#muses for a later day or some shit

[preciosapascal]

Trouble

Summary: You planned to spend the summer at Sarah's, but you show up a day early and she’s not there. Joel doesn't mind.

Word Count: 6k

Pairing: Best Friends Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings/info: 18+ MINORS DNI, pics for mood only, no outbreak au, reader is early-mid 20's and Joel is 47, pet names (darling, baby, ect), SMUT, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill), one or two uses of pussy pronouns, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, Joel is a lil bit of a perv

A/N: i'm honestly blown away by the amount of love my last story got! thank you so much! been on and off writing this one for a couple of weeks. i hope you enjoy, feedback is much appreciated! if you're interested in my other stories, here's my masterlist 💝

Being best friends with Sarah has it's perks, main one being that she's an amazing friend and you've been inseparable since you met a couple years back in college. Another being you got to spend the last two summers at her house. And the other perk being that her dad is hot. Like really hot.

When you first met him, you thought he was a grumpy bastard, and he can be, but he warmed up to you the more time you spent at the house. You'd share beers with him some evenings, Sarah there too - and tell him all about college, your family and anything else that came up during the conversation.

You once mentioned to Sarah that you thought her dad was 'handsome', putting it lightly, and she laughed her ass off - then told him. You could've died on the spot when she brought it up over pizza that night but you stood your ground, fighting the embarrassment.

"Just being honest." you shrugged, nudging Sarah before glancing at Joel and trying to gauge his reaction. He just laughed quietly, shaking his head. He liked it, whether he'd ever admit it or not.

You laugh at the memory as you drive to their house to stay for the summer for the third year running. Music playing, windows down and a duffle bag full of half of your closet in the trunk. When you arrive you decide you'll grab your bag later and lock your car before walking toward the front door and knocking.

Joel answers after a few seconds, a small smile on his lips. "Afternoon, trouble.”

You're very thankful for the sunglasses that sit on your face as you fully check out the gorgeous man in front of you. Plaid shirt, blue jeans, greying hair combed back. How does he look better every time you see him?

"Sarah's out, staying with Tommy and Maria to babysit while they renovate, not due back till tomorrow mornin'. She not tell you?..."

"Ah shit, no no - she did, I completely forgot." you reply, realising you mixed up the days. The original plan was to come today until Sarah texted you last week to make it a day later, which slipped your mind.

Joel leans against the doorframe, arms crossing over his broad chest; a sympathetic smile graces his lips. He eyes you for a moment, taking in your appearance.

You sigh, pushing your sunglasses up to rest on top of your head. Joel stifles a small chuckle, making you laugh and then pout. "Not funny."

He can’t help but laugh softly to himself at your pouty expression, "Poor darlin’.” he muses teasingly then nods his head into the house, “Come on in, anyway.” he steps aside, giving you room to enter.

"You sure? You don't have to invite me in out of pity." you laugh, though you're internally screaming at the thought of being alone with him.

Joel light-heartedly rolls his eyes and tuts. He gestures to the couch that peeks from around the side of the door. “Make yourself at home, m'gonna grab us a beer if y'want one?" he asks, turning to you as he walks towards the kitchen and you nod in response.

Once you get settled on the couch, Joel fully disappears into the kitchen, and reappears a moment later with two beers. He takes a seat in the chair adjacent from the couch, hands you a beer he opened for you already then opens his own.

It’s quiet for a few beats as he flips the cap off, then Joel says, “No boyfriend or anything yet then?."

You thank him for the beer and then scoff a laugh at his question. "Nah, had a few flings here and there but nothing serious, y'know?" you reply before sipping the cold beer. "

Joel takes a swig of his beer, watching you with a curious expression. “That right? Ain’t found the right guy yet? Cause I'm having trouble understanding what would make a guy not want to stick around.”

You shake your head as you swallow your mouthful, feeling a blush threatening to appear at his comment. "I’m not trying to settle down right now. Whatever happens, happens."

Joel chuckles in response then took another swig from his beer. “You're a bit of a free spirit, aintcha?” he teases, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"I guess so." you smile, crossing one leg over the other.

Joel’s gaze slowly travels down to your ripped jeans clad legs. Damn, he thinks to himself, you look good. He averts his gaze, forcing himself to think about literally anything else.

"What about you then, hm? No girlfriend yet?" you throw his question right back at him.

Joel scoffs and shakes his head. “Nah, m’not looking either.”

You huff a laugh at the similarity in your answers, yet for some reason, as if it means well for you - your stomach flutters.

"I hear ya." you say, holding your beer out towards him with a playful grin.

Joel mirrors your action and brings his own bottle up to clink it against yours. “To bein’ single, then. Damn, what a depressing toast.”

You laugh, agreeing with him. “To being single." you repeat before you both sip from your bottles.

Silence falls over the room, but it's not awkward, it's comfortable. Joel couldn’t help but steal another glance at you, shamelessly eyeing your figure for a few moments while you checked your phone.

“Guess I’d better grab my bag out of my car.” you sigh, standing up and stretching. Then you pause. “Sarah did tell you I’m staying for the whole summer again, right?”

Joel nods his head in affirmation, “She did. You're welcome to stay tonight too, sweetheart. I'll keep outta your hair."

You smile and nod, placing your beer down before he continues. "Stayin’ here for the whole summer another year running, huh?” he's immediately hit with memories of how loud you and Sarah can get.

"Mhm. Lucky you." you retort with a cheeky grin before grabbing your car keys.

Joel chuckles and shakes his head, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Real lucky.” he says sarcastically as you disappear to fetch your bag. He has another gulp of his beer, his gaze lingering on the spot on the couch where you were sitting.

Joel looks over at you with raised eyebrows when you re-enter the house, taking in how big your duffle bag is. “Geez, how much stuff you got in there?”

“Enough for the whole summer, hopefully. Gonna take this upstairs to Sarah’s room.” you grab the handles, attempting to lift it yet you struggled earlier and your neighbour kindly offered to help lift it into your car because you couldn't lift it high enough to shove it into the trunk.

Joel watches in amusement for a minute as you struggle then he stands up and walks over to you, putting a hand on your arm to stop you. "Woah, woah, hold on. Lemme help you with that, darlin'."

He gently takes the bag off of your shoulder, his fingers grazing your shoulder. "What're you packin' in here? Rocks?"

"Clothes, shoes, accessories, y'know...girl stuff." you move back, opening and closing your hand a few times to get the feeling back.

Joel slings the bag over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing, and you feel a jolt of arousal shoot though you as wonder if he could lift you just as effortlessly.

What you don't realise is that Joel can practically feel your gaze on him the whole time, making him smirk to himself. When he gets to the top he turns around with a smug smile on his face.

"See? Wasn't so hard was it?" he says teasingly, holding that bag up with one hand to prove his point.

"Yeah, yeah." you reply, waving him off.

He playfully rolls his eyes before he walks into Sarah's room, setting your bag down with a thud. You thank him as he descends the stairs before walking back to your spot on the couch and taking your beer.

Joel settles back into his seat. Another comfortable silence washes over the two of you briefly until Joel brakes it.

“Soo,” he drawls, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his gaze meets yours. “How much trouble you plan on causing during your lil’ visit?”

You lean back into the sofa more and exhale an amused puff of air from your nose. "Oh, tons, obviously."

Joel chuckles at your response, shaking his head slightly. His gaze remained on you longer than necessary. The way you were lounging back against the couch was making it difficult for him to think clearly.

“You wanna watch a movie or somethin' before I bore ya to death?” he nods towards the TV, waiting for your reply.

"Oh stop it, you're not boring but sure, a movie sounds good to me."

Joel stands up, grabbing the remote and takes a seat on the other side of the couch you're on this time, only so he could see the tv better, of course, then scrolls through the movie options. "You got a specific movie in mind, trouble'? Or am I pickin'?"

"I'll watch anything, you pick." you say, making yourself more comfy, shifting on the couch and tucking your legs under you.

He glances over at you, his gaze lingering on the way you nestled into the couch, legs tucked under, comfortable. He swallows, focusing back on the TV. He scrolls through the available movies, and after a few moments, settles on a comedy movie. When the opening credits begin to play he settles back into his seat, taking another swig of his beer. His gaze drifts to you every few minutes, he's hyper aware of your presence only one seat away.

At a particularly funny moment, out of habit, you reach out and grasp Joel's forearm as you laugh. It's something you've always done, something Sarah was used to. He jolts slightly in surprise, the touch sending tingles up his arm. He glances down at your hand on his forearm then back up to you. He can vaguely recall you doing this with Sarah but had never been on the receiving end himself.

You catch yourself, reminding yourself who you're with. "Oh god, sorry. I do it to Sarah all the time." you explain, smiling sheepishly and patting his arm before retracting your hand.

He slowly relaxes his shoulders, the corners of his lips tugged into a smile you apologize. "S'alright, no need to apologize." he says, his voice raspy, his southern drawl more evident than usual. In that moment, Joel realises just how much trouble he really is in.

The movie continues playing, but Joel finds it harder to pay attention. The feeling of your hand on him still lingered on his skin, and he found himself wanting more. Instead, he takes his last gulp of beer, his gaze shifting back to the TV. He clears his throat softly before abruptly standing up.

"Another?" he asks, shaking his empty beer bottle and nodding towards yours. You agree, handing him your empty bottle when he holds his hand out for it.

He heads to the kitchen to grab two more beers, taking a minute to collect himself.

He returns, the necks of the beer bottles between his fingers and hands one to you, sitting back down but just a bit closer this time. You notice his sleeves are rolled up now and you can't help gazing at his arms. You're unsure if it's just because they're attached to him or if he really does have nice arms. God you need to get laid soon.

You untuck your legs that now ache slightly and stretch them out before placing them on Joel's lap, a playful grin on your face.

Joel feels his heart rate quicken as you place your legs on his lap and he has to bite his tongue to prevent himself from letting out a single sound.

"Comfy, huh darlin'?" he asks, his voice a little hoarse.

You laugh a little, looking over at him. "I am. You make a great foot rest, actually."

Joel chuckles at your playful words. "Glad I could be of service." he replies, trying to ignore the way your laugh sends jolts of arousal straight to his dick. He takes another gulp of beer, his gaze flickering down and his hand almost moves on its own accord, lightly resting on your ankle.

Late afternoon turns into evening, evening turns into night as you continue watching movies and drink a couple more beers. He's become accustomed to your legs on his lap, and each time you return from making a trip to the kitchen or to the bathroom, he waits the few seconds it takes you to sit back down and rest your legs on him once more. You've both had a few more beers than intended. Joel is feeling a pleasant buzz, and he can tell that you are too.

As the night wears on, Joel gets more bold and starts slowly tracing his fingers up your calf. He only moves a little each time, testing the waters. He keeps his gaze fixed on the movie, but his mind is going wild, his heart thumping in his chest and his dick twitching in his pants.

You swallow hard as his fingers reach the bare skin between the rips in your jeans, while you're trying your hardest to seem unbothered as your eyes are also fixed on the screen.

It feels like you've got an angel and devil on your shoulders like those old cartoons. The angel is telling you that this is a bad idea, stop this right now, this is your best friends dad. Yet the devil is telling you to go for it, you want it, ride it out and hell, ride Joel too.

Joel’s fingers continue their slow journey upwards, tracing circles on the denim. He’s hyper-aware of every movement you make, every hitch in your breath. He knows he's playing a dangerous game, but right now, he doesn’t care.

Over the next few minutes, the movie long forgotten now, his fingers move further, now tracing lazy patterns on the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. He can feel the tension between you growing. He looks over at you, his gaze hooded and heavy.

You can feel his gaze and look over. When your eyes meet, a moment of pure heat and undeniable desire passes between you. There's a fire there, and it's growing with each passing second. Joel's hand continues its slow, rhythmic movement, his thumb lightly grazing the skin of your thigh. His gaze is intense, unyielding.

You mentally flick the angel off your shoulder and mutter "fuck it." before shifting your position so you're now kneeling beside him and turn his face toward you to press your lips against his.

Joel is momentarily caught off guard by your bold move. His mind is screaming this is a bad idea, but his body is singing a different tune. A low moan escapes him, his eyes fluttering shut on reflex.

His free hand immediately grasps the nape of your neck, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. The moment his tongue flicks out to glide against yours, his restraint snaps. He grips your hips with his large hands and tugs you onto his lap.

Suddenly his lips are hot against your neck, trailing a line of kisses as his hands slide from your hips under your shirt, resting on your bare waist.

He pulls back, breathing heavy and looking at you. "C'mon, my room. Not doing this in the family room." he mumbles, pulling you up by your hand. You understand and let him lead you to his room and as soon as you're in there, you resume the position, his back against the headboard and you straddling his lap.

You moan softly as his lips and greying scruff move against your neck again. You've only imagined this hundreds of times before and now it's happening, all reasoning and goodwill and out the window.

With how easy it is for him to slip into this, and you, you're rethinking everything that's ever happened. Everything you've ever convinced yourself was Joel just being friendly, fleeting looks, touches, everything. You know for sure now it was what you thought.

“You know exactly what you’ve been doing. A-always hovering around when I’m here with Sarah…touching my back when you walk past me…” you whisper, slowly rocking your hips against his.

“Fuck, I know.” he rasps, his hands moving up to your hips, holding you in place to match your rhythm. You take your chance to place kisses on his neck. He smells faintly of cologne and a natural manly musk that makes your cunt clench around nothing.

"Always teasing me." you murmur between kisses against his neck.

Joel lets out breathy curse and rolls his head back to give you more access. His hands slide down to your ass, gripping tightly to chase the delicious friction between you. “Teasing you? Darlin’ I was trying to be a fuckin’ saint.”

You place a couple more kisses on his neck before lifting your head from his neck, moving your arms to hang loosely over his shoulders and looking him in the eye. “Yeah? Walking around in only a towel after your shower? Leaning over me at the table to grab stuff?” you continue grinding your hips down onto his as you speak.

Joel’s eyes go nearly black as you recount his actions, and it finally occurs to him that he wasn’t nearly as subtle as he thought he was, and he loves it.

He pushes you down onto his bed on your back and lifts your tank top, his calloused fingers grazing the skin of your sides.

“What about you? When you’d bend all the way over just to grab somethin' from the refrigerator when you knew I was behind you? Paradin' yourself around my house in your tiny shorts?"

You mindlessly run your nails gently up and down his arms as he hovers over you. "I knew you were watching. Always watching when I'm here, aren't you Joel?" you ask, tilting your head.

Joel yanks the fabric over your head and tosses it to the floor, his eyes roaming over your chest covered by a lacy white bra. He leans down, chest pressed against yours, and responds in a gruff tone

“Like a damn hawk, darlin’.” His large hands trail up your sides, his head dips down to graze his lips across your collar bone. “Always watchin'…listenin' to you, smellin' your sweet perfume all over my fuckin' house.” he murmurs against you.

You think back to the fact you used to spray it everywhere, hoping to god it had this sort of affect and you almost smirk.

He hums against your neck, his hands roaming down to your jeans, finger and thumb making quick work of the button. “Thought I was going crazy.” he mumbles, tugging on the zip. “Could smell you everywhere...was like torture.” he says, moving back and pulling your jeans off, throwing them aside too.

“Fuck…I imagined us like this so many times. your big hands all over me- fuck.” you whimper as his thumbs run over your hard nipples through the flimsy cups of your bra, making your back arch off the bed.

Joel’s mind nearly explodes as you tell him your dirty thoughts. All those hours of him holding back, trying to keep his mind from wandering, and you were doing the same? He almost smirks.

He takes advantage of the fact you're arched so beautifully for him and slips a hand under you, his fingers splayed across your lower back and the other reaching to unclasp your bra. He pulls it down your arms, dropping it onto the pile of other clothes.

He pushes himself up on one hand, the other reaching down between you, fumbling with his belt as he speaks, “That right, darlin'? I’ve tugged my cock countless times thinkin' about having you like this.”

"You've stroked your cock over me?" you ask, eyes on the hand unbuckling his belt.

He looks up at you, eyes almost completely consumed with lust, as he unzips his jeans and pulls them down his thighs a little, just enough for his cock to not feel like it's suffocating in his boxers.

“Mm. Spent so many nights imagining burying my cock inside you…” he continues, and grinds his clothed length against you, as if demonstrating before continuing.

“God, the way you look at me…” he groans. “the way you laugh at my shitty jokes, those little outfits you wear…” he says, hitching one of your legs around his waist and leaning down towards you, his eyes scanning your face.

“You remember when I had that barbecue last summer? you and Sarah danced…and every time you spun…that damn skirt would ride up.”

You remember that very well…after all, you wore it on purpose. You felt kind of guilty after that, kind of parading yourself around for your besties father (even though Sarah had no idea), but knowing now how it affected him, that's the last thing on your mind.

“Yeah, I remember." you reply, wrapping your other leg around his waist and pulling him towards you more, needing more friction.

He practically loses it as you grind against him, thinking about when he sat in his backyard, trying to ignore the way your little skirt bounced, or how he would see your perfect ass cheeks peeping out of the bottom of your shorts. He was about to go mad.

“oh, I know you did. bet you fucking knew I was sitting there, trying to act normal while I’m dyin’, watching your perfect ass appear and disappear under that skirt."

You whimper as he cups one of your bare breasts, the other hand trailing downwards. “Look at these.” Joel whispers as he leans forward and takes a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the bud.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me what you thought about when you were dancin', what you wanted me to do’.” he murmurs between teasing licks, his other hand teasing you through the fabric of your now soaked panties.

You let out a desperate moan, your mind begging him to do something. “I wanted…I wanted you to grab me, make me dance on your cock instead.” you say, voice strained as you try to grind yourself against his fingers.

A breathy curse escapes him at your words. He had to hear you say it. He needed to know you were thinking the same dirty thoughts as him. “You got no idea...wanted to grab you, pull your skirt up and fuck you right there.”

The mental imagine his filthy words conjure up, and his fingers teasing your pussy through your panties have you letting out a desperate noise you don't even recognise. God the noises you made. He needed to hear more of them, so his fingers slip under the side your panties.

“Y'like hearing what I wanna do to ya, huh?” he rasps as his fingers slide through your folds. “Soaked just thinking about it.”

You curse when his fingers finally make contact with your bare pussy and moan out a pathetic "Yeah."

“Fuuck, that’s it baby. Make those pretty noises for me.” Joel groans, easily slipping two fingers in your sopping centre, making you blush at how desperate you are right now. He begins to pump them and at a toe curling rhythm, making you gasp and moan his name.

He shuffles down your body, and pulls your panties aside to get a better look.

"So pretty." he murmurs, practically salivating at the sight before him, continuing his ministrations. He moves even closer, his hot breath ghosting over you, making you exhale and bite your lip.

"Tha’s right, baby. show me how bad you want it.” he says, his thumb now circling your clit. His eyes flit between your perfect pussy that's drenching his fingers and your pretty face as it contorts in pleasure. You reach behind you, grasping the edge of the mattress to ground yourself.

"Gotta taste this pussy. Can I, baby? Will ya let me?" he mumbles against the inside of your thigh before his tongue flicks out to tease the skin. He withdraws his fingers, toying with the slick, running it up and down your slit.

"ohgod...please." you almost whine. His cock is throbbing and almost hurts with every sound you make. He can smell your sweet scent and it's driving him insane. The moment you agree, his face is directly in front of your cunt, inhaling deeply.

Without warning, he licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit, tongue flat. You sigh, almost in relief at the sensation. Fuck it felt so good. He lets out a low moan, as if he were a starved man having eating for the first time in days.

His tongue dances over your sensitive little bud, his mind reeling. He never thought it'd happen. Yet here you are, legs open in front of his face and he was basking in it.

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, his lips latch onto your clit, sucking hard. You gasp and thread your fingers through his hair.

His hands trail over your thighs and then up to cup your tits, squeezing them gently. He alternates his tongues movements, licking and sucking, your moans and whimpers not helping the fact his cock feels slightly neglected now.

After a little more, he pulls away from your clit with a pop and looks up at you, his lips, chin and even the tip of his nose glistening with your juices. "She's a great kisser." he teases, wiping his face on his sleeve before slipping off the bed, rising to his feet and unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it aside. That line should've made you cringe and with anyone else it probably would've, but it didn't.

"Can I return the favour?" you ask as you prop yourself up on your elbows, wanting nothing more than to have his cock sliding down your throat.

"As good as that sounds darlin', my cocks achin' to get inside ya." he says, pulling his jeans and boxers down and kicking them aside. He gets back onto his bed, resting against the headboard. "c'mere." he beckons you over.

Your eyes trail down his body, shamelessly looking at his cock as you move towards him. He's bigger than you imagined, his balls big and heavy underneath. You don't have that much time to look as Joel pulls you over to him. "Havin' a good look there?" he teases, a smirk plastered on his face as you mount him.

"Well I mean, you just had your face between my legs, s'only fair I get a peek of what I'm about to sit on." you retort your hands on his shoulders as you hover above him, sitting up on your knees.

He lets out a low husky chuckle, the fact that you were comfortable enough to tease him back made his cock twitch and then a deep groan erupts from him as you run your pussy up and down the underside of his cock.

"You enjoy being a little tease, huh? like playi- fuck -playin' little games?" his voice is strained as you move a little further than intended, his cock nudging your entrance, making you both moan. He grips your hips, leaning back and his eyes zero in on where you're almost connected. "Again." he breathes. "fuck, do that again."

You happily comply, whimpering every time the head nudges your clit and moaning in sync with him as it prods your soaking wet hole. "Jesus-" he grunts, his head falling back. It feels so fucking good but it's taking everything in him not to drag you down onto his cock.

He can't take much more, and you're right there with him. Desperate to feel him properly. He wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you and grabs the base of his cock to line himself up. "you ready, baby?" he murmurs against the skin of your shoulder.

"mhm." you hum as his hands grip your hips. "but, slow...at first. been a while." you mumble, cheeks flushing.

His lust filled eyes soften for a moment at your confession. "you just take what you need, however you need to. we got all night, sweetheart."

Your heart flutters a little at that. This man just told you how much he's dreamed of fucking you, that he's been playing with his cock to the thought of you, yet being so understanding on top of that makes him even sexier.

You nod, before lowering yourself down on him. He closes his eyes, jaw ticking as he tries to stay still, the urge to buck up into your tight heat almost to much. "tha's it, baby...just like that."

You can't help the string of noises that escape your lips as you slowly sink onto him. When you reach the bottom, you rest your forehead on his shoulder.

"You okay?" he breathes out, one of his hands moving from your hip to trace his finger tips up your spine.

"m'fine. just needed a second." you say, fighting the embarrassment. It's not like you've never rode a dick, but it's just been while and jesus was this one bigger than the others. You suck it up and lift your head to meet his eyes, giving him a nod to let him know you're good to go. You slowly start to lift, with Joel guidance, before moving back down.

You moan together as you move, his eyes glued to your face. One hand still on your back and the other on your hip to keep you steady. "you feel so fuckin' good...don't stop. keep goin'..like that." His words only encourage you, your pace picking up as you ride him, the lewd sounds of your bodies coming together filling the air.

He starts to move his hips, matching your movements and hitting that spongey spot inside your cunt, making your eyes roll back. He takes advantage of that fact, watching your tits bounce in his face as he tries to catch a nipple with his tongue.

"Oh god...Joel..." you moan, leaning back and grasping his thighs behind you.

"Tha's right, beautiful. Fuck yourself on your friend's old mans cock." he says, watching your body move. His words are disgusting, they should turn you off, yet they make you tighten around him.

"Ah, you like that don't cha? Dirty fuckin' girl."

You nod, the embarrassment shooting straight down to your cunt. "Yeah?" he coos, pressing you, wanting to hear you say it.

"Mmyeah." you whimper pathetically as you continue moving up and down his thick cock.

"Look at me, baby girl. I wanna see that gorgeous face." He says in that deep, gravelly voice, his hand moving to your chin and tilting your head down to look at him. As soon as your eyes lock on his, the intensity makes you moan. "There she is..." he says, looking at how fucking wrecked you look. Pupils blown, cheeks flushed, hair dishevelled.

Your chest flutters and cheeks burn a little darker under his gaze. God, you always imagined you'd be more confident if you ever got to fuck him, thought you'd be calling the shots. But he's got you, and you're lost in it.

He starts to meet your movements, lifting his hips to bury himself to the hilt over and over. His hand moves from your chin to your neck, his fingers wrap around it. Your breath hitches and it makes he smirk again. "This what you want?" he murmurs, giving your throat a light squeeze.

"Mmmm, yes.." you mewl, barely able to talk. Your mind is swimming in lust and desire, our thoughts consumes by the man in front of you. He tightens his grip around your neck, his thumb pressing on your jaw to keep your gaze locked on him.

"What about last fourth July? remember that?" he asks with his signature gruff drawl.

You know exactly what he’s talking about and it makes you moan. "Mmh- yeah…" you manage. "I remember."

He gives a low, amused chuckle as he recalls the memory. "You in that lil’ blue bikini...walkin’ around my place, all tan and wet." Every other word he speaks is met with a harder thrust, making you whine.

Memories of that day flood your mind and heat pools in your belly. That was the first time you noticed Joel stare at you in a way that wasn't how your best friends dad should.

"Joel...I need- please I-" He takes the hint, shifting your position so you're now on your back on his bed, his cock still nestled deep inside you.

"I know, baby, I know." He purrs, his face going between your neck and collarbone, nipping and sucking all the sensitive skin he can get his mouth on. He lifts your left leg and drapes it over his hip, then he quickly buries himself in your tight heat again. "Fuuuck you're so tight.." he moans, head falling back.

His cock constantly hits the right spot over and over, you're sure your vision will go white any second. "So good...mmfuck, Joel..."

Your hands that look small in comparison to his, grasp his biceps and pull him down for a desperate, messy kiss. Joel's body covers yours, his muscular form surrounding you. He kisses you feverishly, every movement of his tongue and lips making that feeling in your gut coil tighter and tighter.

"Joel-” you gasp as the feeling in your stomach gets stronger. He can already feel how tight you're getting around him.

"Gonna come ain'tcha? C'mon baby, lemme feel you." his own breathing is ragged, he's not far behind you. He leans down, pressing kisses to the column of your throat as he fucks you faster.

You're unable to form a coherent sentence anymore, just needy sounds escaping you as he fucks you good, your walls tightening around him and making his hips stutter.

"There ya go...keep squeezin' me like that.." he encourages, hips moving impossibly faster.

"M'so close." you whimper, nails leaving little crescent indents in his back.

"Mmyeah, I know baby...can feel it. Gonna fill this lil' pussy up. That what you want? Wanna be full of me?" he grits, lifting his head up from your neck.

"Shit...yeah, I want it. Give it to me, please." you beg in your lust filled haze. You're right on the edge now, just needing a little something to help you over.

A gravelly moan rumbles in his chest at your words. "Look at you...wrecked and begging for my come." Those words have you clenching him again. He's so fucking close but wants to make sure you get there first.

You only whine in response, unable to come up with words as that tightness in your stomach gets so tight, you feel like you'll snap. It's like he's everywhere at once, the sensations are overwhelming and you can barely take it.

"I got ya, baby. C'mon now. Need t'see you fall apart on my cock." he murmurs.

That's it, that's all it takes. Your thighs are trembling, vision hazy, back arching, toes curling, all the orgasm cliches you'd never experienced with these frat boys who just want to get their dicks wet.

Joel watches you in awe. "Oh fuck...there we go, jus' like that." That was it for Joel too, watching you fall apart sends him over. His head drops down, hips stuttering as he rides through it with you, his movements slowing.

You're both trying to catch your breaths, sweat covers your bodies. Joel's still on top, supporting his weight with a hand on either side of your head. He lifts up slightly so he can look at you, a smirk plastered on his bearded face.

"Looking real happy with yourself there." you say, letting out a small breathy laugh.

He chuckles, the sound deep and satisfied. "Can ya blame me?" he murmurs, his head dipping down to press a kiss to your cheek, his beard scratching your skin.

But the sounds of the front door opening downstairs makes you both freeze and then Sarah's voice rings out, calling for you both. She'd have seen your car outside.

Fuck.

[roosterforme]

In the Navy Now | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: When Bradley and Jake catch their wives in the midst of a lie, Bradley wonders what made you think you couldn't be honest with him. He soon realizes you have a trick up your sleeve, one that makes his work day a lot more exciting. 

Warnings: Fluff, smut, adult language, math as foreplay

Length: 3900 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time but it can be read on its own! Check out my masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

"You know what really sucks?" Bradley mused as he sat at a table for two in the cafeteria on base.

"What's that?" Jake asked in response, digging his fork into a bowl of pasta.

Bradley looked around the room at everyone else and sighed. "You and I are forced to socialize all the time now, because our wives are best friends."

He saw Jake on Saturday, and also last night at the bar, and again every damn day at work.

Jake shrugged as he took a bite of his lunch. "It's not that bad."

"Speak for yourself. I literally can't understand what Jessica sees in you."

As soon as he heard Jake's laugh, Bradley knew what was coming. "You're literally the last person who should be making comments like that. Your wife is so hot, it's absolutely unbelievable she is with you willingly. She had ten years to come to her senses."

Bradley smiled as he thought about you. "She missed me."

Jake was shaking his head. "She must have been with some seriously ugly guys or something in those ten years."

Bradley was laughing now as he said, "I'm telling you, she missed me as much as I missed her."

"Riiiight. I'm about to text her and ask for verification on that one."

Bradley poked at his salad and murmured, "Don't even bother. She's in some sort of math seminar with Dean Walters all day. Told me not to try reaching her unless it's an emergency."

"Are you sure?" Jake asked, giving him a funny look. "Jess said she had a department meeting with the dean today. For the science department."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "Yeah, of course I'm sure. I even packed her an extra snack. Unlike you, I actually listen to my wife when she talks. I'm sure you're wrong."

But Jake was already digging in the pocket of his flight suit for his phone, and when he unlocked it and slid it across the table, Bradley picked it up. He skimmed a text that Jessica sent just a few hours ago.

I love you! Don't forget, I'll be unreachable most of the day. Physics meeting with Dean Walters. 

Bradley frowned. If this was true, then you lied to him. You never lied to him. He tried his best to let you know that you never had to do that. But now he remembered that you even went so far as to tell him you didn't need a ride home from campus today, and that actually seemed suspicious, too.

"Why do they want us to think they're busy all day?"

"It doesn't really make any sense," Jake said as he set his fork down. "Damn. Jess knows she can talk to me about anything."

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, "I don't like this shit." The uneasy feeling seemed to spread through his entire body as he stood. "We need to get going. Special class today, remember?"

"Fuck," Jake muttered under his breath, clearly as excited about the guest lecturer as Bradley was. Sitting in the classroom for a few hours was usually always tedious compared to flying, but the lectures that Cyclone had been adding to their schedules randomly over the past few months were worse than the most boring class Bradley ever took at the University of Virginia.

"Let's get this over with," he said, dropping his tray off and fighting the urge to text you just to see what you'd have to say. Now he was going to have to figure out a way to call you out about lying later. But it was still puzzling him as to why you and Jessica would both tell the same exact lie. What was the point of that? If you didn't want Bradley to bother you at work, that was all you needed to say. But it wasn't like he was annoying like Jake was; he could understand Jessica needing a break from her husband, but did you need one too?

He was still trying to figure out if there was something going wrong with his marriage when he walked into the classroom. Cyclone was standing at the front, hands on his hips, glaring at Bradley and Jake as they walked inside with two minutes to spare. The only seats left were both up in the front row, and Bradley groaned as he dropped down into one of them. The last guest speaker they had spit the entire time he talked, and the one before that spoke at full volume like she was teaching a room full of hundreds of people rather than the twenty four that were gathered.

"I regret not getting here early," Jake murmured, and Bradley nodded as he shifted in his seat and messed with the cuffs of the sleeves of his flight suit. He was really hung up on what you could possibly be doing today, and he knew that he wasn't going to be able to pay attention to this lecture topic at all. And that's when he noticed what was written on the white board behind Cyclone.

THE PHYSICS OF PROPULSION AND MATHEMATICAL FORMULATIONS IN SINGLE SEAT F/A-18 JETS

He groaned, because even the word mathematical made him think about you. This was about to be a long afternoon. Then Admiral Simpson cleared his throat, and Bradley forced his attention to the man in front of him.

"Welcome. Today's lecture topic is of the utmost importance regarding updates that will be made to your aircrafts this year. We will take a look at jet propulsion and the calculations specific to your F/A-18s before the new NATOPS is even released. We have two guest speakers who are professors from San Diego State University's math and physics departments, and they have graciously agreed to spend some time on this topic with us."

"No way," Bradley whispered, convinced it had to be you. He swiveled around in his seat so fast, he thought he might have broken it as he hung over the arm into the aisle when the classroom door opened. He could hear her high heels on the floor before he realized he was looking at Jessica enter the room, but then his heart skipped around in his chest just like the first time he saw you over ten years ago at his fraternity house. You looked fucking hot as sin, strolling in behind Jake's wife with a folder in your hand and a smirk on your red lips. Your eyes found his immediately as he sat there gaping at you while you made your way to the front of the room, but other than a little nod in his direction, you gave him nothing.

"Holy shit," Jake hissed next to him as Bradley nodded in agreement, his eyes glued on your body as he heard Cyclone introduce you and Dr. Jessica Reed by name. You gave the room at large a little wave, but your eyes flicked him, and Bradley let out the breath he had apparently been holding as he relaxed into his seat. So this must have been why you tried to make it seem like you were extremely busy today. Maybe you and Jessica didn't want him and Jake to catch on to the fact that you'd be presenting their class.

As Jessica started talking, he took in every inch of your appearance. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, and you were doing it very well. Bradley was proficient at calculus, having attended many of your college level math lectures. Sometimes he surprised you, but sometimes you knew ahead of time that he planned on being there. It didn't hurt that the lectures he attended usually ended with sex or a blowjob for him. Somehow math had turned into a form of foreplay for the two of you, and Bradley couldn't get enough. You'd praise him when he was able to solve a difficult problem, and the rewards were always sexy.

He was used to seeing you like this when he visited San Diego State University, but getting to witness your brilliance on the Naval base was already so exciting. Right now, he was already having a difficult time sitting still as he grew hard at the sound of your voice.

"The calculations related to your Super Hornets are so precise, we'll just take a look at a handful of examples to give you an idea of what we mean," you said, opening up your folder on the table as Bradley ran his sweaty palms on his flight suit. You were only a few feet away from him. He could smell your shampoo. He could count the little silver buttons on the side of your skirt. He had to bite his lip as you turned toward the white board and uncapped a marker as you said, "Please, let me know if I'm going too fast."

He could pick your writing out easily, but there was something about the way you always chose the letter B for your variables when he was watching. Your smooth penmanship started to fill the board as you talked your way through the problem, but Bradley could barely take his eyes off your ass. He turned around briefly to make sure nobody else had the same idea he did, but it was hard to tell. The younger guys looked a lot more enthusiastic than they usually did, and he might have to pound some sense into them later. Didn't they know you were his fucking wife?

But maybe they didn't. You kept your name the same when you got married. So did Jessica for that matter. Now Bradley sat a little taller in his seat as he realized he was married to one of the two extremely hot PhDs who all the other men in the room were drooling over.

"Does that make sense?" you asked, turning back to face them with a satisfied look on your face. "Dr. Reed can take over explaining the actual physics of the aircraft propulsion, and then I'll jump back in with the next calculation."

Bradley smiled at you while Jessica started talking again, and he could tell you were trying not to look at him as your lips curled into a grin. God, you were just fucking perfect. Smart and silly and sexy. And the two of you had so much history together, he could practically read the thoughts on your face.

"Did they dress like this on purpose?" Jake croaked softly.

"I know mine did," Bradley whispered. Your little tweed skirt and loafers screamed east coast academic. It looked as good on you as his tie dye shirt always did. It was just as sexy as lingerie. It was almost pornographic to him at this point. But today you had them paired with a blazer and a bodysuit. A bodysuit. He loved those things with the little snaps that held them closed as they hugged your curves. He was almost certain you'd skipped a bra. He couldn't wait to find out for sure.

Jessica was still talking about jet propulsion. Bradley would ask you to explain it to him later if it was actually important. Right now, you were slowly buttoning and then unbuttoning your blazer over and over again while you alternated between consulting your notes and stealing glances at Bradley. He was too warm as he watched your fingers work, and your eyes caught his as he leaned forward in his seat.

"Hey, Sugar," he mouthed, and your gaze dropped back to your folder as you bit your lip and smiled. He was ready to go home. Take you to bed. Or maybe get a private lecture in your home office. Or maybe drive all the way to the college and visit one of the library study rooms. You made everything so exciting, he wanted all of it.

When Jessica handed the lecture back over to you, Bradley squirmed in his seat as you wrote another calculation on the board. Jake was really no better in the seat next to him, and he realized the two of them must look like idiots at the moment. But you were making a subtle math joke that he understood, and when you glanced over your shoulder, your engagement ring sparkled under the fluorescent light.

"Now this is how the updates will actually make your aircrafts more fuel efficient," you said as you easily worked through a calculation that looked so complicated, Isaac Newton wouldn't have been able to solve it. Bradley's cock was still half hard, and he wasn't exactly sure how he was going to be able to stand up after this. But then you really threw him for a loop when you casually added the equation from your tattoo into the middle of the mess of mathematics on the white board. Now the only thing he could think about was your tits. Or rather, him running his lips along your math titty tattoo.

Bradley wasn't going to be able to sit still for much longer, but you turned around and asked, "Does anyone have any questions?"

He had to sit there and listen to several of the other guys ask you the most idiotic questions just so they could have your attention. Then Bradley raised his hand and waited until you pointed at him and said, "Lieutenant Bradshaw?" with an amused look on your face. "You have a question?"

"Yeah," he said, voice raspy. "I do, professor. If the variable B is directly related to propulsion, then how is that going to affect my thrust?"

He kept a straight face while you fought to do the same. You cleared your throat, took a step in his direction, and said, "You're going to need to have some additional thrust, Lieutenant."

Bradley nodded and gave you a thoughtful look. "Hmmm, that's what I thought. And it looks like a very complicated calculation."

You stood there in front of everyone in your little tweed skirt and the diamond ring he gave you and said, "If you'd like a more thorough explanation, I wouldn't mind spending a few minutes with you afterwards, Lieutenant."

As he leaned back in his seat, he told you, "I look forward to it."

So Bradley listened to Jessica while you occasionally interjected, and he kept his eyes on your face as his excitement started to build even more. When the afternoon lecture was finally over, he and Jake both stayed in their seats while Cyclone shook hands with the two of you.

"How long do you think they've been planning this?" Jake whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Not sure," Bradley replied as you collected your notes into your folder. "But I intend to find out." He was impressed as hell that you managed to pull this off without him noticing, but his skin was tingling with need. He desperately wanted to get his hands on you after you worked him up with all of the intellectual teasing. 

As soon as Cyclone dismissed everyone, Jake was on his feet, dragging Jessica out of the classroom, but Bradley didn't move an inch in his seat. His cock was hard, and you were running your hand along your tweed covered hip as you smiled at him. But then he had to endure one of the younger aviators who was new to Top Gun trying to chat you up when he should have just left the classroom with the others. When you turned to face him instead, annoyance washed through Bradley's veins.

"Uh, hi, uh I actually studied mathematics at the Naval Academy, and I graduated three years ago, and uh, I was just wondering if you would want to get a drink with me sometime and talk more about, um, some of the topics you covered about propulsion and thrust-"

"Fuck off, man," Bradley barked. "She's wearing goddamn wedding rings. And she's not interested."

Your hand slipped over your lips as you laughed silently while the younger man looked at Bradley in shock. "Oh. Right. Okay," he muttered before hightailing it from the now nearly empty classroom.

"That wasn't very nice," you said, fighting against a smile. "He seemed really sweet. I was going to let him shoot his shot."

Bradley stood with a soft groan, his erection pressing against the zipper of his flight suit. "I was promised a private tutorial session, Dr. Sugar. I'm not about to let a twenty-something year old take up any of my time."

Without hesitation, you walked over to him and started to slowly unzip his flight suit. "Hate to break it to you, Beer Boy, but you were a twenty-something year old when I fell in love with you." 

You ran your fingers along his undershirt, and Bradley glanced at the open classroom door as he whispered, "I hope you know you're not leaving this room until you're full of my cum."

"Lieutenant Bradshaw!" you gasped, eyes wide and surprised. But your hand was dipping lower to his abs, and he could tell you were as turned on as he was. "This is a tutoring session!"

Bradley wrapped his hand around your wrist and gently led you toward the door which he immediately closed. "I want to know how the hell you managed to pull this off. I had no idea you and Jessica were going to be teaching a class for the Navy."

"We've been working on our lesson plan for weeks," you said with a smirk as Bradley placed both of your palms on the door and flipped the light switch off. In the dimly lit room, you whispered, "We wanted it to be a surprise."

Bradley stood behind you, facing the door and kissed your neck above your unbuttoned blazer. "And here I thought you lied to me about your plans because you needed a break from me."

You moaned softly as his nose traced the shell of your ear. "Oh, please. It's not like you're annoying like Jake. I don't need a break from you, Beer Boy."

"Hmm, then what do you need from me?" he asked softly, letting one hand slide up your bodysuit while he confirmed that you were not wearing a bra. Your nipples were tight peaks as he stroked them through the fabric with one big hand, and you bumped your ass back against his erection.

"I need you to tell me what you know about thrust, Lieutenant," you stated in your teacher voice which made him grind against you.

"I know you like it when I give you a little thrust," he grunted, guiding your tweed skirt up your thighs as you gasped.

"Is this a good idea?" you asked, still pressing your body back against his. "Should we wait until we get home?"

"Can't," he growled, yanking your skirt up over your ass and wrapping his hands around your hips as he looked down at the perfect view. "You got me too worked up. You know what your lectures do to me. And this time it was on my home turf."

Your hands were still planted on the door as you glanced at him over your shoulder. "Almost like I'm in the Navy now. Lieutenant Sugar? Should I get a uniform?"

"Oh, fuck. You know I couldn't handle that. Besides, I'm really partial to your tweed." He was running his knuckles down your rear end as he whispered, "Please, let me fuck you. I'll be quick, Baby."

His fingers were already at the snaps on your bodysuit that hid your pussy from his touch when you said, "Do it."

With a flick of his wrist, the snaps sprung free, and he ran his finger along your slit. Your back arched as he carefully pulled his cock free from his unzipped flight suit and underwear, and then he was guiding you to your tiptoes as he slipped himself inside you.

Bradley wrapped one hand around your waist and braced the door closed with the other as he buried himself deep inside you. Your soft gasp sounded beautiful as he sucked on your neck and gave you a few deep strokes. When he started to go faster, your fingers curled against the door as you whined his name, and he asked, "How's my thrust?"

Your head tipped back against his shoulder as you whispered, "You're just about there. Maybe a little harder."

Always wanting to be your top student, he did exactly as you told him and picked up the pace, letting himself slam against your ass. Your tight pussy felt so fucking good, and normally he'd draw this out as long as possible, but not today. He let your grip on him take over all of his senses, and soon he was grunting next to your ear, lips parted as he fucked you up against the door in a classroom at Top Gun.

"This is filthy as hell," he muttered, jerking his hips in an uneven rhythm. "Fucking my perfect wife on base. During work hours." 

"Beer Boy," you gasped when he slammed deep and held himself there. He did it again, loving the sound of his body meeting yours so intimately. A third time, and the pull along his spine as you moaned was too much. You had complete control over him.

Bradley gave it to you hard until he was panting. He let himself come as you turned and looked back at him, licking those sinful lips. "Jesus, fuck, holy shit," he groaned before kissing your lips softly as he gave you a few more thrusts before pulling himself free.

He was still a little hard as he tucked himself back into his flight suit and zipped it up again. When he went to fix your bodysuit, he ended up with his fingers coated in your arousal mixed with his cum as he did the snaps once again.

"Good as new," he murmured as you tugged your skirt down and turned to face him. He kissed you again before he said, "We should get out of here."

You nodded and collected your folder before pulling the door open and strolling casually out into the hallway like you didn't have his sticky cum rubbing against your inner thighs. "Now that you're all squared away with your thrust variable," you told him as he licked his fingers clean, enjoying the way the two of you tasted together, "you'll be even faster, Lieutenant."

Bradley snickered as you and he rounded the corner. "I hope you mean in the air. Quickies aren't really my thing, unless we're in a library study room or apparently an empty Naval classroom."

"There you are, professor." Cyclone was trying to flag you down, and Bradley watched you stumble as you headed off in his direction. He wasn't even sure if Admiral Simpson knew you and he were married, but the other man looked overjoyed as he said, "I've already been getting wonderful feedback about you and Dr. Reed, and I'm hoping you'll both agree to come back next month for another lecture on a different topic."

Bradley groaned and just kept walking. He would wait for you in the parking lot where he'd have a moment to himself to collect his thoughts. More sexy tweed and his hot wife in the classroom? Another lecture topic? Hours of mathematical foreplay that nobody else seemed to pick up on? Quickies were about to become his thing.

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

I missed Beer Boy and Sugar SO MUCH! She's such a queen, she literally just has to exist to make him lose his mind. But she knows what she did here. She knows. Thanks for reading!

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[ronearoundblindly]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe thot about: CE!babe + “Sir, I think you misunderstood.”

I'm SO HONORED, you have no idea. 🧚‍♀️👸🏽❤️🪄🧚✨⚡️❤️‍🔥🧚‍♂️

*While this follows Super-Human Resources as a story, it is not necessary to read that to understand. Reader is female and 'older' but no specifics about her body or age are given. For context, you believe that you and Steve are f***-buddies and nothing more (he does not believe that).

Summary: Steve is more eager to than you realized...

A shameless fic deserves a shameless gif, don't you think? **Warnings for smut: unprotected sex (established consent/relationship) in a semi-public space, oral (m receiving), horny gremlin!Steve, and not a whole hell of a lot of editing utilized, folks... MINORS DNI. There's all-age friendly fic on my Light Masterlist, but not here. WC ~2k

Busy.

Busy day. Busy week. Busy month really, if you stop to think about it, but you can’t stop right now. There’s work to be done. Agents to clear, trainees to make agents, and it’ll be done as soon as you file these…

“Shit,” you mutter as Maria Hill is about to take the documents from you. You were almost done with this closed-door meeting. “Rogers hasn’t signed off on them yet.”

For the tiniest of split-seconds, Hill looks annoyed, her eyes half roll while she sighs. “He’s been just as slammed as all of us.” She doesn’t seem thrilled by the chaos of spring either. Say what you will about seasonal depression sucking, but there is a notable uptick in enemy aggression once the weather warms.

Does that make winter less crazy? No. What it does is make the internal workings of the Compound go bonkers until everyone can fight out there. In HR’s case, winter is the worst and busiest time. Busy. Busy. Busy.

Your off-hours understanding with Steve Rogers aside, there are few seasonal bright spots beyond actually liking your job.

You dial up Rogers’ number. It rings only once before he answers.

“Yes, ma’am, what can I help you with?”

He’s so sweet with you in private, and though diligent about keeping work strictly professional, you imagine you can tell the barest of warmth laced into the words.

“Sorry to bother, Captain—“

Hill slaps down a new file you’ve not seen yet.

“—but I need you—“ you cover the mic with your palm, whispering ‘and what’s this?’ but she waves you off “—to come down and…hello?”

The dial tone starts again.

“Hello? I think he just hung up on me.”

Hill simply shrugs. “Maybe even he’s at wit’s end,” she muses. “Just bring the rest to my office whenever, but I’ll need a review of this contract. The lawyers approve, but if you ask me they kept the wording too technical. We need a—let’s say a nicer spin on it.”

Fine. Toss it on the pile. In fact, that’s exactly what you do, move it from corner A to corner B of your desk.

Above you, Maria makes a shocked sort of chirping noise.

“Cap! You scared me there.”

“Sorry,” Steve huffs in the doorway, arms braced on either side of the frame. “Sorry. Sorry, I just—“ clearing his throat “—was already on this floor when you called, so…I’m here.”

His stealth training with Natasha really paid off. There was zero sound when he came in.

“Right, well, if you could—“

Steve holds up a finger. “Actually, I have something to ask…to discuss with…”

“I’ll bring them by your office later,” you offer Hill.

She nods and leaves, none the wiser to Rogers speedily (and silently) locking the door behind her. 

You push out your chair to greet him, but Steve rounds the desk before the seat even rolls past touching your calves.

“I need you, too,” he husks, big hand gripping your waist, maneuvering you back against the wall. His mouth finds the tender spot below your ear immediately. “‘m glad you called.”

Oh.

Oh wow, he’s—

“Love when you wear these.” Steve drops to one knee, fingers dancing at the hem of your skirt and over the thin shield of your pantyhose.

He does love him some nylons, cheeky boy.

Good thing your office blinds were already closed, or the whole cubicle pool would see Captain America six inches from your crotch with a hand sneaking up your thigh.

“Sir,” you whimper in the suddenness of his desire, “I think you misunderstood.”

A flicker of questioning darts across Steve’s features.

“I actually just need you to sign those,” you clarify with a wave to the desk.

“Oh.” Steve presses his head into your leg for a second. “So not…?”

“Sex? Here? No, not what I called for,” you chuckle.

He gets up from the floor, looking embarrassed and guilty, a bulge in his pants betraying how seriously he intended to take you right there. It has been two weeks since you’ve gotten to sleep over. He was away on mission last weekend and who knows when he’ll be called up again. Shame to let that enthusiasm go to waste…

“But,” you drawl, creeping forward, your hand cupping him gently.

He stirs so easily at contact. Steve’s always been eager to ‘practice,’ to build prowess in knowing the female body, and he’s used yours to do it, but you never expected him to whine in desire.

Without waiting for more encouragement, he lowers his mouth to your neck again. “Yeah?” 

His fingers use their rough friction to nudge your skirt up over your hips until he can run one digit along the waistband of your stockings.

You feel the fabric in your palm stretch tighter. Steve twitches.

“It’s okay to do this,” he breaths, “even if it’s uncalled for?”

The spider-walking of his touch down your stomach is deliberate. He’s giving you time to tell him you’re not interested or this isn’t the place, but you are, in fact, pretty interested and do not care if this is the place.

When no response comes as he finds your mound, Steve drags one finger through your folds. He lets a hot sigh roll across your skin in satisfaction of discovering the slick spot he can stoke back to life.

Ever since he first asked how he could please you, it’s been about Steve wanting to learn a woman’s pleasure, but his desire always seems incidental. He’ll come anyway. He’s getting off in addition. You get that; it’s the whole deal, but there are other lessons Steve, in particular, could learn. One of them is that he can be the focus, too.

Instead, he’s focused on holding back, apparently, because he bites his lip and doesn’t lean into your hand. He doesn’t pull away either. He moves to slip two fingers into you and curl them.

This leads you to a theory of why, though you’re surprised to have the brainpower. “Have you not…touched yourself in weeks?”

Steve grunts in annoyance. “I didn’t think it would be that long.”

“So—“ keeping your voice silky and sweet “—no need to edge yourself after all that.”

“Edge?” he asks.

Lessons, lessons, lessons.

“It’s called ‘edging’ or ‘delayed gratification,’ yeah.”

You can practically hear his thoughts as his eyes roam your body. Should he stop? Should he continue? Should he tough it out and wait the few hours till the workday is done? Steve is the type to think of denial as the height of self-control, so you don’t know which side he’ll land on when he’s needy with his finger on the button of satisfaction.

He can have it all, and he can have it right now. You tentatively roll his tender balls to prove a point, but that seems only to make his inner conflict worse, his brows knitting together, strained.

Until it doesn’t.

“No,” Steve says, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, staring at you feverishly. “No, I don’t want to delay anymore.”

To put him out of his misery, you offer your help, pulling his hand away, rolling down the layers in his way until mid-thigh (look, hose are a bitch to take off and put on, so at work, you’re improvising), and bending directly over your desk. Head turned to the side, you watch the shadow of him stepping up behind you, lowering the fly of his slacks and pumping his shaft until he’s hard.

All in total, it takes four seconds or so, but the performance of breaking the man’s character down to a lustful mess plays out an entire scene.

Steve squats down slightly to roll his cockhead through your folds and thrusts shallowly. The delicious stretch and rising fullness make your eyes flutter shut.

He’s always worth the wait. You’ll miss this when he’s done with you.

His feet spread apart as he kneads your ass and opens you wide.

“So good,” he groans. “Did you think of me? Did you touch yourself thinking of this?”

“Yes,” you gasp on a deep thrust.

If he’s expecting more words, he’s not getting them, not when the drag of him inside and out pools all your attention like a tide away from your brain.

The afternoon sun’s angle shows the silhouette of Steve stretching tall so he can fuck toward that spongy spot sending tingles all over your body, but just as soon as he sets a rhythm, he pulls out.

“Uh, no,” he moans, gripping his dick like it’s hurting him, “’s why I wanted my mouth on you first…so…so close.”

Steve’s ready to cum within minutes of sinking into your pussy. That’s a boost to your ego if there ever was one. However, he needs release, and from the look of his blown pupils, he needs it to be as intense as possible. He needs connection not just physically.

If Steve desires a more connective experience, you’ll have to give him eye contact.

Mirroring his starting position, you drop delicately to your knees in front of him, head inches away from your desktop.

“Oh god,” he whines from somewhere deep in his chest, but his eyes never leave you while your hand replaces his. 

The first brush of your lips sends him lurching forward to grip the poor particleboard behind you, and you do blink long and languid at the musky taste of him.

His mouth hangs open, too, as you bob, taking only a few inches each time, focusing on the sensitive head. You make the tip of your tongue firm and pointed to draw patterns along veins you know by heart. His hips buck against his will, and though you can’t teach it him without words, this is called ‘fucking your face.’

It’s delightful to see the hazy blue of his eyes soften in wonder. It’s validation itself to hear him praise the sheer perfection of you.

“Shit,” Steve moans, “I—I—“ but he breaks off in a euphoric (and loud) exhale.

Cum begins to flood your throat and mouth, and there’s a rustle of something knocked over above you. A soft wad of tissues tucks under your chin just as the overflow breeches the corner of your lips.

“Too long. Waited too long. Sorry, should have warned you,” he admits brokenly. It is significantly more than usual, you note.

Steve pulls out to finish coming in his makeshift pad and tries to bat the box closer to you for more.

You rip out a few to spit in.

All-in-all, you’re pleased to have such a wild affect on a man, and Steve is not just any man at that.

He takes all the tissues and buries them under some papers in your trashcan. He collects himself, zipping his dignity back into place while you shimmy up your tights and panties.

Steve then pulls you into his chest, leaving a gentle kiss as the last taste on your lips. “I’ll give you back threefold tonight, okay?” he assures, low and intimate. “Sorry, I got…overexcited.”

He releases you from the hug.

“Well, I’ll only be there at a decent hour if you sign these damn papers, Captain.”

Steve looks confused, eyes darting to the stack he luckily did not tip off the edge of your desk. It takes another four seconds for him to remember that there was a real reason he was called.

“Yes, ma’am, right away, but also—” he scrunches his nose “—I’m just going to crack this because—“ Steve doesn’t bother completing the thought. He simply props the window open at the lowest notch. Across the small room, he stares at you smoothing a hand over your hair, beaming.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Goofy. Honest. Adorable.

“It’s a good line, Cap,” you chuckle then double tap the stack of forms.

He rushes over, ever the fast-learner, ever the eager participant, ever ready (usually) to get down to business.

Busy. Busy. Busy.

Thank god it’s Friday.

a/n: is it acceptable?

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers One-Shots; Ko-Fi]

@Supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry @bitchy-bi-trash @rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @stellar-solar-flare

[chiyobot]

so, feral or dark nsfw thoughts about Natalie of s3? Kinda tired of just fluff and angst of her in this season

-🍬

had some time today to write ... i will be reviewing other requests so promptly. stayed in character as much as possible. hope this was what you had in mind! if not we will just have to both burn. i will start first.

s3 feral/dark natalie thoughts.

🔞 #𝐃𝐍𝐈; ／ minors. shameless smut.

🚩 #𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒; ／sex as a form of self harm, brief/mild dubcon, knifeplay, choking/strangulation, fingering.

finds god in the dirt. pins you under her, rocks against your thigh till her jeans chafe raw, mouth slack against your neck. “fuck, fuck, fuck, fhhhuck-” cums untouched, just from the shame of wanting it so bad, then spits on the ground like she’s trying to cleanse her mouth.

she’s obsessed with marks. makes you bite her thighs till they bruise purple, then prods the tender flesh later, hissing through her teeth. “should’ve gone deeper,” she mutters, like the ache in her cunt isn’t enough penance.

there’s a deer trail she follows when the guilt gets too thick. strips naked at the creek, spreads her legs on moss-slick rocks, and fingers herself raw to the sound of crows. imagines they’re laughing at her, the stupid slut playing with herself while her friends starve. cums with a fist in her mouth, then kicks her clothes into the water and goes back to camp smelling like river mud and regret.

sometimes she ruins her own orgasms. lets you get her right to the edge, then slaps your hands away. “not yet,” she pants, grinding on your boot like a feral thing. makes you watch her tremble for hours, denying release till she’s slick enough to smell, till every breath feels like a punishment. when she finally lets go, she bites her own wrist to stay quiet, blood blooming under her teeth.

she’s developed a fucking system. three fingers for emergencies, two if she’s feeling charitable to herself (never), thumb on her clit when she really wants to suffer. the rhythm’s mechanical, like skinning game – in, out, twist. no romance, no fantasy, just a body betraying a mind. when she finishes, she’ll say “that’s enough,” knowing damn well it’s a lie.

after near-starvation days, she fucks like she’s trying to consume you. rides you raw in her personal shed, knees grinding into splintered wood, her cunt so tight it’s almost painful. “give it to me,” she snarls, yanking your hair to force eye contact. you cum quick and she doesn’t give a shit, just keeps grinding, chasing her own release like it’s the last meal on earth.

memories get sticky out here: that one party at travis’s place, nat pressing you into the mildew-slick basement wall while upstairs, someone’s dad yelled about broken beer bottles. now she’s got you belly-down on a scavenged tarp, her knee splitting you wide as she hisses “still got that smart mouth?” into your ear. you can’t tell if the dampness on your back is sweat or her spit or blood. 

fucks you with her boot knife pressed to your jugular. “bet i could spill you right here,” she muses, but her hips stutter when you call her bluff. cums with the blade trembling in her hand, then throws it into the lake and sobs like she’s lost a limb. you fish it out at dawn.

she’s developed a kink for teeth. yours, hers, doesn’t matter – if it’s sharp, she wants it in her. you find her once gnawing on a rabbit bone, sucking marrow like it’s your fingers, and the look she gives you could curdle milk. “what?” she snaps, but her thighs press together under the tarp.

you find her one night with a belt around her throat, the other end tied to a low branch. she’s purple-lipped and glassy-eyed, hand jammed in her pants. “help or fuck off,” she slurs, but when you loosen the knot she fights you, nails raking your cheek. you pin her, fuck her while she’s still gasping, and she comes sobbing “thank you” into the dirt.

she fucks like she’s trying to die. hips slamming into you with the rhythm of a girl who’s memorized gun recoil, her breath coming in ragged bursts that fog the cold air. “c’mon, c’mon–” like a prayer or a threat, her fingers bruising your hips as if you’ll vanish if she doesn’t hold on. you'll replay the groan she lets out in your head for weeks to come.

after bad nights (the ones where she wakes screaming), she’ll crawl into your furs silent as a shadow. lets you touch her then, soft as you dare, your palm flat on her stomach like you’re checking for bleeding. she’ll guide your fingers lower, press them inside with a whimper, but if you mention it come sunrise she’ll burn your breakfast and call you a liar.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 26

Every time Batsis does something that otherwise would have ended with the genocide of a whole race, Kregg gets a gray hair.

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 26 >>next

Your little tell-all stirred the pot- a lot. So much so that the internet, a week later, was still talking about it. Now, the crowd wasn’t in your favor at first, people are willing to suck billionaires off for less, but Bruce “the good one” Wayne? Most were quick to jump down your throat and call you a liar, but the Gothamites weren’t having that. It took all but three days for them to find every public article on you, and lo and behold- the public opinion swayed.

Years of missed achievements, a compilation of your kid pics showing how you slowly lost your smile, and compilation videos of you stopping looking in the crowd for your family were enough to pull a few heartstrings- the interviews of the teachers who knew you settled the knife in and the interview you gave Lois hammered it in.

“I appreciate my fans, but my job isn’t to be loved or liked- I’m a hero. My job is to save lives, even if that day it’s one- my job is to help as best as I can, whether or not I’m liked.” Your voice rang through the batcave. “Maybe I was in the wrong for punching him, but I’m not sorry for it. That man, the one he presents publicly to you, isn’t the one I grew up with. I find it beyond insulting how he thinks now because he feels guilt or desperation, or whatever, he can put that fake ass mask on and try to win me over when he just realized I wasn’t even in the manor, to begin with. I lived with him, and even if he didn’t see me, I saw him.”

“I stand by what I said that night. I have given you the proof I have, Ms. Lane, and I’m sure you’ll find everything checked out. My reasons for hating him and his monthly crew have a foundation, and that foundation is rock-hard cement, especially when compared to the way Nolan and Debbie raised me. Omni-Man was a better father than Bruce Wayne. Do you realize how fucked up that is?” Lois tried her best to give the Waynes some grace, but she just couldn’t. All she could imagine was Jon or Kon in your position, and it was all she needed for tears to be brought to her eyes. The medical records a Crime Alley doc went out of his way to hand to her personally, only settled the tone of her article.

“I’m not a good man, madame. I have taken bribes, done nasty things, and straight-up robbed people blind. But I can’t stand and let that girl get wronged like that when I know the abuse went beyond what she publicly said. The one rule I keep standing by is no kids harmed.” Was his only comment. The documents stating your terrible health occurrences, and personal musings on you possibly being underfed with signs of depression and anxiety, were enough to stir a ruckus of people calling for CPS to visit the manor and for Cecil to start nagging you with a therapist.

“I’m not a therapist or professional to comment on my mental health, but about being underfed, I can comment. I wasn’t deliberately starved- I was just doing too much and simply kept forgetting to eat, you can even ask mom, and she’d tell you the same. [REDACTED] is simply a worrywart who still nags me to eat three meals a day with snacks in between. They did terrible things, but let’s focus on the true stuff.” Was your only follow-up comment on the matter. “And while at it, Bruce was the adult who should have been there. Not Damian, Richard, Tim, or any of the other kids I have seen people comment on. They weren’t nice, but they were kids with their own shit going on. Bruce was the adult who should have known better, who should have acted upon his other kids pushing me to the side. At the end of the day, they did what they saw him do.” The Waynes did not comment.

Bruce was tired. And Dick was losing it even more. “It’s those other Graysons- they brainwashed her-“ He muttered, and Duke scoffed. “Man- it’s us! We did that, we made her hate us! You’re being obtuse on purpose.”

“And delusional,” Stephanie added. “Just because she’s a Grayson now doesn’t mean she’s your Grayson- It’s like all you heard is that she has your last name, so that must mean you’re forgiven and it’s a free pass for taking that you’re the favorite and only sibling.”

“Please,” Tim snorts as he grumbles, deleting and rewriting the chart over and over, cutting Dick’s protest. “Jason is the favorite sibling on our branch of the family.” That made Barbara finally turn from the computer. “Speaking of- where is he- why isn’t he helping us? And how come he was forgiven?” As Cassandra’s siblings started arguing over Jason’s lack of help, her eyes strayed to Alfred and Bruce.

Both men were defeated- Bruce caressing the bruise on his jaw, blankly staring into space as Alfred was just pure sadness, his eyes unmoving from the monitor that was just dedicated to you and your achievements. Cassandra’s training isn’t something she could forget, even if she wanted to- her eyes moved to Damian- and she saw in you what she saw in some of her siblings, what she saw in Jason a long time ago.

Her fingers twitched- like before she pushed the thought away. She was wrong about you being in London, she was wrong about this suspicion, too. She hoped she was. “She’s coming to Gotham.” Her words stopped the arguing and brought Bruce’s attention. “Heard her mention it to Jay… He insisted on housing them.” Damian clocked how his father’s spirit seemed to lighten, and he immediately commented. “Don’t get excited, father. She hates you more than anyone here.”

“She hates the Brucie persona he puts on-“ Richard tried to defend the man, but Stephanie snorted loud enough to interrupt him. “And she hates him-“ Duke nodded. “Coming to her with the media personality when she lived here and knows your brooding self is kind of a slap in the face.”

“Like you think she’s stupid enough to fall for it.” Tim finished, making Bruce slump back in his chair. Barbara’s lips pursed at the comment. “We all have kind of treated her like that… Like she’s not smart enough, not good enough. We didn’t even tell her about the vigilante stuff.” Alfred sighs as he finally looks away from the screen. “Treated like a stranger in her own home after such a traumatic event... We’re lucky she isn’t a rogue.”

“You’ve treated her like that.” Damian scoffs, making Tim stop short of pressing to delete the whole document to look at the young boy. “… That sounds like you’d be willing to throw us under the bus, Dami.” The youngest Wayne simply raised an eyebrow before looking at his father. “Since we’re all here and talking- I want to ask for less time as Robin.” The words left everyone speechless, well- except Tim, who let quite the loud “what” out. “I have decided I want to focus on my studies since I’ll be going to college soon, specifically to become a doctor. I will succeed where you and mother failed.” Bruce slid down in his chair at the chaos that erupted at the simple answer Damian gave.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“No, I’m not sorry for punching him. Yes, I stand by everything I said. Maybe I could have gone about it in a better way, but it’s too late and honestly? I feel like my shoulders have gotten lighter, so fuck you-“ You flip off Batman before turning back to the JL members who have been staring at you since you walked in with Cecil, Slade, Lex, and your father and brother. “Any more questions about my family drama or can we go back to the Viltrumite treaty thing, because I want to go back to my vacation, thank you very much.”

“It was a clean punch, good job.” Diana’s comment got a few reactions, mostly snickers and Hal almost choking on the coffee he was drinking, but her smile was due to the way you puffed out your chest. “Thank you- I’m glad someone can appreciate my skills.” Cecil huffed at the look you threw at him. “Anyway-“ He cleared his throat. “Here are the terms we’ve come up with: Mandatory psychological evaluations, mandatory history classes and modern-day integration-“

“Don’t want to hear more of that arranged marriage to stop wars thing-“ Cecil continued, unbothered by you cutting him off as he handed out the papers. “- followed by tracking depending on scores to the mentioned things, weekly or monthly follow-ups, help with education, and slash or job opportunities.” Clark furrowed his brows. “Those are pretty light terms.”

“They are. J’onn would be doing the psychological evaluation, I trust him to be a good judge. It’s a test for them and a show of willingness from us not to be like them, all militia, no compassion. Based on their willingness and openness to learn to integrate, we’ll be able to sort out the ones who will be a danger or not. It’s not a foolproof plan to them seeping through the cracks, but measurements are being put into place to alert to seeps.” Green Arrow looked over the detailed paperwork. “What kind of measurements?”

The man flinched at the show of light that appeared behind him. “The magical kind, mate.” John Constantine huffed as he dropped into a chair close to you. “Every major city and what we’re calling key cities have been magically reinforced. Everything that appears out of thin air or that comes from outside the ozone layer, we’ll be notified of.” Zatanna continued for the man as she went to greet you, pulling you into a hug and slightly swaying you from side to side.

“Seems good enough for me.” Hal shrugged before he and everyone else turned to the paranoid man known as Bruce Wayne. “Batman?” Superman started slowly as he nudged the man who hadn’t stopped staring. “… I trust your judgment, Sorceress.” Bruce nodded. You just raised an eyebrow, eyes full of suspicion. Wonder Woman locked eyes with Clark before clearing her throat at the awkward silence. “We’ll be sure to be an active factor in this by following your lead. We’re clearly not versed enough on the matter to go do our own stuff.”

“Great.” Cecil turned to Lex and Slade. “Call them.” Slade just sighed as he pulled out a device and started typing, making Mark sputter. “Wait- right now-“

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Everyone was looking at you as you climbed Conquest and sat squatting on one of his shoulders while you explained the terms to him, Thragg, and Kregg. “-I’m even willing to sponsor Grandpa Morgan.” The league and Kregg seemed to do a double-take as you patted the oldest Viltrumite. “He’s a killing machine, not a-“ You quickly interrupted Thragg. “To you- I see the potential beyond that. He’s like those rescued fight dogs-” You quickly turn to the balding Viltrumite. “Do not test my trust and kindness, I will put you down like a rabid dog if you become a problem.” The man just snickered and gave a toothy smile.

“Sponsorship is a good idea, actually.” Cecil hummed. “Anyone willing to try it?” He looked at the Justice League. Constantine immediately slid down his chair under the table, but Diana did seem interested. “I’d like to give it a try. I would have appreciated some personal guidance during my first time here.” Cecil nodded, making a comment about reaching out to more heroes to see if anyone else would be willing.

“It’s settled then.” Thragg nodded, his eyes following your form as you jumped down from Conquest’s shoulder. “I will see you and your family during this- sponsorship, Nolan.” The comment thrown as the Viltrumites left made Nolan stutter over his words, wide eyes meeting his kids’ own surprised ones. “Oh, mama’s not going to like that.” You sigh, and Lex huffs with amusement. “You and your mother will run that man like a dog.” You wanted to argue… but your whole plan to educate them was just dog training 101, clicker and water spray and all.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“So, what’s Gotham really like?” April asked you as she distracted a grumbling Oliver. “Sky pollution and eccentric people- don’t drink from the tap, Professor Crane likes to contaminate it with his fear gas at random. And stay away from the sewers, Uncle Waylon and Uncle Bundy don’t like people trespassing.” You shrug, making horns out of Oliver’s hair. “So- just New York City.” Debbie joked as she made sure your little alien plant was strapped well in the front seat.

Nolan patted the top of the car as he leaned to peer in the window. “You ladies all set and ready for take-off?” With a resounding yes, Nolan and Mark were left to deal with the transportation of the van. The take-off was always shaky, but both men were surprisingly good at keeping the car from rattling like a baby's toy. So it was no surprise that after a while, you fell asleep to your mom’s and April’s talking, the easy atmosphere luring you and Oliver into a much-needed nap.

Both you and Oliver woke up to the sound of the door slamming as Nolan entered the passenger seat and Mark climbed in next to April. “Sorry, kids.” Your father threw an apologetic smile back at you as you grumbled. “Oh- here, put in the address to your brother’s house.” Your mom handed you her phone, the GPS app already open.

The drive was just as peaceful, which was weird considering it was Gotham. Must be a Tuesday. “Why is every pedestrian looking at us like the car is about to explode?” Mark’s musing made you look up from your phone. “Hmm? Oh, because they do think that. We’re following the driving rules, so by Gotham’s rules, we either have drugs, bodies, or bombs.” You shrugged, going back to your phone as everyone in the car looked at each other. “Oh…”

“Mhm- oh, when we get to the crossroad take the right instead of going straight like the GPS says, we’ll need to get the back entrance to stow away the car.” Mark looked at you with worry. “Please stop using those words for roofed parking, especially now.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Mama boss!” Oliver cooed, immediately followed by Mark and you with serious faces parroting his words while nodding. Jason’s eyes met yours before he smirked and looked at Debbie. “Mama boss.” Was heard once more from all four, making the woman sigh with exasperation, but the smile couldn’t be wiped from her lips. “That doesn’t stop you three from helping unpack.”

“Aww.” Oliver watched you three whine, and he too, followed with a short aw. “No need, already unpacked,” Nolan said as he went and pressed a kiss to Debbie's forehead, doing so to you, Oliver, and Mark too. Nolan cleared his throat as he almost did for Jason, too. He patted his shoulder instead, a tight smile on his face. “Good man.” Jason gave a grunt and a weird look in response. “Right… Fair warning- the bats will be weird about all of this.”

“When have they ever been normal about anything? Bruce dresses up as a bat.” Roy laughed before introducing himself to your parents. “Yes- hello, Lian Harper his kid- still not trusting you-“ The young girl pointed at Nolan, walking right by him straight to you. “You’re The Sorceress! You’re my favorite hero!” Her giddiness got to you, meeting her smile with one of your own. “Really? Did it hurt your daddy when he got dethroned?”

“Ha! It did not-“ Roy scoffed, but Lian interrupted him. “He was devastated. Tried to bribe me with Red Arrow merch for weeks, even tried pulling Unc Jay into it.” You laughed at the grumbling man. “Can you fly me around? Are your powers really magic? Like Zatanna? Are you single?” At the girl’s rapid-fire questions, Mark grumbled something about never meeting his fans.

“Easy there, kid-“ Roy jumped in as you processed the questions, trying to coax the teen to calm down. “Sorry, she really wanted to see you-“ You shook your head. “It’s fine. And the answer is yes, to all questions.” Lian smiled at you, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Do you like redheads?” Roy almost choked on his breath as he covered his daughter’s mouth, deliberately ignoring the way Jason’s head snapped to him and the way Mark and Nolan seemed to tense up. “Alright, that’s enough-“ In one quick move, a giggling Lian was under his arm, and Roy was moving back toward the door. “We’re getting takeout, have fun!”

“Cute kid.” You snickered once the redhead left. “He’s-“ The crime lord choked, “Please. Don’t date my friends.” Jason mutters, fingers twitching. “I don’t know Jay, the kid’s real cute.” You couldn’t help but tease him. “Going to take a nap, wake me up when they come back with the food.” And like that, the family went their own ways, Mark agreeing that a nap would be nice.

Jason just sat down on the couch, his eyes settling on his hands, brows furrowed. That- Why was he about to say that? Jason would never use his friends’ pasts against them, and especially not something like Roy’s addiction. He knew better, he was better than that- And yet he almost did. “Hon’?” Debbie’s voice gained his attention. “…Are you okay?” Jason blinked at her. He just smiled and nodded.

Debbie didn’t quite believe it, but she wasn’t going to push it. “Alright… how about you show me how your TV works, I was never good with technology-“ She wasn’t going to leave him alone either, and despite her terrible lie, Jason couldn’t help the genuine smile appearing. She reminded him of both Selina and Talia.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou @asillysimp @aalunar @cxcilla @sirenetheblogger @pinkluv29 @br33zy-blizzardz @victoria1676 @of-poetry-and-dreams @djpuppy-kittens @wizzerreblogs @galaxypurplerose @burningkittenprince @swanluver @ohnoivefallen @eyeless-kun @bunniotomia

Sneak peek ch 27:

Oliver looked between you and Bruce as you slammed the glass down. His eyes remained on the older man’s tired face. Bruce, sensing eyes on him, turns his attention from your whining form to the toddler sitting in his highchair. As the man gives the kid a small smile, Oliver isn’t having any of it, his little face scrunching up as he points at Bruce. “Ugly.”

[lila-lou]

✨Age gap crush - Pt. 2/2✨

Summary: Jensen froze—biggest age gap crush? Jared smirked, already knowing the answer. Because Jensen didn’t do attachments. But with you? He already had.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 6943

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 🩷

Later that day, back in the car, Jensen barely even heard Jared talking. He was too busy texting you. It wasn’t even a question of if he’d see you tonight. That was a given. It was just about what to order in—because he sure as hell wasn’t planning on going out with Jared like they usually did after conventions. Again. Unusual. For just a fling, at least.

Jensen knew that. He wasn’t stupid. But right now? He didn’t care. All he wanted was to get back to the hotel, have you in his arms, and not deal with the fact that Jared was about to tease the absolute shit out of him. Which, of course, Jared did. Jensen had barely typed out "Pizza or sushi?", before Jared let out a low, amused hum from beside him.

"That her?", Jared murmured, arms casually crossed, like he wasn’t clearly watching Jensen text. Jensen didn’t even look up. "Shut up, dude".

Jared chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, I just think it’s funny", he mused. "You usually ditch whoever you’re seeing the second we wrap a con. But now?". Jensen’s jaw tightened as he hit send.

"Now, I gotta fight for your damn attention", Jared finished, mock-offended. Jensen sighed, finally looking over at him. "Jesus, man, it’s not that deep".

Jared just grinned, fully enjoying himself. "Yeah? So tell me why you haven’t even asked if I wanted to grab dinner".

Jensen hesitated. Not because he didn’t have an answer—but because Jared already knew it. And when Jensen didn’t immediately fire back, Jared’s grin widened.

"Yeah", Jared muttered under his breath, fully entertained, shaking his head as he stared out the window.

Jensen sat back against the car seat, crossing his arms, jaw tight, trying his best to ignore the smug energy radiating off of Jared. It wasn’t working. Because Jared wasn’t done. Not even close. “So, uh…”, Jared drawled, tapping his fingers against his knee, side-eyeing Jensen like he was about to drop some real dumbass shit. “Just curious—when exactly did we stop being each other’s post-convention dinner dates?”.

Jensen sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dude—”.

“I mean, I get it”, Jared continued, ignoring him. “It’s a big step. You and me? We’ve had a good run. But now I gotta find someone new to eat with? That’s just cold, man”.

Jensen rolled his eyes, pulling his phone back out, not even humoring him with a response. Jared just grinned, eyes flicking to the screen Jensen had just unlocked. Your name. Still sitting there in his texts. Jensen immediately tilted his phone away, but it was too late.

Jared snorted. “Jesus, dude. You are down bad”.

Jensen’s fingers tightened around his phone. “Padalecki, I swear to—”.

“You’re texting her about food? Food?”, Jared cut in, his tone somewhere between mock disbelief and sheer amusement. “Not even a ‘hey, what’s up?’ Just straight to ordering in like a goddamn married couple?”.

Jensen clenched his jaw, refusing to engage.

"Goddamn", Jared muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "It’s worse than I thought".

Jensen exhaled slowly, forcing himself to ignore him. Because here’s the thing, Jared wasn’t wrong. Jensen had spent years keeping shit casual, keeping things light, never getting too attached—especially now. But this? This thing with you? Yeah. This was different. And Jared? He fucking knew it.

Jensen didn’t even look up from his phone as he typed out a simple “Pizza it is”. But before he could hit send, Jared spoke up again. "I’m for pizza too". Jensen’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing at Jared, who was grinning like an absolute menace. Jensen squinted. “The hell you are”.

Jared shrugged, completely unbothered. “What? You didn’t say it was just a two-person meal”.

"Because it is".

Jared’s grin widened. “See, that’s interesting. Because usually, you don’t care if I tag along. Usually, I’m welcome”.

Jensen rolled his eyes, shoving his phone into his pocket, not rising to the bait. “You don’t even like hotel pizza, dude”.

"Yeah, but I like seeing you squirm". Jared shot back, eyes gleaming with pure entertainment. "And I really, really wanna see how this plays out".

Jensen let out a long, deep sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "You are such a pain in my ass".

Jared beamed. "Yeah, but you love me anyway".

Jensen knew Jared was right behind him, and he hated every second of it.

He shot his best friend a side glance, watching the way Jared was clearly too entertained, shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets, like he was just here to observe. Like this was a damn science experiment.

Jensen gritted his teeth, swiping his key card and stepping into the room, already bracing himself for whatever the hell this night was about to turn into. And then he saw you. Lying on the bed, stretched out, comfortable, completely oblivious to the fact that his best friend was right behind him. And fuck. You were wearing his shirt. That shouldn’t have done something to him, but it did.

That familiar, worn-out t-shirt draped over your frame, riding up just enough to tease bare thighs, smooth skin… And underneath? Jensen had no idea. But he had a feeling you were about to show him. His pulse kicked up, his entire body reacting instantly, but then, Jared stepped in behind him. And you noticed.

Your relaxed expression vanished, your eyes widening instantly as you sat up fast, gripping the hem of the shirt, clearly not expecting company. Jensen winced, already anticipating what was coming.

Jared was grinning like a bastard. “Well”, Jared said, clearly enjoying the hell out of this. “Look at you. All cozy”.

Your eyes snapped to Jensen, mouth opening, then closing, completely thrown off. Jensen sighed, running a hand down his face. “Yeah, so… Jared invited himself”. “Obviously”, you muttered, still clutching the hem of the shirt, cheeks flushing.

Jared plopped down into the chair by the window, leaning back like he had all the time in the world. Before Jared could open his mouth with whatever smartass comment he had lined up, you quickly mumbled, "I’m getting dressed", and practically bolted into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

Jensen barely hid his smirk as he watched you flee. He couldn’t blame you—Jared had a way of making situations like this ten times worse just by existing. With a heavy sigh, Jensen walked further into the room, then reached back and shoved the door shut, locking Jared inside with him.

"That was a little dramatic, don’t you think?", Jared teased, stretching his legs out like he was making himself real comfortable.

Jensen just shot him a look, rubbing the back of his neck, his mind still half-distracted by the way you looked in his damn shirt, as his eyes landed on something.

A small shopping bag. Right next to the bed. Jensen frowned, walking closer, his gaze sharpening as he read the label. Aubade. His stomach flipped. He knew that brand. Very well. It was your favorite. And that little, innocent-looking bag? Was empty. Fuck.

Jensen’s throat went dry, his brain quickly catching up to what that meant. And suddenly, his entire perspective of the night shifted. Because if that bag was empty, that meant whatever you’d bought was already on you. Under that shirt. In that bathroom. Right now.

Fucking shit.

Jensen exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face, suddenly feeling ten times more frustrated than he already was. Because this night was not supposed to go like this. And now, Jared was sitting in the damn chair, completely ruining any chance of him seeing exactly what you had planned. Jensen clenched his jaw, his patience officially gone. Jared needed to get the hell out. Immediately.

Jensen shot Jared a sharp look, one that clearly meant You are the biggest pain in my ass, before pushing himself off the wall and walking straight toward the bathroom.

Jared barely had time to react before Jensen muttered lowly, "I’m coming in", and pushed the door open, stepping inside without hesitation. You gasped, your hands frozen mid-motion as you were about to slip on your yoga pants, your top still lying on the counter. And Jensen? Jensen saw everything. Fuck. His entire body locked up as his eyes dragged slowly over you, taking in every inch of what you were wearing. It was new. Black, delicate, lace-trimmed Aubade lingerie, hugging every curve, dipping low where it should, sitting high on your hips, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. His breathing stalled, his grip on the door tightening.

His head fell back, groaning. Annoyed. Turned on. Frustrated as hell. Because holy shit, you looked unbelievable. And because Jared, his absolute dumbass best friend, was still sitting in the next room, completely ruining the moment.

"You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me", Jensen muttered under his breath, running a frustrated hand down his face, his entire body burning. You blinked, startled at first, before realization dawned in your eyes—the way he was looking at you, the way he was standing there like he wanted to either punch a wall or pin you against one.

A slow, knowing smirk curled your lips. "Problem?", you asked, voice dripping with fake innocence, tilting your head as you stood there, completely unapologetic for how wrecked you just made him.

Jensen exhaled sharply, shaking his head, jaw clenching tight. "Yeah", he muttered, voice low, strained, dangerous. "You".

You bit your lip, stepping just slightly closer, watching the way his hands flexed, like he was holding himself back from reaching for you.

Jensen’s jaw ticked, his eyes still dark as he stood there, doing his best to keep his damn hands to himself.

And then you spoke.

“Thought you might be exhausted after getting drooled over for so many hours…”. Your voice was smooth, teasing, your fingers trailing over his chest, brushing over the fabric of his t-shirt, light as a feather but devastating all the same. “So I wanted to put on a little show tonight”.

Jensen groaned softly, his grip on the doorframe tightening, his entire body on edge. You let your fingers drift lower, just briefly, before you suddenly pinched his stomach, your expression turning mock-innocent as you pulled away.

“But we’ve got company”. And with that, you turned around, grabbing your yoga pants and stepping into them, like you were just going to let him suffer in silence.

Yeah. No fucking way. Jensen moved before he even thought about it, his hands grabbing your waist, yanking you back against him before you could even pull the damn pants all the way up.

Your breath caught, your body colliding with his, your back flush against his chest, trapped against solid muscle and heat.

Jensen’s lips hovered just below your ear, his breath slow, heavy, controlled, but barely. "That’s real cute, sweetheart", he muttered, his voice low, gravelly, dangerous.

You swallowed hard, feeling the way his fingers flexed against your waist, his grip possessive, firm, but not rough. Not yet. Jensen smirked, his lips brushing your skin as he leaned in closer. "But you and I both know", he murmured, voice gritted, thick with frustration, "you’re not getting away with that".

Your stomach flipped, your hands gripping his wrists, feeling the way his fingers tightened ever so slightly, keeping you right there.

His voice dropped even lower, a quiet, warning growl. "Jared or no Jared, you just started something. And I promise you—I'm gonna finish it". And fuck. You really, really hoped Jared would leave soon.

Your breath caught, your body going still as Jensen’s hand slipped inside your lace panties, fingers trailing lower, just barely teasing over where you were already aching for him.

His other arm tightened around your waist, keeping you pressed against his chest, your back molded to the hard planes of his stomach, making sure you couldn’t squirm away.

Not that you wanted to. "Jensen—", you started, your voice barely a whisper, but he just shushed you, his lips ghosting over the curve of your neck.

"Shhh, sweetheart", he murmured, his voice rough, gravelly, sending a shiver down your spine. "You don’t wanna let Jared hear, do you?".

Fuck. Your fingers gripped his wrists, but it was useless—he was too strong, his grip too firm, holding you exactly where he wanted you, before his fingers dipped lower. Your entire body jerked, a quiet, shaky breath slipping out as he brushed right over your clit, slow, taunting, the lace doing nothing to dull the sensation.

Jensen let out a low chuckle, amused at how quickly you reacted. "Fuck", he muttered, voice thick with approval, his fingers pressing just a little firmer, making your stomach clench, thighs trembling. "This all for me?".

Your cheeks burned, your body betraying you, hips subtly rolling into his touch, but he just held you still, torturing you with the slowest, most maddening pace imaginable.

"Thought you were supposed to be getting dressed", he murmured, his smirk audible in his voice. "But now? Look at you".

His fingers slipped under the lace completely, skin to skin now, teasing over your already soaking folds, spreading the wetness with slow, calculated strokes. Your knees almost buckled, your hand slapping against the counter for support. Jensen grinned against your neck, his other arm keeping you steady, keeping you right where he wanted. "You wanted to put on a little show tonight?", he taunted, voice dark, teasing. "I think you forgot who the hell you’re dealing with".

Your breath hitched, your body desperately needing more, but just as you were about to grind against his fingers, but then there was a knock on the bathroom door. "Hey, lovebirds!", Jared’s voice rang through the room, amused, smug as hell. "Y’all coming out anytime soon, or should I just assume you’re giving me a free concert?".

Jensen let out a frustrated groan, his head falling against your shoulder, his fingers still pressed against you, but now frozen, caught in the act.

You bit your lip hard, barely holding back a whimper, your body on fire, needing him to keep going—but now? Completely stuck.

Jensen sighed heavily, reluctantly pulling his hand away, but not before one last slow, torturous stroke, just to punish you for teasing him earlier. You exhaled shakily, glaring at the door. Jared was so fucking dead.

Jensen’s hand rested on your hip, his grip still firm, his voice low and dangerous in your ear. "This ain’t over".

And you knew, without a doubt, the second Jared left? You were in for it.

The three of you sat around the small hotel table, the smell of melted cheese and pepperoni filling the air. Jensen had finally relaxed, his arm resting on the back of his chair, a slice of pizza in one hand as he talked about the convention.

But Jared wasn’t really listening to the words coming out of Jensen’s mouth. No, he was too busy watching how Jensen was talking. Because it wasn’t normal. Not the way he usually recounted convention stories, throwing in snarky remarks and playful exaggerations just for the hell of it. Not the way he usually bullshitted his way through conversations just to keep things light and entertaining.

No. This was different. Jensen was telling you about his day, and only you. Sure, Jared was sitting right there, but it was like Jensen forgot he existed.

His eyes stayed on you, his voice a little softer, his usual cocky smirk replaced with something more real. His words weren’t just casual storytelling—they were meant for you, directed at you. Like he wanted you to know. Like he wanted to share it with you.

Jared sat back in his chair, chewing on his pizza thoughtfully, watching as you leaned in slightly, nodding along, smiling, actually engaged in what he was saying.

And Jensen was eating that shit up. The way his eyes crinkled when you laughed, the way his gaze flickered to your lips when you smiled, the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped against the table—yeah. Jared had seen this before. But not from Jensen. At least, not like this. Then, he exhaled slowly, setting his pizza down, deciding to test something.

Jensen was so distracted, so caught up in the way you were looking at him, the way you were actually listening to him, that he didn’t notice the way Jared’s smirk started to curl. Oh, yeah. This was gonna be fun.

Jared stretched, fake casual, before tilting his head toward you. “So”, he said, wiping his hands on a napkin, “you got a boyfriend?”.

Jensen froze mid-sentence, his pizza halfway to his mouth. You blinked, caught off guard, before letting out a small laugh. “What?”.

Jared smirked, eyes flicking between you and Jensen, deliberately dragging it out.

“You know, besides being Jensen’s little…”, he trailed off, pausing for dramatic effect, then grinned. “…companion”.

Jensen’s brows shot up, his jaw tightening slightly as he set his pizza down with a soft thud. "Dude”, Jensen muttered, his voice low, warning.

Jared just laughed, holding up his hands. “What? It’s a valid question”.

You bit your lip, watching the way Jensen’s whole demeanor shifted, not quite angry, but something close. Possessive. Protective. And Jared saw it too.

Jensen’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into a loose fist against the table as he exhaled slowly. Because fuck. Jared was poking the bear, as usual, just to get a reaction—but this time, it actually worked. Because until this exact second, Jensen had never actually thought about it. About you… with someone else. And the realization that it would bother the hell out of him?

Yeah. That was a problem. Because in Jensen’s world—in Hollywood—things were different. Cheating, open arrangements, casual flings, people sleeping around even when they were supposedly with someone else… none of it was uncommon. He’d seen it. Hell, he and danneel had done it themselves.

Jensen's eyes flicked to you, waiting for an answer. Because up until now, he’d never felt the need to ask. Never felt the urge to clarify where you stood. But now it was different. He wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was the way Jared had phrased it. Maybe it was the teasing smirk on his best friend’s face, the way he was waiting to see Jensen react. Or maybe it was because Jensen knew exactly what this world was like.

Hell, he and Danneel had been in one of those marriages, the kind where sleeping with other people wasn’t exactly off the table as long as it stayed quiet. It had worked, for a while. Until it didn’t.

So why did the thought of you with someone else make something hot and bitter coil in his chest? His eyes stayed on you, unreadable, his body too still.

You swallowed, choosing your words carefully. "I don’t really have time for that", you finally said, tilting your head slightly, watching the way Jensen's shoulders stayed tense even after your answer. "Between work and… other things".

Jensen exhaled through his nose, jaw tight, fingers tapping once against the table before he finally leaned back.

"Right", he muttered, taking another sip of his drink.

Jared grinned, catching every damn microexpression Jensen was trying to bury.

"So basically", Jared said, sitting back, looking way too amused, "Jensen doesn’t share, huh?".

Jensen’s head snapped toward him, narrowing his eyes. "Jesus, dude".

You laughed, shaking your head. But Jensen wasn’t laughing. Because for the first time, he wasn’t so sure he liked what this thing between you two was anymore. Because he knew what it wasn’t. Casual.

Jensen tried to play it cool, tried to act like Jared’s words didn’t just expose something he hadn’t even admitted to himself yet. But the truth was? Jared was right. And that pissed him off. Because Jensen doesn’t share. Not when he actually gives a damn. And fuck, somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, he’d started giving a damn about you.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, staying quiet, leaning back in his chair like he wasn’t completely rethinking everything, while Jared was having the time of his life.

"Alright, I’m just sayin’", Jared continued, fully enjoying himself now, “for a guy who swears this is just a casual thing, you sure look like you’re about to break something".

Jensen let out a slow breath, glaring at Jared, his voice low, gritted. "You done?".

Jared grinned, popping another piece of pizza into his mouth. "Oh, not even close, man".

You bit your lip, watching the way Jensen’s fingers flexed on the table, his entire posture tense, like he was holding himself back. That was interesting. Because up until now, Jensen was always in control. Always the one calling the shots, always the one dictating what this thing was between you two. But right now, Jared had shaken something loose. And you could see it all over him.

You smirked, playing with the rim of your drink, letting the silence stretch a little longer before finally tilting your head. "So…", you mused, your tone light, teasing, but your words deliberate, "is that true?".

Jensen’s gaze snapped to you, green eyes sharp, something dark and possessive flickering behind them. "Is what true?", he asked, voice low, measured, like he was daring you to push.

You raised a brow. "That you don’t share?".

Jared let out a low whistle, muttering a quiet “oh, shit” under his breath, but neither of you looked at him. This wasn’t about Jared anymore. This was between you and Jensen.

Jensen held your gaze, his expression unreadable, his jaw ticking once before he finally exhaled through his nose, before he leaned in, his forearms resting on the table, his entire focus on you now. "You looking for an answer, sweetheart?", he murmured, his voice gravelly, his eyes locked onto yours.

Your stomach flipped, but you held his gaze, refusing to back down. "Maybe", you mused, feigning nonchalance.

Jensen’s lips curved, but his eyes? Dead serious. "Then listen real close", he muttered, fingers curling slightly against the table. "I don’t".

The air in the room shifted. Your breath hitched, heat flaring through you, but you refused to let him see how much that answer affected you.

Jared, meanwhile, let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. "Well, damn", he muttered. "That took a turn".

Jensen ignored him, his gaze still fixed on you, waiting. Waiting to see what you’d say next. What you’d do next. And you? You suddenly had a whole new game to play.

The air was thick now, something heavy and unspoken sitting between you and Jensen. You held his gaze, heart pounding, heat coiling low in your stomach at the way he looked at you. Like he’d just staked a claim. Like he’d just decided something—about you, about this, about whatever the hell it was between you two.

"Well", Jared finally broke the silence, stretching his arms over his head. "This has been wildly entertaining, but I should probably head out before the tension in this room sets something on fire".

You barely registered his words. Because Jensen hadn’t moved. Hadn’t blinked. Hadn’t looked away from you once.

Jared stood up, grabbing his jacket, shaking his head with a low chuckle. "Seriously, man", he muttered, clapping Jensen on the shoulder. "Next time, just write Property of Jensen Ackles on her and save us all the trouble". Jensen gritted his teeth, but before he could snap back, you let out a soft, amused laugh, leaning forward slightly.

"Next time?", you mused, raising a brow. "Sounds like you think there’s gonna be a next time, Jared". Jared’s grin widened, looking between the two of you. "Oh, there’s a next time", he said with full confidence, already heading toward the door. "And the two of you are the last people to figure it out". Jensen let out a low, irritated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as the door swung shut behind Jared.

Jensen leaned back in his chair, dragging a slow hand down his face before letting out a heavy exhale. "That guy’s a real pain in my ass", he muttered.

You smirked, taking another slow sip of your drink. "Yeah?", you mused, tilting your head. "Because he calls you out on your shit?".

Jensen’s lips twitched, but his eyes were still locked on you, assessing, like he was still trying to figure out exactly what to do with you now. "Because he doesn’t know when to shut the hell up", Jensen corrected, but his voice was lower now, rougher, like his patience was starting to wear thin. And not in a bad way.

Your smirk widened, leaning back in your chair, watching him. "So", you said slowly, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass, playing with him now. "You don’t share, huh?".

Jensen exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle, before suddenly pushing back his chair, standing up, and walking toward you. You swallowed. Oh, shit.

He stopped just beside your chair, looking down at you, one hand braced on the table, the other gripping the back of your chair as he leaned in close. "You think that’s funny?", he murmured, voice gravelly, his breath warm against your skin.

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to hold your ground, tilting your chin up. "A little", you admitted, feigning innocence.

Jensen smirked, but his eyes? Not amused. "Yeah?", he murmured, his fingers brushing your knee, sliding just slightly higher, his touch deliberate, teasing.

Your stomach flipped, your body already reacting, betraying you.

Jensen’s lips brushed your ear, his voice dropping even lower. "Then let me make something real clear, sweetheart", he muttered, his fingers trailing higher, his grip tightening. "You’re mine".

Your breath caught, heat surging through you, your fingers curling against your lap.

Jensen’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk, his voice like gravel and sin as he pulled back just slightly, enough to look you in the eyes. "And I don’t fucking share".

Jensen’s fingers tightened on the back of your chair as he pushed it back, the legs scraping against the hotel floor with a deliberate slowness that sent a shiver down your spine. His green eyes flickered with something dark, something possessive, something that made your pulse skip as he tilted his head slightly, watching you. "Get on the bed". His voice was low, firm, certain. It wasn’t a request.

Your breath caught, heat curling deep in your stomach, because—fuck. He was serious. You swallowed, your body thrumming with anticipation, but you held his gaze, refusing to break the tension. "That an order?", you mused, challenging him, just to see how far you could push.

Jensen’s smirk was dangerous, his fingers dragging slowly along the edge of the table as he leaned in just a little. "You wanna find out what happens if you don’t listen?", he murmured, voice rough, his tone dripping with warning.

Your stomach flipped, a pulse of heat shooting through you, because yeah, you wanted to find out. But you also knew this was a game Jensen would win every time. So, instead of pushing further, you let out a slow, steady exhale, keeping your movements deliberate as you slowly stood up, your chair nudging back against the table.

Jensen’s eyes tracked every step you took as you moved toward the bed, his jaw ticking slightly, his fingers flexing at his sides, like he was holding himself back.

The second the back of your knees hit the mattress, you stopped, tilting your head. "Now what?", you asked, voice light, teasing.

Jensen let out a low, amused chuckle, shaking his head as he stepped closer—slow, predatory, his hands slipping into his pockets like he wasn’t already planning a hundred different ways to ruin you. He stopped in front of you, his body close, towering, his heat pressing into yours without even touching you.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice pure gravel. "Now?". His hands slid to your hips, fingers curling into the fabric of your waistband, his touch possessive, claiming. "Now I make sure you don’t forget exactly who you belong to".

His hands gripped your waist, pushing you back onto the bed in one smooth motion, making you gasp, your body bouncing slightly against the mattress.

Your heart hammered, heat surging through your veins, but you still had the nerve to smirk up at him. "Possessive much?", you mused, tilting your head, even as your thighs pressed together in anticipation.

Jensen let out a low, dark chuckle, his hands trailing slowly down your legs, eyes locked onto yours as he hooked his fingers under your waistband. "You think that’s news, sweetheart?", he murmured, his voice gravelly, dangerous, teasing.

Without warning, he yanked your yoga pants down, slow enough to make you ache, his eyes darkening as more of you was revealed, his jaw clenching slightly. Because there it was. The lingerie. The one you’d put on just for him. The one he hadn’t gotten the chance to fully appreciate earlier because of Jared.

Jensen’s breath came out slow, measured, his fingers tracing over the delicate lace, his eyes tracking every little reaction you gave him. "Yeah, see…", he murmured, gritting his teeth as his hands spanned your thighs, holding you in place. "This? This is a problem".

You swallowed hard, watching the way his entire demeanor shifted, like he was holding himself back just enough to make you lose your mind. "A problem?", you echoed, feigning innocence, even as your body betrayed you, reacting to every little movement, every little touch.

Jensen let out a slow, low hum, his fingers pressing in just enough to make your thighs twitch. "Yeah", he said, tilting his head. "Because you put this on knowing damn well what it would do to me". His voice dropped even lower, his fingers dragging over the lace with slow, lazy strokes, teasing, taunting, making your breath stutter. "And now?". His smirk was dark, satisfied, knowing. "Now I gotta do something about it".

Jensen’s hands tightened on your thighs, his fingers teasing over the delicate lace just enough to make your skin burn.

Your breath hitched, anticipation curling through you, but you still had the nerve to smirk up at him, your fingers curling into the sheets beneath you. "Do something about it, then", you murmured, challenging him, your voice low, teasing.

Jensen’s jaw ticked, his green eyes darkening, tracking every little reaction you gave him. "Sweetheart", he murmured, his fingers hooking under the lace, tugging it just slightly, letting it snap back against your skin in a way that sent a sharp pulse of heat through you. "You really shouldn’t test me right now".

Your stomach flipped, but you refused to break, tilting your head, pushing him just a little further. "Or what?", you mused, voice light, feigning innocence.

Jensen let out a low, dark chuckle, his fingers trailing up your inner thigh, slow, deliberate, his breath steady, controlled—but barely. "You really wanna find out?", he muttered, voice like gravel and sin, his thumb brushing over the lace, teasing exactly where you needed him the most.

Your breath stuttered, your thighs clenching, and Jensen saw it—felt it—his smirk deepening in satisfaction.

"Yeah", he murmured, more to himself than to you, his fingers pressing just slightly harder. "That’s what I thought".

You swallowed, trying to keep control, but the way he was watching you, the way his fingers were barely touching you but still unraveling you completely—it was too much. Your nails dug into the sheets, your body already betraying you, and Jensen knew it.

"You wanna play games, sweetheart?", he murmured, his other hand sliding up your stomach, pushing the hem of his own damn shirt higher on your body.

Your pulse pounded, heat curling low in your belly.

Jensen leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, his lips brushing just below your ear. "Let me remind you who always wins".

Jensen’s smirk turned dangerous, his fingers still teasing over the lace, feeling the way your body reacted to him, the way your breathing had already shifted. His hands left you suddenly, making you whimper at the loss, but before you could even process it— "Take it off". His voice was low, firm, completely in control.

You blinked, your breath catching slightly. "What?".

Jensen reached for the hem of his own shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside like it was nothing. "The shirt. Off. Now".

Your stomach flipped, heat rushing through you as your fingers gripped the fabric, your body already obeying before you could even think about it. Your pulse pounded as you pulled Jensen’s shirt over your head, exposing more of the lingerie you’d picked just for him, the air cool against your bare skin.

Jensen’s eyes darkened immediately. His jaw tensed, his green gaze tracking every inch of you, lingering on the lace, on the way it hugged you perfectly, leaving just enough to his imagination—but not nearly enough to satisfy him. "Fuck, sweetheart". His voice was low, gritted, his fingers working at the button of his jeans, shoving them down in one smooth motion, never breaking eye contact.

Your breath hitched, your thighs pressing together as you watched him undress, every lean, toned inch of him revealed, your mouth going dry.

Jensen saw it.

And he grinned, running a hand through his hair, his eyes flickering with something heated, something dangerous. "You gonna just sit there staring, or you gonna lay back and let me show you exactly what happens when you push me".

Your stomach flipped once more, heat surging through you, but you still held his gaze, refusing to back down. "Maybe I like pushing you", you murmured, your voice lighter than you felt inside.

Jensen let out a low, amused chuckle, shaking his head as he crawled onto the bed, his body looming over yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress. "Yeah?", he muttered, his breath brushing over your lips, his fingers sliding along the lace strap of your bra, snapping it just slightly, enough to make you shiver. "Then you’re gonna love what happens next".

Jensen’s eyes never left yours as he reached down, his fingers hooking under the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down with zero hesitation.

And fuck—you barely had a second to process how good he looked, how absolutely wrecked he already seemed for you—before his hands were on you again. One firm grip on your waist, the other pressing against your back, flipping you onto your stomach with no effort at all. You gasped, your fingers bracing against the sheets, but before you could even think about moving, Jensen’s hands were on your hips, pulling you back—hard.

“Fucking tease”, he muttered, his voice low, gritted.

Your breath came out shaky, your body reacting immediately, your back arching as he aligned himself behind you, his fingers digging into your hips, holding you firmly in place.

He exhaled sharply, his lips brushing over your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

"You wanna push me, sweetheart?", he murmured, his voice dark, dangerous, his grip tightening, holding you still as he dragged himself right against you, teasing, taunting.

Your body shuddered, heat coiling deep in your stomach, but you refused to break, your fingers curling into the sheets.

Jensen let out a low, amused chuckle, his hands trailing down your sides, over the lace, his lips brushing against the nape of your neck. "Hope you know what you started", he muttered, his voice thick with pure need.

Because now, he was gonna make sure you felt this for days.

Jensen’s grip tightened on your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin with a bruising intensity, like he was marking you, making damn sure you knew exactly who you belonged to.

In one sharp, unrelenting thrust, he pushed inside you, stretching you completely, forcing a gasping moan from your lips as he filled you in one stroke.

"Fuck, sweetheart", Jensen groaned, his voice low, gritted, strained, his forehead momentarily dropping against your bare shoulder as he adjusted to the way you clenched around him.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, your back arching, your body thrumming with heat and pleasure and something deeper than either of those things.

He didn’t give you a second to recover—didn’t give himself one either.

Jensen’s hands slid up your waist, up your back, gripping the straps of your lace bra, using them as leverage as he snapped his hips forward again, dragging a choked moan from your lips.

"Yeah, that’s it, baby", he muttered, his voice like gravel and sin, his hands controlling every movement, every push, every pull. "You feel that?", he gritted out, pulling back just enough to make you whimper before thrusting deep again, hitting that spot that made your entire body tremble.

Your breath came out ragged, your moans helpless, your body completely at his mercy as he set a pace that had you already unraveling.

Jensen let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing over your shoulder, his voice teasing, wrecked, but still so in control.

"Yeah, you love pushing me, huh?", he muttered, his grip tightening, his pace relentless. "Let’s see how much you can take".

Jensen’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he slammed into you again, his pace unforgiving, completely in control.

Your moans spilled into the sheets, your back arching instinctively, your body taking everything he gave you.

"Fuck, sweetheart", Jensen groaned, his voice low, rough, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel how deep I am?".

You could only whimper, your nails clawing at the sheets, because yes—you felt it. All of it. Every inch, every deliberate thrust, every time he buried himself inside you like he was staking a claim.

Jensen let out a gritty chuckle, his chest pressing against your back as he leaned over you, his lips grazing your ear, his pace never faltering. "Not so cocky now, huh?", he murmured, his voice teasing, but wrecked all the same.

Your stomach clenched, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, but you still managed to push back against him, earning a sharp groan from Jensen.

That did something to him.

His hands left your waist, grabbing your wrists, pulling them behind your back, pinning you beneath him as his pace quickened, harder, deeper, relentless.

"Shit, Jay", you gasped, your body trembling, pleasure coiling so tight you could barely breathe.

Jensen’s grip on your wrists tightened, his lips brushing against your jaw, your shoulder, his voice gritted, desperate, possessive. "That’s it, baby. Take it. All of it".

And you did. Because he wasn’t giving you a choice.

Your entire body tightened, your back arching, your breath catching in your throat as the pleasure hit you full force. "Jensen—", you gasped, your voice breaking, your thighs shaking as the orgasm ripped through you, wave after relentless wave.

Jensen let out a low, guttural groan, feeling you clench around him, his grip on your wrists tightening, his body throbbing with need as he kept driving into you, dragging it out, making sure you felt every second of it.

"Fuck—," he gritted out, his rhythm stuttering for the first time, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force, his breath hot against your ear.

Your legs nearly gave out, your body completely wrecked, but Jensen didn’t let up. Didn’t let you come down. His pace stayed brutal, chasing his own release, using your body like it belonged to him. And fuck, you wanted it to. "That’s it, sweetheart", Jensen muttered, voice rough, wrecked, his hands tight on your waist, keeping you right where he wanted you. "Fucking perfect—".

His thrusts grew erratic, his breath gritted, his body tensing against yours. With a low, wrecked groan, he buried himself deep, his fingers digging into your skin, his release spilling inside you, hot, overwhelming, endless.

He stilled, his forehead dropping against your shoulder, his breath ragged, his hands still holding you tight, grounding both of you.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your uneven breathing, the heat between your bodies, the aftermath of everything that just happened.

Jensen let out a slow, shaky breath, finally loosening his grip, letting your hands go, his fingers tracing over the marks he’d just left on your skin.

He smirked against your shoulder, his lips brushing over your damp skin as he whispered, "Yeah. You’re not going anywhere".

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

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[mistiell]

We Keep this Love in a Photograph

summary: since Joel gifted you a polaroid camera for your birthday, you've developed a habit of sneaking pictures of him whenever possible. He doesn't think he's worth the film "wasted" (His words, not yours), but after catching you looking over your accumulated gallery, you manage to win him over.

wc: 1.1k

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, Joel's a little self conscious, Reader's gender isn't specified, and they have hair but the length isn't specified either. If I accidentally did use a gendered term, lmk and I shall fix it. <3 NOT PROOFREAD (will likely come back to fix any mistakes later)

a/n: HOLY SHIT I'M BACK!!! This fic was inspired by this TikTok. I saw it and the Joel obsession possessed me so viscerally I had to make a comeback lmao.

**NOTE: I've linked ways to help Palestine here. If you're in a position to donate anything at all, please do! If not, you can reblog the post that's linked so it gets out to more people.

---

It started on your birthday.

You’d shared with Joel one evening, wrapped warm and snug in his arms within your soft haven of sheets, during one of those late night conversations where vulnerability doesn’t seem like a thing so daunting, that you used to love photography. Loved immortalizing things you loved or things you found beautiful. He’d asked what kind of camera you’d had, what kind of things you usually took pictures of.

“Polaroid.” you’d told him softly, fighting you keep your eyes open with his tracing shapes into the curve of your waist. “And I already told you. Whatever I found beautiful.”

The morning of your birthday, you woke to the smell of coffee and a clumsily wrapped box sitting on your bedside table with a note taped to the top; Happy birthday, honey. Love, Joel. And in smaller print near the bottom left corner; P.S. Wait until I’m here to open it. Wanna see your face.

You’d smiled, bashful, brushed your teeth in record time, scooped up the box, and made your way downstairs towards the sound sizzling and the tapping of a spatula on a pan. He gave you a good morning kiss, pretended to make a fuss about waiting until after breakfast to open it and watched with a smile as you carefully tore it open, popped off the lid, and visibly softened at first sight of the contents.

It was a polaroid camera. Coincidentally, the very same one you’d had twenty years ago.

You’d cried, he’d panicked. You hugged him so fiercely, any worry that he’d fucked the whole thing vanished as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you close.

That was months ago, and in the time since, you’ve accumulated quite the gallery. You take pictures of just about anything and everything, but your main muse is Joel.

Which is what’s led you to have half a shoe box full of polaroid of mostly him. He’s no idea of your little stash, and you intend to keep it that way. You’ve come to learn he’s got a thing about being photographed. Always nitpicking his appearance no matter what you say. He asks sometimes when he catches you why you don’t choose something nicer to look at, and your answer is generally always the same. There is nothing nicer. He walks into a room, and all you want to look at is him. Yeah, he’s got some more lines, got some more meat on his bones, his hair is a little more grey than it is brown these days. But he doesn’t see it the way you do.

He’s got crows feet and smile lines etched almost as deep as the crease between his brows. He looks healthy now that he’s actually got food to eat, meals you’re both sure to share every morning in your kitchen and every evening in the dining hall. His greys are a tangible reminder that he’s alive, that he’s survived, and that he now gets to live, and you’re incomprehensibly grateful for every russet strand turned silver. He’s all the more beautiful for all of it. And here, tucked into your armchair, polaroid pinched between thumb and forefinger, you get to commit every little detail picked up by your camera to memory.

Your gaze follows the sloping curve of his lovely nose, profile softened by the sun shining white behind. It’s only one half of his face, but the beaming smile he’s sporting makes you feel whole. His hair was just starting to get longer, then, curling near his nape and flicking round his ears to kiss his jaw.

“What’s all this?” You startle, head leaning into the plush back of the chair to look at him upside down as you press the pictures into your diaphragm. He seems curious, if a little confused.

Caught, you swallow, “If I said nothing, would you believe me?”

“Not for a second.” He smiles teasingly, bending to give you a quick peck, bottom lip warm where it slots between yours. Your hold on the photos loosens, and when his gaze dips to them, the smile shifts into something closer to a frown, a little cagey, “S’ that me?”

“Yeah.” You answer simply, before joking tentatively, “Swear I’m not a creep. You’re just pretty.”

“See now, that’s exactly what a creep would say.” He teases, and you’re glad for it – that he’s not upset. Rounding the chair, he sits on the arm, elbow propped up on the soft back of it and knuckles warm on the nape of your neck.

“Pretty.” He echoes, blowing a short puff of air out his nose, “Never been called that before.”

“Well, you are.”

He smiles again, bashful and a little disbelieving. There’s a short moment where he just looks at you like that, backs of his fingers sliding down your spine a few notches then back up in a tender line before he juts his chin toward your collection. “Show me?”

Warmth blooms in your stomach and fizzes up behind your sternum. You grin, handing him the one you were holding before sifting through the shoe box for your best works. He accepts your compliments and sweet talking reluctantly, but hangs onto your every word as you describe where you were, what you were doing, what made you sneak the picture in the first place.

You start to worry his limited responses mean he’s gotten caught up in his head until his hand slides up the side of your neck and settles over the side of your head, the warmth of his calloused palm encompassing the entirety of your ear as he guides your temple to his lips.

“Love you.” He murmurs into your hair, and the warmth sizzles like its carbonated, bubbling and burbling within the cage of your ribs.

You turn your face, slip your fingers beneath the curtain of hair at his nape and lift your chin to kiss him soft and slow. He rubs an affectionate line into the soft skin behind your hear as he hums, vibrations thrumming against your lips.

You lean back just enough to murmur, “I love you to.”

He smiles, kisses you again. And again. And once more. He asks you to show him more of your pictures, and you oblige. It’s early evening when you’re finally through, at which point Ellie’s come home and Joel’s started on dinner. You let her sift through the polaroids while you move to join Joel at the counter.

You won’t realize until later that she’s snuck a photo of the two of you by the stove, Joel’s large palm on the small of your back where you’ve taken over stirring a pot, gazing at you like you’re the only thing he’d like to listen to for the rest of his days as you talk and talk and talk.

That one, he hangs on the fridge.

[madamechrissy]

♡ Time after Time ♡

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ CEO! Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Just sexual tension in this chap hehe, more explicit as we go. Gojo is still kinda a dick lol

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 3.9k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ Gojo Satoru is your boss And you've been his head assistant for over two years now. You do everything for him, including and not limited to cleaning his messes, picking out his clothes, and writing his speeches. Sixteen hour days... night calls... You are tired of being overworked and at his beck and call. You decide you are going to put in your two weeks notice. He is shocked, and wants to try to keep you, because you're the best. But you know better. Right? . You really wanna fucking quit. You also wanna fuck him. Also, fuck him.

A/N (Kinda has 'two weeks notice' vibes a bit! No use of y/n.)

Chapter 1 - Masterlist - Playlist

Chapter 2

The ballroom was unbelievable, even grander than most of the events you had helped Gojo prepare for. Shimmering chandeliers hung above your heads, casting a warm glow along the men and women below them. An orchestra was spread out playing all over, violinists in balconies, cellists and bassists joined the dance floor, along with waiters and waitresses serving hors d'oeuvres and champagne.

As your heels tapped along the marble floor, you both  made your way into the ballroom, Gojo on your arm. You couldn't help but notice the way heads turned to you both. His charisma was undeniable. Women swooned as they passed, men nodded in respect. Men’s eyes went up and down you, and there were whispers abound at the sight of you two.

“Told you that dress is killer.” Gojo murmured in your ear. You felt your cheeks overheat into a blush.

“They’re looking at you.” You mumble. Gojo looks down at you with a smirk.

“Not only me. But it’s true, I do just walk and make women wet.” He winked at you, and you rolled your eyes, unable to hide a smile.

“You’re too much.” As the words fell out, you saw his grin, and cursed yourself.

“Shit, not like that…”

Suguru Geto came up to you both, then, tall and elegant in a navy blue suit, long dark hair tied back in a top knot, the bottom half flowing. He always looked good, just like Gojo. The two were partners of Kamo tower, and owned a casino together, long friends but they also had a lot of banter between them, as if there was some competition the two held.

Geto was bowing over your hand, taking it and kissing it, like you were in some 1800’s movie. You smiled. Gojo scowled. Geto’s eyes took in your outfit, lingering at your chest, and then peeking over at Gojo, who tensed next to you. Geto had a smirk on his face before looking back at you with dark brown eyes.

“You look exquisite, my lady.” He teased, and you giggled, making Gojo’s grip on your arm tighten.

“Thank you very much, Sir. How are you this evening?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

“That’s enough.” Gojo’s voice cut them off, and you and Geto couldn't help but grin at each other. “Shitheads.”

“You!” Geto and you grinned at each other.

“It’s like two children.” Gojo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with frustration. Geto and you always got along well. He was Nanami’s boss, so you know he overworked his employees too, but it seemed he was easier on them than Gojo was with you. No 2AM coke binge rescues or the like.

“Dance later?” Geto asked you. You nodded.

“Of course. We’ll see if the old ballroom courses of my childhood are still any good.” You mused with a little wink.

“And me? Your date ?” Gojo whispered.

“Fake date. Kinda.” He scowls at you. “Yes, you too. I guess.”

Geto snorted at you. “Catch you two later. Gojo, try not to embarrass yourself please.”

“Never.” Gojo held two long fingers in a salute, yanking you away and sauntering over to a waitress. She melted as Gojo smiled. Bastard had charm.

He hands you a glass of wine. “Thank you.”

He nods his head and you take a sip of the pink liquid, tart but sweet, letting it hit your tongue, moaning in delight. When your eyes open, he’s staring at you, intensely with those damn devil eyes. You tilt your head curiously, but before you say anything, one of the main donor couples comes up to you both. Older couple, stuck up but obviously, they regard you.

“May I introduce my assistant, and date, tonight.” Gojo tells them your name, then, and they greet you formally. “She’s a Yale grad. Law school. Don’t ask me how I convinced her to work for me.” Gojo gave a charming grin.

“It’s so lovely to meet you, we’ve heard a lot about Mr. Gojo’s mysterious assistant.” The woman says, and you tried not to show how uncomfortable you were under the scrutiny. Gojo just… talked you up? Wow.

“Indeed. You’ve helped catapult Mr. Gojo in quite a manner. Makes sense that you’d be in law.” The man agreed.

“Oh, thank you two. It’s such a pleasure.” You shake both of their elegantly gloved hands, smiling cordially. “It definitely has been a good partnership for us both. We have been making moves.”

Gojo stiffened. “I will catch you two later.” He unceremoniously dragged you to a balcony, then, as if you’d teleported it was so fast.

You blink, taking in your surroundings, the cool night air hitting your bare shoulders and back, making you shiver. Gojo had backed you up against the railing, an arm on either side of you on the balustrade, leaning down to peer into your eyes, his own shimmering from the moonlight outside. You briefly just let yourself lose it in them. But only for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” You ask softly, and try to peer behind him, however he’s too tall, shoulders too broad, trapping you.

“You said it like you’re leaving.” He bit out the words.

“Well, I probably am.”

“Give me a chance to change your mind.”

You sigh. “Gojo, this show you’re putting on or whatever… like acting as if you’re interested in me now… it’s weird. Let’s not end on horrible terms.”

You reach out to his shoulders, and he pushes forward, intimidating, towering over you even as he bent at the waist. You lick your lips. His eyes darted to them like a hawk.

“Give me the two weeks to change your mind. If you still want to leave me, then I will not complain. Deal?”

You sigh, hating the nearness, the way he made you ache. Your body came alive with his nearness. “Fine. I will give it some thought. Also I wouldn’t leave without finding and training someone.”

“I want you, though. To work… for me.” He trailed off, looking to the side, as if even he was confused at his words.

“I’ll give it some time, okay. Back off psycho.” You shove had his hard chest, ignoring how good it feels against your palms. He grins, glinting in the night, as did the silver of his hair that fell low over his brow.

“Good girl.” He teased you, and you sighed, reaching up to slick back the little spike of his hair that had fallen. It grew quiet between you both, your hand pausing there, breath catching in your chest.

“Your hair was…”

“Yeah.”

“Mmm.”

The thudding of your hearts melded together, the noises of the music and chattering distant.

“You gonna dance with me too? Or just Suguru.”

You laugh a bit, letting your hand fall. “I’ll dance with you too.”

“Bet I dance better than you.”

“Bet taken.” You shoved him off, and he let you go finally, walking back into the decadent hall.

You two talk to numerous donors and other CEOs, breaking off at a certain point so he could tackle the older ladies, you the older men. Nanami pops into your field of vision, then. You grow embarrassed, thinking about what had just happened in the limo, what you’d said…

Nanami’s glasses are off, a rare sight, similar to Gojo’s shades, and his light green eyes were showing. He smiles at you, with a little glass plate of treats in one hand.

“Hungry?” He asks. You nod, popping a little tart into your mouth.

“Delicious. Ugh thank you! I forgot to eat anything.” You nibble on another, and he gives you a tired half smile.

“Working on the birthday hmm? Fucking Gojo.”

“I know. It hasn’t been the worst, though. I really… didn’t have any plans anyway. But I wanted to relax.”

“No plans… sounds like me.” He sighed with a little chuckle, and then his eyes narrowed, and you noticed Gojo’s scowling across the room at the two of you. “What’s his deal today?”

“He found out I may quit and he’s super fucking pissed.” You grumble.

“Quit? And leave me alone in the shithole?” Nanami frowned, and you felt bad suddenly.

“I wasn’t a hundred percent yet, but now Gojo wants to try to convince me to stay here.”

“Well yeah, you do everything but change and feed the little asshole.” You cover a laugh with your hand, and Gojo walks toward you all, thankfully getting stopped by one of his colleagues, but he manages to shoot a piercing gaze your way. “No, he looks mad at me. Hmm.”

You want to fall into the earth as you think of what you had said in the limo once more, and Gojo was back on the prowl, standing tall in the sea of swaying bodies.

Fuck don’t say anything, Satoru.

“What’s wrong?” Nanami calls your name, shaking you out of your reverie. You plaster on a fake smile.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Hmm.” He eyes you then. “You look beautiful by the way, birthday girl.”

You flush under his praise, looking down, shy like some little school girl again. A compliment from Nanami was always sincere. “Thank you, Nanami.”

“ Thank you, Nanami .” Came Gojo’s silken voice, higher pitched as it mocked you openly. Nanami grimaced next to you.

Nanami tensed, nodding. “Gojo.”

“Kento.” Gojo practically bit the word out.

They scowled at each other for a long moment, and soon Geto had joined, enjoying himself thoroughly. He called out your name.

“Dance, love?” Geto holds out his hand, and you watch as Nanami and Gojo both scowl at him.

“She’s promised me one.” Gojo snatches your hand up. You glare up at him, snatching it right back.

“I was going to ask for one with the birthday girl.” Nanami was so sweet, you think to yourself, even if he looked like he wanted to punch Gojo. You also wanted to punch Gojo.

“My my, you’re the lady of the evening.” Came another voice, and you turned to see Ieri Shoko, Geto’s partner. She also wore a black gown, shorter, cinching in at the waist. Her dark circles rivaled yours and Nanami’s, no, they were deeper. But it kind of suited her pretty face.

“Hello, Shoko.” Gojo winked at her. She rolled her eyes.

“Gojo… you’re…. Here. Hmm.” Shoko shrugged, irritating Gojo to no end, and you lived for it, unable to conceal your grin. “Who will you dance with first, hmm?” She asked you.

Shit.

You looked at them all, then looked back at her with a smirk. “You, Shoko?”

She laughed softly at that, rubbing your shoulder, shaking you just a bit. “I’d pick Nanami.”

“Bitch.” Gojo got a stomp on the foot, and grunted, scowling over to Shoko. “Ahem. My apologies. I’ll dance with Shoko, she’s begging me, you know, and get a dance after.”

“Fuck I don’t want to…”

Shoko got led out to the floor by Gojo, then, and you watched on in amusement, ignoring some odd budding feeling that joined that.

“You two dance first. I will catch you after. I’m quite enjoying this show.” Geto winked at you, popping a snack into his mouth and heading on, leaving you with Nanami, which grew more awkward as you struggled to keep your mind off of earlier. Nanami holds his hand out, and you put yours in his.

You two step out, amongst the crowded ballroom floor, and before you know it, you are gracefully dancing with Nanami Kento, his steady hazel gaze upon you. Yes, they were hazel, you determined.

As you twirled and swayed, you felt a sudden surge of unease wash over you for some reason. You glanced towards the far end of the room, where Gojo watched you, his piercing blue eyes fixed intently upon you as he danced.

A flicker of anger flashed across his handsome features, his usually playful demeanor replaced by an icy glare, directed where Nanami’s hands rested on your waist. Your heart pounded in your chest as you continued to dance with Nanami, your every move seemingly observed by Gojo's watchful gaze.

“You’re quite the dancer.” Nanami said softly, and you focused back on him, then, your feet moving in sync with his own in a fluid, slow motion.

“You’re always so nice to me.”

“You’re a good person. Not too many in this industry. Or the world, for that matter.”

“Always so serious.” You teased, hand tightening a bit on the tan jacket he wore, feeling his well muscled arms underneath. “But thank you. I always appreciate you, it’s nice to have someone at work to feel comfortable with. I think we would hang out and be friends if allowed to have a life.”

Nanami’s eyes took you in, seriously, appraising you. “I think I could squeeze in time to… hang out… as you say. If you stay.” The words sounded so odd coming from Nanami, as if he were just too elegant to say ‘hang out.’. You smirk.

“Netflix and chill, you mean?” Nanami turned red, clearing his throat and spinning you around. “I’m teasing!”

“Ahem.”

“You’re blushing. The Nanami Kento.” You flutter your eyelashes at him, and his grip tightens just a bit as he lets out the smallest laugh.

“I would…”

“Song’s over.” Gojo came sauntering up, then. “You know, Kento, my little assistant here said that out of anyone in the office, she-”

Gojo’s next words were muffled by your hand, one hand yanking him down by his shirt so he could bend far enough for your hand to reach. Nanami blinked, confused, and Gojo licked your palm, making you yank it back. You let out a fake laugh, nudging Gojo with your elbow harshly.

“Aha I said you were my best… co worker!” You proclaimed proudly.

“She said you’re hot as-”

“Hot as a friend! Sure did!” You shoved Gojo away, or tried to, however he was surprisingly heavy for being skinny. He didn’t budge, amused expression, practically fucking devious. He raised a brow, one side of his mouth tilting up.

Nanami frowned. “Hot as a friend.” He carefully repeated. You wanted to smack yourself. Would Gojo really ruin the one possible crush you had by making you super awkwardly ruin it?

He sure would.

“She means to say she’d ride…”

“Ride a… horse sometime! It’s a dream of mine.” Nanami blinked. “Ahem, Satoru, care to dance?” You asked, your voice high pitched, crackling. Gojo's lush lips curled into a smirk as he extended his hand, his grip surprisingly gentle.

“As the Lady commands.” He gives you a mocking bow, eyes looking up at you, and you smile at Nanami apologetically, knowing you’ve confused the ever loving shit out of him.

“Thank you for the dance, Nanami.” You smile, and his eyes narrow at Gojo before he nods, walking off. As you step into Gojo’s embrace, you jerk, for it’s like a hum of electricity when his hands hit your waist. Big, giant hands, wrap around your small waist with ease. He made you feel extra small.

“Never thought you’d ask.” Gojo took you and spun you by the arm, in a fancy little pirouette, before bending you backwards over his forearm, slipping you back up and making you gasp.

“Jesus… you sure can fucking move.” You murmur, in confusion, but you had to admit you were impressed.

He knew, too, with his self satisfied grin. “You haven’t seen shit yet, baby girl.” Gojo spun you again, bringing him against your chest, lifting your leg to wrap around his own, bending forward.

“Baby girl again, hmm?” Your voice was breathy. It was hot to be just tossed back and forth into and out of his arms, as the music played. “Why call me that?”

“Because I like to.” He stood you up to where you were back against him, and small applause shot out, making you realize they’d watched you all.

“I stroked your ego too much.”

“You should stroke other things.”

“Satoru!” You huffed, vivid imagery of what at the moment was hard pressed against your tummy. You gulp. “You’re amazing though. At dancing.”

“I’m amazing at everything.”

“And so modest.” Your eyes roll back, shaking your head at him. Gojo eases you against him as the song changes, and your hands go up against his chest, finding him warm, firm, heartbeat slow and steady.

“Fuck modesty. It’s bullshit.”

“Is it?”

“Mmm.” Why did the man basically purr and moan his words? It made it difficult to stay irritated with him. “So… since it’s my job to convince you to stay, why don’t you come on the boat with me tomorrow?”

“Your boat?” You ask, confused. Gojo would take girls on his boat over the weekend and party. That was about all his boat got used for.

“Yes, my boat.”

“I can’t swim.”

Gojo laughed then, shaking his head. “I’ll get you a life jacket, princess. No worries. I’m an excellent swimmer. If you fall I’ll catch you.”

You both paused, because for a moment there was something there, something sincere. You studied him, swaying side to side. “Will you?”

He gave a little nod. “It occurs to me though you’ve spent non-stop time by my side for over two years, we hardly know each other. Maybe… maybe we should try to fix it. Before you leave… if you leave, you should actually know me. Yeah?”

You nod. “I think I’d like that. You’re being oddly mature. Are you feeling okay?” You teased to ease the tension, but Gojo was rather serious.

“I didn’t like you dancing with Kento.”

You grin. “Oh?”

“Oh.”

“You almost told him… ugh!”

“Lucky I didn’t. ‘I’d fuck Nanami’ I swear…”

“He is hot.” You shrug. His hands tighten around you, fingers digging in tender flesh.

Your eyes shot up, drinking in the beautiful man, those blue eyes doing things. “Bet you beg me to fuck you on the boat..”

“Bet I never do!” You hiss back. There was the Gojo you were used to.

“We’ve danced for three songs, you know.”

“I…” You sighed, realizing indeed they were surrounded by different people, different melodies. “Huh.”

“I could give you a birthday orgasm in the bathroom. Oof!” You punched him subtly in the stomach, shaking your hand and wincing as it tingled. “The fuck! You’re such a bitch.”

“You’re a pervert. Dick.” You turned from him, but he followed you, much to your dismay, gripping you by your wrist, standing behind you.

“I am so generous and you just abuse me.”

“Child.” You did not leave the embrace however.

“Deep down…” He whispered, bending down, caressing your bare back, all the way up your spine, slowly. You felt pleasure surge through you. “You want this. Maybe you always did.”

“Did not. Do not.” You let out a tiny little cry, covering your mouth, whirling to look at him, bent down, wild fucking look on his face.

“You melt with a touch. Imagine me trying.”

His voice was husky, pulling you back into an embrace. You were toward the hall, now, away from most of the guests. Some had started to head out. Had you lost time in his arms? Just what the fuck was going on with you…

“I told you, fucking me won’t make me stay.”

“So I could?”

“No! Ugh.”

“You’re not even trying to get away.”

You shut your eyes, and you realized you were exhausted, but also just fucking intrigued. “Why’d you never… not that I wanted you too! But…”

“Because you are a stuck up bitch. Not because you’re not hot. You are. Very… very hot.”

“Fuck you I am not stuck up!”

“Let me rephrase. You come off that way? You’re kind of scary.”

You laughed, then, realizing you were losing your shit. “Scary? Me.”

“Kind of. Intimidating.” Gojo was laughing with you.

“Me?”

“Mmhmm. Probably why men don’t hit on you much. You’re so fucking… nerdy and so serious. Look like you’d tie me up and force me to watch your powerpoint presentations or some shit. That’s probably your kink.”

At that you lost it, shaking your head, laughing so hard tears fell from the corners of your eyes, holding your tummy. You walked off, and Gojo followed, a confused smile on his face as he watched you lose your mind.

“Fuck off… I don’t have… a kink.”

“None?” Gojo followed you out to one of the balconies, leaning his back against it as you leaned forward with your arms. The twinkling stars glittered across the black expanse of the sky. “How do you not have any kink? Breeding, CCNC, bdsm…”

“Uh… no clue.”

“Well, when’s the last time you had sex? The 1800s?”

You snort loudly. “Um… basically. College.” Gojo’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. “Stuff it, Satoru.”

“My assistant is a whole nun!”

“Am not!”

“Damn near a virgin.” He taunts you, hand sliding across the railing, against your own hand, resting atop it.

“No… though I’d take back the couple of experiences I’ve had. They were… shitty to say the least.” You shiver in disgust as you think of the drunk couple of evenings, which was about all you had to judge by.

“That’s tragic. No wonder you’re bitchy.”

“I’m not a bitch!”

Gojo gave you that crooked grin. “What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t offer to lick the bitchiness out of you?”

“Oh my god!” You buried your face in your hands with a chuckle. “You’re ridiculous. This only works with women because you’re hot, you know.”

“I’m hot, huh?” He wiggled his brows, and you glared.

“You’re exhausting.”

“Want me to take you home? Or… my place?”

“Home sounds good.”

“I’ll text Kiyotaka.” Gojo whipped out his phone, thumbs hitting with quick precision. “He’ll be here in a few. Now, boat?”

“I thought I would get a day off tomorrow?”

“You do. Get off all over-”

“Oh god. I’ll go wait out front.”

You push off, shoving him out of your way. “I’ll have Kiyotaka pick you up tomorrow night.”

“I didn’t agree?”

“ You know you want to. ” Came his sing-song voice. “Come on, live a little.”

“Fine. But forreal bring a lifejacket.” You head toward the entrance, saying your goodbyes to those you knew. Blushing like a mess when Nanami evaluated you with curious eyes, and when you apologized for not dancing with Geto, whose gaze was amused.

Fucking Gojo.

Who was following you, by the way, hands in his pockets, heading down the stairs to where the car already was. Kiyotaka really looked tired. You slid into the open door with a thank you, but Gojo did not let Kiyotaka shut it. He held it open, leaning against the opening, making you look as the white dress shirt stretched over his lean chest.

You shift in your seat, and he catches you like a hawk. “I’d love to leave but I do have to finish a conversation or two. I would take care of that for you.”

“That!?” He looked to your lap, making you shift again, crossing your legs, then uncrossing them with a huff.

“Oh. Happy birthday, assistant.” He leaned in, far too close, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. You thought wildly he may kiss you…

How would you react?

Push him away. Right?

Right?

Gojo leaned back, grinning like the devil that he was.

“Thank you, Satoru.” You sigh, leaning back and shutting your eyes as Gojo shut the door, tapping the hood.

What the fuck.

Chapter 3

Ao3 chap:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55424137/chapters/140689789#workskin

[yourlittlegoblin]

{How Venti Shows His Love} Venti x Reader

Yellow hello mellow with shits and giggles mother fuckers because I am totally not pretending to be high for shits and giggles while watching a video in the background as we speak so guys live laugh love because shits about to go down and sorry not sorry but its long

Venti doesn’t just say he loves you—he sings it

In the middle of town, in the fields even in the middle of a battle

Wakes you up with soft melodies playing his lyre outside your window like some windborne bardic Romeo

Sometimes the songs are sweet, other times they’re absolute nonsense he made up on the spot

If you hum a tune absentmindedly you will hear it later that day

You will either being played in the tavern, whistled by passing NPCs, or woven into a full song

He loves the way you laugh

Pls laugh at his jokes he uses it to cover how hes crippling inside because he feels like you're attracted to the persona he plays and for the body of his dead friend and not who he truly is

If you ever laugh at one of his dumb little songs, he will absolutely repeat it forever

You have doomed yourself

Whisks you away on a breeze when you least expect it

Trust me it is always unexpected

You’ll be mid-conversation with someone, then suddenly—whoosh—now you’re on the rooftop of Angel’s Share with a beautiful view of the sunset

“We can talk here. It’s more private. And romantic. And your hair looks pretty in the wind.”

Randomly twirls you around in the middle of the street

Writes poetry for you but disguises it as just another one of his usual songs

“Oh, that song? Just a little something inspired by my muse~” winks obnoxiously "Ehe~"

Leaves tiny wind-blessed trinkets in your pockets. A feather that never gets dirty, a little carved Anemo sigil that hums in the breeze, a scrap of parchment with illegible but undeniably pretty handwriting

If you ever get lost in Mondstadt, don’t worry—Venti will literally send a breeze to guide you home

Hates walking

Loves floating

Sometimes he just… picks you up with the wind and carries you along with him. It’s an honor really

“My dear, walking is so boring! Let me show you the joys of soaring instead~”

Has an uncanny ability to appear the moment you think about him

You sigh his name in frustration while struggling with something? Boom. There he is

“Ah, you called for your beloved bard? Fear not, for I have arrived!”

Pouts dramatically if you don’t give him attention

He will sigh and flop onto you like a lifeless doll

“Ah… I am but a forgotten wind spirit… abandoned and neglected… only a single kiss can bring me back to life…”

If you kiss him you will break him for like 3 seconds before he proceeds to pull you into a make-out session that lasts like 30 mins

Steals sips of your drinks without asking

Writes love notes and literally sends them on the wind

You could be minding your business, and suddenly a scrap of parchment flutters into your hands: “Meet me at Windrise~”

Always, always holds onto you when flying together. Not because he needs to—he just likes it

Oh and do I have to mention that hes clingy?

Whispers sweet nothings in your ear when no one’s around

The kind that make you wonder if he’s just being a flirt… or if there’s something more beneath it

“The wind is jealous, you know. It wishes it could carry you like I do.”

Turns even the smallest, most mundane things into a grand romantic gesture

Walking to the market? Now it’s a romantic stroll. Sitting under a tree? Now it’s a fated meeting of souls

Knows exactly how to fluster you. And he lives for it

But beneath all the playfulness, his love is as deep as the winds that have carried him for centuries

He doesn’t just love you in the moment—he loves you as a song, an ode, an everlasting melody that will never fade

And when he holds you close, when the mischief in his eyes softens into something warm and unguarded, you know—he truly means it

[gu6chan]

Not to be dramatic and point fingers but why is it that the worst people with no respect towards art or anything that doesn't involve mindless consumption for "the lore" always have to be drakengard 3 and nier fans. like i don't even try to look and search for things to complain about regarding them but somehow every stupid fucking thing in this fanbase comes back to them

[revehae]

!!!!

this but more cnc but also not cnc ??? but like what if experienced reader is so good at playing innocent and she plays into their fantasy of a naive stepsis on purpose. they so easily fall for it and “take advantage of her” fully believing that it’s real but it isn’t

am I making sense ?

the perfect victim type beat IM FEELING IT walk with me walk with me. this might suck because im sleepy but it’s either now or like 16 hours from now // tw dubcon(?), stepcest

stepbro!member who is always, always gooning. you can’t help but hear him beating his meat night after night, moaning and groaning, and the sound always makes you wetter than you care to admit. some nights you even dare touch yourself, always much quieter than he is though, and frustrated because it’s never enough to fulfill your fantasies.

until your laptop decides to take it’s last breath one day in the middle of a very hectic school week and you need something in its place until you can get it repaired. stepbro!member’s laptop is always available, somewhere in his bedroom, and you take it while he’s napping, not bothering to ask. you’re not surprised to open it and immediately be met with a porn browser. he probably had a nut so massive it put him to sleep. but you are curious as to what gets him off, and it does take you by surprise to see something about “Hardcore Non Con” in the browser.

in the comfort of your bedroom, you secretly watch the entire video, starting it over from where he left off. which is surprisingly far. he must’ve been edging the entire time. either way, you watch it for yourself, imagining him doing all the things that happen - cruel, disgusting things that you know you shouldn’t want but can’t help but picture him doing and saying. you get off way too fast, as always when he’s your muse. it’s not until you climax that you think of the unthinkable… how to bait him into fucking you. you would be whatever he wanted you to be if it meant you got what you wanted.

you manage to sneak his laptop back into his room before he woke up, but popping back a few hours later when he was wide awake. “i have a question,” you say, shutting his door behind yourself with your hands behind your back, pretending to be shy. “what’s noncon?”

he is surprised to hear these words come from your mouth, and immediately glances to his laptop that he hadn’t touched since… well, since before his nap. “why are you asking?” he questions, suspicious. you reply back quietly, “i may or may not have taken your laptop…” he is even more taken aback by this, and appears a little frantic. “you did what?” he exclaims. “you didn’t see the tab?” you knew that he would ask that, considering it was glaring you straight in the face upon opening his laptop, and readily lied, “no…? i didn’t click it, the screen opened on a youtube tab.” you continued seemingly obliviously, “is it a workout thing?”

stepbro!member snorts at this, amused by your innocence but immediately noticing the opportunity to take advantage of your ignorance. when he asks if you want him to demonstrate, you reply with a reluctant, “sure…?” trying to hide the way you tense with excitement at what’s to come.

he beckons you over. the shock on your face is only pretend when he presses you into his mattress, trapping you beneath his body weight. you try to move but he’s stronger than you, and being overpowered only serves to make your thighs press together with need. “stay fucking still,” he hisses in a tone darker than you’ve ever heard from him. you play your role too, reaching out to try and stop him when he yanks at your shorts, only for him to lock your arms behind your back. you call out his name, whining, “s-stop it, you can’t do that. we’re siblings.”

“i don’t give a shit. you wanted me to demonstrate, didn’t you?” he snaps, running his fingers over your folds. the sensation makes you gasp and your knees buck against his mattress. “you’re fucking wet. don’t act like you’re not begging for this. stupid slut.”

you shake your head, denying it, even though it’s true. your body tremors with excitement, but he mistakes it as fear and chuckles. “please,” you beg, “let me go. i’m sorry. i won’t take your laptop anymore!”

“no you’re not,” he says, freeing his cock from his pants. it never takes him long to get hard again. you start to salivate the second it presses against your folds. “but you will be, fucking bitch.”

[alanisstonedd]

deeblockduke hcs

duke dennis x black!reader

cw: cussing, fluffffff, lil spice no full smut, mention of public & butt stuff, food play

an: ran back this song by my hubby & realized it reminds me of dukey 🥹 so here’s some hcs my shmookies

✯ you fr thought the relationship was finna be TOO CALM bcs he be acting nonchalant let’s be real. but boy was yo ass wronggg. it takes him a sec to warm up but once he does, he literally falls deeper & more passionately in love with you every fuckin day. you literally become his rock, his safe space, his muse girl. his actual everything.

✯ calls you randomly just to hear your voice. the vibrations in your voice literally release dopamine in his body stg. he’ll be like “whatchu doin bae” “oh yuh, how dat goin” “wait, lemme see whatchu got on” “but you saw me leave this morning bae” “i know baby, just show me again i’m tryna see you” “oooo damn you perfect…. okay…. i miss you mane, text me later bae?” just running his damn mouth tryna get whatever you’ll give him while yall not physically together

✯ leaves you love notes in your stuff. in RANDOM ASS SPOTS. like in your pockets - that’s his main spot. very frequently in your purse or folded up in the back of your phone case. on his pillow when he’s up earlier than you. on the bathroom mirror. & it’s not affirmations and shit either girl. it’s like “seeing you happy is like seeing 1,000,000 stars light up the sky. more beautiful & incredible than i could’ve ever imagined or dreamed.” jaw dropped the fuck, all jokes aside you really start to bring out the lil poet in him. “the smallest inch of your skin on mine feels electrocuting. burns like the sweetest paradise. you light me on fire fr bae”

✯ you often wake up with VERY LARGE flower arrangements set up, no matter where you wake up - his room or your place (that’s also lwk his fr). he really gets creative with it too - roses, daisies, tulips, orchids, lilacs, really whatever flower he feels like embodies his love for you that day. & he really gets detailed with it, adding in smaller decorative flowers & weeds to make each arrangement diverse, unique, and an accurate representation of how he feels. tuh, ykw lemme just show yall his masterpieces. that was a collection you had built up bcs he went back to back one week. he puts the bouquet on the bed with a note & scatters extra petals on the bed and the floor. if he’s with you he’ll take petals and sprinkle them over u to wake you up just to get your reaction. every time.

✯ will pick up and fly you anywhere. you won’t stop goin on about the beach during this cold winter? yall on the next jet to turks. private beach, fucking on jet skis, fucking everywhere really, on the beach laid up napping, drunk at the pool bar, yall being water babies for a sec & playing in the water. fucking on the beach. yall rlly bring out the inner child in eachother & heal them by just being together :,)

✯ gifts after every date nighttttt!!! he takes you out somewhere five star or a hole in the wall gem just for the bomb food. wines & dines you, yall yap and rlly grub bcs yall BOTH always getting full fr. when you get homeeee, boxes & bags in the room every time without fail. LV, Hermes, Gucci, YSL, Goyard, Balenciaga, Chanel, IN ADDITION to any other clothes, shoes, or jewelry you might’ve mentioned recently. you def have really shed tears a few times. WILL demand a fashion show - “nah wait, where u goin? you not finna model??” “nah get yo ass back here and model wit yo sexy ass, mhm. i’m not playin, im tryna see what i done bought” - that almost always leads to yall hunchin in whatever set his ass off. new louboutins, ur new iced out cuban link dancing, or some lacy draws he picked out. he tearin that ass up in whatever u got on.

✯ is a freak 🤷🏽‍♀️ WILL pull some whipped cream outta nowhere and lick ts off ur nipples, tummy, ass, thighs, WHATEVERRR. will surprise you with freaky shit “okay i got us sum, it’s a surprise tho so u gotta wait” meanwhile he giggling with that pop pop laugh. you wait ALL DAY, pussy soakinnnnn bcs he’s constantly teasing you, then he wanna pull out some anal beads…. also yall film everythingggg 😭 u thought it was just carry over from him always having to make content but nah he just a freak fr. he will set up a camera wherever yall gettin down. kitchen, room, bathroom, closet & best believe he’ll hold that shit if he can’t set it down

✯ if you have a following & are in the spotlight he’s absolutely reposting so many edits of you. starts posting more often bcs of you and will 100% will make posts of just you lmfao he not even in it at all. always posting you & showing you off everywhere. loves PDA, but in a classy way. he just loves knowing that everyone knows you’re his. his ass get carried away off the drink tho & u gotta keep him in check bcs again, he’ll indulge in fat ma ANYWHERE

✯ do yall sometimes match fits?….. what yall think

✯he lowkey a sleepy mf and will fall asleep on you anywhere, no exceptions. he love a nap or a snuggle - just being close af like smelling u and shit. uses ur booty as a nap pillow (or ur tummy). loves being tangled up wit uuuu all up on eachother. it’s really his peace

✯ loves cooking with u bcs it makes him feel like yall married lollll. he loveeeee the domestic shit. he wants to get better at cooking (wants to spoil u in even more ways) so he always wanna do cooking dates

✯ yall guilty of being the couple that EVERYONE in the vicinity can hear fucking bcs he don’t EVER make yo ass shut up. except when yall could actually get caught teehee. but at home?? he like “yeah let that shit out baby” “fuck, im tryna hear you, yeah” “fuckkkk i know bae, i know” “yeah who making you scream baby? who?” “oh yeah? that’s ‘fuckkk’?”

✯ loves feeding you for some reason?? always tryna feed you your snacks & even meals sometimes. and always silently with the straightest face lol. if he ever says “you want one” just know you’re never grabbing your own. it’s 100% getting fed to you.

[underscorewriting]

No labels | Jason Todd

Warnings: fluff, language?

Word count: 895

Quiet whispers echoed through the lightly dimmed room, the air rich of cigarettes smoke and a breeze of the fresh autumn wind blowing outside. The two lay in bed next to each other, the girl stealing glances at the mans sharp features, his scars and the way he looks oh so distant right now, but only in thought, physically he’s right here, with her.

“Where are you right now?” The soft feminine voice breaks through the silence. Jason inhaled the smoke deeply before exhaling. “You don’t want to know, pretty girl…”

They promised to be without labels, casual, but somehow, some day, this casual turned into him coming to her apartment after his job, her texting him whenever he ate, buying his favorite snacks, them meeting up for dinner in her bakery. When did casual turn into this? Jason was never good with keeping things serious, him working with bats took a toll on him. He never promised the girl a serious relationship, but now things changed and both of them felt it.

A hum leaves the girls lips as she traced his tattoo in thought. A silent moment followed by the sound of her quiet snicker. „I feel it too… you know?“ The man inhales the smoke and sighs. „Feel what?“ Him acting like nothing is going on, like nothing has changed, makes the girl stop her movement. Inside his mind he was cursing himself, he always knew a way to fuck it up. „Princess I-“

„It’s okay.“ Her voice is soft and hesitant as if she’s not believing her own words. His arm tightens around her, not allowing her to move away if she wanted, he couldn’t risk losing her warmth. With one swift movement he put his cigarette in the ashtray, turned them around, him hovering over her, his face nestling in her neck. It’s his way of saying he’s sorry. His way of saying 'I do feel it'.

The girl knew, he couldn’t commit. He told her from the start, that he ‘doesn’t like it', but she realized the truth only a few weeks later. It’s not that he doesn’t like it, because boy does he know he’s already committed without him even noticing, but he’s terrified of the power she might hold if he’s letting himself fall completely.

Her fingers tangle themselves into his hair, playing with the soft curls in his nape. She feels herself calm down, she wasn’t really angry to begin with, she could never be upset with him setting his boundaries. However it did hurt her that he didn’t even try to talk about it, about how things changed. “I’m scared too… only a little though…”

As an answer she received a quiet grumble and him pulling her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone. The girl tugs on his hair making him pull away slightly, he was frowning and looked closed up. Her hand softly traveled from his nape all the way to his cheek to caress it gently. “Don’t do that…” Her thumb brushed against the crease forming between his eyebrows.

“Do what?”

“Lock me out…”

His eyes softened slightly and a sigh left his lips as his tense shoulders eased up a little. “You’re wasted on a relationship Iike this… and you know it.” The girls nose scrunched up, a teasing grin forming on her face. “I feel pretty comfy here…” The man fights a smile as he looked down on her. “You’re an idiot…

“I want this…” The genuine look on her face scared him. “I’m not relationship material, princess.” He was about to pull away but she turned his head once again to her. “We don’t need to label it…but I’m not looking elsewhere and I think, you’re not either…?” She trails off, her mind didn’t even think of the possibility that he could’ve been sleeping with others as well.

“Fuck no I haven’t, shit they’re not you-“ A grin spreads on her face as the words leave his lips. “Oh wipe that stupid smile off your face.” He rolls his eyes and softly pushes her head back.

A heartily laugh escapes her as she allowed herself to fall back into the pillows. He watched her with amusement in his eyes. “Exclusive but no labels…?” He mused, thinking of having her all to himself, having her but not needing to label it would be a dream. The girl nodded and blew some hair out of her face. “I’d be up for it. I mean, we already do everything together-“ “That’s because you’re clingy as shit.”

A fake dramatic gasp makes him raise an eyebrow in amusement. “How rude.” He grins and leans back down so he can nuzzle his face back into her neck. “You know it’s fucking true…”

“Doesn’t make it less rude…”

Her fingers went back to caressing his hair, a peaceful silence settling between the two. A moment of contentment. They had each other, maybe one day it will have a label but for now-

“No label…” He mumbled against her skin, placing a soft kiss on her pulse point.

“No label…” A soft smile is on her face as she closes her eyes, enjoying the faint touch of a lover. “But yours.” A quiet growl escaped him, making her snicker softly.

Even if he didn’t like labels, he could get used to her calling herself 'his'.

And maybe inside he’s longing for her to call him 'hers'.

[smileysuh]

crossroads - TEASER

🌙 starring. Kim Mingyu & Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. If one neighbour is a Doberman, then the other is a Golden Retriever. They’re like night and day, and yet, you’re drawn to both, as if some gravitational or celestial power is pulling you to them… it also helps that they both have motorcycles. How had it been so easy to ghost Wonwoo in the past, only to find yourself at a crossroads with his roommate seven months later?

tw/cw. Threesome, unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, big dick Mingyu, creampie, oral (f/m receiving), blow job, deep throating, hand job, Eiffel tower/spit roasting, breast worship, nipple pinching, nipple licking, panty kink, eating pussy through panties, fingering, squirting, pussy stretching, praise, dirty talk, ‘sir’, dom!Wonwoo, switch!mingyu, blindfold/sensory deprivation, voyeurism, listening to your neighbour have sex, masturbation, reader reads erotica, mutual masturbation, slight dacryphilia, blind fold/sensory deprivation, inklings of humiliation, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, baby. (Mingyu’s) gyu. (Wonwoo’s) sir. 

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 19.8k

🍭 aus. Biker!meanie, booktok!reader, neighbours!au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. This was not supposed to be this long. I don’t know how this happened. 

You head back to your bedroom… which is where you find Mingyu flipping through the most recent book you’ve been reading.

Your heart lurches into your throat, body freezing in the doorway. 

“I didn’t know you read this sort of thing,” Mingyu muses, looking up at you.

“What?” you squeak.

“Erotica,” he responds casually. “This seems interesting though.”

You slowly approach the bed, joining Mingyu under the covers while he reaches to put your book back on your nightstand. 

“Uh…” you don’t even know what to say. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Mingyu laughs, pulling you close to his chest. “Why not? It’s not like I’m judging you.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. Why would I? I think I read somewhere that men like visual porn and women lean towards the written stuff, nothing to be ashamed of.”

He really is the perfect man.

“Plus, I keep seeing shit on tiktok about booktok girls needing their bikertok boy, I don’t mind filling that role for you.” Another nonchalant comment that makes your heart do somersaults. “Although… aren’t all of you booktok girls into masked men and threesomes and shit?”

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.2k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or wait till the fic is posted on tumblr Friday, April 12nd, 2024

🔮 see what’s already available to read on my m.list

the link for the fic will be posted here when it's on tumblr :)

[jobean12-blog]

Promise Me

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 1,080

Summary: Joel is not happy when he finds out you left to go search for something and didn't tell him...

Author's Note: Just a little angry (but soft always) Joel because he's overly protective and needs you to be ok. Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: some angsty bits here and there but only bc Joel is protective and you're his, softness, spicyness and some fluff

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

Joel shoots to his feet with a string of grumbled expletives, intending to go out and start his second search of the day when he hears the sound of soft footfalls on the stairs.

His heart starts to beat wildly as he waits to see who’s at the door. It opens to reveal you, looking as beautiful as ever, and with that his anger reaches its boiling point.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Your entire body startles with a strangled scream and you drop something to the floor. You back up against the wall and search for some light, finally noticing him seconds later.

“Oh my god Joel! Are you crazy?”

Some of his anger deflates at your panicked tone, but not all.

“I’m not the crazy one! Crazy would be leaving for half the damn day and not tellin’ me where you’re off to!”

With a scoff you reach down to pick up what fell from your hands. “I didn’t know I had to report all my comings and goings to you!”

His chest heaves with his labored breathing and he steps closer.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” he warns.

You stay silent as you stuff the contents of your hand into your jacket pocket, trying to skirt past him and into the small space you call home.

He’s had enough, stopping your progress with a firm hand on your waist.

He spins you around until you’re caged against the counter, his arms resting on either side of you, and leans in close.

“Where. The. Hell. Have. You. Been? I’m not goin’ to ask again darlin’.”

You get right in his face.

“I went looking for something ok! And I found it. And I’m fine.”

His eyes sweep over you, assessing you so closely you feel stripped bare.

He doesn’t move away but heaves a yielding sigh of your name.

Your expression softens with a frown and when his head drops toward his chest you tentatively reach for his jaw, pressing your fingers to the patchy scruff to lift his eyes to yours again.

“Joel?”

“I...,” he starts quietly. “I thought somethin’ happened to you!,” he says, much louder now.

His agonized eyes meet yours and after a moment’s hesitation, he speaks again.

“Believe it or not, I care about you. More than you know. The last few hours have been pure hell, darlin.’ You think it’s funny to scare the shit out of me?”

“No,” you answer quietly. “I don’t think it’s funny and I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Then why were you gone all day angel?” he demands.

“Well…I,” you begin hesitantly, then blow out a breath. “I wanted to find some crayons! I found a coloring book the other day but I have no crayons! It took longer than I expected. I thought I would be back before you even missed me.”

When he just stares at you blankly you continue talking, your voice barely above a whisper when you ask, “do you want to color with me?”

He remains quiet and you add, “I’m sorry.”

He nods and slides his hand into your pocket, carefully pulling out the worn box of crayons.

“All that for some crayons?” he muses softly.

“I love to color,” you say with a small shrug. “Don’t be mad.”

Resolute in his anger he doesn’t reply but keeps you caged in, his eyes dropping to your lips.

With tentative movements you brush the fallen hair from his forehead and trace the line of his jaw before pressing a kiss just under his ear.

“I promise I won’t do it again.”

Another kiss, this time lingering on his neck.

He can feel his defenses slipping and against his better judgement he leans into your touch, the feel of you threatening to completely topple his anger.

Your hands start to trail down his chest toward his stomach but he grasps them, dragging you into his embrace.

“Say it again,” he growls. “Promise me you’ll never leave me like that. Never again.”

“I promise Joel.”

He brings your hand to his mouth, kissing the inside of your wrist then letting the other hand slide down your back, satisfied when your breath hitches in your throat.

“Good,” he murmurs, pressing you against his body, lining you up with every inch of him.

A roll of his hips lets you feel his need and your eyes close, parting on a moan.

“Are you still mad?” you ask. “We could color? It might help you relax.”

His head dips slowly, his warm breath fanning your lips before he closes the distance and cuts off your surprised gasp with his mouth. He grabs the back of your neck and commands the kiss, only deepening it when you bite his bottom lip.

His possessive growl is followed by a question spoken directly against your parted, swollen lips.

“Do you see what you do to me?”

His breath shudders in and out, sounding loud in the quietness surrounding you. He works open the button of your jeans, then slips his big hand down the inside of your panties.

“Next time you need somethin’ you come to me,” he says. “I’ll give you everything you need.”

Your head rolls back and your eyelashes flutter against your cheek, your breathy affirmation driving his fingers right where you want them.

He leans down and brushes his lips to the shell of your ear.

“I protect what’s mine.”

The next morning, by the soft glow of the rising sun, you sit on the makeshift bed, your back to Joel’s chest and your knees pulled up with the coloring book resting on them.

“I forgot how small these things are.”

You study his hand. Long, thick fingers dwarfing the green crayon held between them.

“Nah. Your hands are just really big,” you purr. “And I lo…”

“Yeah, yeah. I know angel. You love ‘em.”

“I love, love, love them!” you exclaim, feeling his light chuckle.

You snuggle closer to his warmth and rest your head back along his chest.

“You have to stay inside the lines,” you playfully chide.

“Well, it’s not that easy from this position!” he shoots back.

“I can move over here…”

He tightens his grip, not allowing you to move an inch out of his arms.

“Don’t. I need to keep you close.”

“Forever?” you ask with a giggle.

He gently grasps your chin and tilts your head back to meet his eyes, his expression fierce.

“Forever angel.”

@hiddles-rose @lizette50 @kmc1989 @lorilane33 @blackwidownat2814 @littleseasiren

[compress1repress]

patrick loses a bet w art and ends up wearing a cute lil tennis skirt for a practice match, but it backfires horribly bc patrick is feeling his oats and art cant fucking focus for shit. like hes WHITE KNUCKLING the racket

"patrick. please stop"

"what? this is so breathable i should wear this every time 😋"

[the most deliriously horny hes ever been in his life] "please for the love of god STOP"

tashi walks by appreciatively and is like hey zweig. good form [nice ass]. maybe it gives her ideas and she goes online lingerie shopping. idk i just think his thighs would look good in garters. smudge some eyeliner on him while youre there idk. im just spitballin here boss

Woah. Clearly this got to me bc i received this five days ago and now I've written a 12k word fic that is only a part one. Like this doesn't even get into the eyeliner and garters of it all yet. I took some liberties but hopefully got the essentials :D hope it's okay!!

thank you for this ask <3 the part 2 will be started soon

-> AO3 VERSION

cw: nsfw, mdni, i think you can tell from the ask what might come up, just general filth, light feminisation, 12k word count

im sure I'll have more to say tomorrow but for now here it is:

“She won’t be back until this evening,” Art calls out to Patrick after hanging up the phone.

“Why not?” Patrick’s laid flat on his back along the length of the couch, taking up a very unnecessary amount of space.

“Lily wanted to sleep over so Tashi’s going to stay for dinner before she comes back,” he explains, joining Patrick in the sitting room.

Tashi had taken Lily to her cousin’s, she had two children, one Lily’s age and one a little older. Usually Art would go too, and he’d sometimes have to play with Lily because she got too shy. They’d send her off with the other kids but she’d come back ten minutes later, pulling at Art’s sleeve and he couldn’t say no. That’s probably why Tashi had even agreed to this last minute sleepover, it’s a pretty big deal that Lily actually wanted to stay over. It’s also why she’s staying for dinner, just in case Lily changes her mind.

Art hadn’t gone because Uniqlo was sending over some outfits for their brand deal, and he had to sign for the delivery. That was the reasoning they gave Patrick at least. Really it was because it felt strange leaving him in their house alone, not because they didn’t trust him there.

They couldn’t exactly drag Patrick along with them to every event, they knew that, and he must know that too, but every time he’s left alone for a while he gets weird. He gets sad. Art and Tashi don’t explicitly talk about it, but there’s a shared understanding between them.

“So, we’ve got like four hours of an empty house?” Patrick muses, clearly trying very hard to keep his face neutral. 

“We’re not fucking,” Art smiles down at him.

“I wasn’t suggesting anything,” Patrick tries but Art raises an eyebrow at him, “alright, why not?”

“Tashi said so,” and she’d been very clear on the phone to Art about it.

“Okay, no fucking,” Patrick nods, a smirk growing on his face, “but she didn’t say anything a-”

“No blowjobs, no hand stuff, and no touching under clothes,” Art cuts him off, moving to sit on the armchair since Patrick is taking up all the space on the couch.

“Well, we don’t have to take our clothes off to have a good time,” Patrick sits up, looking at Art with a hopeful grin.

“No dry humping either,” Art can’t help but snort at the disappointment on his face.

“Jesus, she really thought this through,” he flops back down, sighing, a look of both frustration and admiration on his face. 

“I think she just knows that you’ll be trying to find any possible loophole,” Art snorts, and he can tell Patrick is still brainstorming solutions, “c’mon, she just wants us to wait until she gets back.”

“Fine,” Patrick relents, “but if I do come up with an ingenious loophole, we’re taking it.”

If Art’s being honest he had also hoped Patrick would find a way around it, then he could probably get off now and just blame it on Patrick later. That way Tashi would probably punish Patrick and he’d get to fuck her while Patrick watches.

Instead he decides to exercise some restraint, because he wants to be good for Tashi. It’s not like she was being mean, she just didn't want them to use up all their energy before she got home. Plus, he’s not that manipulative, not all the time. 

Although, really, if he knew for a fact that Tashi would believe that it wasn’t his fault, he’d start riling Patrick up now, get him to think he was the one seducing Art into breaking rules. 

Unfortunately, he’s pretty sure both Tashi and Patrick would see right through him. 

“Sure, but how about we just watch a movie for now?” Art suggests.

“Yeah, alright, movie mashup?” Patrick asks.

It’s this thing they used to do when they were young, a tradition that had come back now they lived together again. If they wanted to watch a movie they’d both just name the first one that came to mind then try to find a middle ground between the two. It was their way of assuring they didn’t have a fight because technically they’d both equally chosen the movie. Some days it worked better than others, and occasionally they named the same film anyway. 

Although, once when they were fourteen, Art had picked A Bug’s Life while Patrick had wanted Weird Science; they decided The Fly sounded like a mashup of the two (insects + eighties science? They never said the method was flawless), which ended up being a little traumatising. Art still has a slight fear of fingernails.  

“Okay, I’ll count down,” Art waits for Patrick’s nod, “3…2…1…”

Art says, “E.T.” at the same time Patrick yells, “Sharknado.”

“Sharknado?” Art questions through a laugh.

“It’s fun,” Patrick defends.

“What’s the mashup, then?” Art asks.

It only takes a few seconds, because they had so much practice, and because this one is easy. Spielberg and sharks, duh.

They smile at each other, both getting it at the same time, “Jaws.”

“That might be the most satisfying mashup yet,” Patrick grins, “but are you sure it’s not too scary?”

“We’ve both seen it before,” Art rolls his eyes.

“I’m just saying, maybe we should sit as close as possible, just in case,” Patrick is so obvious.

“Patrick, we’re not fucking,” he warns, again half-wanting Patrick to keep pushing. 

“Fine,” he groans, “just innocent cuddling then, for old time’s sake?”

He guesses that is what they used to do on movie mashup nights, pressed up against each other in one of their single beds. Sometimes one of them would have an arm around the other, because it was comfier that way, and neither of them ever really thought twice about it. It was hardly the height of their physical affection with each other, they’d done more on tennis courts in front of everyone.

Art hasn’t answered so Patrick adds, “seriously, I don’t have a sexual ulterior motive.”

“I know, but now I have a feeling you’re trying to lure me out of the comfy armchair so you can take it for yourself,” Art’s lying, he just wants to see what Patrick will do.

“You’re so cynical,” he gets up walking over, “guess we’ll just have to share.”

“You won’t fit,” Art shakes his head, letting him try anyway.

Patrick attempts to sit in Art's lap but he’s so tall, and the armchair is pretty small. He sits on one of Art’s thighs, his legs curled up the best they can.

“There we go,” Patrick reaches an arm around the back of the chair to keep himself steady. 

“You do realise your entire body weight is on my left leg,” Art complains.

“You want a more even weight distribution? I can do that,” he shuffles, bringing himself to sit directly on his lap, his back against Art’s chest.

Art’s hands immediately wrap around Patrick's torso without even thinking, “I’m not watching this entire movie with your ass directly on my dick.”

“It’s not my fault if you can’t control yourself,” Patrick shrugs, not so subtly pressing himself further against Art.

“I’m not worried about myself,” he bites lightly at Patrick’s shoulder, “but also, I won’t be able to see the screen with you sitting like this.”

“Okay, final offer,” Patrick moves again, attempting to find a position that is less compromising and also doesn’t involve crushing Art with his body weight.

Patrick's legs now hang uncomfortably over the edge of the chair, and when he tries to adjust by resting his feet on the arm, he practically knees Art in the face. 

"Maybe if I try the other side," Patrick shuffles again, on his way to switch sides, he swings one leg over Art's thighs, facing him as he straddles him.

"This isn't working," Art grabs Patrick's waist to hold him there, "your legs are too fucking long." 

Patrick can't hide his grin at the position they're in but he tilts his head towards the couch, "yeah, we're gonna need a bigger boat."

Art laughs, "you know that's one of those misquotes, like it's actually 'you're gonna need a bigger boat' not we're."

"Who fucking cares," Patrick teases, "and if you're going to correct me, you should at least be right."

"It's true," Art says with a little more passion than necessary.

"No, you're thinking of the Star Wars quote," Patrick's also getting genuinely into it, "where Darth Vader doesn't actually say Luke, I am your father or whatever."

"Yeah, that's another famous misquote, doesn't mean I'm wrong about the Jaws one," Art's hands squeeze tighter.

"Alright, let's bet on it," Patrick suggests.

"I'm not betting about a stupid movie quote," Art snorts. 

"Because you know you're wrong," Patrick's got this smug look on his face that always works on Art.

"Fine, I bet you $100 that it's you're not we're," he shrugs.

"I'm not betting $100 dollars."

"Exactly, because you know that you're wrong," Art grins, satisfied. 

"No, I'm not betting that because it's got no stakes for you," Patrick explains, then leans in a little closer "and it's boring." 

It successfully pisses Art off enough that he needs to prove a point. He can be creative and interesting.

Suddenly it hits him. 

"Give me a second," Art's reaching his hands around Patrick at his thighs, one hand below his ass and the other at the small of his back, standing up bringing Patrick up with him. 

He briefly lifts him up, turning around and then depositing Patrick back onto the armchair where he lands with a bounce.

Art watches the way his legs slightly spread as Patrick looks up at him, his eyes a little darker.

"What are you looking at?" Art asks, acting like he has no idea.

"Nothing," Patrick regains composure, smiling, "stop stalling. What's the bet?"

“I have the perfect thing,” Art walks to the corner of the room, where an opened package rests, “you know that delivery I signed for?”

“Yeah?” Patrick confirms, curious.

It was the Uniqlo delivery he had signed for earlier, and whether it was because they had just sent the whole new line, or if it had been intended for Tashi he wasn’t sure, but part of the order had been a tennis skirt. It was too big for Tashi, and not her style either way so he wasn’t sure what to do with it - until now.

“This came in it,” he holds up the skirt, it’s white and pleated so it flares out slightly, a tasteful logo embroidered at the hem.

“A skirt,” Patrick sits up, clearly Art’s got his attention, “what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that the loser has to wear this skirt while we play some tennis,” Art watches Patrick grin in response, he examines the skirt, “looks about your size.”

“Really, I think it’s more your size,” Patrick seems thoroughly amused, walking over to Art with a hand outstretched, “so, loser has to wear this the whole time, one set?”

Art shakes his hand, “deal.”

“Honestly, Art, I wouldn’t worry, your legs will look great in that,” Patrick points to the skirt.

“I don’t have to worry, because I am 100% certain that I’m right,” Art is actually probably 90% sure at this point, but no way is he backing down from a chance to get one over on Patrick.

“Alright, pull up the clip and prepare to eat your words,” Patrick grins, eager. 

They use Art’s phone, eyes glued to the little screen, skipping to the crucial moment. They watch him, terrified look, cigarette in mouth, turn to captain Quint and then: ‘You’re gonna need a bigger boat.’

“Fuck off,” Patrick knocks Art’s phone out of his hand, but Art doesn’t even care. Victory feels so sweet. 

Art musters up all the condescension he can, smiling at Patrick, “honestly, Patrick, I wouldn’t worry, your legs will look great in that.”

Patrick just flops down onto the couch groaning.

Art laughs again, “what do you think you’re doing? We’ve got tennis to play.”

Patrick looks up at him, eyebrows raised, “what? Right now?”

“When else are we going to have a free house?” Art shrugs.

"Fine," he gets up again, "bet I'll still beat you anyway."

"Not sure you're in a position to be making any more bets," Art grins

They both get changed, Art lets Patrick get dressed in the bathroom, joking about ‘giving him some privacy’. Patrick goes reluctantly, but he doesn’t complain, one thing about Patrick is he’s very loyal to the rules of a bet. Art is having too much fun, it’s maybe a little childish but it’s leftover from when Patrick would always win these type of things, so he thinks he’s allowed to gloat just a little. Patrick would be doing the same in his position. 

Art waits for him by the back door, both of their rackets in hand, eager to get going. When Patrick emerges, Art doesn’t even look, not properly, all he can concentrate on is teasing Patrick. 

“It’s actually pretty comfortable,” Patrick comments.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll get a nice breeze,” Art just jokes back, “c’mon.”

He holds an arm out, gesturing for Patrick to go out first.

Patrick slips past him out the door, snorting and grabbing the racket from Art’s hand on the way, “chivalry isn’t dead.”

“I pride myself on being a gentleman,” Art watches Patrick give an uneven curtsy.

“Or maybe you want to walk behind so you can look at my ass,” Patrick calls over his shoulder, walking towards the courts.

Art chuckles again but once Patrick has fully turned around and he’s not focusing on being as smug as possible about winning the bet, he finally actually looks. At first he just notices how mismatched the outfit is, the black sleeveless top not going at all with the white of the skirt.

Once his eyes reach the skirt though, he can’t stop looking. It’s something about the way the hem brushes against the back of his thighs, just barely long enough to keep everything covered. If there was a gust of wind or if Patrick bent over, even a little, he would probably be exposed. Something swirls in Art’s stomach.

Nope. This is not going to be a thing. It’s just because he knows they’re not supposed to fuck, and anything forbidden becomes instantly hotter. Or maybe it’s a power thing. Yeah. He’s just getting horny over Patrick losing a bet and being forced to do what Art said. Still, to be careful he avoids looking the rest of the walk down.

He’s concentrating so much on not thinking about it that once they get to the courts he obviously doesn’t hear Patrick asking him a question.

“Hello, Earth to Art,” Patrick’s waving his racket, then smirking, “anything in particular making you so distracted?” 

“Nothing, I was just wondering if I should take pity on you,” Art keeps his eyes firmly at Patrick’s face, “how about we just do one game instead?”

Patrick looks at him suspiciously, “oh no, a deal’s a deal, I’ll play the whole set.”

“It’s your funeral,” Art shrugs, mustering up the best performance he can but Patrick is still eyeing him. He forgot how good Patrick is at reading him. It’s really fucking annoying.

Art serves first which should be good because he plays better that way and his serve is a strong point. His first serve is strong, and Patrick has to move quick to hit it back, lunging sideways to reach it. The movement makes the muscles in his thighs tense, fully on show for Art to see.

“0:15,” Patrick calls out. 

Art has entirely missed his return. It’s so stupid and it doesn’t even make sense. He’s seen Patrick’s thighs before. He’s literally seen him naked. He’s always worn shorts whilst playing, often incredibly tiny shorts that showed just as much skin as this, and sure the sight of it sometimes turned Art on but never like this. 

It’s just new, that’s why, he hasn’t seen Patrick in this before so it’s a little distracting that’s all. It’s fine. This is meant to be Patrick’s punishment for losing.

Art ignores Patrick, just focusing on the ball in his hand and the service box. It works, he hits the ball hard and fast into the top left of the box and Patrick tries and fails to hit back. 

“Shit,” Patrick grumbles, swinging his racket in annoyance. He does a quick turn to head back to baseline and the speed makes the fabric of the skirt float up a little. What the fuck is that?

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he can’t help but yell.

“Um, do you have amnesia or something?” Patrick calls back.

“I don’t mean the skirt, I mean,” he gestures with his racket, “what’s underneath it?”

“Oh, yeah, well my boxers were longer than the skirt so I thought I’d just borrow some of your panties instead,” Patrick sways his hips, “much more fitting, don’t you think?”

“They’re not panties, they’re briefs,” he defends, “and you can’t just steal my underwear.”

He doesn’t care about that, he’s just mad about how much it’s getting to him and it’s not like he can yell at Patrick for being too fucking hot right now. No, that would give Patrick too much satisfaction. But really, it’s unfair. The skirt and now the underwear, Art’s underwear that look even tinier when Patrick’s wearing them.

“It’s not stealing, it’s sharing. We already share a toothbrush so I figured it wouldn’t matter,” Patrick shrugs.

“We don’t share a toothbrush,” he snaps but then Patrick’s got this amused look on his face, he’s messing with him, “fuck off.”

“Hey, if it bothers you this much I can always just take the underwear off,” Patrick suggests.

“No,” Art replies quickly, because he wants him to keep wearing the underwear or because he’s scared about what would happen to him if Patrick was fully naked under the skirt, “let’s just keep playing.”

They do keep playing, and Art loses the first game, badly. 15:40. He just can’t focus. His eyes drawn to Patrick, the way the skirt fits, the hem at his legs. This delicate floaty material, and the thick expanse of his thighs, the dark hair against the white of the skirt. He keeps looking, making sure that he’s still covered whilst also desperately hoping to get another glimpse underneath. The game is both slow torture and incredibly quick, he’s not sure he’s ever lost one so fast. 

It’s Patrick’s turn to serve now, which is even worse. He throws the ball too high so he has to jump to hit it, which is definitely on purpose. It makes the skirt float up, revealing the tight black underwear again, the bulge definitely bigger now, the fabric straining more. Or maybe Art’s just projecting. Either way he can’t react in time. 15:0.

“Art, you do know you’re supposed to hit the ball back, right?” Patrick mocks, “have you forgotten how to play or is there something on your mind?”

“I’m just tired,” Art gets back into ready position, “probably getting bored because you’re taking so long to serve.”

Patrick grins especially wide and Art gets the sense that he’s messed up, only encouraging Patrick further. 

Patrick throws the ball up to serve, but ‘accidentally’ throws it backwards so it lands behind him, rolling to the back of the court, “oops, I better go pick that up.”

For his own sanity Art should look away but he’s not thinking clearly anymore, just watching Patrick reach for the ball. As he bends over the hem rises, first just brushing lightly, exposing a few more inches of skin. Then a brief moment when he fully bends over that Art can see his entire ass, his own underwear against Patrick’s skin.

This is the problem, it’s the perfect in between. Showing enough skin that Art can’t help but be turned on, but also covered enough that Art has to use his imagination. Imagining standing behind him right now, Patrick trying to pull the material back over himself but Art would push it back up, ripping down the underwear and just fucking into him. 

“I hope I didn’t show too much, I’d be so embarrassed if you saw my ass just now,” Patrick’s laughing, and Art hadn’t even realised he was stood up again.

“I wasn’t looking,” Art insists and it just makes Patrick chuckle harder.

“Nice grip,” Patrick comments, looking at Art’s hands.

Art looks down himself, both hands on his racket, gripping so tight his knuckles have gone white. He loosens the grip, has to actually shake his hands with how stiff they are from holding that tight.

“Just serve,” Art orders, and Patrick does.

Art loses this game even worse. 40:0. Not a single point. 

Patrick tries to serve again, “it’s my fucking serve,” Art snaps, not wanting anything to prolong this stupid bet any longer than necessary. Maybe he should just give up, lose on purpose so it can just be over. 

“Oh, my bad, that game was so quick I didn’t realise I’d already won,” Patrick knows exactly what to say to keep Art playing, there’s no way he’s throwing a game against Patrick. 

Art tells himself that he’s going to play better this game, and he actually manages another point before he loses his concentration again. 

Patrick’s prancing around, enjoying himself too much, talking about how he has “so much more movement in this skirt,” or how it’s just “so breathable.”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This was supposed to be humiliating for Patrick. It should be him embarrassed, and distracted while Art won the set with ease. Patrick unable to hit back, spending the game self-consciously pulling the skirt down and begging Art to take mercy. 

Instead, Art’s the one stood all flushed and embarrassingly hard, unable to get more than a couple points. It’s 15:40, and Art’s just hit his first serve into the net. If he misses his second, Patrick will win yet another game.

Patrick is swaying his hips, twisting side to side so the skirt flies up a little, “honestly, I don’t know how people who wear skirts don’t spend the whole time twirling around.”

“I need to serve,” Art tries to say but Patrick either doesn’t hear or just ignores him.

“This is so great, only downside is I can’t tie my shoelaces without giving everyone a show,” he starts to bend down, as if testing out how much he can without the entire skirt riding up.

The side profile is just as bad as being behind, the skirt slowly slipping up, showing more and more of the meat of Patrick’s thigh. Before it can get any higher, Art cuts in.

“Patrick,” he’s aiming for stern but it comes out all pleading, a borderline whine as if begging him to stop. 

“Problem?” Patrick is so pleased with himself, but he stops bending over.

“Just get into position,” he just about manages to not add a please to it.

“Which position would you like?” Patrick asks, dripping his words in suggestiveness. 

It’s so stupid and so completely the opposite of subtle, even for Patrick’s standards, but it’s like opening Pandora’s box. Like giving permission for his imagination to run wild. 

Art can’t take it, all these thoughts rushing to flood his brain. He wants Patrick on his knees, skirt fanning out all pretty across his thighs, eyes all glassy as Art fucks into his mouth. He’d stroke at Patrick’s curls, he’d swipe a thumb under his eye collecting the tears that form when Art pushes down his throat and he starts gagging. Art smiling down at him repeating, ‘it’s okay, I know you can take it’.

Maybe he’ll order Patrick to bend over, hands on the net, and Patrick will be so smug about getting him to finally crack until Art spanks him with his racket, wiping that smirk off his face. The black of Art’s underwear on him, the white of the skirt pushed up, then the pink of his ass. The visual makes him a little dizzy.

Fuck, he could sit in the chair on the sidelines, have Patrick in his lap like earlier. Art would pull himself out of his shorts, push Patrick’s underwear to the side and split Patrick open on his dick. Art would keep a tight arm around him, Patrick’s back pressed tight to Art’s front, holding him up straight as Patrick’s body goes weak with pleasure. 

He wouldn’t even fuck him, not properly, he’d just keep him held there, tight and warm around him. The skirt would drape over them both, covering it all, so they could pretend like Patrick was just innocently sitting on his lap. Only they would know that Art’s cock was actually inside him, pressing up against that bundle of nerves. It wouldn’t fool Tashi, not for a second, but maybe she’d get so horny she’d forgive them for breaking her rules.

Or, most humiliating is the way Art kind of just wants to push him down on his back and kiss him all over. Especially his legs. He wants to lick all the way up them, he wants to bite at his thighs, he wants to savor it all. Because Patrick always pisses him off, and Art often gets the urge to shove him down and teach him a lesson. He’s still pissed off now, but this time he’s got this need to make him feel good. Make him moan all pretty as Art shows off his skills, and Patrick’s thighs would be right on either side of his head. 

It’s the least filthy idea he’s had this whole time and yet it feels the most embarrassing. This thought swirling in his head where he’s not even thinking about getting himself off. Not right away at least. Just focusing on having Patrick, skirt and all, underneath him, pink all over from pleasure and Art’s the one making him feel that good. 

Art’s at his breaking point, he doesn’t care if Patrick is actually ready, physically can’t look at him to check, instead he just serves. The energy thrumming throughout him makes him hit too hard, the ball soars past the service box and Art loses the third game.

“Double fault,” Patrick calls out, overjoyed, “I guess you are tired? Maybe we should take a break?”

“Perfect,” Art mumbles out, making a beeline for one of the chairs at the sidelines.

He slumps down, taking a sip of water and staring straight ahead. He’s aware of Patrick moving next to him but he doesn’t turn, not until he feels Patrick get to the floor out of the corner of his eyes. He’s too curious, and when he looks he sees that Patrick is on all fours. Of course he is.

Instead of sitting on his chair like he’s supposed to, Patrick’s on his hands and knees reaching underneath it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Art has to ask.

“Can’t find my water bottle,” Patrick reaches further under the chair, his back arching making his ass stick out further, skirt riding up. Art’s jaw clenches.

He’s pretty sure Patrick hadn’t even brought a water bottle, and either way, they can both clearly see that there is absolutely nothing under that chair. He can’t even bring himself to yell all this at Patrick.

“Just, take mine,” he snaps, holding it out, “and stop fucking doing that.”

“Thanks, I’m really thirsty,” he gets off all fours, leaning back to rest on his knees instead as he takes the bottle from Art. 

Art doesn’t know if this position is better or worse than the last. Patrick tilts his head back, holding the water bottle above himself and squirting it into his mouth. Art watches the movement of his throat as he swallows, and the way some of the water misses his open mouth, dripping past his lips and down his neck. Worse. Definitely worse.

“Can you just sit normally,” Art watches Patrick put down the bottle and start to change position, but Art dreads what would be next so he changes his order, “or actually, how about you don’t sit on the floor at all?”

Art had meant for Patrick to go sit on his own chair, so that Art can just stare ahead and not think about him, and then maybe he can actually calm down. That’s what Art had intended, so of course that’s not what Patrick does.

"Fine, I should stretch anyway," he gets up, walking over to Art and putting a foot up on his chair.

"Patrick," he warns, his hands clenched tight at his sides, trying to ignore how close Patrick’s thigh is to his face.

"I need to put my foot somewhere sturdy," he shrugs, "my hamstrings get tight if I don't stretch." 

"Nobody has ever stretched like that," Art's words are lost on Patrick, who ignores them, lunging deeper.

The expanse of his thigh is right next to him, Art’s practically drooling, he wants to get a mouth on him so badly, to just bite at his flesh. He can’t be the one to actually give in, he doesn’t want to give Patrick the satisfaction and he needs to be able to shift the blame for breaking Tashi’s rules.

From this angle it would be so easy to slip a hand up the skirt, feel at Patrick’s crotch, see if he’s as hard as Art is. 

Speaking of that, Patrick looks down, “Jesus, no wonder you were playing so bad, that thing looks painful,” he eyes the way Art’s dick strains in his shorts, “I could help with that.”

“You need to stop,” Art’s hanging onto his last threads of restraint.

“That’s another thing about this skirt, it’s great for hiding a boner,” Patrick removes his leg and Art, foolishly, thinks he might actually be relenting.

Instead he returns, this time a knee on either side of Art’s thighs, straddling him. He sits up, hovering above Art's crotch, nothing actually touching Art’s dick yet.

“No grinding, remember,” Art reminds Patrick, so that he can tell Tashi, ‘I told him the rules, he just didn’t care’.

“I’m not,” Patrick says, but he lowers himself so that their crotches are now definitely pressed together.

Art’s hands snap up to grab his waist, holding him still, “don’t.”

“I’m just helping you cover up, look,” he tilts his head down, his skirt draped across both their laps, “perfectly innocent now. Nobody would know any different unless…”

Patrick trails off, his hand reaching for the hem, slowly dragging the fabric of the skirt upwards. It reveals that underneath Patrick definitely is just as hard as Art is, both of them pressed up together.

“Considering breaking any rules yet?” Patrick teases and Art is officially finished.

He moves one hand to the back of Patrick’s upper thigh, just below his ass, and the other to his lower back. Standing up, he once again lifts Patrick with him, and his legs instinctively wrap around Art’s waist. 

“Where are we going?” he asks into Art’s ear.

The answer is: not very far. Art is beyond desperate, he makes it a few steps before lowering Patrick down onto the court on his back. Art drapes himself on top, hips fitting between Patrick’s open legs. He finally, finally, brings their mouths together, kissing sloppier than usual.

Patrick just follows, happily licking into Art’s mouth, pulling back briefly to ask, “are we allowed to kiss?”

“Yeah, kissing’s fine,” he says into his mouth.

“You could’ve told me that before,” Patrick bites at his lip.

“I knew you’d take advantage,” Art bites back, a hand slipping up the side of Patrick’s thigh, up under the skirt. Fuck. 

“Thought we weren't allowed to touch under clothes?” Patrick asks.

“It’s not like I’m trying to undress you, it’s not my fault if my hand accidentally slips underneath a little,” Art can’t help himself, his hips pressing forwards against Patrick.

“Fair enough,” Patrick chuckles, then adds, “but you definitely said no dry humping.”

“It’s fine as long as we don’t finish,” Art’s making it up as he goes and Patrick nods in agreement, happy to go with however Art wants to bend the rules, as long as he’s the one bending them. Patrick’s pretty much off the hook now and Art can’t even bring himself to care.

He only pulls back when he realises he’s already getting close, and he just said they couldn’t get off like that. It’s fine though, he has other plans. He moves down Patrick’s body, everything speeding up and his mouth is at his knee, licking up and up his leg, stopping before his crotch. He does the same at the other side, then goes for the inner thighs, biting at the flesh. Patrick takes in a sharp inhale.

“Surely that’s not part of the rules,” he comments, propping himself up on his elbows, looking down at Art.

“You’re still dressed aren’t you?” Art just raises an eyebrow at him like it’s an obvious point.

“Yeah, I guess it’s fine,” Patrick breathes out.

Art goes further up the thigh, his head now underneath Patrick’s skirt, those thighs either side of his ears. Exactly where he wanted to be. The fabric covers him so that Patrick can’t see when Art suddenly licks a stripe up his dick, over his underwear. 

Patrick gasps, “fuck,” then, “what about the no blowjobs rule?”

“It’s not a blowjob. As long as it’s through the underwear, technically my mouth isn’t actually touching you,” Art reasons, and it isn’t a particularly sound argument but neither of them care.

“Makes sense to me,” Patrick agrees.

Art licks again and he feels Patrick relax, laying flat against the court again. God, this is fucking ridiculous. His head up Patrick’s skirt, licking him over his (Art’s) briefs, on the fucking tennis court. 

He moves more vigorously, tonguing all over, from his balls up the shaft to the head. He lets himself drool, getting the underwear all wet so it slips against Patrick’s dick even smoother. Patrick’s moaning quietly, shifting his hips, trying to push himself more against Art’s face. He lets Patrick essentially hump his face, keeping up his tonguing movements, occasionally sucking instead.

Then Art sucks at his tip through the material and Patrick gasps again, “shit,” he props himself up, pulling the skirt back to look at Art all desperate, “can’t you just blow me for real?”

 “We’ve been following the rules so well, no point stopping now,” Art smiles.

“I know, but I need something more,” Patrick bargains, “c’mon, what about a little fingering? Just slip in one finger, she’ll never know.”

“She’ll be able to tell if we lie,” Art argues, “so if we behave now, then when she asks if we followed her rules we can say yes, and it will be true.”

Well, truer than if Art actually did suck Patrick off properly. 

“I know, I just-” Patrick cuts himself off with a moan as Art licks at him again.

“We’ve been so good,” Art keeps licking between speaking, “as long as you keep the underwear on it’s fine. You can finish like this, can’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick breathes out.

“Shouldn’t even be doing this, I just couldn’t help myself, you looked so good,” Art rambles, “the skirt was driving me fucking crazy.”

“Art, please,” not asking for anything in particular, just wanting more. 

Art starts sucking through the fabric again, close to the head but not quite. Patrick whines, his hips bucking up.

“You need to be good,” Art reminds him, “you can cum like this.”

This time it isn’t a question, it’s an order, and Patrick manages out an “okay.”

Art presses harder with his tongue, swirling it around the most sensitive part. Patrick’s groaning, breathing quickly.

“I’m close,” he gets out, strained.

Art’s about to praise him but he can feel Patrick bringing a hand down, trying to get into his own underwear and touch himself. Art intercepts it, grabbing it and holding it down against the court.

“What happened to being good?” Art asks.

“I’m almost there, I don’t know if I can,” he’s squirming, trying to get friction. 

“You can,” Art assures, sucking again, “tell me you can.”

“I can.” 

Art focuses on licking at the tip again, it has Patrick thrusting up against him uncontrollably, and moaning louder. He switches to sucking, hard, directly at the head and now Patrick whines.

“Fuck, Art, shit,” his hips trying to move away from the intense feeling at the same time they try to press further into it, “I’m so close, I’m there, I’m going to-”

“You gonna cum?” he asks, a little smug, “you gonna be good, and finish in your panties for me?”

“Yes, yeah,” Patrick nods furiously, “for you.”

“Good girl,” spills out of Art, and then he’s bringing the tip back in his mouth. He sucks and swirls his tongue around it, and Patrick is moaning, his hips stuttering as they thrust up in sudden shock and pleasure.

Art feels a wet warmth spread across the fabric as Patrick orgasms. 

He pulls back, observing his work. Patrick's chest rising up and down, quickly. He's flushed all pink, hair sticking to his forehead. He can see the way Patrick's underwear are damp with his own cum and Art's spit. 

The sight is almost enough to make him forget what he just said. Almost. He feels himself turn pink, hot all over. 

"What the fuck," Patrick flings an arm over his face, still breathing heavy, and Art's slightly worried he's crossed some sort of line. 

Then Art watches a smile spread across his face, Patrick peaks out from behind his arm, grinning, "so you admit they're panties?"

Art laughs in relief, "fuck off," then looks Patrick up and down, "they are when you wear them."

He lifts himself up to sit properly, staring at Art's lap, "want me to help you get off?"

Art considers for a second, but if he rambled that embarrassingly just from getting Patrick off, he's scared of what he'd say if he was about to come himself.

"I shouldn't," he decides, "and you should probably shower, get rid of the evidence."

"Why do I need to hide anything, I thought you said this was all above board?" Patrick smirks. 

"It was," Art defends, standing up and reaching a hand out to help Patrick, "but it's not going to look very innocent, that's all."

Patrick takes it, letting Art drag him into a standing position, laughing, "didn't feel very innocent either."

Art shrugs, feeling a little more relaxed now he's at least partially got it out of his system. He's still hard but once he has a cold shower he'll calm down.

They decide to use the shower in the clubhouse next to the court. It's a small building, basically an oversized shed, with a few lockers, a bench, and a smattering of spare tennis equipment. It only has one shower, and they usually just head back to the house to clean up. 

It feels more convenient to use it this time, to get Patrick cleaned up and Art calmed down before they grab all their stuff to head back to the house. 

Patrick tries to lure Art into the shower with him, "it's so much more efficient to do it together, and better for the environment. Do you even care about the polar bears at all?" but Art knows it's a test of temptation that he would definitely fail.

Maybe if he can go without an orgasm he'll be able to twist the blame on Patrick still. If the need arises. Hopefully they can head back to the house and be waiting innocently on the couch when Tashi returns, so neither of them will have to take the blame for anything. 

Patrick hasn't mentioned what Art said, maybe he didn't hear it and Art's certainly not going to ask him about it. 

He sits on the bench, facing away from Patrick showering because he's meant to be calming down. Except now he's thinking about it. Good girl. And Patrick coming right after. Where the fuck did that even come from?

Art had almost finished himself, his hips pressing against the rough of the court. It was kind of humiliating, that he got off on it so much. He hadn't even intended to say it. A familiar combination of shame and arousal swirl together in his stomach.

That fucking skirt. 

He never should've made that bet. 

It's just he didn't anticipate getting so worked up. He can't let Patrick wear that again. He also can't go without it. He got one thing out of his system but his head is still brimming with ideas. 

He's supposed to be calming down but his dick strains as hard as ever against his shorts. Jerking off should be fine right? If he has no contact with Patrick whilst he's doing it? It might be bad for his health to hold it in, Tashi can't be mad at him for caring about his health, right?

Yeah, it makes enough sense in his head that he's already bringing a hand over his crotch, sighing in relief. 

Patrick turns the water off, and Art hears him step out. 

Patrick could always help out as visual aid, as long as he doesn't touch Art. The skirt is still here, and really it's only fair Art gets to cum too. 

"Maybe I should get off," he voices, "it might be suspicious if I'm hornier than you are."

Patrick snorts like he knows it's bullshit, but he indulges nonetheless, "I wish you'd said this before I showered but sure, that sounds right to me. What can I do for you?"

"You can't touch me but maybe I can just look at you?" Art suggests, uncertain, still pressing himself over his shorts. 

"You want me to just stand here while you stare at me and jerk off?" Patrick laughs in amusement, "oh, Art, I'm flattered."

"Not just stand there, I thought maybe you could put it back on?" He asks, hopeful and trying to hide his shame. 

"Put what back on?" Patrick plays dumb.

Art groans, "the fucking skirt, and you know that's what I meant."

Patrick grins, reaching for the skirt where he'd chucked it on the floor unceremoniously.

"Well, I'm not putting those panties back on, so it will have to be commando this time," Patrick tells him, stepping into the skirt and pulling it up, zipping once it's around his waist.

"That's fine, that's, yeah, fine," Art struggles out, rubbing harder at himself and he needs more, "it's fine to touch ourselves, don't you think?"

"You know the rules, you do what feels right," Patrick just shrugs, not giving Art the easy way out. 

He tries to just keep touching himself over the fabric but Patrick is there, only in the skirt and it's setting him alight again. For some reason the skirt feels more scandalous than just staring at him fully naked.

Art finally pulls himself out of his shorts, precum dripping from his neglected dick. Patrick eyes it appreciatively. 

"Should I be posing for you?" Patrick asks, half joking. 

"Stand with your hands against the wall," Art says too quick, knowing exactly what he wants. 

Patrick looks delightfully surprised at how fast he answers, and about how specific he is. He follows the order with a grin, turning to the wall of lockers, resting his hands against them, slightly bent as he sticks his ass out. 

Fuck. That was a bad idea. 

Before his brain catches up, Art finds himself behind Patrick. 

"I'm still not touching," Art reassures, even though Patrick hadn't asked.

He stands an inch behind him, dick in hand, staring at the way the skirt falls over his ass. He strokes himself slowly, trying to keep his distance. God, he wants to push the skirt up and jerk off until he comes all over Patrick's skin and the skirt at the same time. 

He slides his hand up and down his shaft a little faster, “want to cum all over your ass like this.”

Patrick hums, “and that’s allowed?”

“It’s not like we’re doing anything to each other. You’re standing and I’m jerking off, two separate things,” Art explains, “if when I cum, it accidentally lands on you, we can’t blame ourselves. You want it don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Patrick breathes out, “still wish you hadn’t made me shower first.”

“Hmm, you are really clean right now,” Art looks him over, skin still damp from the spray of water.

“And you want to dirty me up again, right?” Patrick teases.

Art does. Badly. He wants to get him all filthy. He also wants something else. Art's mouth is watering again. And Patrick had just showered. He's so clean right now. 

He moves a little closer.

"You just said no touching," he smirks at Art over his shoulder.

"I won't," Art promises, "not with my hands."

He lowers himself to his knees, slowly. 

"What are you doing?" Patrick's breath hitches.

"It's fine, I'm only using my mouth, and you already came so you're not getting off," Art justifies, reaching a hand to push the skirt up.

"Right," Patrick nods, "except you are literally using your hands right now."

"It's fine as long as I'm not touching your dick or fingering you, and you've got the skirt on so you're basically dressed," Art's definitely waffling at this point. 

"I'm starting to think you might not actually understand these rules," Patrick teases, "the excuses are getting real flimsy, dude."

"Who fucking cares?" Art finally gives in, bringing one hand to his own dick as his other goes to Patrick's ass, spreading him open so he can get his tongue at Patrick's rim.

Patrick moans in shock, swearing under his breath. Art swirls his tongue around his hole, jerking himself off at the same time. He doesn't know what it is about the skirt, but it makes him have this crazy urge to get his mouth on Patrick any way he can. Suddenly becoming the hottest thing he can imagine, just pushing the skirt away as he rims Patrick underneath it. 

“Fuck, you never do this,” Patrick sighs.

“Yes, I do,” Art pulls back to reply, a little indignantly. 

“Not like this,” and Patrick’s sort of right.

Art has done this a few times, got his mouth on Patrick’s hole, but usually as a way to tease him. To get Patrick worked up before he fucks him, if he’s feeling like he wants to drag it out. If Tashi wants to make Patrick squirm, she’ll direct Art into it as she touches Patrick everywhere except where he really wants.

This is different. He doesn’t even have a goal in mind. It’s not like Patrick's going to get that desperate since he already finished recently. It’s just Art couldn’t fucking help himself. Without thought he just wanted to sink to his knees and taste him, make Patrick feel good just because. 

“You don’t have to,” Patrick tells him, “might be a while before I finish.”

“I know,” he does, and he doesn’t care, “I just want to, need to.”

He licks fervently, a circle around then presses in with the tip of his tongue.

“Fuck,” Patrick gasps out, not quite hard yet but Art’s sure he’s on his way. 

Art keeps going, tonguing in and out, pushing past the tight ring of muscle. 

“Art,” Patrick is shaky, “I don’t think we can justify this one to Tashi.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Art repeats, giving him a bite to the ass, “she won’t know.”

“I think that’s the wrong answer,” a voice calls out and Art falls backwards trying to move away from Patrick, tucking his dick back in his shorts even though it’s too late.

“Shit,” Patrick removes his hands from the wall, turning to the doorway, “Tashi.”

She’s standing there, hands on hips, looking fucking gorgeous, obviously. She’s got a navy dress on, it’s one of the more casual ones in her collection, it buttons down the front and the hem sits just below the knee. 

“Who’s responsible for all this then?” she glares between them both.

Patrick doesn’t say anything but Art immediately defends, “it was Patrick.”

He turns to look down at Art, “you fucking snake.”

He can’t feel too guilty, it’s not like Patrick had been silent out of loyalty to Art, it’s just that he was never as bothered about defending himself, never really trying that hard to get out of trouble. Often wanting to do the opposite, in fact. 

“Snake, yes,” Tashi speaks slow, looking at Art, “and a fucking liar too.”

“I’m not,” Art tries and it makes Tashi laugh.

“Really, because from where I was standing it seemed like Patrick was the one who had enough sense to think about the rules, even with your tongue in his ass,” Art can see Patrick grin a little at Tashi’s words, “meanwhile, you were the one saying ‘who fucking cares?’”

Shit. Had she been standing there that long?

Art can’t even say anything, just sitting there, boner tenting his shorts still.

“Although, I’m sure he’s not entirely innocent either,” Tashi walks over to Patrick, feeling at the skirt, “why are you wearing this?”

“I lost a bet,” Patrick shrugs at her, amused now that the surprise has worn off.

“Why do I get the feeling that you made a bet that you would purposely lose, because you knew he’d cave seeing you in a skirt?” Tashi says to Patrick.

He smirks, “no, I wish I'd thought of it but this was also all him.”

Tashi for a moment seems impressed, looking at him vaguely proudly before her face shifts back to stern.

“That’s two strikes, Art. You’re not doing very well today, are you?” she tilts her head at him, “what did you think you were going to achieve by intentionally sabotaging yourself?” 

“I didn’t mean to, I thought it would be funny, I didn’t realise it would make me so…” he trails off, “I just wanted to embarrass him.”

“Right, because Patrick is famously easy to embarrass,” she snorts, and she’s absolutely right, he doesn’t know what was going through his head to think that Patrick would actually feel any type of shame from wearing a skirt, “and you seriously thought you wouldn’t get turned on by it? Are you stupid or just lying again?”

Art just ducks his head, face flushed.

Patrick laughs, “I think he was genuinely surprised about how horny he got.”

She looks down at the skirt again, thumbing the fabric, “so, what exactly were the rules for this punishment?”

“Loser has to wear it for one full set,” Patrick informs, letting her play with the material.

“And how far did you get?” Tashi asks, knowing that there was no way they actually managed it.

“Three games before Art was shoving me down on the tennis court and having his way with me,” Patrick grins, and Tashi’s eyes light up too.

She eyes Art again, “so you can’t even follow your own rules, huh?”

Art still doesn’t know what to say other than, “I tried.”

Tashi ignores it, “and you’re telling me that you’d already disobeyed me by fucking before that little scene I walked in on.”

“We didn’t technically fuck,” Patrick starts.

“We were good, we followed the rules,” Art interjects.

Tashi looks to Patrick for confirmation, he nods, “yeah, we were fully clothed, no touching, just his mouth.”

“I’m pretty sure I banned blowjobs,” she raises an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t a blowjob, I had underwear on the whole time,” Patrick smiles wide, “and Art didn’t even cum.”

“Jesus Christ,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, and looks over at Art, “and you still haven’t cum yet?”

He shakes his head and she nods in approval.

“That’s good,” Tashi thinks for a moment, “I think you should both finish the bet.”

“What?” Art asks from the floor.

“A chance for you to redeem yourself, prove that you can stick to your word,” she watches his blank face, “c’mon get up.”

He scrambles up quickly, still uncertain, “are you sure?”

“Yep,” she says, curtly, turning to Patrick, “you get dressed, and then both of you get out there and finish playing the full set.”

Patrick grabs the shirt he’d been wearing earlier, putting it on immediately, “alright.”

Tashi eyes his skirt, “when I say ‘get dressed’, that includes underwear.”

“Well, mine are kind of ruined from earlier,” he looks way too pleased with himself, “I’m happy to go without.”

She shakes her head, biting her lip, “no, you really should wear underwear with a skirt like that.”

Then Tashi does something which makes Art’s entire brain short circuit. She reaches under her dress, pulling down her panties, stepping out of them gracefully as she takes them off. She holds them out to Patrick, “here, you can borrow mine.”

What the fuck.

Art gets at least some satisfaction from the way Patrick seems just as affected as he is, Patrick stumbling on his words, “I, how, what?”

“Go on, you put them on the same as any other pair of underwear,” she’s smiling big, extremely pleased with their reactions, slightly condescending in her tone.

“Are they going to fit?” Art asks, and it feels like his ears are ringing with how dizzy it’s making him.

“It doesn’t matter,” she faces Patrick, “you’ll make it work, yeah?”

He nods at her, still in a slight daze. Taking the pair and stepping into them, he’s not as graceful as Tashi, needing to put an arm against the wall for balance. He manages to get them on but the skirt covers them before Art can get a proper look. 

“Show us,” Art can’t stop himself saying.

“Not yet,” Tashi orders, and Art sighs.

He tries to imagine it. The pair isn’t Tashi’s tiniest or the most lacy in her collection, they’re what she would consider casual, but Art would still call sexy. They’re navy, matching her dress, the front is made of cotton which is a good thing, much more forgiving to stretch over Patrick’s cock. God, he must be straining against it still. The material covering his ass is lace, just about see through. Art can’t fucking do this.

Tashi is walking to the doorway, Patrick following, but Art just stays planted still. 

“Tashi,” he pleads, “I can’t.”

She looks back at him, not giving him any pity, just smiling at him, “you can, and you will.”

In other words: you made your bed, now lie in it.

Standing on the other side of the net from Patrick feels even worse than before. He was already horny beyond belief before even stepping foot on the court and now he’s got Tashi sat on the sidelines watching them both. Patrick seems to have recovered from the shock and is now back to moving around the court like he fucking owns it. Like he’s never felt hotter.

Art feels like he blacks out the entire first game, Patrick is serving and he’s trying to hit back but honestly he’s not sure he’s even on the planet anymore. He keeps getting glimpses of the blue lace under the skirt. It had felt impossible when it was Patrick wearing his briefs, but it being Tashi’s panties is infinitely worse. 

Again he needs to bend Patrick over, push the panties to the side and fuck him. He needs to get under Tashi’s dress and eat her out. He can’t work out the logistics of it, how he can fuck Patrick whilst also having Tashi in his mouth. Maybe if he lays down on his back, Patrick could ride him and Tashi could sit on his face? But then he wouldn’t be able to see Patrick in a skirt falling apart on his dick. He wants and needs and can’t have. 

Patrick in panties. Patrick in Tashi’s clothes. Patrick in lace. Tashi sat with nothing on under her dress. 

He can’t breathe. He needs to be put down.

The score is 40:0, and Patrick’s throwing the ball up to serve.  

Art tries, he really does, he actually manages to hit the ball but it sails right into the net. Patrick wins another game.

“Nice form,” Tashi is calling out at him.

“Thought you hated my serve,” Patrick raises an eyebrow at her.

“I do,” she very obviously rakes her eyes up and down Patrick’s body, biting her lip as part of her performance. It’s a stupid innuendo. Art’s dick twitches.

They both grin at each other. How can they be so playful about this while Art feels like he’s going to bite a hole through his cheek.

“You’re a real pervert, you know that?” Patrick points his racket at her in a joking accusation.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she shrugs, slouching back in the chair, spreading her legs wider, keeping her eyes on Patrick.

“See how she objectifies me,” Patrick’s addressing him, but Art can’t possibly respond, he just stands there looking between them like a deer in the headlights. It makes them both laugh.

“Woah, it really is that bad,” Tashi tilts her head at him in amusement, “it’s your serve, Art.”

He nods, taking a ball from his pocket. He can do this. He clings onto the guise of playing a tennis match like a lifeline. Just think about tennis. Nothing else.

He plays minutely better, but still loses, 30:40 this time. He probably only gets those points because now Patrick’s distracted too, trying to catch a glimpse up Tashi’s dress.

Patrick’s up to serve again, and if he wins this game it will all be over. Art will be put out of his misery. He’ll also lose to Patrick, six games to his zero.

Again he tries to pull it together, and Tashi’s been calling out to him too, encouraging him. Except it doesn’t work because everytime he looks over at her he just starts thinking about how she doesn’t have any panties on. Then when he looks away he’s got Patrick in front of him, making him think about how Patrick does have panties on. It’s honestly torturous. 

He manages to get it together for one second, remembering Patrick’s backhand is a little weaker than his forehand. He hits a ball to Patrick’s left, and it works because his backhand isn’t precise enough, and the ball flies out as he hits it too hard. 40:15.

Tashi must notice what he’s done, she gives him a little nod of approval. 

“Patrick, I want you to win on a backhand,” she calls out to him, “you’ll get a treat if you do.”

Fuck, okay. If Patrick wins the next point, he’s won the set. If he wins it with a backhand, he’ll also get a reward. Art has to at least try to stop it.

Patrick serves, and Art puts all the will he has left into hitting it back. It’s a powerful shot, it flies towards the back corner on Patrick’s right. He’d have to run pretty fast to get it anyway, and he’ll definitely have to be fast if he wants to make it a backhand.

Inexplicably, Patrick manages it, darting sideways quick enough to get on the other side of the ball, hitting a backhand. The speed of his movement and the force of him skidding to a stop makes the skirt fly up. Art is fucked. The ball soars towards him, just about making it over the net, landing in before bouncing right past Art. It’s over.

He watches Patrick drop his racket, turning to face Tashi, bowing to her. She grins, beckoning him with her finger. Art just watches.

Patrick stands in front of Tashi, she smiles at him, “give me a twirl.”

He snorts, but does it, spinning around so the skirt fans out, “cute,” Tashi comments.

Cute is one word for it. Art has the urge to start gnawing at Patrick’s leg.

“So what’s my treat?” Patrick asks, and Tashi spreads her legs wider, pulling up the material of her dress a little further. 

He gets the idea, lowering himself to his knees. Art watches Patrick kiss up Tashi’s legs, pressing his lips at the soft brown of her inner thigh. He doesn’t know who he wants to be more. To have his lips against Tashi or to have Patrick’s against his own thighs. Or maybe he wants a secret third thing (to plow into Patrick from behind and watch as he eats Tashi out).

Art grinds his teeth, making himself ask, “can I?”

He doesn’t ask for anything specific. Doesn’t know what he’s allowed. Just wants something.

“You can watch, for now,” Tashi gestures for him to come closer.

For now. He can work with that.

Art doesn’t know where to stand, next to Tashi so he can look down at the sight of Patrick on his knees? No. He moves behind, getting to look at Patrick’s ass, and to see Tashi’s face.

Patrick adjusts his position, leaning forward into Tashi so he’s more on all fours than just his knees, except his hands grab at her outer thighs pulling her cunt closer to his mouth. When he finally gets a tongue on her, her eyes flutter shut for a second, before opening to look at Art. Again he’s paralysed with making a decision. He can’t pick where to look.

He eyes Tashi’s face, relaxing with pleasure. Then trails down to Patrick’s head buried between her thighs, and then down again. The whole reason he’s in this predicament in the first place.

The skirt does nothing to cover him up now, and Art stares at the lace clothing his ass, also not doing much to keep Patrick’s skin hidden. From this angle he can see the way Patrick’s dick spills out of the fabric. 

Art’s fists clench at either side, not allowed to do anything but stare. He enjoys watching a bit, it’s an infuriatingly arousing view, but that’s the problem. His patience has already been worn down to knife’s edge, he’s spent all afternoon inundated with arousing views. 

Tashi must see the desperate look on his face but she doesn’t say anything, she just puts a leg over Patrick’s shoulder, and a hand on the back of his head. She sighs at the new angle.

It’s Patrick who takes pity on him, without even seeing his face. 

He pulls back from Tashi to ask, “can Art join?” and when she hums uncertainly he adds, “he did come up with the skirt idea.”

Tashi looks at Art, then down at the skirt, then up again, “yeah, alright, he can join.”

Art moves quick, getting to his knees behind Patrick. He’s about to pull his shorts down when Tashi stops him

“What are you doing?” she asks and he just stares at her blankly. He doesn’t really know, other than that he needs his dick to touch something right fucking now, “did you think you were going to fuck him? We don’t even have any lube. And did you think you’ve earned that?”

“I don’t know,” he sounds desperate but he’s given up caring.

“Keep it in your pants,” she orders, “you’re allowed to dry hump and that’s it.”

He furrows his eyebrows at her, and she gets stern, “don’t give me that look. You’re lucky I’m allowing anything.”

Fine. It’s something at least. And he can grab Patrick’s ass as much as he likes. He does just that, rubbing his hand over it, feeling the lace, and the warmth of his skin. He brings his hands to Patrick’s hips and presses his crotch against him. Sighing in relief at the pressure against his dick, imagining that he was actually sinking inside him right now. 

He can hear the sounds of Patrick’s tongue lapping at Tashi’s pussy, it makes him thrust his hips forward. The movement pushing Patrick forward too, and Art can’t stop thrusting against him.

“Art,” Tashi scolds, “stop that.”

“I can’t,” he scowls and she glares at him, he slows down, “fine.”

He grips Patrick’s hips tight, probably leaving fingerprints, keeping Patrick still as he rubs against him. Still thrusting but now Patrick doesn’t move with him.

He could probably cum like this, could do it very easily. It just doesn’t feel fair. Yes he broke some rules but he never even got to finish from any of it, so really, doesn’t he deserve a bit more than to pathetically hump at Patrick’s ass.

Tashi’s letting out more and more sighs, and he can hear Patrick moaning against her, trying to push back against Art, fighting against his strong grip.

“C’mon Tashi, he clearly wants me to fuck him,” Art pleads.

“And whose fault is it that you can't?” she asks with an arched brow, “if you had prepared then maybe you would’ve brought lube down here.”

“I’ll go and get some now,” he bargains, although he’s not sure he could pry himself away.

“No, you don’t deserve it, you broke the rules,” she smiles, mean, “if you had behaved then maybe you would be inside him right now.”

“If I had behaved, we wouldn’t even be in this position in the first place,” he snaps.

Tashi doesn’t say anything back because it’s sort of true. If Art had been good there would be no skirt. No tennis court sex at all tonight.

Patrick pulls back, “just one finger, I need something.”

“Fine,” Tashi relents, bringing his head back against her.

She gives Art the go ahead with her eyes, and he’s sucking at his own finger, wetting it. He stops humping to pull the blue panties to the side, circling the damp finger before pushing in. 

Patrick groans, and the vibration of it makes Tashi moan quietly too. Art keeps pumping the finger in and out, still humping at Patrick, but just more at his thigh now rather than his ass. It’s better than how he pictured it, Patrick dressed like this, clenching around his finger and moaning into Tashi’s cunt.

Patrick doubles his efforts, licking at her faster, and Art can tell she’s getting close. He’s just so good like this, taking Art and pleasing Tashi. He can tell that Patrick wants more from the way he’s pushing back on Art’s finger. Tashi’s eyes flutter shut from pleasure, and Art takes the opportunity to slip another finger into Patrick. He would've gotten away with it if Patrick didn't let out this loud, surprised, moan.

Tashi’s eyes open, first looking down at Patrick, then at Art. He smiles at her innocently, but she notices the two fingers now pumping inside Patrick.

“Did I say you were allowed to do that?” she asks, rhetorically.

“He just looks so good, he deserved it, I could tell he needed it,” Art defends, not stopping his fingering.

Art’s a little shocked when Tashi laughs. 

“God, what is it about this skirt? It’s got you misbehaving, and it’s got Patrick being good,” she strokes a hand through his curls. 

Art raises an eyebrow, because Patrick hasn’t exactly been good. Just better than Art.

Tashi smiles, correcting herself, “alright, well it makes you want to treat him like he’s good anyway.”

Yeah. Yeah that’s exactly it. 

Patrick must start sucking at her clit because she’s making these telltale signs that she’s close, her hand gripped tight in his hair. 

She grinds her hips up against his face, “fuck, makes you want to call him a good girl,” then she’s shoving Patrick’s face against her, trembling as she comes.

Oh fuck. It takes everything in him not to come too. Tashi breathes out, slumping against the chair, almost boneless.

Tashi pulls Patrick away from her before she gets overstimulated, resting his head against her thigh. Patrick grins, “you guys really are similar.”

“What?” Tashi looks between them both, this alert searching look she gets when she’s missing information, Art stays silent so she looks down at Patrick again, “I don’t get it.”

Art fucks his fingers into Patrick faster, hoping to stop him talking, he moans but carries on.

“Art called me that too,” he says all smug, “turned bright red after.”

Art flushes. 

“Yeah, he looks pretty red right now too,” Tashi gives him this delighted look, “this skirt thing really has you fucked, huh?” which is unfair considering she’d also said the same thing.

“Patrick’s the one who came immediately when I said it,” Art argues.

“That’s not a shock, I’m only human,” Patrick chuckles, “what’s interesting is how much the two of you apparently want me to be your good girl.”

He wonders if Tashi feels as embarrassed as he does. Probably not.

“Art you can take your dick out,” Tashi’s telling him, and he wastes no time removing his fingers from Patrick and pulling his shorts and underwear down at once.

“Look, I can take a lot, but there’s no way I can take Art’s dick right now without some lube or a hell of a lot more stretching,” Patrick jokes.

“He’s not going to fuck you, I  just want him to come on you,” both boys moan a little, “knew you’d like that.”

Art doesn’t know what to do with himself now he can actually touch his dick against Patrick, he just grabs his hips rubbing his length on him. Already so close.

“You can touch yourself too, Patrick,” Tashi strokes at his hair, and Art watches Patrick reach into his underwear, pulling himself out.

He starts stroking himself quickly, “I’m almost there, already.”

“That’s okay, you’ve been so good already,” Tashi says sweetly and it makes Art shiver when she says good, on edge and full of shame, “I think Art’s close too.”

She just keeps talking, “look how pretty Patrick is for you, how he presents himself for you,” she says to Art, “what else can he do to get you to come?”

“I don’t know,” Art can barely think, reaching a hand around himself now.

“Arch your back a little more, Patrick,” she orders, and Patrick does, sticking his ass out even more, “and do you want him to come at the same time as you?”

Art nods frantically, not really understanding why Tashi's giving him what he wants all of a sudden.

“C’mon Patrick, you’ve got to hurry up if you want to come at the same time,” she leans down to whisper, but Art can still hear, “I know Art’s the one losing his mind but don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you get off on it too.”

"I get off on the fact that me wearing a skirt and panties gets you both off so much," he insists.

"Right, you get nothing out of this," She smirks down at him, "doesn't affect you at all to think about Art coming on you while you're in my lacy underwear, and a fucking mini skirt." 

Patrick moans pressing his face into Tashi's thigh.

"I should buy you your own set, I think you'd like that, maybe get Art to pick it out" she then looks up at Art, "Patrick would wear it for you, he'd be so good." 

And Art gets what Tashi's doing. She's trying to get him to say it. Art's not going to, he has a different idea instead. 

"You guys are fucking obsessed with getting me in girls underwear," Patrick manages to say, "think Art would die if I had a whole outfit on."

"No, I'd be ready next time," Art keeps jerking himself, now determined, "I'd fuck you properly, and Tashi would get her strap and she'd fuck you too."

Patrick groans again and Tashi's eyes snap up to meet Art's, an understanding passing between them. 

"I think you're the one that's obsessed, Patrick," Tashi looks down at him, "we could do it just like this, except I'd shove my dick down your throat while Art takes you from behind."

Patrick bites at Tashi's thigh.

Art lets go of himself, reaching around to replace Patrick's hand with his own, jerking him off. He can't bite at her anymore, his mouth falling open. 

"We'd ruin you, ruin all your outfits and keep buying more," he leans himself over Patrick, jerking him off and grinding at his ass again, "and you'd let us, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," Patrick moans into Tashi's lap, "gonna come."

"Art are you close too?" Tashi checks.

"Yeah, just want him to finish first, won't come on him until he does," Art keeps stroking.

"Patrick, you want to come?" She asks him.

"Already fucking said I did," Patrick grumbles out.

"Come on, don't be rude, I know you want to be good," she strokes his hair, "say it to me."

Patrick keeps his mouth shut.

"Patrick I'm going to stop touching you if you don't say it," Art warns, slowing down his movements. 

"Want to be good," he mumbles into Tashi's thigh, it's a start but not quite what they want.

Art speeds up again, looking at Tashi, she whispers to Patrick, "a good what?" 

He groans, shaking his head as much as he can in this position. 

"C'mon Patrick, I know you want to finish, I can get you over the edge if you just tell us what you are," he squeezes Patrick's dick not moving his hand.

Patrick still doesn't speak, so Art swipes a thumb over his tip, it's too sensitive and Patrick moans but he won't come from it, not without Art jerking him at the same time. 

Tashi watches with a grin, as Art swipes again making him whine. It's too much.

"What are you?" Tashi asks, and Art thumbs the head once more.

Patrick whimpers, then "I'm a good girl," he gasps out, and Art immediately resumes jerking.

Patrick thrusts forwards, spurting all over Art's hands, drooling in Tashi's lap as he trembles with it.

Art brings the hand, covered in Patrick's fluid to his own dick. He pushes up the skirt a little, then it only takes a few swipes and he's coming. White ropes shooting over the skirt, the lace underwear, and Patrick's ass. 

"Fuck," Art gasps out, the sight of it all sending another wave of pleasure through him, a little more dripping out of him onto the blue panties.

Art falls back catching his breath, and Patrick just stays with his head against Tashi. Probably hiding his face. There are some things which still embarrass him. 

Him and Patrick both breathe deeply for a while, Tashi looking pleased with her work.

She eventually breaks the silence, "what was the bet even about?"

Patrick mumbles out, "I don't remember anymore."

Art laughs, "it was about Jaws."

"Movie mashup?" Tashi asks.

"Yeah," Art smiles, "honest to God, we were just going to watch a movie while we waited for you."

Tashi laughs too, "we should watch one now."

"Mashup on three?" Patrick lifts his head up finally, then counts down, "1...2...3..."

Patrick picks Rocky, Art goes for Little Shop of Horrors, and Tashi lands on Bride of Frankenstein. 

It's a weird selection, with a somewhat perfect mashup.

"Rocky Horror Picture Show?" Tashi suggests.

"It is on theme," Art snorts. 

"Yeah, maybe we can get some inspiration for Patrick's next outfit," Tashi teases and Patrick groans.

"This is unfair, does nobody remember how embarrassing it was that Art got so horny he forgot how to play tennis?" Patrick complains.

"No, all I remember is you calling yourself a good girl and drooling in my lap over a handjob," Tashi jokes.

Art enjoys the fact that the teasing is off him for now, even though he knows he's probably never going to be able to live down the worst set of tennis he's ever played in his life.

All because he thought it would be funny to force Patrick to wear a skirt. 

They put on the movie, but end up falling asleep on the couch before it's over. Patrick goes first and before Art drifts off himself he can practically see the cogs turning in Tashi's head, plotting something. 

He can't help but feel they've both given her a secret weapon, a cheat code to get them under her thumb. He smiles to himself as he's pulled into deep sleep.

----

an: um. idk what the hell just happened guys. sorry about this one, hope you enjoyed :) part 2 with tashi buying patrick some proper lingerie.... I will start working on that