baby, it’s Hot Outside: Part 4

Welcome to: (Y/N) doesn’t know anything!

MDNI, 18+, Warnings: Omegaverse, dangerous situation, crowds, allusion to r*pe/sexual harassment/assault, heats, stranger danger

Masterlist

It doesn’t take them long to figure out that (Y/N) (L/N) has no idea what courting is.

She’s a beta, sure, and betas haven’t always been courted in the same fashion as omegas or even alphas. But that had changed in the modern age—even Gaz was courted by Price, and König made it a point to give just as much attention to Gaz as Soap while he was courting into the pack.

To be completely fair, they hadn’t yet asked to court her officially. Normally there’s this sort of pre-courting process, flirting and dates and smaller gifts, almost like a hint or a heads up before the formal ask.

Even so, the flirting went right over her head. She would laugh along, joke, tease back—but when someone compliemented her, really called her beautiful—she would blush, say ‘thank you,’ clear her throat and pick up the conversation where it had left of.

They would have thought she was turning them down, if not for her genuine confusion over the courting gifts.

Soap, the good omega he is, offered her a blanket from his nest. An awfully profound gift that spoke volumes, an item from an omega’s safe and private space, doused with the scent from each pack member.

“Oh, but this is one for your favorites,” she frowns, holding the ball of fabric in her arms.

“I ken. It’s the warmest one, too,” Johnny beams at her.

“You don’t want it?” She asks, tilting her head to the side.

“I want you to have it, angel,” he insists.

“Are you sure?” She asks as if he’s a child picking out a flavor of ice cream she knows he doesn’t like. “Because you know I have that big quilt my mama made me—“

“(Y/N), come on,” he laughs nervously, tamping down his growing fear of rejection. “It’s a gift. From me to you.”

She eyes him skeptically, looking at the blanket for a moment. “Alright. But no take-backs,” she jokes. “Thanks, MacTavish!”

And then she just leaves him standing there, a slight hop in her step as she walks down the hall towards the barracks.

Ghost, who had been listening the whole time from an adjourning room, takes to Soap’s side.

“The fuck was that?”

“I ‘ave no fuckin’ clue.”

Maybe it was a bad first gift, in retrospect. Betas didn’t have the same noses as the other designations. She might not be able to smell their scents on it at all. Maybe she just didn’t understand.

They keep trying. König takes her out to lunch, only to come back disappointed because she took the opportunity to talk about her favorite TV show and he couldn’t get a single word in. Not that he had the desire to stop her when her eyes were alight with excitement.

Ghost left her one of his hoodies, draping it over her duffel—and she gave it back to him the next day, thinking he’d put it with her things by mistake.

Gaz gets her a hat with the task force’s insignia…and she looses it the next day to a windstorm. She apologizes profusely, of course, but even with his arm slung over her shoulders, even when he presses a kiss to her temple, telling her it’s no big deal—she just doesn’t get it.

The last time they tried was a month prior, two weeks before the Mexico mission. They invited her out to the pub, adamant that they’d really lay on the flirting, sure that they’d finally get her to understand.

To say it was a disaster would be an understatement.

—

You and Soap head out early, something about getting a table before the pub’s too crowded. The sun periodically casts a golden glow on the buildings when it peeks out from behind the clouds, signaling sunset as the shadows get longer.

You two hold idle conversation, talking about work, mostly. It had been a busy, hectic week, hacking into cartel servers and pinpointing locations.

Every once in a while you bump shoulders to avoid other pedestrians. It makes you realize that some people are staring. Your brow furrows as you follow their gazes, mostly focused on Soap. He does seem a little less energetic than usual. A little less talkative, considering that you were carrying the entire conversation. His cheeks are flushed, but it’s been a hot summer.

“Hey, you okay?” You ask him, head tilted up to look at him properly.

“Yeah. ‘S just hot,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“It’s just 80,” you reply, not completely convinced.

“Fahrenheit. How hot does it get back home?”

“We always get a couple of 100° days in the middle of summer—“

Someone bumps into him lightly, but it sends Soap stumbling. You catch onto his arm and stabilize him, finally noting how hot his skin is.

“Jesus! I think you’re getting heat stroke or somethin,’” you gasp, and he leans on you for support.

“I jus’ needta siddown. Pub’s there,” he points and you have no choice but to go. You try your best to ignore the stares from onlookers as you drag him along with you. They look concerned and it doesn’t help your hammering heart.

You decide that just sitting down won’t be helpful, considering that the sweltering pub isn’t even air conditioned. So you shove past strangers, muttering excuses and apologies, and take him into the women’s bathroom with you. It’s empty and there’s a lock on the inside of the door that you bolt.

“Just lean here for a sec,” you instruct him, leaning him against the wall instead of on your shoulder. You quickly take off your shirt, thankful for the tank top underneath, and soak it with cold water from the sink.

A groan of discomfort has your attention turning back to Soap, just to see him slide down the wall and onto the floor, sitting and plastering himself against the tiled wall.

“MacTavish! You have any idea how many diseases are probably on this floor?!” You curse, guiding his cheek from the wall, wiping his face with the cool cloth.

He chuckles, “yer so cute when you get that furrow in your brow.”

You just purse your lips, keeping the cloth against his jugular while you pull your phone out with your free hand, navigating to the dial pad.

He grabs your wrist. “Call Ghost.”

“I’m calling the police, you need to go to the hospital—“

“Call Simon. That’s an order,” he says, his tone serious although his eyes are half-lidded, cerulean focused on you.

You frown. Technically, he doesn’t have the authority to order you around. On the other hand, if Soap MacTavish was telling you to not call the police, then you weren’t going to.

“Fine.”

You dial the number and return to the sink, soaking it with cool water while the phone rings. It picks up on the second chime.

“What?” Ghost answers gruffly.

“Something’s wrong with Johnny,” you say, wringing out your shirt of excess water.

“What d’you mean? He alright?”

You set the phone on the edge of the sink and put it on speaker phone, kneeling next to your teammate once more.

“I-I don’t know— He all sweaty, his skin’s on fire. I think he’s got heatstroke, I should take him to the hospital—“

“Calm down. Where are you?”

“The bar, the lady’s room,” you say quickly, watching as Soap’s face contorts into anguish, tears spilling past his waterline.

“Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone, understand?”

“It’s locked—“

“Simon,” Soap whines, a whimper following a moment later. You gently shush him, wiping the tears from his face as they come.

“‘S alright, Johnny. Gonna be there soon, you’re gonna be fine,” Ghost soothes on the other end, his voice not losing its softness as he continues. “(Y/N), we’re almost there, darlin. You have somethin’ to defend yourself with?”

“I-I got mace, why?” You stammer, mind reeling with what the hell he could be talking about.

“Almost there. You use it if you need it, okay?”

“I—okay,” you agree, letting Soap pull you closer, his arm snaked around your waist.

You nearly jump out of your skin at the pounds on the door. “Hey! You can’t have him in here like that!” A man shouts on the other side.

“Don’t talk to ‘im,” Ghost instructs just as you open your mouth to speak.

The door shakes with the force of the pounding. “Hey! You hear me, you little—“

You don’t even hear the call hang up as there’s a muted thud from outside. You reach for your mace.

There’s a curt rap of knuckles on the door. “(Y/N)?” You feel your fear dissipate at the sound of Ghost’s voice, “you can open the door now, lovie.”

You have to wrench Soap’s arm off of you to get up and unlock the door. Ghost enters as soon as there’s enough room, no hesitation as he rushes past you and kneels by Soap’s side.

“He just got sick all of the sudden, I don’t know why—one minute he was fine and the next he was all hot. He was fine on the subway, I don’t understand—“ you ramble, only stopping when a hand on your shoulder startles you.

“It’s alright, (Y/N), he’ll be okay,” Gaz reassures you, his presence a comfort of its own. “You did everything right.”

You just nod, watching as Ghost lifts Soap (who seems to have calmed down quite a bit) into his arms and carries him out of the room. The back hallway of the bar is just barely large enough to fit your entire team.

König stands guard at one end but immediately abandons his post when Ghost calls for him, his eyes something dark like you’ve never seen—not that he even seems to see you. They exit the back door where a car’s already waiting in the alley.

The only thing stopping you from following is the captain, his hold on your upper arm keeping you back.

“We’re not going?” You ask, brow furrowed as you watch the door close.

“No, we’ll catch up with them later,” Price says, ushering you and Gaz out of the same back door; the car’s already gone.

“Where—they’re taking him to the hospital, right? I think he’s hyperthermic.”

“It’s just a fever, (Y/N), Johnny’ll be right as rain in a day or two,” Gaz soothes, maneuvering you to walk between him and the captain as you start down the alley.

“It’s happened before?” You ask, shocked.

“Happens four times a year,” Price informs you, a knit in his brow.

“Four tim—what, like every season? That’s so bizarre! What is it?”

“(Y/N)…He’s an omega. It’s a heat,” Price says.

“Ohhhhhh,” you say intelligently, your eyes widening. It certainly silences you, makes all of the pieces click into place—most of them.

You thought heats were only once a year. That’s what your cousin had said, at least. But it doesn’t explain why that guy at the door was so angry, or why Soap didn’t want you to call the police.

It confuses the hell out of you, but in the silence on the walk back and in the metro system, you decide it’s probably better that you don’t know.

You’ve heard some of the horror stories: how omegas used to be treated. How some of them are still treated. A knot forms in your stomach at the thought that someone would want to do that kind of harm to Johnny—at the realization that you were the only thing standing between him and cruelty.

What if the team hadn’t been there in time?

-

A/N: Hello! I hope this chapter gives more insight into the 141 + (Y/N)’s relationship before she presented. It should also explain why the boys were so angry at first when she presented—they thought that she had been lying this whole time, pretending not to know about designations and such. Furthermore, in my humble version of the Omegaverse, suppressants can take away scents and the ability to detect scents. Let me know if you have any questions!

[javiscigarette]

Ease

Javier Peña x f!reader

Requested:

requesting… daddy!javi comforting u after a stressful work day 👀 pls n thank

warnings: no use of y/n, established relationship, fingering, squirting, spitting, spanking, a bit ass play (I cant resist), dirty talk, daddy!javi obviously, d/s dynamics obviously, extreme overuse of pet names and I'm not sorry, fluffy Javi deserves its own warning

w/c: 5.3k

a/n: the long overdue Javi fic is finally here lmao I wrote this very quickly and I haven't written for him in a long time so it may not be my best but I'm honestly just proud that I finally got something out :)) pls let me know if you like it!! ALSO! I reached 1.5k followers awhile ago which is just mind blowing so I just wanted to say THANK YOU to everyone who has joined me and continues to support me. This blog and all the friends I've made here have helped me through some pretty rough times and I'm forever grateful AHHH I just you all soo much!!

my masterlist

You’re not there to greet him when he opens the door. Usually you’d have a glass of whiskey in your hand for him, already a little tipsy from the glass you had for yourself earlier.

There’s a unpleasant shiver that runs down his spine as the thought of you being in some sort of danger immediately crosses his mind. But the sound of you puttering around in the kitchen gives you away. That and the haze of smoke and smell of burnt food wafting through the entire apartment. 

He kicks his shoes off and loosens his tie as he rounds the corner to the kitchen to find you standing in front of the stove, tending to what he assumes is some chicken in a pan. The exhaust fan on the range hood and the ceiling fan are working overtime, pushing the smoke out of the kitchen and through the open window. 

“Hi, bebita” Javi says as he enters the smokey kitchen. You don’t say anything in response, just give him a quick sideways glance before turning back to the stove. 

He crosses the room and moves to stand behind you. Maybe if he had seen the frown on your face, or the way your eyebrows are deeply creased in frustration, he would’ve said something very different. 

But he didn’t see. 

“Dinner smells delicious” he teases, squeezing your hips. He’s expecting a little chuckle from you, or at least an annoyed eye roll with a hidden smile. 

So he’s caught very off guard when you slam the spatula down on the counter with a loud, frustrated sigh.

“Well I’m sorry that I tried to make a nice meal. Guess I’m fuckin’ useless at that too.” 

You try to push yourself out of his grasp, but his grip only tightens. 

“Hey okay okay, easy.” Javi soothes, turning you around so you’re facing him. ���What’s wrong, bebita?” he asks, his tone immediately switching from teasing to soft and tener.You puff out a heavy sigh, refusing to look up at him and staring at his white shirt stretched across his chest instead. 

All the thoughts about your horrid day at work that you’ve been trying to block out break the damn and come flooding back into your head; your boss telling you that you fucked up two different major tasks and refusing to tell you how to do them correctly, catching your coworkers gossiping about you in the breakroom, your computer dying right before you could save any of the work you had done for the day, and how you tried to come home and cook as a distraction but you clearly forgot about the chicken sitting on the stove and almost caught the house on fire. 

You hadn’t even noticed the tears welling up in your eyes until Javi is wiping away the ones that have brimmed over and slid down your cheeks. 

“Cariño…” Javi whispers, his tone drenched with concern. That’s all it takes. You instantly break down, falling forward into Javi’s chest as your whole body shakes as you sob, your tears wetting the crisp fabric of his shirt. 

You tell him everything in between wet gasps and uneven breaths, unloading everything at once. He just holds you through it, nodding along and giving you an occasional understanding hum while running his palms up and down your back until you finish talking. 

“Your boss is an asshole” is the first thing Javi says. “Your coworkers too” 

You respond with a pathetic sniffle. “I really fucked up though. And now everyone thinks I can’t do my job” 

"Bebita,” Javi starts, continuing to rub soothing circles on your back. “Everyone has tough days at work. It doesn't define your abilities or your worth. You're so much more than a single bad day."

You sniffle again, still leaning heavily against him for support. 

"It's just... I'm tired of feeling like I'm constantly failing."

Javi clicks his tongue and moves one hand to use two fingers to gently tilt your chin up, making you meet his easy gaze. 

"You're not failing, mi amor. Sometimes things don’t go as planned and that’s okay. You're learning and growing."

You wish he wasn’t so right all the time. Sometimes talking back to the false narrative that runs rampant in your head 24/7 is too much work. 

"I know”  you sigh, wiping away tears with the back of your hand. “It’s just hard not to let it get to me."

Javi's thumb brushes against your cheek, his touch gentle and comforting. 

"I understand. Just remember you're not alone in this. I’ll always be here for you, my sweet girl” 

You manage a weak smile, feeling a bit of warmth starting to seep back into your heavy heart. 

“Thank you” you whisper.

Javi smiles warmly, his eyes full of admiration and unwavering support. 

“Of course, baby. I’m here for you always. No matter what.” 

You let your head fall back to his chest and you take a deep breath. He keeps rubbing your back, physically feeling the tension leaving your body as you melt against him. Without your brain in overdrive, you finally register the smell of his faded cologne and his cigarettes sticking to his shirt, the scent immediately washing away more of the tension in your muscles. The warm feeling in your chest starts to spread all the way down to your toes, your whole body feeling 10 times lighter than it did 5 minutes ago as his embrace brings you a sense of solace you hadn’t experienced all day. 

After another silent minute or two, he places a kiss to your hairline before leaning in close, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. 

“You know, there’s another way to forget about it for a little while.”

His low voice alone already has the base of your spine tingling. You pick your head up to meet his gaze, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. 

“Yeah?” you ask, a weak smile slowly spreading across your face.

“Mhmm” he hums, his hands sliding down to your waist and slipping under the hem of your shirt, his warm fingers splaying over your skin. 

"You've had a tough day," Javi continues, his voice a sensual murmur. "And I think you deserve something to take your mind off all that stress."

His words, laden with suggestion, push all the worries out of your body, replacing it with a thrill that courses through your veins. He leans in until his face is inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Let me take care of you, bebita."

All you can do is nod dumbly. Javi grins as he pulls you in closer. His lips capture yours in a slow, tantalizing kiss, his lips soft and warm against yours, the taste of him flooding your senses. His hands slide up from your waist to your rib cage, rucking up your shirt in the process. Every touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, drawing you impossibly closer to him. He pulls away just long enough to pull it over your head before his lips capture yours again. 

He wraps one arm around you, keeping you close as his other hand cups your jaw, his fingers curling around the back of your neck as his thumb mindlessly brushes your cheek. Your hands find their way to his back, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. 

He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and you part your lips with a soft sigh, his tongue immediately sliding against yours. It’s a dance of desire and vulnerability, an unspoken promise that he’s here to take away all of your worries. The rest of the world quickly fades into a distant blur, leaving just the two of you in this electric connection.

 His lips eventually leave your mouth, his breathless chuckle fanning across your jaw at the sound of your quiet whimper. He trails wet kisses along your jaw, down to the side of your neck, each one accompanied by a soft exhale that causes goosebumps to erupt over every inch of your skin. The sensation is exquisite and maddeningly arousing, and you find yourself tilting your head back, giving him better access. 

His teeth gently graze over your pulse point, sending shiver coursing through your entire body. Your heart races as he finds a spot just below your collarbone, nipping and sucking before soothing the dark spot with his tongue. His hands roam your torso, big, warm palms exploring every inch of exposed skin. You can feel the bulge in his jeans rapidly grow against your hip and your core throbs with a dull ache in response. Everything that happened earlier is miles away as you feel yourself relaxing deeper into his embrace, losing yourself in him. 

He pulls away when you whine quietly and looks down at you, his pupils already blown with lust and desire. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear then ducks down to place a chaste kiss to your lips before whispering “Bedroom. Now.” 

You nod and turn to head out of the kitchen, letting out a small giggle when he lands a quick slap to your ass. His eyes are glued to your backside as he follows you to the bedroom, his fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt along the way

You flop down on the edge of the bed with Javi just a few steps behind you. He tosses his shirt to the corner of the room and starts working on his belt as he stalks towards you. You smirk and reach behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra and letting it slide off your arms. Javi licks his lips at the sight of you sitting there in only your soft cotton shorts, looking like he’s about to pounce on his prey. 

He crosses the room until he’s standing inches in front of you, then slips his belt out of the loops and tosses it aside. You reach out, intent on undoing the button and zipper of his jeans but he stops you by wrapping a large hand around your wrist before you can touch him. 

“Nuh uh, baby. I’m takin’ care of you tonight”  

His words send a strong pulse of excitement down your spine and your heart pounds in your chest. He lets go of your wrist and you let it fall limply back to your side as you stare at him through your lashes. 

“Take off your shorts.” 

You immediately follow his command, quickly standing and moving to slide your shorts and panties down your legs so fast that you stumble a bit when they get caught around your feet. Javi reaches out and grabs your arm to steady you as you step out of your shorts and kick them to the side. 

“Good girl” he chuckles, dropping his hand from your arm. You watch with wide eyes, saliva gathering in your mouth as he shuffles out his jeans, his hardened cock gently slapping against his lower abdomen. He catches your gaze and gives you a knowing wink before making his way onto the bed. You stand in place, patiently waiting for your next set of instructions as he props himself up against the headboard. 

“C’mere” he says softly, patting his thigh. You positively beam as you climb on the bed towards him. You face him and you’re about to straddle his lap, but he stops you with a hand on your hip. 

“Turn around, cariño.”

You listen and immediately turn around and sit down between his spread legs, pressing your back into his chest. His cock presses firmly into the small of your back, a warm and welcome presence. With a contented sigh, you lean back and rest your head on his shoulder. 

“You listen so well, baby” Javi rasps, his voice rough with arousal. You only hum in response, your lips curving into a grin as you glow under his praise. He presses a kiss to your temple and his hands find your torso once again, slowly sliding up and down your sides. But he can only resist temptation for so long. 

He uses both hands to cup your breasts and you both let out soft sighs in unison. 

“Tan bonita, princesa” he whispers, his fingers finding both of your nipples. A small noise escapes from your parted lips as he feathers the pads of his fingers over the sensitive buds, teasing you until they’re stiffened peaks. He then pinches both, gently rolling them between his thumb and fingers. 

“That feel good?” he asks softly, his lips moving against your temple. 

You nod, letting out an uneven breath as you involuntarily push your chest forward into his touch. He pinches a little harder, pulling a delicate gasp from you. His cock twitches against you in response. 

“Want you to use your words, bebita.” 

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before responding. 

“F-feels good, Javi.” 

He clicks his tongue and squeezes a little harder again. 

“And what do you call me when I’m makin’ you feel good, princesa?” he asks, his voice dangerously low in your ear. 

Your mouth goes dry and your heart skips a beat in your chest. 

Fuck. 

The stress of your day was already far in the back of your mind, but Javi was intent on erasing it completely. And he knows exactly how to do so. 

“Daddy” you correct yourself, the simple word placing you on precipice of submission “Feels really good, daddy” 

“That’s right, bebita” Javi groans softly, his cock twitching in approval. “Such a good girl for me.” 

He then hooks his chin over your shoulder while you exhale a long, shaky breath as one of his hands leaves your breast and slides down your stomach. You clit pulses in anticipation, but he avoids where you want him most and instead smooths his hand over the top of your thigh. Your chest heaves with every breath as he teases you with gentle touches, getting you all worked up just the way you both like it. 

“You want me to touch you, princessa?” Javi asks, his fingertips dancing delicately on the inside of your thigh. It tickles and you reflexively try to close your legs, but he brings his foot to the inside of your calf and pushes it to the side before placing his foot flat on the bed, keeping your leg firmly in place. “Answer me.” 

“Yes, daddy, please” you whine, your voice coming out a lot more desperate than you intended. 

“Where, baby? Tell me where you want daddy’s fingers.” 

He’s teasing you, but it serves as an excellent distraction –  the events from earlier today are the least of your concerns right now. 

“You want them here?” he asks, his fingers now just barely tracing your dripping seam. “Want me to touch your pretty little pussy? Rub that pretty little clit?” 

You nod fervently and buck your hips up without thinking, your body betraying your patience and chasing after his touch. Javi chuckles darkly and harshly pinches your nipple with his other hand, making you jump in surprise. 

“Tell me, baby. Be a good girl and tell me.” 

You whimper, a hot flush spreading across your chest and creeping up your neck. You’ve been here a thousand times with him, been in far more desperate situations too. But the butterflies still tickle your tummy and the tips of your ears burn with embarrassment. 

“Want…want you to touch my pretty little pussy, daddy.” you murmur, the last of your sentence barely audible. 

He immediately rewards you by dipping two fingers into your slippery folds, groaning softly in your ear when he feels how wet you are for him. “Mmm that’s my good girl. Always fuckin’ soaked for me, huh?” he asks, dipping the tips of his fingers into your hole, gathering your slick and dragging it up to your clit. You nod lazily, your eyes fixed on his hand between your legs. 

He starts with slow, languid circles, his cock pulsing against your back with every small noise that bubbles up out of your throat. His other hand is still occupied with pinching and rolling your nipple. Hot arousal flows through your veins, every nerve ending on fire just from his easy touches. You want it faster, you need more. But you know he won’t give it to you unless you ask. 

“Pl-please, daddy. Faster please” you huff, squirming in his lap as you try to suppress the urge to buck your hips up again. 

“Look at you, princesa. Being such a good girl asking’ nicely like that” Javi whispers, instantly picking up the pace of his fingers and adding more pressure. You let out a long, low moan, the sound of it filling the bedroom. “Sound so pretty too” he adds, pressing his lips to your temple. 

His other hand leaves your nipple and he shushes you softly when you whine at the loss. He doesn’t tease you this time, his hand immediately joining the other between your legs. He keeps his two fingers on your clit, rubbing firm circles just like you asked while his other hand finds your leaking entrance. 

He doesn’t make you ask again before he slides his middle finger inside of you, probably more out of his own desperation to feel you clenching around him. You’re absolutely soaked, you juices freely flowing out of you, down his finger and into his palm like warm honey. He wants to draw it out, slowly work you up until you’re about to snap, but he’s not feeling very patient anymore. 

He slides his finger in and out of you a few more times before adding a second, curling his fingertips. He finds the spot inside of you instantly and you reward him with a loud gasp, your whole body trembling as you relax against his chest. 

“That’s it, baby. Just relax for me” Javi coos, his voice tight and strained as he tries to contain his own excitement. He pumps his fingers inside you, his fingertips nudging against the spot that has your whole body jolting with every pass. Every inch of your skin feels on fire as he works you, lewd sounds filling the room as he plays with your slick pussy. You feel wetness on your back and quickly realize that it’s his precum leaking from his warm tip, smearing against your skin as you squirm around. 

“Mierda, princesa” Javi groans as you clench tightly around his two fingers. “You close, baby?” he asks, already knowing the answer. You answer with a high-pitched whine, throwing your head back on his shoulder. 

“Cum for me, baby” Javi grunts, moving his fingers faster, bringing you to the edge. “Cum all over my fingers and then I’ll fuck you, nice and deep just how you like it” 

His fingers are relentless, rubbing dizzying circles on your clit and punching up into your g-spot. You can’t hold back anymore, rocking your hips and grinding down on his fingers. Your chest burns with every breath you manage to suck in, the hot coil in your tummy wound tightly, threatening to burst at any moment. You open your mouth and try to tell him that you’re about to cum, but every time you try to speak, the only sounds that come out are loud gasps in-between broken moans. 

And then you finally snap. Javi groans as you clamp down around his fingers, so tight that he can hardly keep moving them. He then quickly pulls them out, his eyes wide with amazement as your juices gush out of you, drops of it landing on his leg, most of it soaking the blankets underneath you. 

 “There’s my good girl” he hisses between clenched teeth. He watches intently as you thrash around, the sight of you squirting and the sweet sounds of your moans going straight to his cock as he works you through your orgasm. He doesn’t let up until you come down, whimpering and jolting at his touch. 

You collapse backwards against his chest, your head on his shoulder as you pant and try to catch your breath. He goes back to tracing your seam, his touch featherlight once again. You let out a sigh, your limbs heavy and head fuzzy with pure ecstasy.

He eventually moves his hands away, placing them on your thighs and letting out a low whistle. 

“Did so well, princesa. Look how much you came for me” Javi rasps, nosing at the column of your neck.

You pick your head up, looking down at the aftermath of your orgasm. You laugh breathlessly at the dark spot underneath you and the liquid on Javi’s calf shining in the dim glow of the lamp on the bedside table. Javi’s chest rumbles with his own chuckle as he presses sweet kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck. 

He doesn’t give you much time to recover before he taps your thighs and gives you your next command. “Hands and knees, princesa.” 

You’ve barely had time to catch your breath, but your pussy still aches in anticipation of his earlier promise. You take a deep breath and find enough strength to sit up straight. Your limbs are weak and noodly as you crawl over to a dry spot on the bed and get into position, your ass in the air with your face pressed against the soft blankets. 

You crane your neck to watch Javi who flashes you a devilish grin as he assumes his position on his knees behind you. You give him a sweet smile back and wiggle your ass. And he takes the bait, groping your cheeks with both hands before he spreads you open, putting everything on display just for him. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, baby.” he growls before leaning over to spit. You gasp and moan softly at the feeling of the warm liquid landing on your asshole and sliding down to pool at your swollen clit. He then brings his thumb up, using the pad to gently rub his saliva against your puckered hole. “So fuckin’ gorgeous” 

“Daddyyyy” you whine pitifully, pushing your hips back into his touch. He chuckles breathlessly and wraps a hand around the base of his cock and lining himself up. 

“You’re so good, baby.” Javi starts as he slides his cock in the mess between your cheeks. “My strong, beautiful, intelligent, good girl.”

Your face heats up at the praise, the words stirring up the butterflies in your stomach yet again. 

“Thank you, daddy” you murmur, the sound muffled by the blankets. Javi just hums and continues to glide his cock through the wetness, addicted to the way whimper every time his cockhead brushes against your swollen clit and your aching entrance. You whimper and wiggle your hips again, trying to get what you want. 

“Repeat it.” Javi commands simply. “Wanna hear you say it” 

You squeeze your eyes shut and whimper again. He’s completely taken over your headspace now, forcing you into a place of submission where there’s no room to think about anything other than him and what he asks of you. This is how he takes care of you, how he can turn every bad day on its head and take away every single one of your worries until you’re a blissed out mess underneath him. And he’s really fucking good at it. 

“I’m your strong, beautiful, intelligent, girl” you choke out, a fresh wave of slick gushing out of you and onto his rock hard cock at the forced admission.

“Forgot one” he breathes, his thumb still rubbing at your tight little hole. You wrack your brain, thoughts moving slower than syrup in your head as you try to remember what he said not even 10 seconds ago. 

“Good.” you say, as soon as you remember. I’m you’re good girl, daddy.” 

“Yes you are, baby” Javi says, notching his tip at your entrance. “So fucking good for your daddy.” 

He pushes all the way in, burying himself to balls deep in your aching cunt in one smooth movement. The sounds you make are obscene as you twist your fists in the blanket underneath him. He’s so deep, you swear you can feel him somewhere near your lungs. Just like he promised. He moans roughly behind you, the feeling on your warm walls squeezing rhythmically around his neglected cock overwhelming all of his senses.

But you don’t let him catch a break. You barely give yourself time to adjust before you take matters into your own hands and start rocking your hips, fucking yourself on his cock. Javi inhales sharply, both hands finding your hips and trying to hold you in place, but you’re not having it. 

“Daddy please–oh shit– please fuck me, need it so bad” you whine as you continue to rock your hips despite Javi’s best efforts to stop you. 

Javi just growls in response, his fingertips digging into your hips as he slides out until just his tip rests inside before slamming back into you. The loud moan that he pulls from you travels as a shiver down his spine and fuels his fire. He quickly finds a steady pace, brutally slamming into you like he’s fucking the stress out right out of your body. You let all the moans and whines and whimpers float freely out of your mouth as you take what he gives you, as he fills you up and stuffs you full over and over and over again. 

“You're so good for me” Javi grunts, gripping your hips and moving them backwards to meet his every thrust. “Feel so fucking good squeezing me like that, this tight little pussy was fucking made for me” 

Your eyes roll back into your head, his words once again turning your brain into mush as he fucks you into another plane of existence. You’re already teetering on the edge of another release, your lower abdomen burning with it, your swollen, neglected clit pulsing and desperate for attention.

And Javi feels it too.

“Already gonna cum again?” Javi asks breathlessly before landing a smack to your ass. You yelp in shock and there’s another wave of your juices leaking out onto his cock. 

“Ohh you like that, don’t you baby?” Javi coos before spanking you again, this time a bit harsher. Your face scrunches in pleasure and words have completely eluded you so you just cry out against the mattress, hoping that and your clenching pussy gets the point across. 

Thankfully Javi doesn’t ask you to answer him. Instead he keeps fucking into you, delivering firmm hits to your ass, completely mesmerized with the way it jiggles as he spanks and fucks into you. He’s just as close as you are, never lasts very long if he’s inside without cumming at least once beforehand. 

He moves one hand from your hip to between your legs, his fingers tracing where you’re stretched out so nicely around his thick cock before they land on your clit once again. You sob as he starts immediately rubbing fast, harsh circles that send you speeding towards the finish line. 

“Oh fuck, daddy! Gonna cum m’gonna cum pleasssee let me cum” 

Javi sucks in a harsh breath, his eyebrows furrowing together as his cock lurches inside of you. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah, baby. Cum on this cock like a good girl” Javi grits out, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he clenches his teeth together, trying to hold himself together. Your hands scramble against the blankets as he slams into you with newfound vigor, pushing you up the bed with each thrust and making you scream in ecstasy.

“Cum and then I’ll fill you up” he grunts. “I’ll fill you up and fuck it so deep that it’ll be leaking out of you for days, just reminding you of how good you are for me. Always so fucking good baby jesus christ” 

His filthy promises send you flying over the edge. You bury your face in the blankets and scream, your legs giving out from the force of it, your hips dropping to the bed and leaving you in a prone position. And Javi doesn’t miss a beat. He presses his chest against your back, using his freehand to support the bulk of his weight as he keeps working his fingers on your clit the best he can, not letting his pace falter even once. 

The new position shoves his cock even deeper inside of you, punching against your cervix with each thrust as he rearranges your guts. Your only option is to lie there let him drag out your release for as long as possible. 

“That’s it” Javi rasps, his voice sounding absolutely wrecked now. “Sweet little pussy is fuckin’ milking my cock, cariño. You want my cum? Want me to stuff you fuckin’ full?” 

You’re too far gone to respond, reduced to nothing but putty in his hands, your trembling body limp and pliant just for him to use. He can only hold it together for a few more thrusts before he buries himself all the way inside of you, spilling his hot seed deep inside of you.

Staying true to his promise, he fucks you through it, shallowly moving his hips and pushing his cum as deep as possible. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, the sensation of it all pushing you over the edge once again, though you’re not sure if you ever came back from the last one. Javi watches in amazement as you cum again, your voice breaking on desperate sobs while you squeeze around him, truly milking him for all he’s worth.

He moves his hand from your clit once your moans start to die down and then collapses on top of you, carefully though as not to completely crush you. You welcome the weight, a comforting pressure that makes you feel so warm and safe and secure. 

He stays buried inside of you as you both come down. You can feel his heart pounding from where his chest is pressed against you, his warm breath fanning across your neck as you both try to catch your breath. The two of you stay there for a while, basking in the post coitus glow. His cock softens inside of you and he only moves when his cum starts to dribble out of you. 

You whine softly as he moves to sit up, his now soft cock slipping out of you and leaving you feeling empty. But the feeling doesn’t last too long. 

He scoots back so he’s kneeling between your legs, both hands on your cheeks and spreading you open again. You feel his eyes burning holes into your skin as he watches his cum slowly leaking out of you. He doesn’t let it fall too far though, using a finger to scoop up all that’s dribbled out and pushing it back inside. You moan softly at the sensation and it takes everything in him not to fuck you with his fingers once again. 

“Think we need to get you in a nice hot shower” he says, his tone sweet and soft once again as he removes his fingers. 

You turn your head to look at him through hooded eyes, a dopey smile plastered to your face, looking completely fucked out.

“And we’re ordering take out too” he announces, leaning over to place a sweet kiss on your cheek. Images of the burnt chicken sitting on the stove float through your head, along with fuzzy memories of the events from earlier today. But you don’t give a single fuck anymore. Javi thoroughly wiped every ounce of stress from your brain. And now anything that isn’t directly related to you and Javi at this moment, on your shared bed in the dim light of the evening sun filtering through the curtain is far, far away. 

“We’re not getting fucking chicken” is all you say and the sound of yours and Javi’s laughter rings pleasantly through the room and in your ears as content seeps deep into your bones.

I LOVE THIS MAN okay thank u for reading <333

[ghost-proofbaby]

NOW WE'RE STANDING IN THE RING, BREAKING EVERYTHING THAT WE'VE BEEN BUILDING UP SO LONG. I DON'T WANNA DO THIS - BREAK IT UP.

summary: you prepare to fight with eddie, when a new discovery takes you both off-guard.

warnings: strong language, angst, everybody's a hypocrite, minors dni

wc: 5.9k+

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

You can’t tell if the ride on the elevator is all too short, or if it drags out entirely. 

The entire ascension, you find the fire again. All the pain and anger that had fueled you to be acting out so cruelly in the lobby. And yet the bell that signals you’ve arrived to your intended floor still dings all too soon. 

It’s hard to get lost. The moment you step off the elevator, you can clearly see only three doors – two of which sit within an indented section of the wall and face one another, clearly the bathrooms. 

Behind the other one, Eddie Munson, no doubt. 

You still cling to that notebook as you take all your steady steps towards the door, turning over all your fury in your head. Turning all the lyrics over in your head. 

All those songs, all those lines – and he’d never picked up the phone and just called. 

You can only assume that it was all written more recently. Before he’d seen you again, even. And if he had still been writing about you, he could have tried calling you. He could have said all that he’d written to you directly, rather than hiding it all within songs that there was no guarantee you’d ever hear. Instead of singing them to crowds of adoring fans rather than to your face. 

You don’t knock on the door – you just open it. 

Music immediately surrounds you as you step in, loud enough that they clearly hadn’t heard you enter. Grainy guitars, deafening drums, billowing bass. And finally, amongst the madness, you can hear Eddie’s voice singing. 

“Do you wanna see how far it goes? Do you wanna test me now, my love?” 

Yes. Yes, you certainly fucking do. 

It’s not Eddie’s live voice coming through the speakers. It’s clearly a recording as he sits beside the producer, hunched over and nodding along, face twisted as he seems to dissect the music in real time.

One flourish of his ringed hand, and the producer is clearly hitting pause. 

“Do you think we can add in that synth I recorded earlier here-”

“Eddie.” 

His hand drops the moment he hears your voice. The chair he’s sitting in nearly tips from the speed in which he spins it around to face you, resembling a statue as he takes in your silhouette in the doorframe. 

You can only imagine the image he’s faced with. 

You, all your vexation and all your torment painted so clearly across your features. Your knuckles, looking physically strained from how tightly the metal spring of the notebook digs into your palm. Your chest, heaving with every breath, as if even being within his vicinity right now was torturous. 

And it was. God, it was. 

Salt in your wounds. Dagger in your stomach. Poorly bandaged contusions you’d never taken the time to balm and soothe. 

“Sugar,” he breathes out, earning him a strange look from the producer, “What are you-”

“Can we talk?” 

Your voice is quivering, strained from trying to keep a level head until the two of you are alone. 

“Right now?”

“Right now,” you almost add on the given alone, but Eddie is one step ahead of you. As he stands, he also waves his hands a bit, clearly dismissing the producer. 

“You want me to leave?” the man asks, standing slowly, looking curiously between the two of you, “Where do I even go? Matt said we’d be working for another few hours, at least-”

“Go to the fuckin’ lobby or something,” Eddie spits out, having a hard time pulling his eyes away from you, “I don’t-” He pauses, his eyes finally finding sight of that notebook in your hand. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed it before. “-care.”

All the blood drains from his face. He’s so pale, you’re worried that he might pass out any second now. 

He doesn’t look prepared for a fight – if anything, he looks terrified of whatever you may swing at him. 

The producer leaves, not without a few mutterings under his breath about not this again, but you don’t even bother to dig deeper into it. If Eddie frequently gets into fights in this studio, that’s his problem. 

Maybe he shouldn’t write songs about girls he’d hurt, and never pick up the phone.

He seems to be waiting on you, but you’re waiting on the click of the door. All that hurt, all that seething is burning in your chest, waiting for release. There’s no need to have any witnesses to the downfall of both of you. 

“How was your mor-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. One click from the door, and you’re storming across the room to slam that notebook into his chest, uncaring of how much it might hurt. 

You hope it hurts. You hope it aches like your palm that had held it, like your chest that feels as though it’s been pried wide open. 

“What the fuck is this?” you spit out, already choking up with tears. 

“What do you-”

“Where the fuck do you get off on writing all those- all those- all those fucking songs about us?” You don’t care that you’ve cut him off – it’ll be the least harmful thing you do during this argument. You’re desperate, rabid and crumbling as you push the notebook harder for emphasis, unable to let go just yet, “All those goddamn songs, lines about wanting me to come home, lines about us. Fucking pages of them! And not one single call. Not one single text.”

The first tear falls, and you’re quick to let go of the notebook so you can swipe it away. You’re not crying in front of him right now. You’ve done enough of that this morning, over old photographs and times you can never get back. 

“I’m sorry, excuse me?” he laughs nervously, looking between you and the notebook he now has ownership of. He flips open the cover, and his face falls when he sees the first page, “You were reading my notebooks?”

“Who even cares at this point?” you hiss out, taking a step back, needing physical distance now. “It was the only way I would ever find out how you really feel, right? It was between that, or having to hear it on the radio, right?” 

His face goes through several revelries before he settles on an emotion, mouth agape as he shakes his head slowly at you, brows furrowed and all his creases exposed, “Are you seriously pissed off right now that the rockstar wrote songs about you? That I wrote about you, which is what I do for a living?” 

“Your job isn’t to write about me!” Thank God for soundproof studios. Your voice is rising, tone cracking with emotion, “I’m not fucking mad that you did that, I’m mad that you never called-”

“I did call!” he yells back at you suddenly. Not out of intimidation, not even out of fury. He has to do it – he has to match your volume just to be heard. “I called hundreds of times. Before the tour ended, when I got back, when I saw you were gone. I did fucking call-”

“I’m mad that you fucking left!”

Silence fills the studio. Eddie has no retorts left as your words weigh down the moment, ricocheting off the walls and puncturing every delicate foundation of whatever closure bullshit you two had begun to falsely build. 

You finally throw your head back in bitter laughter, blinking away the unwelcome tears, “I’m so goddamn angry because you left me.”

“What?” his face falls, almost crumpling in the same manner as it felt your chest was, “You told me to go on those tours. You wanted me to get out there with the band. Not to mention, you left too. You left, seemingly without a goddamn reason. You said it yourself, just now-”

“It’s not about the physical leaving,” you interrupt, bones growing weary, tired from it all. Weighed down with memories and weighed down with emotions that should have been dealt with years ago. “I lost you long before you stepped foot on that tour bus that last time. You…” you pause, breathing erratic, coming out in harsh puffs, trying to build the courage for what needed to be said. 

“I what?” he’s all but begging now, the need to scream over each other evaporating into thin air.

“You stopped saying you loved me.” 

The words are out there now, and you can’t take them back. Two long years of him writing songs, of you washing away a stain that won’t ever fade, of something broken that can’t seem to be fixed. 

You reach out, but not to try and steal back the reason from him. No, that’s not possible. Instead, you take the notebook back from him and begin to gingerly flip through the pages as the tears fall and the words pour out.

“All those phone calls, all these songs, and you still never say the words I needed to hear,” you’re not just talking in past tense any more. It all seemingly blurs together, the past and the present nothing more than watercolors as they spill across the page and merge together. You can’t tell where the hurt from the beginning lays and where the hurt from now feathers at the edges. It’s all the same, and it all remains a stain, “I never needed elaborate metaphors or pretty words, Eddie. I just needed to know you still fucking loved m-”

You cut off as the door to the studio suddenly swings open. You’re frozen, rooted in spot, hand glued mid-flip as Eddie’s messy handwriting stares up at you from the page you paused on. 

Eddie looks ready to fight. To scream at whoever may have interrupted this crucial moment – a moment for you to finally say what you needed to, a moment for him to finally get his answers. 

He doesn’t, though. Not when a fairly livid, almost frazzled Matt is standing in the doorway, glaring at both of you.

“Ah, good,” he says, stepping fully into the small space that had just been a war-zone for you and Eddie. The door slams shut behind him due to its own gravity, “You’re both here. Makes my job easier.” 

“Matt?” Eddie crinkles his nose, “What the Hell are you doing-”

“What am I doing?” Matt walks until he’s standing in front of the coffee table, and motions to the couch with a flick of his wrist. Eddie is quick to follow the silent instruction, taking a seat, but you’re slower to move. You are not Matt’s dog, refusing to be at anybody else’s beck and call at this moment. And so you continue to hover, “What are you doing?” 

You become the pet he needs you to be when he suddenly tosses a magazine down on the coffee table, and you realize that maybe, just maybe, Matt has good reason to be commanding you. 

The vinyl front cover stares up at you, shining beneath the lowlights of the studio, but the image is clear. 

You and Eddie, walking into his apartment building. And in bold lettering, simple textually strokes in blinding white, is a headline that weighs you down enough to make you take the last few necessary steps around the table to fall into place beside Eddie on the couch. 

EXCLUSIVE GOSSIP ALERT: Rockstar Eddie Munson Spotted Canoodling with Mystery Flame! (pg. 89)

Matt’s eyes dart between you two before he finally sighs, “We need to talk.” 

—

The sweat of your hands is making the corners of the magazine pages curl. 

It’s the detail you choose to focus on rather than all the honking and commotion surrounding the car you’re currently sitting in, or the chilling AC that has blasted your right cheek to the point of numbness. The radio is off, the tinted windows are rolled up to dull the music of the city around you, and Matt hasn’t said a word since you’d buckled yourself into his passenger seat. 

Following Matt’s abrupt interruption of you and Eddie, contained chaos had ensued. A symphony of Eddie immediately coming to your defense, claiming the two of you weren’t even canoodling in the photos on the front cover. Of you, only being able to utter a shocked question of how? 

How did they get those photos? How did they print them so fast? How, how, how?

In the last twelve hours, as your life had been piecing together old rotting bricks only to once more fall apart entirely, some cheap gossip journalists had been formulating a front cover that truly felt like it was ruining your entire life. You didn’t know who all had seen the magazine, you didn’t know if the news had spread far and wide across the internet, and you certainly didn’t know what happened next. 

But then Matt insisted you all return to his office. A guarded ivory tower to discuss exactly what you were questioning – to figure out where you go from here. 

Eddie had been quick to suggest you ride back with him in the car that had brought him to the office; you had been quick to shoot down the offer and ask Matt for a ride instead. 

That’s how you ended up here. A magazine you wanted to burn at the stake in your lap, stuck in traffic on a busy street that more so resembled a parking lot at this point. 

“We need to talk about it.”

The first words Matt has spoken to you since the drive began. Not a question, not a request – you were going to talk about this shit show. No running from it, it seems. 

“I don’t know how they got the photo,” you blandly reply in monotone, staring down at the two photos clearly taken back to back, merged together with some pretty impeccable photoshopping. Doesn’t erase the fact that they’d definitely caught you’re bad angle, “I didn’t even see any paparazzi-”

“I don’t care about that,” Matt waves off as the light you’d been stopped at for several minutes now turns green, and there’s just enough of a gap in bustling pedestrians crossing the street for him to make the right turn he’d been signaling the entire time, “One thing you need to learn right here, right now, is there will always be paparazzi around when you’re in public with Eddie. You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.” 

The ceasing of that irritating clicking is heaven sent. One less commotion to cloud your reeling mind. 

“What do you care about then?” you mumble, finally side-eyeing the older man beside you. 

“I care about what you are to Eddie.” 

“I can promise you, I am noth-”

“Don’t feed me the same bullshit excuses he has, please,” Matt sighs as the rolling car slows, and he signals once more to turn into the parking lot of one of the many impressive skyscrapers towering over the street, “I’m not an idiot. Eds may seem to think I am half the time, but I’m not,” a confining parking space is where the SUV finally settles, but Matt makes no move to turn the vehicle off as he turns to look at you fully, “Look, just level with me. Because as of right now, the only thing I know is that you went to high school together. I need to know where exactly you stand with Eddie, not just because he’s my client, but because of the conversation we’re about to have.” 

Your heart fully drops, “What kind of conversation are we about to have?” 

“A hard one,” Matt instantly replies, not missing a beat, “A very, very hard one. With so many moving factors, it’s gonna give you a headache. And I want to warn you of it, give you a fair chance, because you seem like a nice girl. You’re not used to this circus like me and Eddie are – you deserve a fighting chance at what’s about to be asked of you.” 

What’s about to be asked of you. 

You had a few guesses, simply based on the grave look on Matt’s face. Simply based off of all the research you used to do back in your room in Hawkins’, when the joke of you managing Corroded Coffin felt more and more like a real possibility. 

“An NDA?” you guess, trying to seem indifferent. You should have seen that coming. 

“More than an NDA, dear.” 

Your head snaps in his direction, brows furrowing, “What could you possibly want from me that’s more than signing a piece of paper that promises I won’t tell anyone what’s happened last night?” you hold up that magazine from your lap, giving it a fluttering shake for emphasis, “Wasn’t that the point of showing us this?” 

He only smiles. Your heart only sinks further. 

“I’m going to ask you one last time; what are you to Eddie, really?”

A muse. A stain. A ghost. Something to haunt every avenue he’ll ever take for the rest of his life. A mistake better left unspoken between the two of you. A blip in his past, impossible to avoid. Something better left dead and buried, but the Universe just won’t seem to let the two of you rest. 

“I’m his ex-girlfriend.” 

How do you define an ex, though? Did you ever really end it? How can something be over if neither party has ever been willing to say the words? 

Matt nods slowly, smiling almost sadly, “I figured as much. Thank you, at least, for being honest.” 

“Can I ask you something, and you answer me honestly?”

The car carrying Eddie is probably nearly here. They had probably gotten swept into traffic while following behind Matt’s car. A few extra minutes added to their journey as they’d tried to navigate the nightmarish streets of New York. 

Come to think of it, you don’t even know if he’ll be using the same front entrance as you and Matt. 

“You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.”

He could use the back entrance, if there was one, to avoid the paparazzi. 

Technicalities you had never had to consider before. You’d only experienced a fraction of Eddie’s fame firsthand, in the beginning, when it was still reasonable to show him off. To brag about him in public, to pronounce your love from every rooftop. Hiding had never been an option – it hadn’t needed to be an option. 

“I know what your question is,” Matt says carefully, “And we both know I won’t say anything until we’re inside that building with Eddie.” 

“Is he even going to go through the fr-” you start to question, but cut off just as you see a familiar black SUV pull up to the front doors of the building. 

You have your answer, it seems. 

Matt unbuckles his seatbelt, and you take it as your sign to do the same. But just as you begin to reach for your door, Matt’s hand on your forearm stops you. 

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you. Especially now that I know the truth.” 

Your heart finally arrives to the point of no return, unable to answer as the organ is buried six feet under within the grave that should be meant for yourself when it comes to the history books of Eddie Munson. 

Just what was Matt about to ask of the two of you?

You open the door without responding. 

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

[al-1-na]

ꨄꨄ𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐮𝐭ꨄꨄꨄ

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

ꨄꨄꨄꨄꨄꨄ

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Smut, Angst, Fluff

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: Language, sexual tension, eventual smut, slight violence/roughness (verbal sparring), emotionally messy Rafe, toxic flirtation vibes that evolve

Masterlist

ꨄꨄꨄꨄꨄꨄ

The morning light was a bitch.

It hit you in the eyes before the rest of your brain caught up. Before you remembered where you were.

Backseat of Rafe Cameron’s truck.

Your leg draped over his.

His arm still around your waist, heavy and possessive even in sleep.

And you?

You were panicking.

What the hell had you done?

You slowly sat up, body aching from the way he’d moved with you last night—like he was trying to stake a claim. Like he wanted to own every sound he pulled from your mouth.

You should’ve left. Quietly. Slipped out like it didn’t matter.

But then—

“You always sneak out after?”

His voice was gravel, low and still laced with sleep.

You froze. “Didn’t know you were awake.”

“I wasn’t.” He cracked one eye open, then shut it again. “Felt you move. Got cold.”

That last part made your chest ache in a way you didn’t want to name.

You leaned back against the door, arms crossed over your bare chest, the blanket you’d thrown over yourself slipping. Rafe’s eyes opened again, slower this time, dragging over you like he was memorizing every inch.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like we’re not going to pretend last night didn’t happen.”

A smirk pulled at his mouth—but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh, I’m not pretending. I remember every fuckin’ second.”

You swallowed hard. Your thighs clenched at the memory—but you held your ground.

“You gonna brag about it to your friends?”

Rafe sat up fully now, blanket falling away from his torso, bare chest catching the golden light, scattered with bruises—your marks.

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“No,” he said, voice low. “That was just for me.”

The way he said it made your stomach flip.

You shoved him lightly. “God, you’re such a Cameron.”

He laughed, head falling back. “And you’re still a pain in my ass.”

You were both quiet for a second, the kind of silence that buzzes with unspoken questions.

You finally asked one.

“So what now?”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He didn’t look at you right away. When he did, his expression was unreadable.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Never done this before.”

“What, slept with someone?”

“No.” His gaze softened. “Wanted them after.”

You blinked.

His hand reached out, fingers tracing along your hip, his touch more careful now. Gentle, like he didn’t trust it.

“You still hate me?” he asked again, quieter this time.

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

The Rafe most people saw—reckless, dangerous, sharp-edged—was still there. But something else peeked through in this moment. Something broken. Something real.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “But I’m not ready to walk away yet.”

A beat passed. Then another.

And just like that, Rafe pulled you into his lap, mouth finding yours in a kiss that was less war and more… promise.

Rafe's fingers trailed down your body, finding your entrance and slipping inside. You gasped as he pushed in, his cock filling you. The morning light cast a golden glow on your skin, highlighting the bruises he'd left on your body, but you didn't care. You wanted him, needed him, and the way he moved inside you was like a promise of more to come.

His thrusts were slow and deep, his hips moving in a rhythm that had you moaning with pleasure. You felt your body responding, your core clenching around him. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he fucked you, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy.

He leaned in, his mouth finding yours, and you felt his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. You tasted the remnants of last night's whiskey on his breath, but it only added to the intoxicating mix of his scent and the way he made you feel. His fingers teased your nipple, and you felt your body tremble with desire.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you. He groaned, his hips moving faster, and you felt your orgasm building. Rafe's cock hit a spot deep inside you, and you felt yourself cresting the edge, your body shaking with pleasure.

As you came, Rafe's mouth found yours again, and you felt his own release spilling into you. You collapsed against him, his arms wrapping around you like a vice. You felt his heart pounding against your chest, and you knew he was just as affected as you were.

ꨄꨄꨄꨄꨄꨄ

To be continued…

(text me if you have ideas and wishes:))

[joocomics]

give me more

day 16 — guided masturbation w/ gunil ⌞⌗ kinktober ⌝

𓂃⠀𓈒 bf!gunil x fem!reader

genre: smut ( 18+ ) ── 1.3k words

✎… established relationship, soft!dom!gunil, guided masturbation, pet names, overstimulation (f!rec), orgasm control (f!rec), oral sex (m!rec), praise kink

( kinktober masterlist )

“Keep going, just like that…” Gunil says with a grin before turning around in his chair. His tone rises slightly as he types something on the keyboard, focused on work, but also on the arousing sounds you create behind his shoulder. “Don’t speed up until I tell you to.”

“But, baby—“ You plead loudly. “I need to! So badly…”

You can use this moment to rub yourself the way you really need to and finally get the third orgasm Gunil has been building up through various instructions and commands. But you can't force your hand to move no matter how much you try.

Deep inside, you don't want to do anything he hasn't told you to.

“What did we say earlier?”

“I will do as I’m told.” You repeat the words and the desperation rings in your weary voice.

“Good girl.” He spins back around at once and looks at you. “You can use your other hand too,” he suggests softly then smiles at your spare hand instantly moving up to your chest and gripping through your top like it’s exactly what you’ve been waiting to be allowed to do. “Feels nice, isn’t it?”

You nod as he chuckles, leaning back into his chair.

Your figure squirming on the bed you share every night forces a tense sigh to slip from his lips. It’s not easy for him on days when he’s working from home, because his work desk is in your bedroom and when you get needy for his attention you do exactly this - laying down with no panties on and waiting for him to lay eyes on you and lose control.

“Eyes up, baby.” He notices that they're shutting closed meanwhile your moans are elevating as you keep rubbing slowly with your fingers; each circle causes some lewd noise to escape from your dripping entrance, tempting him to get closer. “Now... stop.”

You knew this was coming, yet you still pout while retrieving your hand from between your thighs; you keep them spread open for his thirsty gaze while your other hand still rests over your boob, occasionally squeezing gently.

“I can see how hard your nipples are from here. Show them to me, baby.”

You let the straps of your top to fall down your shoulders. Your attention shifts from Gunil's anticipating expression to his veiny hands - how his firm fingers intertwine together as he leans forward to rest elbows on both knees while manspreading so attractively.

He bites his lower lip the more of your skin gets exposed. The sight of your perfect breasts which you keep on squishing from being so turned on is so arousing that he unconsciously leans back again to grip his cock.

The erotic situation is causing it to grow harder and you can see the prominent outline through his gray sweatpants. The view makes your sensitive pussy clench with lust.

“They’re so fuckin' pretty.” He groans in the middle of adjusting his boner. “Now, wet your fingers well and play with them some more.”

You push your middle finger into your mouth and suck it up and down for a second before adding the next one. Without breaking eye contact, you let the hunger for his dick take over and start to move your lips along your slick fingers sensually.

Gunil swallows before asking:

“You wish it was my dick filling your little filthy mouth, aren't you?”

“That's right.” You reply before spitting in your palm. The wet contact onto your nipple brings out a soft airy moan from your throat. You smear the saliva around then pull only to double the lingering rush in your lower body.

He knows how sensitive your nipples are and simply smiles, fully aware this type of teasing makes you go crazy.

“Keep doing that, baby,” he utters before standing up to take off his sweats. As he sits back down he catches your other hand roaming around your inner thigh; so eager to reach for your heat. He just needs to say the word. “Are you ready to touch yourself again, sweetheart?”

“Yes, yes, please—“ You babble excitedly. “Tell me what to do, please.”

“Remember what we did at the beginning? One finger first.”

“But I need more than that…” you whine with your middle finger sliding as deep as possible. It barely does the job and knowing the difference his one finger can do only frustrates you further.

“Be good.”

Gunil’s soft warning makes you take a deep breath.

Your stomach clenches beneath the scrunched top as the warm knot inside you lingers infuriatingly, so close to snapping, but never quite enough from your finger not fulfilling the need properly.

“Okay, add one more.” Gunil takes few steps towards you. “Fuck, look at you, baby.” He rests a hand on your knee while eating up the view of your puffy folds. When he slides it down your thigh you instantly empty yourself in the hopes that he’ll finally touch you for the first time, but he doesn’t. He chuckles at your obvious disappointment. “She is so pretty, all ready for me, baby.”

“I’ll take it so good, please.”

“I know, gorgeous.” His lips slide charmingly as his firm fingertips spread your folds apart. The glistening view makes his mouth water. “I know.”

Before he moves to remove his underwear, Gunil takes your hand and places it over your throbbing clit.

“Keep rubbing it the way I showed you, sweetheart.”

Your fingers don’t start moving right away as the reveal of his erection steals your focus away. Your shameless gaze fixates upon his big size and the way it jumps up against his toned stomach with its oozing tip.

It’s like your whole body reacts when he grips it gently making few slow strokes, because your thighs close together against your willl, and you almost cuss out loud.

“Did I say you can do that?” Gunil glances at you questionably; although he always enjoys seeing the effects the sight of his dick alone has on you.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

He instructs you to move on all fours, close to the edge of the bed so you can comfortably take his cock in your mouth.

Sucking on half of his length fuels your body with delight and when your hand goes back to your clit you cannot suppress the moans from how good it all feels.

Gunil groans above you, stimulated even further by the vibrations you’re coating him with every time you fail to keep quiet.

“Yeah, good job, sweetheart,” he praises you as his hips carefully help you out by moving back and forth. The closer he gets to your throat, the more his knees go weak. “See? I always give you what you want, baby. Now make yourself cum, just like that.”

Your hand speeds up a bit, but not by a lot since you don’t need much from how aroused you are at this moment. The slight overstimulation causes the knot to burst quicker than the last time, but the orgasm feels just as strong and overwhelming.

You want to keep Gunil inside your mouth as you cum, but at one point you can’t contain yourself and pull back, gasping for air. Your heavy breathing quickly turns into shaky sounds of pleasure as you make the few last circles on your sensitive clit in front of his eyes.

He’s in awe as he gazes at you all lightheaded and squirming on the bed once again. His thumb cleans the corner of your mouth carefully after he joins you on the bed to kneel between your open thighs. Exhaustion is creeping up on your face as he pushes his tip through your pulsing walls and he watches the way your glossy eyes roll back as he settles deep inside you.

The thrill you were craving the most finally floods your veins like a drug once he makes the first move while your legs hug his hips.

The overstimulation gradually increases, making you whimper at every single thrust, but it was inevitable. You always get so horny when your boyfriend works from home.

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works