#not whatever the fuck you were doing before

[stellamarielu]

on the job

joel miller x female reader

summary: you and joel are forced to work together, but neither of you can get past the others stubborn attitude or contractor!joel and interior designer!reader fuck in a walk-in closet

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, pre outbreak!joel, he’s kind of a huge asshole sorry, teasing, degradation, dirty talk, slightly dubcon, fingering, use of nicknames such as princess sweetheart and good girl, finger sucking, unprotected p in v sex, rough sex, sex against a wall, kinda public sex bc it’s on a job site?? pull out game strong with this one

author’s note: based on this lovely request. i made joel a little mean bc it felt right but at the end of the day he will forever be babygirl. also, i know very little about both of these professions so i apologize for any inaccuracies in that department

You liked to think that you were easy to work with, always polite and mindful— pleasant even.

You mostly kept to yourself, especially when you were working on a project alongside others, however, not everyone shared your cooperative mindset.

In fact, you had worked with a multitude of assholes. Men who thought they held some kind of power over you, who flourished under the opportunity to demean and mock your job like theirs was more important, but none of them even held a candle to Joel Miller.

Your paths crossed when you were hired by a pretentious, middle-aged woman in Austin to help design the interior of her new home— a home that was still under construction.

To make yourself familiar with the layout, you visited the site multiple times in the weeks before construction was scheduled to finish.

It was always an easy and uneventful trip. You greeted the workers, took a few pictures, wrote down some dimensions and then you were gone in twenty minutes tops; but that all changed the day you met Joel. 

You waltzed into the house, waving to one of the men you had come to know from your previous visits and then you heard it, a deep berating voice targeted directly at you.

“Who the hell are you and why are you on my site without a fuckin’ hard hat?”

You stopped in your tracks as you were met with an unknown face. 

“Uh sorry. I’m working on an interior design project for the Johnson’s. They told me I was welcome to come check out the space if I needed anything.” You didn’t know why, but your voice was coming out in compliance, the tone hushed. 

The way this man approached you was incredibly entitled and unabashedly rude.

Normally you wouldn’t let some asshole like this get within two feet of you, let alone talk to you like that; but this guy had you questioning your morals for a split second. He was tall, and broad, and handsome. The southern drawl slipping from the smug curl of his lips and the flex of his biceps as his arms crossed over his chest, had your words stuttering.

“Well, until my job is finished, and the Johnson’s have the keys to their front door, I call the shots. And I don’t do well with unexpected visitors walkin’ around while my guys are trying to get work done.”

Your mouth nearly hung open at his words.

You’d barely said a word to him and he was coming at you with a disgustingly brash and assertive attitude. What the hell was his deal?

“Okay...” The word was drawn-out as it fell from your lips in annoyance.

“Well, it’s kind of funny, because this is probably the fifth time I’ve been here, and none of your guys seem to give a rats ass, so how about you let me do my job and I’ll let you do yours.” 

Finally, you had gotten past the stranger’s criminally good looks and stuck to your guns.

There was no way in hell you were going to let him reprimand you for doing your job. Afterall, you had every right to be here. 

“Yeah well, my guys will let you do whatever you want when you’re prancin’ around here in tight little dresses and high heels. You think they’re just bein’ nice for the hell of it?” 

His irritation was masked by amusement as he looked you up and down, dramatically raking his eyes over your body. 

“I don’t know who you think you are, but I’d really appreciate it if you could just drop the attitude and keep things professional.” The quality of your voice was stern, juxtaposing the way his eyes on your body had you suddenly feeling a rush of heat throughout your chest.

Anger.

The warmth was an angry fervor, definitely not one of lust or temptation. It was a burning irritation for the man standing in front of you, not a curious warmth for how his eyes clung to every curve of your body, taking his time drinking in any exposed skin.

His smile widened as he watched you falter under his stare. “I’ll drop my attitude when you drop yours sweetheart.”

“Listen, Mr-“

“Miller. Joel Miller.”

“Okay, Mr. Joel Miller. I have work to do, so I’m just going to walk past you, take a few notes and I’ll be out of your hair. Deal?” 

“Fine. But if I see you back here again you better be wearin’ a hard hat. Don’t need any trouble because you trip and hit your pretty little head.” He let his eyes wander down your body once more, his voice full of sarcasm.

“Yeah yeah, got it boss.” You scoffed as you pushed past his broad frame. You didn’t turn to look back, but you could practically feel his eyes burning into you as you swayed into the entry way, hoping it was the last time you’d ever have to speak to him.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

You ran into Joel a few more times, each meeting more infuriating and demeaning than the last. He always had a smart comment on his tongue or a mocking intention in his voice. 

Joel Miller had quickly become the bane of your existence; yet, for some reason there was a part of you, deep down, that always hoped to run into him when you went to scout out a new project for the house.   

Maybe because he was undeniably handsome, always walking around with a charming smirk on his lips and a devious glint in his big brown eyes. It was almost as if he were challenging you— seeing how far he could push you before you snapped. 

He continued to test your patience as you now stood in the giant walk-in closet off the primary bedroom.

You were trying to establish a color scheme sophisticated enough to fit Miss Johnson’s impossible to please pallet while Joel was making unnecessarily loud noises across the room.

He was far from graceful, the slamming and pounding of tools was all you could hear as he worked on one of the many intricate shoe shelves on the wall.

“I thought this side of the house was done.” You were speaking without looking in his direction, your eyes following the paint swatches on the wall. 

“Was.” Joel’s voice was gruff as he continued working.

“Until the queen decided she needed more storage for all her designer shit.” He was chuckling at his own words, side eyeing you from his spot kneeling on the floor. 

“You are genuinely the most unprofessional person I’ve ever met.” You dismissed his rude comment about the woman you were both employed by.

“That right?”

You refused to look at him, but you could hear the delight in his voice. 

“Absolutely.” Your response was curt, a quick and straight-forward delivery.

“Good.”

As if you couldn’t hate him more, the word leaving his lips had you turning your head sharply in his direction, an appalled expression plastered across your face. 

“God you get on my last nerve.”

“That right?” Again, his lips tugged into a smirk as he looked at you. 

You raised your brows in annoyance with a single nod of your head at his question.

“Good.” His voice was taunting as he watched you shake your head in frustration. 

You brought your eyes back to the wall in front of you, not giving Joel another second of your attention.

After a few seconds of silence his deep voice broke into the room. “You know, if you weren’t so uptight, maybe I’d ask you out for a drink sometime.” 

It took you a minute to register his words. Was he implying that he wanted to ask you on a date while insulting you at the same time? What a fucked-up, backhanded compliment; one that had your chest stirring with warmth.

“Well, I guess it’s too bad I’m such an high-strung bitch then.” Sarcasm dripped from your words as you kept your eyes trained ahead, your head spinning from Joel’s implicit interest. 

“I doubt you’d last one minute in the bar I’d take you to anyway.”

His comment had your head snapping back again. This time his eyes were already on you, waiting to see a reaction. 

“And why’s that?” Your voice cut through the room at his assumption. 

“Because it’s not exactly a five star establishment, and I think you’re just like all these pretentious fucks you work for.” He raised an eyebrow at you before turning back to the shelf in front of him, tending to a few finishing touches. 

“Always so put together, walking around here with your shoulders high.” He was nonchalant as he criticized you, hands busy taking measurements, not even paying an ounce of attention to the dirty look you were currently shooting at him from the other side of the room. 

“You think you’re better than everyone, but you’re just another pretty face with an overblown ego.”

There it was. The final blow that had your body tensing with anger.

You couldn’t believe that just a few seconds ago you were letting him flatter you, swooning under the smallest inkling of positivity he threw your way.

He was the worst kind of guy, the kind that built you up just to tear you down. The kind that wanted to make you feel worse about yourself so you would go running to him for a semblance of positive reinforcement.

Joel Miller liked the chase— thrived off being such a douchebag that women somehow ended up falling on their knees for him. But you, you weren’t going to be that woman. 

“Me? Talk about a massive-fucking-ego, take a look in the mirror Miller. You’re the one always making sure I know my place around here, acting like a fucking sociopath. It’s like you get off on being an asshole.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked directly at you, his expression unreadable, like your cruel words caused a switch in him to flip. 

“Maybe I do.”

“What?”

“Maybe I like gettin’ under your skin, watchin’ you get all flustered.” He spoke slowly, setting down his materials and standing to his feet.

“Think it’s kinda cute. You’re always tryin’ to act all big and bad, but I know I make you nervous. I can see it in the way you look at me.” He didn’t move, the smirk on his face causing your eyebrows to furrow in irritation. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, standing strong on your opinion that Joel was the world’s biggest asshole. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting his words get to you.

“You can stop wherever you’re going with this. I’m not here to play your little bullshit games, I’m here to do a job and get paid.”

“Who says you can’t have a little fun on the job?” His voice was laced with a deep seriousness as he set his tools down on one of the many shelves adorning the walls. You watched him over your shoulder but kept your back turned, your body still facing the wall.

“Turn around.” The command left his lips and you wanted to laugh at his attempt of authority but the sincerity in his voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“What? No-“

“C’mon sweetheart, I think we both know you like bein’ told what to do.” His voice cut you off, the signature smirk on his lips sending a buzz straight to your head.

You didn’t mean to, or maybe you did, but your body turned to face him, watching intently as he continued speaking. His broad frame emphatic as he stood across from you.

“I bet you like it, having someone boss you around. Makes you feel a little inferior.”

As the words left his lips he began walking toward you.

It was a casual stroll, not intense or threatening, yet you felt your pulse racing and your posture slumping at his advances.

“Oh please. You need a reality check Joel.” 

“Wanna give it to me princess?”

You kept the appearance of control as he continued moving forward, but internally you were fighting feelings of complete disarray.

You wanted to be offended— maybe even slap him across the face for his wildly inappropriate nickname and the implication of his words. But instead, you froze, his body now less than a foot away from yours and his words ringing in your ears. 

There was absolutely no denying the way his statement had your thighs clenching and your head spinning. Something in his delivery, smug and dirty with his eyes holding a perverted hunger and a promise of follow through, made you weak.

You kept your body from jolting when you felt the touch of his hand wrapping around your waist, finding purchase dangerously low on your back. 

“Bet you’ve never done anythin’ like this.” His voice was sturdy— rigid with power.

The weight of his hand was rough, his palm resting just above the curve of your ass. His touch was heavy yet temperate as he held you, softly pulling you’re your body further into his. 

“Lettin’ some guy you barely know put his hands all over you.”

You watched his eyes carefully, your lips parted but you couldn’t find any words to fill them. You weren’t sure if you wanted to tell him to stop or keep going. 

“Bet all the guys you hook up with are just as prim and proper as you. Can’t imagine that those dipshits graduating from UT with a business degree are fuckin’ you the right way.”

His other hand came to the small of your waist, the movement sending a faint gasp straight to your lips. Your reaction had Joel smirking, reinforcing his grip on your body.

“Probably don’t even know how to get you off.” 

“You’re disgusting.” Your voice was a whisper. The insult that you meant to hurl his way dissolved in a pitiful sigh at the way his fingertips were latching onto you.

“Am I? Bet you like that too.” This time he leaned in, causing his words to land directly in your ear, his breath warm on your neck.  

“Bet you want someone a little rough around the edges. Someone to fuck you real nice.” 

As he spoke, his fingers curled into your body. His grip on you constricting.

His frame pushed into yours, sending you shuffling backward until your back was met with the solid friction of the wall.

“Joel..” 

You were searching in your mind, trying to form an articulate sentence to explain why this was wrong; why you couldn’t be in this position with him.

But he had you trapped against the weight of his body— big and wide and rough.

Every single rational thought in your head dissipated, replaced by an instinctual need to have him fuck you against the wall of this ridiculously expensive closet.

He was right, you’d never done anything like this and the excitement of it— the risk, had your entire body burning with white-hot desire. 

“Tell me to stop and I will.” His hands were holding your hips, pressing you into the wall with his chest dangerously close to yours. 

“But I don’t think you want me to.” For a single second you could see an indication of honesty in his eyes as he looked you over, searching for any sign of distress on your face. And when he couldn’t find it, his stare narrowed and his hands held tighter, rotating your body in his grasp until your chest was pressed against the wall. 

“I think,” He leaned into you, your ass pushing against the bulge in his jeans as his hum landed on the skin right beneath your ear. 

“You want me to lift up this pretty little dress and fuck you nice and hard right here, against this wall.”

His hands found the hem of your dress, bringing it up just enough to bunch at your waist.

Your lower half was almost bare, the only clothing keeping your cunt from being fully exposed to him was the little black thong encasing the dripping mess that had now built up between your legs. It didn’t stop him from reaching between your bodies, pressing his thumb against your clothed entrance. 

“Fuck- you’re soaked princess.” The first word was a prolonged throaty groan, the rest of the sentence fumbling behind it. 

“How long you been thinkin’ bout this huh? Me touchin’ you, makin’ you beg for it.” He was having too much fun playing with you through your panties, his thumb threatening to dip into you even with the lace still covering your entrance.

He pushed against it, moving between your clothed folds and marveling at the wetness seeping through the material. 

“I’m not begging.” You managed to hiss out a response, turning your head to peer at him, your cheek nearly pressing against the wall. 

“Oh, so she’s always mouthy huh?” 

You watched the diabolical grin eat away at his face from the power trip of having you trapped under his weight.

You could talk-back all you wanted— be as bratty and uncooperative as possible, but it didn’t change the fact that he had you right where he wanted you. 

“Keep talkin’ baby, go on.” He innocently raised his brows at you, his voice taunting as the weight of his thumb danced between your legs.

“I Know you want this too. You act like you can’t stand me, but I see the way you look at me…” Your voice was quiet but strong as you held onto the last bit of composure you had left, using it to defy the man at your back.

You were trying your best not to lose your train of thought as you spoke. You wouldn’t give up the fight that easily, succumbing to his tempting words and lewd touches. You could tell Joel was used to getting his way and every muscle in your body ached to challenge him. 

“The way your eyes are glued to my ass every time I walk past you.” You glared over your shoulder as the words drifted off your lips in a gentle accusation. 

His dark chuckle filled the room as his eyes darted away from yours for a short second. Then his stare was back on you— more intense than before. The two of you watching each other, sitting in a pool of mutual revelation. 

You both knew it.

You knew since day one that there was a shared attraction, an unspoken sexual tension hidden behind rude words and unsavory exchanges.

What was happening now was just a detonation of built-up pressure that had been stewing for weeks; evident in the wetness at your core and the bulge in Joel’s jeans. 

“Anythin’ else you wanna say? Should probably get it all out before I have you all fucked-out on my cock.” His voice dropped to a low whisper as he hooked his thumb into your underwear, pulling the material to the side, not even bothering to take them off completely. 

A soft gasp slid from your lips at the cool air meeting your newly exposed center, the slick pooling at your entrance only adding to the airy sensation. 

“You’re so fucking arrogant.” 

The words barely left your lips when you felt his touch meet your core, his fingers spreading your arousal.

You had more to say to him, you wanted to tell him how annoying he was and how you had lost every ounce of decency by letting him talk to you this way, but the words were caught in your throat as he pushed two fingers into you. 

“Maybe I have good reason to be.” 

Your eyes were squeezed shut at the unexpected feeling of him filling you with his fingers, yet you could hear the smirk dripping in his voice.

“You ever think about that sweetheart?”

His words were impatient, the initial drive of his fingers into your entrance was rough, but now they slowly worked into you. His movements were careful— cautious even.

It was as if he wanted to take his time, watching your body and listening to the shaky breaths leave your lips.

His hand worked between your legs, searching for the exact technique that would send you spewing profanities and crumbling against the wall.  

He curled his fingertips at just the right spot, not too deep and not too forceful, just a gentle pulse that had an impulsive whimper pouring from your chest.

“Maybe I’m so arrogant because I know I’m good at what I do.” His words held a double meaning as he added a third finger to stroke your newfound sweet spot.

You almost yelped from the stretch, but you held it back as best you could, refusing to give him the gratification of your submission. 

The position he had you in; back arched and ass pushed out, made it almost embarrassingly easy for the addition of a third digit as he watched them to sink into you.

You couldn’t help but hum in approval as he stroked you repeatedly, rubbing against the inviting drawl of your walls. You tried not to lose yourself at his fingertips, knowing from the familiar coil of pleasure in your core that he could have you coming on his fingers at any given moment. 

“Thought you were gonna fuck me, huh?” Your voice was a string of moans as you tried your best to form a coherent sentence with his hand pushed between your bodies. 

As much as you didn’t want his movements to stop, you also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you finish when he’d barely even gotten his hands on you.

Knowing Joel, he would never let you live it down. He’d ride around on his metaphorical high horse and crown himself the king of female orgasms. So instead of letting him bring you to the precipice of release, you met him with a phrase of defiance. But your challenging words were really just a gateway to get what you wanted. You could put on a tough act, but at the end of the day Joel was right, you did want him to fuck you in way no one ever had— hungry and hard against the wall, right here in your client’s house.

In fact, the thought of it had taken over every fiber of your being. The anticipation of feeling him rail into you was clouding your judgement and coursing through your veins at an alarming speed. 

“Think you can take it?” His growl stuck in your ears as he pulled out of you. The lewd noises of his fingers plunging into the slick mess at your folds was quickly replaced by the sound of him fumbling with his belt buckle. 

“How d’you want it, huh baby? You the sentimental type? Want it nice and slow and deep? Or d’you just wanna be ruined? Want someone to be a little rough with ya?” He was asking, but you couldn’t help but note the rhetorical quality of his words as you heard the rustle of his jeans pushing down his thighs. 

“That’s sweet of you to give me choice, maybe you don’t like control as much as I thought- “

Your sarcastic remark was cut short at the abrupt stretch of Joel’s length slamming into you.

“Rough it is then.” His voice was a deep grunt echoing from behind you as he paused, giving you a split second to adjust before pulling back out and thrusting into you again. 

“Shit princess, didn’t think you’d be this fuckin’ tight.”

His voice swam with amusement and pleasure as he watched the way his dick fully disappeared into you with each thrust of his hips.

Hands pulled at your waist as you felt Joel drive deeper with every breathless groan floating off his lips. 

“Look at you, takin’ me like such a good girl.” The words weren’t sweet, instead they teased you, shooting out of his mouth with a mocking tenor. 

You couldn’t keep your body from reacting to his praise, albeit contemptuous, the words still held a deep truth about the situation unfolding against the wall of your shared employer’s closet. 

“Oh, you like that don’t ya? When I tell you what a good girl you are?” His voice was a broken growl of grunts and sighs as he fucked into you— vigorous and desperate.

His pace was unrelenting as he held onto your waist, pulling you back to meet him with every drive of his hips into yours. 

He let one of his hands travel up your body until he was reaching for your jaw, tilting your head up and back until your body was arched at a sinful angle.

“See, I knew you just needed a good fuck.” His groan was right in your ear now that he held your head close to his, the grip he had on your jaw was firm.

It was becoming impossible for you to keep quiet, the strength and depth of his thrusts were causing explicit moans to skate past yours lips.

The hand that Joel was using to hold your face was now maneuvering to your mouth in an effort to muffle the obscene sounds rolling off your tongue. Two of his fingers pushed at your lips, hooking into your mouth. 

“Knew that little attitude a’yours was all for show.”

You closed your lips around his digits as he railed into you, a guttural moan sliding up your throat and humming onto his fingers. 

“Fuck.” His fowl groan was a direct result of your soft mouth sucking around his fingers, mimicking the way you had his cock encased between your legs.

You invited his touch onto your tongue, swirling around his thick digits and sucking him in deeper, earning a prolonged sigh from Joel as he fucked into you even harder.

Each stroke of his cock had your body pressing further into the wall— his pace was mean and unyielding, like he had something to prove. 

With the hand not in your mouth, Joel reached around your body, his fingertips finding your clit and rubbing quick careless circles over the bundle of nerves.

Your body faltered under his touch, your knees slightly buckling, and if it weren’t for the weight of his body trapping you against the wall, you’d be a puddle on the floor. 

He slowed his pace slightly, taking his time to find that spot along your walls again. The one that he discovered just minutes ago when he was three fingers deep in your dripping cunt. 

Whines of approval vibrated against the pads of his fingertips still pressing down on your tongue. His hips began rocking into you at just the right angle— slow and deliberate, with the goal of feeling you coming undone on his cock. 

“That it baby? Right there?” Again, his words were a sadistic tease, but his voice gave way to pitiful throaty whines.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think with the way he was working you toward your release.

Everything felt so overwhelming, his unrelenting thrusts hitting you in the perfect place, his touch on your clit, rough and impatient and his fingers filling your mouth— all of it creating the perfect storm of inconceivable pleasure. 

A jolt of relief surged through your body as the pressure inside you snapped. You let yourself fall further into the wall as Joel’s name slipped from your mouth in a chant.

Hearing his name on your lips in such a distant and dazed voice, had Joel’s cock pulsing. Your walls were clenching from your climax, sucking him in deeper and he couldn’t handle the abundance of warmth enveloping him. 

Both of his hands came down to your hips, fingers digging into your skin as held tight.

His thrusts were merciless as he used you to reach his peak, chasing the familiar buildup of tension in his core as he drove into you at a startling pace. 

Then he pulled out abruptly. 

One hand on his cock, stroking just twice before spilling onto the skin of your lower back, the other pushing your dress further up your body to keep it from becoming a jizz painted mess. 

Silence filled the room.

Neither of you spoke as your hands pushed against the wall underneath your palms. You stayed pressed there, Joel’s body still behind you evident in the ragged breaths leaving his chest. 

Still no words were exchanged as you felt Joel take a step back, the warmth of his presence fading just slightly.

You dared to break your pleasure induced trance to look over your shoulder, only find him pulling his jeans back up his body and tightening his belt without even sparing you a glance.

You began to move until you were reminded of the thick warm mess resting on your back, keeping you from pulling your dress down.

Before you could do anything, Joel was back behind you, hooking his fingers into the waist band of your panties and tugging them down your legs. He stopped at your ankles to tap against your skin, prompting you to step out of them.

Once the lacy material was fully in his grasp, he brought them up to your lower back, using them to gather his spend. He cleaned his mess with the lacy material then pulled your dress back down to cover your lower half. A sticky residue was left on your backside as a plaguing reminder of what had just transpired between you. 

You turned to face him, watching as he crumpled up your ruined underwear and shoved it into his back pocket with a smirk on his face. 

“How about that drink? Could meet you tomorrow night, should be done here around five.” He was back across the room in an instant, gathering tools and not bothering to look in your direction.

His invitation was genuine, but his words lacked interest. 

“I’ll get these back to you then.” His hand came to rest on his back pocket, fingers tapping against the denim holding your used panties.

A self-righteous smile sat on his face as he shot you a look of pure deviance before his eyes were back on his hands as they worked to gather his materials. 

“Yeah, okay.” Your voice came out more flustered than you intended as you smoothed out your dress over your thighs.

Joel was heading for the closet door, tool bag clutched in his hand as he gave you one last gaze of victory.

“It’s a date.” The words were a grumble from his lips, the same ones that were busy parading a smug smile. 

Then he left you standing alone in the small room, your mind racing around itself and your legs still trembling.

A subtle grin rested on your face as you stared down at the floor, trying to find some sort of equilibrium before even attempting to move.

The giant walk-in closet still encasing a lingering heat of reckless choices as you prepared to go on with your day— business as usual.

my masterlist

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ ʜᴏᴛ ɢɪʀʟ ᴘʟᴀʏʟɪꜱᴛ: ᴍɪɴɢʏᴜ ♡

♡ Pairing: boyfriend!mingyu x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: smut/angst/fluff

♡ Summary: A night out with your boyfriend takes an unexpected turn when his ex shows up at the same party with her heart set on getting him back. After catching her flirting with him you run off, deciding to continue your night without him but Mingyu's not letting you go so easily. He comes after you with full intentions of showing you that you're the only girl he wants and he'll do whatever it takes to prove it.

♡ Warnings: drinking, mingyu has a lil switch energy, dirty talk, some very wet oral sex (f receiving), mingyu loves your clit, tongue fucking, pussy drunk mingyu, fingering, multiple orgasms, squirting, spanking, scratching, manhandling, unprotected sex, creampie, rough sex, pet names (baby, princess)

♡ A/N: Hello my darlings. This is the second entry or "track" in my Hot Girl Playlist series. This is the ✨masterlist✨ if you wanna check it out. As a chubby Mingyu biased babe I low-key had too much fun making this but, like, is that even possible? Anyways, I hope you have fun reading, my loves xoxoxo

“Bout 20 missed calls he faded. White boy wasted, Channing Tatum” - Megan thee Stallion

“Girl that man is blowing your phone up” your best friend smirks, squeezing in beside you to check herself out in the mirror. “What’d you lace your pussy with? Crack?” 

You almost snort laughing at her comment, “Shut the fuck up.”

“What?” she giggles, eyeing your phone as it vibrates on the edge of the sink, “It’s not my fault the boy’s addicted. You should answer him. You know how Min gets.”

Swiping a sultry nude gloss along the bow of your upper lip, you spare your phone a glance. It flashes a familiar name accompanied by a photo of you with the man in question. It’s a selfie from the last beach trip you took together. Your soft lips are pressed to his cheek and he’s making the cutest face, his nose scrunched up at the warmth your kiss sends rushing to his face. You vividly remember how happy the two of you were that day but right now happiness is the last thing that comes to mind when you think of him. 

Your phone stops ringing and for a moment there’s nothing. Only the muffled sound of music bleeding in from a party raging just beyond the door. And then another vibration. A text message.

Mingyu: Where are you? Did you leave? 

“He can get however he wants” you huff, shoving your phone into your purse, “He’ll get over it or he won’t. Either way.”

“Cold blooded” she teases, shaking her head, “Who knew you could be such a brat?”

A brat? You aren’t being a brat. Well, maybe a little but it’s not like you don’t have good reason to be. You know for a fact that she’d be livid if she were in your position. Five minutes. That’s how long you left Mingyu alone before his ex was all over him. You’ve never been ignorant to the possibility that he’d run into her again. They travel in the same social circles so it was bound to happen at some point. What you didn’t expect was for it to sting this much when it did. 

Your mind cruelly plays back the image of Mingyu’s ex cuddled up beside him on the couch, her fingertips at the ready to stroke his pecs through his shirt. To his credit, he did grab her by the wrist, saying something to her that you couldn’t quite make out. Whatever it was, it was clear from the look on her face that she didn’t like it, but it wasn’t until she noticed you approaching that she scurried back to where she came from.

He swore on his life that it was nothing. She’d come over flirting, he told her he had a girlfriend, and that was the end of it. But you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing him as to why she felt so comfortable coming over to begin with. Why was he just sitting there? Why didn’t he kick her clean across the room before she even managed to get that close?

Maybe that last one was a bit irrational but you were pissed. Making sense was the last thing on your mind. You walked off before he could answer, deciding that you weren’t gonna let this ruin your night out. If he wanted to stick around he had his own friends to hang with. You’d go off and do your own thing. You look way too good in this dress to let it go to waste. 

Mingyu started blowing your phone up almost immediately. Call after call with frantic texts sprinkled in between. You were positive that he must be searching every floor of this house to find you but you couldn’t be bothered to care. Not when you were busy downing shots and shaking ass on your bestie like she was your man. That distracted you from your emotions long enough but staring at your reflection in the mirror now you feel your gut twisting, a hint of sadness lingering behind your eyes. 

“I’m heading back out. You ready?” your best friend asks, heading for the door. 

You force a smile, pretending to dig through your purse for something. “I’ll be out in a sec. Meet me downstairs by the bar?”

“Fine but hurry up. I told those dudes we’d kick their asses in beer pong and I refuse to be proven wrong.”

“Because god forbid we ruin your beloved beer pong streak” you tease and she lovingly flips you off on her way out.

You keep that fake smile plastered on your face until you’re sure she’s gone and the second she is you deflate. You want so badly to keep up the facade of a girl unphased by anything but you’re phased. You’re phased so hard and nothing can change that. No amount of shots will make you forget how your heart sunk to the floor at the sight of them together.

You recall hearing that his ex was a model. She’d walked at New York Fashion Week once and made it into a few ads. By the looks of her you can believe it. It hurts to admit but the girl was gorgeous. What if, somewhere in the back of Mingyu’s mind, seeing her made him regret his decision? Your spiraling thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the bathroom door that forces you out of your own head. 

“Someone’s in here!” you shout but the door knob’s still turning. Thank god you aren’t on the toilet right now. “I said someone’s in here!”

“I heard you,” Mingyu says as he forces his way inside, slamming the door behind him.

He gives you no time to process, pinning you against the sink before you can react. Muscular arms cage you in on each side, as his dark eyes stare into yours, his gaze sharp enough to slice you to pieces.

“I’ve called you, like, 20 times. Why aren’t you answering?”

You sigh, in no mood to be interrogated, “I don’t know, Min. I haven’t really been checking my phone.”

Mingyu sucks his teeth, the veins in his arms flexing as his grip tightens around the edge of the sink. “That’s bullshit. I know you’ve been ignoring me.”

You can tell by the rosy tint of his cheeks that he’s been drinking more than he should. If you’re being honest, you have been too. The mature thing would be to wait until you’re both sober to have this conversation but that ship has sailed. 

“I haven’t been ignoring you, you’re just wasted and paranoid” you snap, seeing nothing wrong with a bit of gaslighting under the circumstances. 

“Wasted and paranoid?” he scoffs, “Projecting a little bit aren’t we?” 

“Oh, fuck you. Get off me.”

You place your hands on his chest with every intention to push him away but when he hangs his head, regret washing over his face, you can’t bring yourself to do it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry” he says through a curtain of silky dark hair, “I shouldn’t have said that. I just don’t want you to be mad at me.” 

“I don’t know how to not be mad, Min” you say, the sincerity in his voice tugging at your heartstrings, “I thought that part of your life was over.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair, meeting your eyes with a gaze that’s much softer now. “It is over. It has been for a long time. If I knew she was gonna be here we never would’ve come. That girl doesn’t mean anything to me. You’re the only one who does.”

When you turn your head away leaving a long span of silence where your words should be, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look at him. His thumb sweeps gently across your cheek and you melt like ice cream on a sunny day. You aren’t sure if it’s the alcohol or the ex thing but you’re hit with a sudden wave of emotion, tears welling up in your eyes.

“I just don’t want you to regret choosing me” you confess, your voice breaking as you fight back tears. 

Mingyu can never stand to see you cry and it breaks him to know that you might, especially over something like this. “How can I regret choosing you when you aren’t optional? It’s not her or you. It’s just you. I love you. You have to know that.” You sniffle, a tear racing over the curve of your cheek. Mingyu wipes it away, the pad of his thumb soothing the spot where it fell.

“Tell me you know that” he pleads, leaning in to brush his lips against yours, “I love you. What do I have to do for you to believe me? You want me to get down on my knees?” 

“I—” you start to speak but he’s already dropping to his knees, looking up at you with the sweetest doe eyes. “Get up off the floor.”

Mingyu rests his chin against the softness of your thighs, delighting in their warmth. “No. Not until you believe me” he says, planting tender kisses where your thighs meet, “If my word’s not good enough maybe my actions can be.” 

You snake your fingers through his hair, gently tugging his head back but his lips are drawn to your body like magnets. They’re back on you in an instant, his tongue dragging across the surface of your skin as his lips find their way to the hem of your dress. You watch with bated breath as Mingyu grabs you by the hips, gathering the fabric of your dress between his fingers. He raises it little by little, each kiss inching him closer and closer to his final destination. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, your body tingling in all the places his lips meet. 

How demure of you to ask that question when you already know the answer. You know very well why he’s pushing this skin tight black dress up over your waist, his tongue teasing the silk trim of your panties. The emotions you’re feeling tonight are enough to give you whiplash. One minute you’re storming off, the next you’re on the verge of tears, and now your pussy’s wetter than a faucet. What’s a girl to do? 

Throwing one of your legs over his shoulder, Mingyu buries his face between your thighs, his nose grazing the spot where your stiff little clit has just begun to throb. He nuzzles against it, sending faint notes of pleasure rippling through you. 

He draws in a deep breath, salivating at your scent. “You always smell so fucking good, baby” he hums, stroking the growing wet spot in your panties. “Always so wet for me too.” 

Mingyu tucks your panties to the side and you release the lightest moan at the sensation of the cool air meeting your dripping core. At the same time your nipples tighten behind the fabric of your dress and the combination leaves you purring. Your boyfriend’s not faring any better. He was hard before he got down here, just the thought of tasting you had gotten him there, but seeing your pussy be so pretty and wet has his cock pulsing against the unforgiving material of his pants. 

If only you could feel how badly he wants you—how he craves you every day in more ways than one—maybe then you wouldn’t question his devotion. When you wouldn’t answer his calls he swore up and down that he wouldn’t just let you get away with it only to fold for you in under a minute. He’s quite literally on his knees for you but there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. 

“Aah, Min…” you whine when he plunges a finger into your warmth. 

Your purse tumbles to the ground, the contents spilling across the tile floor as you prop your elbows back up against the sink. A clumsy attempt at keeping your trembling body from giving out on you. It’s mind blowing how just one finger can feel this good. How such delicate strokes can make your walls clench so tightly. 

“You want more?” Mingyu asks, glancing up to you. He already has the next finger at the ready, ghosting your slit. You rock your hips towards that sickeningly handsome face of his and he sticks his tongue out, letting it glide over your clit. “Use your words, princess. I need you to say it. You want one more?” He introduces a third, stretching you open just enough to tease you with them. “Two more?” 

Your pussy’s aching, your walls fluttering wildly, doing everything to draw him in. You part your lips and the sexiest, neediest voice comes out. “Mmm, two more. Please, Min.”

Mingyu smiles, giving you exactly what you asked for. You were so polite with it. How could he ever deny you? It takes little effort on his part to guide the other two into you. Your pussy’s so eager that it sucks them right up, your juices saturating his fingers so that every movement makes a delicious squelching sound. It’d be a nice form of payback to toy with you for a while—make you beg for his attention after denying him of yours for the past hour—but that’d be torturing himself too. The taste of your clit lingers on his tongue and he knows that if he doesn’t have more he’ll go insane. 

His mouth crashes into you, his tongue hungrily lapping at your pussy like it’s the first thing he’s had all night. It may not be the first thing but it’s hands down the best. The satisfied groans he makes while circling your clit do more than enough to tell you so. It’s hard to keep yourself upright when he’s eating you out like this, his fingers drilling into you, stretching you so perfectly that your thigh’s quaking on his shoulder. You press your lips together, doing your best to keep quiet, but Mingyu will have none of that. He knows exactly where your sweet spot is and he hits it every time, destroying any chance you have at being quiet. 

“Don’t hold back, baby” he coos, pulling back to show you a face drenched in your juices, “I wanna hear all those pretty moans while you come on my face.” 

Slipping his fingers out of you, Mingyu grips your hips, lifting you onto the counter like it’s nothing. It stings when your plush ass hits the polished marble but there’s no time to process if there’s truly any pain. Mingyu’s hands are on your thighs, dragging you to the edge of the counter and spreading your legs wide. He dives back in, his tongue filling the space where his fingers once were. With one hand full of your soft belly, he uses the other to play with your clit, pressing down on the bud as his tongue rides the ridges of your walls.

You let your moans flow freely, all of the shyness leaving your body the moment his tongue enters it. You catch yourself feeling light headed and you know for sure this time that it isn’t the alcohol. Your hips stutter and Mingyu locks eyes with you, both of you knowing how dangerously close you are to your high. He moves faster—messier—slurping you down. You extend a shaky hand between your legs, lovingly petting his cheek as he pushes you to the brink. 

He locks his arms around your thighs, forcing you to stay in place while you squirt down his throat. Your body twists in his grip but it’s no match for his strength. You can’t run from this. He wants you to feel it and fuck do you feel it. Your vision goes blurry and you swear you go deaf for a minute. By the time you’re coming down you aren’t even sure which planet you’re on.

Mingyu takes his time standing up, getting his last few licks in as he rises. He’s so drunk off of your pussy that the room’s spinning a bit when he comes up. He clings to the counter for support, his lips glistening with your cum as he stands over you looking like he wants more. Sitting up, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in for a sloppy, breathless kiss that tastes entirely of you. 

“You said you love me, Min?” you whisper between his lips. You sneak a hand between the two of you, rolling your palm against his bulge. 

Mingyu nods, moaning as he leans into your touch, “Mmhmm, love you so much.”

Popping the button on his jeans open, you slide the zipper down, dipping a hand into his boxers to stroke his length. “Then fuck me like you do.”

Your words are like gasoline to a flame that’s been raging inside of him since he planted that first kiss on your thigh. You’ve barely even finished your sentence when he’s sliding you off the counter, the back of your dress bunched up in his hand as he bends you over the sink. 

“Ooh, someone’s excited” you giggle, squealing as he snatches your panties down hard enough to make them rip. “I hope you know you’re buying me new ones.” 

You poke your ass out and he gives it a harsh slap just to watch it jiggle. “Keep being this cute and I’ll buy you whatever you want.” 

“In that case, I did see some shoes I liked the other day and…aaah” 

Mingyu rubs the tip of his cock against your entrance and you’re dizzier than you've ever been. He’s not even in yet, just barely stretching you open, but you’re so sensitive from your last orgasm that a light breeze could make you shiver.

Mingyu’s eyes flit back and forth between two visions he wishes he could burn into his brain. First there’s the reflection of you in the mirror, so pretty your bottom lip wedged between your teeth, hips rocking as he presses into you. And then there’s that glorious space between your legs, so creamy and warm, trickling juices with every inch it’s fed. The whimper that escapes him when he bottoms out makes you clamp down on him, his cock twitching in your core, his arousal slicking your walls. 

Grabbing your ass cheeks, he spreads you open, stretching you wider. “You know who this cock belongs to. Don’t you, baby?” 

“I…I don’t know” you tease, “Is it mine?” 

Mingyu draws back a bit, thrusting into you so that your lush breasts bounce from the impact. “You tell me.” He pulls back again, his hips snapping into you even rougher. “Does it feel like it’s yours?”

“Aah, fuck, yes it’s mine” you moan, heels scraping against the tile as your back arches.

He rewards a good answer with an increase in pace, each stroke faster than the last. If Mingyu had to compare being inside you to any feeling in the world he wouldn’t be able to do it. His brain can’t grasp a single thing on this planet that can even come close to this. You could stimulate all his senses at one time, flood them with every pleasure known to man, and it’d still be nothing compared to you.

In the midst of your own bliss you catch glimpses of him behind you, fucking you like it’s all he was ever made for. He’s ready to unravel over you and the knowledge of what you’re doing to him only heightens what you feel. 

“Love you, Min” you whisper back at him, properly returning his affection for the first time tonight. You say it like you mean it. Your insecurities wilting away to leave nothing but pure admiration for the man who loves you. 

It hits Mingyu hard, the pressure inside of him reaching its peak. He clenches his teeth, nails scraping along the swollen flesh of your ass. He’s holding back so hard that it hurts, refusing to let himself reach his high before you do. 

Reaching behind you, you gently stroke the back of his hand, “Come for me, mmph, wanna feel you.” 

Your voice rings in his ears, making him lose any shred of sanity he had left. Hot ropes of cum spurt from the head of his cock, hitting you right where it needs to and you’re falling apart right along with him. Mingyu doesn’t let up on you, the juices spilling from your walls only making him want you more. No matter how messy—how sticky, how wet—he wants every bit of you until there’s nothing left. 

“Fuck, I think I’m dying” he gasps, his heart pounding as he peels himself away from you. He’s only halfway through fixing his pants when his balance gives out and he slumps to the floor. 

You turn around to find him sitting there, your own limbs barely keeping you up. “You’re not dying. You’re just dehydrated. Want some water?”

Lugging yourself over to him, you collapse onto his lap and he doesn’t hesitate to take you into his arms. You rest your head on his shoulder and he takes your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. 

“No thank you. I already have what I want” he smiles, kissing your inner wrist. 

You want to scold him—tell him that no, actually he does need some water—but you let it go. Choosing instead to enjoy the warmth of being in his arms as his kisses make their way from your wrist to your fingertips. Mingyu worships you, honestly and truly, and it’s about time you just let him. 

[dillydally6969]

CROWNED .ᐟ 𝓝AT SCATORCCIO

♱ fighting situationship!nat for the antler queen title, where you eventually knock her off the tip of the food chain

♱ cw; yj s3 spoilers, harsh language, angst, implied f!r, shauna storyline if u squint, >5k words

“loser says ‘what’.” mari snarked, brushing past shauna.

the butcher was about to snap back before nat jogged on-scene, shaking her head and shooting the raven-haired girl a disapproving glare. “knock it off, mar!”

upon hearing your lover’s voice, you looked up from your shared hut. mapping a route for the next hunt seemed far less interesting when the usual bickering began escalating.

“i’ll kill you, just give me a fucking reason-!” shauna yelled.

natalie rushed to physically keep the brunette from lunging at a timid mari. she held shauna by her sides, but her smaller frame gave her a slight disadvantage as the blonde struggled to hold her back. mari’s face dropped in a flash of panic before brushing it off with a scoff. “jesus, you’re a fucking psycho!”

“hey, hey, hey!” you barked, pouncing to your feet.

the others ceased whatever they were occupied with prior to the hassle, watching as you jogged over.

“shauna--hey! walk it off,” you hissed in shauna’s face, a hand on her chest as nat stepped back to brush herself off. you turned to see the blonde standing beside mari, hands on her hips as she made sure the taller was okay.

you glanced between the two of them. you grunted, “what the fuck are you two, children? get your fucking shit together.”

you caught the murderous glint in shauna’s eyes, and she was ready to do something she’d regret. it wasn’t the fact she was so willing to resort to violence that bothered you, no, it was the fact she was looking straight at nat.

your presence commanded the room, even in moments when things fell silent. nobody dared speak up, speak against you.

“y’know, this beef between you two is getting real old. and since the two of you want to act like children, you’ll be punished like it. i don’t want to see either of you in the same area again. i don’t care if you need to eat, piss or sleep, i don’t want you two within a fucking hair of each other. am i clear?”

neither of them responded, averting their gazes elsewhere.

“did i make myself fucking clear?” you repeated, a grumbled ‘yes’ and ‘whatever’ came from them before they dispersed.

once the grounds cleared and everybody returned to their duties, you eyed nat out of the corner of her eye. she sighed, hurt flashing in her eye as she turned to walk away, a hand on her head, fondling the edge of her bandana. “nat, i--!”

“i had it.” she mumbled softly, “you didn’t need to do all that.”

you know, for somebody who really didn’t like being queen, she sure had a problem when you stepped in to help. you knew her, and you knew the last thing she wanted was to be the leader of these animals when it came down to it. but whenever you’d try and share the seat, take some things off her shoulders, she’d get thrusted into a sour mood for the rest of the day. you sometimes wondered if she secretly resented you for doing her job just that much better than her.

“i was just trying to help,” you replied, following her as she walked back towards your hut. “nat--shauna was damn near about to cave your head in.”

“she wouldn’t have, okay? y’know what? it’s fine. thanks.”

she scurried through the opening to your hut, plopping down onto the makeshift bed of compiled cushions and worn clothes. you were left standing outside, watching as she went out of her way to ignore your insistent gaze.

you scoffed in disbelief at her attitude, spinning on your heel. you caught lottie’s eye from across the camp.

the girl beckoned you over with a single nod of her head, a mug in one hand as she adjusted the shawl draped over her shoulders with the other. you sauntered over, your hands on your hips. upon her patting the bench cloaked with flannels sewn into a table mat, you took a seat across from lottie.

“your influence is growing, y/n. it’s testing you.”

“yeah, this is on me for thinking you had something actually meaningful to say.” you ran a hand through your hair, ready to stand. “i’m not in the mood for your wilderness bullshit, lottie.”

“winter is coming, y/n, nat’s tranquil style of leadership may thrive in the spring, but she will be buried, along with all else under her hand once snow falls.” lottie reasoned.

you froze. your grip on the table cloth tightening.

“lottie, this wacky hippie shit is fine away from camp. i don’t care if you waste the better part of most days to sneak off with travis on your weird little sexcapades, but i’d appreciate if you’d show nat the respect she is owed.” you stood, nodding down at her, “thanks for the news flash.”

“you’re not stupid, y/n. you know her time is running out.”

“bye, lottie.” you called over your shoulder, sauntering your way back to your hut to finish routing the next hunt.

truth be told, you had begun doubting nat’s control over the peace yourself a while back. from the beginning, since lottie constructed the whole tier with her schizophrenic episodes, you had begun your subconscious climb to the top.

you knew, the moment nat drew the queen of hearts last winter that she was going to die, or she was to be crowned.

though you could not have been more thankful the latter happened, you knew nat was not mentally built to sustain the burdens she was forced to bore from her manifested guilt.

but antler queen nat wasn’t the nat you thought you knew.

she rarely spent time with you alone, always finding excuses to escape being intimate--sometimes, it’s not even physical intimacy. you’ll have a long, hard day at hunting and come home craving a night by the fire, beside the tawny-eyed beauty you spent the day thinking about, just savouring the crisp night air. but no. there was always something greater, something in need of her more than you were.

it was driving a wedge between you. and the others were starting to take notice as well.

as you disappeared into your hut, two pairs of eyes from the water station had been following your frame the entire time.

“damn, y/n should yell at me next, that was kinda hot.” van commented, earning a tiny shove to the arm from her girlfriend. “ow--hey! i’m just saying, why is nat even antler queen anymore? y/n’s the one who’s got shauna on a leash.”

tai groaned, “it’s just one of those unspoken things, alright? everybody knows it’s only a matter of time before y/n goes all nevermind on nat’s dangerous.”

the redhead shot the taller an amused look, “did you just make a nirvana versus mj reference?”

tai rolled her eyes, “shut up. my point is, don’t talk about it.”

“but, why? she’s not even hunting anymore, she just acts like the boss around here and call it a day. y/n keeps us fed, y/n keeps the atomic shauna bomb from nuking us all to death, i mean--!” van was practically yelling, prompting a quick slap of a hand over her mouth. muffled against tai’s palm, the taller could briefly make out, “-am i wrong though?”

tai dragged the shorter back to their hut in a hurry, yanking the blanket over their opening after snapping her head around.

“look, i also think nat’s lost it since we got through winter, but she still has y/n worshipping her like some weird god, and i’m not about to mess with the one person in this fucking camp that has a rifle.” tai huffed, “i mean, how twisted and scary do you have to be for shauna to listen to you?”

the hut fell silent for a moment. van tore through the pause with an indifferent, “…you think they’re fucking?”

two huts over, you found it hard to focus on the map in your hands. you, nat and travis had made it months prior at the beginning of your ventures. since then, you and your team consisting of gen and occasionally misty (in hopes of finding coach scott) have expanded the map beyond what the snow had constricted you to.

just two feet away sat nat, leant against the side of the hut. she refused to glance up at you, eyes trained on the book in her hand. it was worn around the edges, water stains and tears across the pages evident from where you sat.

feeling the crushing weight of the giant elephant in the room, you decided to confront the blonde.

“so, are you just not gonna talk to me?”

she exhaled deeply through her nose, not looking up. “yes.”

you tossed the map aside, slapping both your thighs as you stood. you settled beside her, your knee brushing against hers. you could tell she was contemplating whether or not to move away out of spite, her lip was doing the twitchy thing you had noticed it would whenever she thought.

“come on, nat. don’t be stubborn, let’s talk about this.”

“i have nothing to say,” she countered, “you saved me, just like you’ve done many times the last couple weeks.”

you felt like she was playing games with you. nat was never one to be open with her feelings, you knew that. despite her constant deflection, her dismissive behaviour and stubborn nature, you weren’t one to back down. never go to bed angry, especially not at this tiny little italian angel.

“baby, don’t do this.” you grabbed her hand, interlacing your fingers. internally relieved she didn’t resist, you watch her expression carefully. “i just get really worried shauna’s gonna go all stone cold steve austin on you.”

the blonde tried defying the urge glance at you, but she had already read the same sentence over a dozen times.

“y/n, anybody could walk past and hear you right now.”

you shrugged, leaning to press a kiss against hers knuckles. you traced you lips up her arm, humming against the skin of her collarbone. “better give them a show then.”

“y/n…” she gasped when you sucked lightly against her neck.

“yes, my queen?” you murmured, in that raspy tone you knew she was a sucker for. “still not talking to me?”

“okay--enough. i can’t have you stepping in anymore.”

you paused, pulling away. you glanced down at her quivering lip, swallowing thickly. you tilted your head. “what?”

“the stepping in and taking over, i just… it’s making people talk, they’re asking questions and i don’t want that.” nat confessed, her fingers praying away from yours. “i mean, mari and shauna’s been acting up more often, and misty’s being a pain about coach, i just need you to support me.”

her earnest voice made your chest tighten. you felt sick.

“oh,” you hummed softly, “okay.”

“thank you,” nat forced a smile. she stood abruptly, the warmth of her skin against yours fizzing into the air as she cleared her throat. “i’m gonna, uh, i’m gonna go talk to akilah. check in and see how the animal pen’s holding up.”

yup. you definitely resented antler queen nat with all of you.

at this point, you were determined to get her off that throne. you were desperate.

you were sick of giving yourself excuses as to why the one person you had once truly believed had your best interest at heart was making you feel like talking to you was the last thing she wanted to do.

like you were such a chore.

like she’d rather let akilah chirp about that stupid petting zoo than kiss you.

like she’d rather let fucking misty yap all day about her creepy obsession with coach than to have a good, normal conversation with you that didn’t concern your duty as the hunter or hers as the queen.

you were beginning to forget how her lips felt. what she tasted like. you hadn’t even gotten a hug, a cuddle at night. she would simply sleep beside you, like you were contagious.

fuck, you hated antler queen nat. did you mention that?

lottie was right. she was barely even queen anymore. she had no power over shauna and her incessant tantrums, she hadn’t been hunting since last winter when javi had been slaughtered, and she was growing sick of trying to contain her internalized guilt, the anger gnawing at the bars, threatening to throw her into a state of hysteria so deep into the burrow she would not be able to claw her way back out.

you were the hand that ruled by your own instincts, undaunted by posed danger (civil or foreign) and merciless. you were willing to stare a doe down before shooting between its eyes.

you sought guidance from within your own voice.

unlike lottie, you didn’t desire approval from a higher authority.

unlike nat, you weren’t stunted by your humanity.

you were the fix, the stricken balance between morality and benevolence. you’ve earned the respect you get from your peers--you’ve earned their loyalty. you were the high priestess. and you deserved to be antler queen.

since, you’ve been pursuing--no, preying on the throne.

“what’re you thinking? you can’t just go and hunt him down like he’s some animal--y/n, will you drop the fucking gun and please listen!” the distress in her voice almost made you yield to her instruction.

but you weren’t nat’s little jester. not anymore.

after days of mari’s absence, she had finally stumbled her way back onto camp. she was in much rougher shape than when she had departed. her eyes were bloodshot and her leg was wrapped in some shitty makeshift cast. she was lying to you about her whereabouts the last few days.

all you had to do was lean down, your hands on your knees as you levelled with mari’s sitting figure. with a clenched jaw and a snarl, you asked her a single question: “where is he?”

and that alone was enough to crumble the deceit she initially vowed she would stick to (for coach’s sake).

from the state of his health, his newfound resources, to his refuge, mari did not hold back on spewing information.

and now, you were ready to avenge for the loss of the cabin.

“i’m done listening, natalie. all i fucking do, is listen, and where has that gotten us? at least here, we can be sure if he’s actually innocent, we can keep him fed. because how i see it, running just made him look guilty.” you stuffed ammo into the utility belt akilah and melissa had crafted for you. you looped it over your head, strapping it right across your chest.

“so, what, you’re gonna kill him? he has one leg, for christ’s sake!”

“i’m not going to kill him. i’m going to bring him back here and choke some answers out of him.” you strapped the rifle to the back of your belt. “whether you like it or not.”

“he fled because he’s innocent, y/n, you know this. you know him, he wouldn’t risk all our lives like that.”

nat reached for your belt, but you grabbed her wrist before she could yank it off of you.

“then i guess i’ll get to hear it from him.”

you let go of her wrist, brushing off the way she caressed the tender skin with a frightened grimace. grabbing your own bandana, you wrapped it around your head, letting a couple loose strands fall to frame your face.

“i’ll have him back before sundown. prep the pen for holding.”

nat could not believe her ears. she could not believe such words were coming from your lips. you never defied her wishes, you never sided with a defector as led astray as shauna, you never unsettled her the way you did right now.

how ruthless you were being. how cutthroat.

nat didn’t recognize you, and it disturbed her deeply.

you marched out of your cabin, seeing shauna was already geared up and waiting in the centre by a dormant bonfire. her hair was up, and her knife was tightly wound in her fingers.

“anybody who’s willing to come help, grab a weapon. if you’re not, i don’t want to see anybody leaving this camp until we’re back.” you barked eyeing the circle that had gathered around you. “nat has decided she will not be stepping up to help, and i know many of you will choose to stay by the antler queen.”

you jerked the rifle off your back, cocking in, basking in the lingering echo of the startling sound.

“but if you have an ounce of respect for everything we’ve built here, i suggest you bring this man to justice. ‘cuz he took away our shelter, and because of him, we’ll have to live through the coming winter knowing we might not wake up one morning.” you rested the snout of the rifle on your shoulder, “so, who’s ready to catch some coach ass?”

sharing glances with each other, gradually the team scattered to do as they were told. shauna’s lips quirked up in satisfaction, the most you’ve seen of a positive mien from the brunette.

first, travis left to grab the axe from the lumber station.

then, tai and van submitted in silence, hoisting a fireplace poker and a hunting net respectively.

you caught sight of lottie’s unreadable expression. she observed from the very back of the pack, her arms crossed and her eyes stern. you struggled to make out a lone thought or emotion from her features, but the slight cock of her head to the side gave you all the approval you needed.

as more than half the team, those who are well and uninjured, volunteered themselves to follow your lead, the sudden sound of twigs and leaves crunching from behind you sounded.

eyes followed nat storming back to your hut across camp.

you looked down to the ground, gulping. any other day, you would’ve followed her, consoled her. but you had greater duties to attend to, as she had. she couldn’t hold it against you, but she did, and that deepened her guilt.

you shut your but one last glance before you led the party off into the woods.

they trailed after you like ducklings after their mother, wielding torches and rope in preparation for the hunt to bleed into nightfall. travis jogged up beside you, shauna and melissa tailing the both of you a few feet behind.

you hadn’t really spoken to travis since javi’s passing. you used to be close, back when the hunting trip spent every waking moment together out in the wilderness. he was such a jerk when you first began spending time together, a misogynistic, selfish little prick who picked on nat a lot.

you even fought him once, grateful your athletic build gave you a levelled physical advantage with the boy.

he was just relentlessly slut-shaming nat, and though the girl lashed out in defence of her own feelings, you could tell it stung. so without thinking, your fist met his face.

in the end, nat pried you off him, cradling your shaking hand as blood smeared across your bruising knuckles.

he wound up with a broken nose and a black eye.

but he grew more tolerable with time, as grief accelerated his growth. he had to step up to take care of his brother, then he had to step up to feed the team, then come to terms with the loss of his flesh and blood before consuming him.

you hadn’t spoken, because you’ve been busy. but you had your own reservations about him since he started hanging around lottie and her supernatural nonsense more.

“hey,” he grumbled, “do you know where we’re going?”

“i don’t know, travis,” you remarked sarcastically, “who’s been hunting these woods the past year?”

he nodded, pursing his lips awkwardly as he looked elsewhere.

“i’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” he muttered under his breath, like he was whispering a dirty secret. he turned his head, eyeing his surroundings before he turned back to you. “are we gonna just go and kill coach?”

“you’re just like nat in the worst ways,” you scoffed, smirking, “when did i become so violent in everybody’s eyes?”

“you did just threaten us with a rifle, so.” travis raised both his eyebrows, slipping a hand into his pockets.

“what? no, i didn’t. all i did was encourage you to join.”

“yeah, didn’t look like it.” travis chuckled, “you’ve turnt into a real hotshot around here. even the ones who would jump off a plane for nat has turned to a y/n devote.”

you eyed him briefly out of the corner of your eye. “really?”

sensing the skepticism mixed with a tinge of irritation at the statement, travis cleared his throat, rethinking his words carefully. “look, i don’t know what’s going on between you and nat, but just know that, i--well, most of us, really, are behind you for whatever you want to do.”

vexed by the sudden statement, you halted in your steps, startling those behind. “what’re you trying to say, martinez?”

travis glanced back at the girls, particularly, shauna’s eye.

his head hung low, his breath quickening under the weight of the snarl you basked him in. as he gathered the words gagging in his throat, shauna took a step forward.

“nat isn’t fit to lead. she fucking knew where coach was hiding, for fuck’s sake.” she confessed, pointing misty with the tip of her knife. “quigley told me they found a trap he set when they were looking for mari.”

agitated, you tilted your head, lips parting in disbelief.

you approached the curly-haired blonde, and with a visible gulp, she backed with you drawing closer.

“you knew where he was?” your voice quivered.

“no, i--nat said--i was just doing what nat told me! but i-i told her we should’ve told everybody and looked for him, he could be starving! he moves around so slowly, i was thinking about how vulnerable he was to all the crazy beasts around here, and i knew we should’ve said something, but nat told me to keep it a secret!” she stammered, “please don’t hurt me, i was just doing what the queen told me to.”

how could she? after all the speeches on justice and equality she had given? after all the times she told you things should be fair? after she lied to your face many times about what she discovered on her scavenging trips.

when you didn’t answer, the team fell into an uncomfortable position. nobody moved a muscle, not even shauna.

you don’t know what you expected. it’s not like you were dating. nobody knew of the two of you.

and it looks like she’s forgotten it too.

sucking in a breath, you threw your head up with a newfound drive. you glanced around, spotting a mark on a distant tree you had made months ago. it was the right area, around where mari recalled ben had taken her. you looked around, reaching for your rifle over your shoulder before you gestured demands.

wordless. assertive. the alpha leading its pack.

as the sun gradually diminished behind acres of forest, and the glade the yellowjackets have claimed lapsed into a glum atmosphere, nat sits anxious by the fire robin and akilah had started. as the few that stayed prepared dinner, the blonde couldn’t help but sit, consumed by her thoughts.

her hands clasped against her purses lips, her glossy eyes stared blankly into the roaring bonfire.

she was losing it. the pressure of everybody’s expectations for her as the queen was crushing what little sanity she had.

she wanted to cry, throw up and stab something all at once.

nat wasn’t one to complain, she wasn’t one to settle, and she believed it became apparent when she started using her antler queen responsibilities as excuses to stay away from you.

it wasn’t because she wanted to, god, she hated how things were now, but she didn’t want you dragged into the messy makeup of leading such an estranged group of animals.

you were bleeding your way into her role, however, and it troubled her deeply.

as she lies beside your sound, sleeping figure at night, she can’t help but be roused awake by her fears. she has spared every person she loved from herself, she shit her father in the face, for christ’s sake, why you enjoy her company will always be such a mystery to her.

usually, she’d have her drinks ready to console her.

but this, being stranded in the wilderness, was the longest she had ever been forced to be sober.

“nat?”

nat blinked herself from her trance, “lottie--what’s up?”

the brunette gazed down at her, eyes curious.

“you seem troubled. are you worried about y/n?”

the blonde’s breath hitched. “no, it’s--don’t worry about me. how’s the stew coming along?”

“are you afraid she will hurt coach scott?”

“lottie, i really don’t feel like talking about this.”

“she won’t kill him, y’know,” the taller insisted, sitting beside a sighing nat. “y/n may be strong-willed, but she’s reasonable. she’s more fair-minded than you’re giving her credit for.”

the italian ran her hands up her face, through the bangs over her forehead and over the bandana.

“are you afraid of being forced to surrender your title?”

was she? she feels the serene spirit she has managed to foster, in contrast to the harsh essence of winter, has raised morale.

“i don’t care about the title, lottie. but coach isn’t gonna survive if they find him.” nat’s fingers fidgeted, “and they will find him as long as y/n’s at the head of that group.”

“she is quite the gifted hunter,” lottie remarked, “that’s it, then? the thing that’s been bothering you?”

no, it isn’t. “i suppose, yeah.”

“well, i believe everything will work out just fine--!”

“oh my god, they fucking found him!”

both of them sprung to their feet upon robin’s declaration. on one edge of the camp, emerging from the leaves and thick bushes was ben, limping his way within the camp with the mouth of your rifle stuck to the back of his neck.

shauna and travis held lit torches, standing just behind you as you pushed the man to his knees, gun to his head.

nat slapped a hand over her mouth. standing before the knelt man with tears welling in her big, brown eyes.

“y/n, what’re you doing?” she gasped softly.

you let out a shaken breath, slowly dropping the snout of the gun. you slid it back onto your back, a hand on the quaking man’s shoulder. you held your lover’s gaze. she was still queen. she was still in charge. “i promised you i wouldn’t kill him. so here’s your chance to prove him innocent.”

shauna scoffed, “what? he almost set us all on fire, we should fucking execute him!”

you held a hand up, silencing her frustrated outburst. she sneered, scoffing with an exaggerated eye roll.

“we’re putting coach on trial. that way, he gets to tell his story, and we get to flesh out both sides.” you tilted your head, challenging nat’s authority. “what do you say, my queen?”

the blonde shot you that deer in the headlights look. “fine.”

an; first yj fic down… lmk if you guys like it cuz ill write another part if it’s wanted enough. happy reading! xx

[tiramissyoucake]

GODDDD THE PATHETIC MARK I SWEEAAAARRR WOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFF IM GOING INSANEËÊĘĖ

I got a grosser one for you and I'm using this chance to word vomit about it.

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

CW: masturbation (no nut), shirt sniffing, Mark gets caught

Staying over was fun for Mark, he gets to take in your room's surroundings, know more than he already does and being around you all the time was the best part. Although you were still a person with responsibilities, and these days Mark's schedule was emptier than yours.

He'd wake up to see you get dressed, catching a goodbye kiss just in time and other times he'd wake up with a note and a quick breakfast (those were the worst, but the food was good.), he'd always be home waiting for you, he saw no purpose in going back to his place when he could greet you when you're home.

The hours were agonisingly slow as he tried to do whatever around your home, clean up, loaf around, dishes, anything. Today he decided to clean up your bedroom just a bit, your messes were much more manageable than his own, stray clothes and misplaced items.

He was half way through separating a few clean and dirty clothes, he figured he'd toss these in the laundry after when he stopped at one of your T-shirts, there was a distinct smell, the one he's come to associate with you.

... No. He shouldn't. His hands clutched the shirt, lowering it just a bit, who cares if it smells like you? It's not like he'll die without taking a whiff, that same scent that floods his senses when he cuddles you, when he buries his face in your neck or your chest.. or... when he kisses you after you come see him..

He doesn't need it. He's better than this. He was Invincible for God's sake.

The internal struggle went on but Mark was proud of himself for rationalising, peeking at the shirt after throwing it aside, it taunted him.

Mark furrowed his eyebrows, glancing at his watch, it would still be 2 hours before you were off work.

... he lied, he's not better than this.

Harshly snatching the shirt from your bed he pressed the fabric to his nose immediately, taking a long sniff he shuddered as the thought of you flooded him, how did you always smell so good?

Falling to his side on the bed, he hugged the shirt closely while breathing it in, taking a short pant between each whiff he took. The lingering scent on your bed, the shirt, the softness of the mattress and sheets, this was his personal little heaven.

He whimpered as one hand kept the shirt up to his nose while the other moved down his own body, slipping past his waist band, he felt so disgusting, touching himself while sniffing your clothes. He didn't care right now, he needed this.

Tugging down his pants, his hand immediately got to fisting his cock, your shirt helped fuel the fantasies; memories from previous nights where you let him fuck you until his balls were drained, fantasies of things he wanted to do to you. He let out small moans into the fabric, face flushed as he bit his bottom lip.

Mark laid on his back, clutching the cloth in his fist as he kept it up to his face while his hand eagerly moved up and down on his cock, a quiet squelching noise underlayed by his moaning and whimpering even after it was muffled into your shirt.

"Babe?" His eyes shot open, sitting up quickly to make himself decent, his scrambling caused his knee to slip off the edge of the bed, tumbling down to the ground.

Mark grimaced as he heard you let out a small laugh, tugging up his pants quickly and using the bed as some kind of cover, his face was beet red, mortified.

"Babe, are you okay?" You asked while walking around the bed, in your work attire but loosened. "Bad time?"

He sputtered, he didn't realize he was still clenching the shirt. "N-no, I was just- uhm, your shir- your clothes. I wanted to.. clean up the place- just a little, it's.. it's nice but I wanted to help."

"By touching yourself while sniffing my shirt." Damn it. He hoped you would just lie to him and let him save face.

He stayed quiet, ashamed as he stood up. "... 'm sorry, I-I just didn't see you this morning and I just.. got this idea and- y-y'know how people's minds work when they're horny..? They're actually less disgusted..! ... sooo..." he was digging himself a deeper hole by rambling.

You smiled, cupping his cheek and kissing the corner of his lips. "I don't mind, babe. It's... kinda cute? Plus, who's to say I didn't touch myself to those pictures you send me?"

His erection returned almost tenfold at that, perking up. "... really? You really do?"

You shrugged, a smug smile on your face.

He'll send you more photos if you let him sniff your shirt every once in a while.

[postcardsfromheapside]

Okay. Listen. I'm only going to engage with this in good faith once.

Veilguard was never going to be like BG3.

BG3 is a great game for what it is, but no DA game allows you to pick the evil ending, thus there is no reason to allow you to get rid of companions in VG like in BG3 or in previous DA games.

In prior games, you may have been able to eliminate other companions from your team, or not recruit them altogether, because they were not crucial to the overall goal, and all you would miss is story/lore. Nothing breaks in the story/game if those companions leave/are killed/don't get recruited, it merely pivots.

This is completely different in Veilguard, where Varric has taken knowledge and insight and started to develop a specific strike team to take down Solas.

Hold my hand.

There is not a world where the Veil comes down and things "continue". I know a lot of Solas fans think there is...but there isn't. A robust explanation of why the Veil should NOT come down can be found here.

If the Veil comes down, everything ends. Ignoring the real world happenings at EA, if your end worldstate in VG is "world drowned in demons," there's nothing to move on to. No reason to play another DA game, were we to ever have another. Your world state is "game over."

Rook therefore *must* be the cooperative kind of person who is ultimately working toward keeping the Veil up, whatever the cost. It would really help a LOT of you to stop thinking about Rook as a "hero", and start thinking of them more as a project manager.

Remember, Varric already had the goal of "stop Solas" and specifically recruited Rook because they had qualities best suited to help with that, and Rook agreed because "world drowned in demons" is bad. So when Rook inherits the management position from Varric, they come pre-loaded with 1) a goal, and 2) the mindset to get it the fuck done (because there really is no other option, it's succeed or die, a fact mentioned more than once in dialogue with NPC's).

What Rook builds by bringing on team members is a strike force in order to achieve this goal. And here's my point: if you do not have these necessary companions, you do not make it to end game. The way the story is set up, removing any of the companions before Tearstone Island effectively sets the team up to fail horribly. The story doesn't move forward. The world is blighted. End series. Rook is highly motivated to be cooperative with these companions and their factions.

This is why it's a poor excuse to say that it would "add narrative tension" if Rook were able to be mean to their companions and risk losing them. Nothing is added narratively by a companion leaving. If they leave, at some point shortly after The Leaving, the story will end abruptly in Blight.

Rook is therefore not going to do things to cause the companions to leave, because their goal is "stop Solas/stop the gods/stop the blight" and to do that, Rook needs these people. Now, you can make the choice not to do the faction or personal quests along the way toward that goal, and ultimately those companions might fall in the final battle, but the story is not going to let you remove those companions before then. Because the story is not about a choice between "Veil-falling/World-blighted, or Rook being a hero." The story is many things ON THE WAY to stopping the the Veil from falling, one way or another.

Now, I know a lot of these "I wish we could be meaner" comments 99.9% of the time come about because people do not like particular companions, so this was all probably a waste of typing. And my answer to "I just don't like this person" is "too fucking bad, I don't like all my coworkers either, try growing up" or "maybe you should try not being a bigot," depending on the way the "I don't like this person" is phrased. But I also think some of you just really do not understand how story/games structure works, and you're familiar with very specific kinds of media, and it's upsetting you to have to wrap your mind around something new.

If you REALLY want to explore a blighted world, that's what fanfiction is for. Go bug nuts. I don't think it's going to be a compelling story, but you might surprise me.

Also, while we're talking about "tension":

I'm begging you to consider that one of the greater sources of tension can arise because you, the player, are literally watching a tragedy unfold. You cannot stop it, you know what's going to happen, you know what choices you're going to have to make, and you have to make them anyway, and they're going to hurt you in some way or another, and you, the player/reader, know what the characters do not. The tension comes from watching the different permutations of grief unfold across the screen and inside of you. None of the companions have to be in conflict with each other in order for this to happen.

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 40 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Work is finally peaceful for Bradley. While it seems like everyone around him is moving to a new stage of life, he knows he is, too. He's surrounded by so much love already, and more will be blooming soon as he counts down to the end of your pregnancy.

Warnings: Adult language, DILF Roo, pregnancy, smut, lactation kink

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Work was an adjustment. In a good way. It took Bradley a few days to remember he didn't have to look over his shoulder for Indigo. He didn't have to keep his head on a swivel, wondering if she was giving you a hard time somewhere on base. He could just get his work done without interference.

When he eyed the burrito bowls in the cafeteria at lunchtime, he checked his phone, wondering what was taking you so long to come down. "You okay, Soul Sister?" Nat asked, squeezing his shoulder. "Want to sit with Bob, Maria and me?"

Bradley grunted, and shook his head. "I'll wait for my wife."

"I don't think she's coming," Nat replied casually, bypassing the burrito bowls in favor of the baked pasta.

"How do you know that?" Bradley asked, double checking to see if he'd missed a text from you while he was in his classroom all morning. But there was nothing.

"I was talking to her when her boss tracked her down. He looked flustered, telling her he needed her in his office."

Bradley's brow creased as he picked up just one burrito bowl instead of two. He eyed the green hot sauce you were obsessed with, but it wouldn't taste as good without you sitting next to him. "Did Bickel seem upset with her?" Bradley knew how much you loved working for your commanding officer, and that feeling seemed to go both ways.

Nat shrugged. "Less upset and more concerned. I'm sure she's fine."

Bradley settled in next to his best friend and across the table from Maria and Bob, but he barely got one bite of food in his mouth before Maverick was standing next to him.

"I'd eat that as quickly as possible. Cyclone wants to see us."

"Now?" he asked his godfather, wondering why his day kept getting more annoying since parting ways with you. Maybe he should just cancel his afternoon flight.

"I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes," Maverick said, leaving him to practically inhale his food while the others conversed. 

Apparently Bob and Maria were giving up their lease to move into a nicer one-bedroom place together. While that information wasn't surprising, it made Bradley a little sad. You'd been the one living in that apartment with Maria when Bradley fell in love with you. Your little bedroom was where he'd poured his heart out to you in the early days. It was where he made love to you for the first time.

"I'll help you move," Bradley immediately offered, getting a nod in return from Bob. He really wanted the opportunity to be in that sacred space one last time while he had the chance. And getting brownie points with one of your best friends was never a bad move.

"Thanks, Rooster," Bob replied as Bradley shoveled the last of his burrito bowl into his mouth and got up to leave again. Whatever Cyclone wanted, it was best not to keep the man waiting. But honestly, Bradley couldn't understand how his perfectly good morning was deteriorating so quickly. Waking up with his hand on your belly felt like days ago, and what if Admiral Simpson wanted him for something annoying? Fuck, what if he was about to get deployed even though he'd been promised those would become few and far between? What if he wasn't even home for your due date?

He was counting how many weeks were left in your pregnancy while he knocked on the office door. If he had to spend the anniversary weekend he'd planned at the cabin telling you he was leaving, you would be so upset. You and he needed a break together.

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw. Have a seat." Bradley met Cyclone's eyes where he stood next to his desk with Maverick. He hated to be the only one in the room sitting, but he was left with little choice. Bradley sank into the chair while Cyclone cleared his throat. "I wanted to take a few minutes to wrap up your complaints against Lieutenant Jeffries."

Bradley cringed, and Maverick crossed his arms over his chest like he was fighting to stand still. "Yes, Sir," Bradley agreed with a nod, hoping he wouldn't have to rehash anything that had already happened.

"I was notified of her separation this morning. An admiral in Texas called me first thing." Bradley sat up straighter in his chair as Cyclone said, "Lieutenant Jeffries has been formally discharged."

Now Bradley had to fight a smile as he replied. "Thank you for letting me know, Sir."

It was obvious Maverick had something to add. "Bradley. Uh, Rooster," he corrected quickly. "During some of our discussions, you voiced concerns about staying in your current role." Bradley swore his heart stopped as Mav added, "Do you still feel that way?"

Bradley stayed silent. For weeks and months he'd been wondering if he was in the right place. Wondering if he was effective as a teacher rather than just another body in another Super Hornet in the air making decisions without considering the consequences. But the main reason he had been second guessing himself was Indigo. He'd keep his head on a swivel from now on. He'd never let something like that happen again. It was easy to reconsider things without her on base. His classes were fun again. He enjoyed teaching. He loved watching his students take what they learned to the air.

But the best part was being at home with you every night. At home with Rosie. At home enjoying the countdown to the arrival of his second daughter.

"No, I don't feel that way now," Bradley rasped as he shook his head. "I'm where I belong."

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

When you realized you'd inadvertently bailed on your husband, you felt bad, but that feeling didn't last for long. When you got to Bickel's office at the same time as Cat, you and she shared a brief look before he ushered you inside. Once you were all seated, your boss broke out into a smile.

"I don't know how you manage to do it, but you two always surpass my expectations."

You pressed your lips together to keep yourself quiet, because you had no idea what he could be talking about. The baby was squirming around and thumping on your ribs as you tried to remain chill without looking at Cat. You adjusted your maternity tent and let your boss continue.

"The quick work you put in to test the new software updates ahead of schedule was so successful, your efforts are being recognized."

Now you were shaking from holding back your laughter, and Cat cleared her throat awkwardly three times. "Thank you, Sir," she said calmly with a smirk. "We try our best."

The look on her face made you start coughing. Was she hoping to make you pee your pants? You thought you might as you took a deep breath and listened to Bickel lay out an upcoming timeline for the continued software testing. It wasn't like you didn't know the updates would be successful; you and Cat worked too hard for anything otherwise. But Indigo was the reason you wanted to ground an aircraft ahead of schedule.

When you were finally dismissed, you rushed toward the bathroom with Cat on your heels. "Are you still nauseous?" she asked as you headed for the first stall. "You're awfully late in your pregnancy to still be so nauseous."

"No! I have to pee! I don't know how you stayed so calm throughout that meeting. I thought I was going to explode with laughter."

She was still smirking when you washed your hands. "Remember all those promises you made about watching Jer for me if I was willing to finish the code in a hurry?"

"I do," you replied easily. "Want to drop him off at my house after work one day this week so you and Jake can get into some nasty shit for a few hours?"

Cat's laughter echoed throughout the space as she doubled over, cackling. "I guess that depends upon your definition of nasty.... we're trying to figure out which day we can go apply for our marriage license." You screamed before she clapped her hand over your mouth. "Shh! Are you out of your mind?"

"Marriage license!" you screeched when she freed you. "Jake is such a fuckboy, and you're so in love with him!"

"You're the one who told me he's a good guy in the first place!"

"He is!" you insisted, beaming at her. "And he'll be the best dad for Jer."

Instead of returning to your office or the lab, you dashed toward the elevators and went downstairs. As soon as the November sun hit your face, you felt like this day couldn't get any better. The walk to the tower was filled with the distant sound of jet wash and a breeze that gave you goosebumps. When you reached the aviator's lounge, the first person you saw when you opened the door was your husband holding a disposable coffee cup and chatting with Natasha, but you rushed past them.

"Hi, Roo," you offered, patting him quickly on his flat belly as you headed for Jake who was sweaty and unzipping the top of his flight suit. You flung your arms around him, and he held you awkwardly with your bump pressed against him.

"Whoa, Angel. What's got you throwing yourself at me?" he asked with a laugh. "Not that I mind..." he added, winking at Bradley as you pulled away.

"You didn't tell me you're getting married," you hissed quietly so the others couldn't hear over their conversation. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Jake's cheeks paled as he wrapped his fingers gently around your bicep, guiding you toward the window. "Damn, Cat can't keep her mouth shut," he muttered, glancing outside. "We don't actually have anything planned yet, but I convinced her to get the marriage license. That'll give us ninety days to make it happen." He turned his green eyes your way and added, "My lawyer said Jeremiah's biological father stands less of a chance of locating him if I adopt him. Make him a Seresin," he grunted softly. "It's just Cat's name listed on Jer's birth certificate, and I'd really like to change that as soon as possible."

"Jake," you gasped, tears filling your eyes. "You're so in love with them."

He nodded. "I am. And I told Cat she'd have a spectacular wedding in ninety days or less if she promised to get the marriage license now. She told me she doesn't want to spend any money. Claims I've spent enough to help her get free from her ex. But I want her to have whatever she wants-"

"She wants you. You're already Jer's dad. Just marry her. Keep it simple."

"Are you ever going to give me a hug?" Bradley called from across the room. "It's been like two minutes, Sweetheart."

Jake smirked and nudged your shoulder with his bicep. "Get over there so he stops whining."

"I'm not whining," Bradley whined. "I just want a hug from my wife and daughter." He tossed his empty cup into the trash when you slotted yourself into his arms. "That's better," he murmured, lips meeting your forehead as you let your cheek rest against his chest.

"He whined when you missed lunch, too," Natasha said casually as you laughed.

Bradley huffed. "Is it really such a bad thing that I like being around my family?"

"Not at all." You glanced up at him. "And I think it's kind of cute when you whine about it." He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as his fingers crept around to your hip, holding you tight. "Guess what Bickel told me earlier."

"That you're the best officer he's ever worked with and he wants you to take over his lab when he retires?"

Your heart fluttered at your husband's words; he was your biggest fan. "Not quite. But Cat and I are being recognized for our work on the Super Hornet comms. And I kind of have Indigo to thank for it in a very twisted way."

"Oh! She's out of the Navy, Baby Girl."

You blinked up at him. "She is?" you whispered, mind swirling with the image of Indigo storming away from you in a rage the last time you saw her.

"Yeah, she's toast," he replied, lips meeting your forehead again as Natasha and Jake headed out. "I had a meeting with Mav and Cyclone."

"When were you going to tell me?"

Bradley's lips curled into a smile as he took your hand and kissed along your knuckles. "I'd have remembered later at some point, but Indigo is the farthest thing from my mind now. I'm more intersted in going home and packing for our trip and fucking you."

You glanced around to make sure everyone else had cleared out. "Okay, that does sound fun, but we have to babysit Jeremiah one evening this week."

"Can't it wait until next week after we get back from the mountains?" he whispered. "I'm in family mode, looking forward to our anniversary."

"Nope. We absolutely have to watch Jer for them. It's a necessity, Roo."

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

"Jesus," Bradley groaned, kicking your maternity uniform across the bedroom floor before it could trip him up. Dinner was in the oven, Rose was napping, and you were easing yourself back on the bed, nearly naked. He watched you pull your sensible underwear down until he could see your rooster tattoo, and then he pounced.

"Roo!" you squealed, wrapping your leg around his hip as he held himself over your body, his hands planted on either side of your head. "You have to make it quick. And you're never quick."

"I know," he grunted, biting his lip as you rubbed yourself against the fly of his khakis. All he wanted at the moment was to take his time licking that bead of milk from your nipple before treating his mouth to your entire body. But there wasn't time. Jake Seresin would be here shortly to ruin his fun.

Your hand on his zipper prompted him to savor that bit of your milk as you pulled him free of his pants. Then you guided him right where he belonged, and he sank inch by inch into your pussy until you moaned his name.

"That's fucking beautiful." He kissed away all the little sounds you made as he fucked you slowly; they could just wait out on the porch with Jeremiah until Bradley was done with you for all he cared.

But something about having you naked and beneath him while he was still fully clothed in his uniform made Bradley realize he wasn't going to last too long. The bounce of your tits as your fingers dug into his hair. The scrape of your nails along his scalp as your pupils grew wide. The way your growing belly took up more space than usual. It was all designed to make him insane. He knew it. He wasn't going to fight it. You'd win every time anyway.

"How do you do this to me?" murmured against your neck, inhaling your scent with a gasping breath as your pussy pulsed around him. "How do you fuck me up like this?"

Your answer was your lips on his jaw as Bradley swallowed hard, fucking you as his body tensed above yours. "Roo," you gasped, lips parting, rolling your hips. He couldn't hang on when it was this good. When your voice was in his ear, coaxing him along. 

"God, Roo. Daddy!"

That did it. His thrusts grew shorter as he came, pushing himself deep, filling you with his cum until he let his weight settle halfway on top of you. He was never done until you got what you deserved, but as soon as he dragged his fingers along your tattoo and let them settle on your clit, Tramp started barking.

"They're here," you moaned, starting to sit up with Bradley's cock still buried deep.

"But I'm not done with you," he whispered, keeping you in place while Tramp howled. But it was useless. "Fuck!" He pulled himself free, forfeiting the opportunity to watch his cum leak out of you as he stood. Bradley tucked himself back into his pants and did up the zipper, scowling. "Hangman ruins everything, I swear to god." He pulled one of his old undershirts and some gym shorts from his drawer as you laughed and stood. "I'll finish you off later," he promised with a kiss, pressing his clothing into your hand.

"I know you will."

Bradley was in no mood for company, but when he opened the front door, Jer clapped his hands with a big smile on his face. "Hey, Buddy," he said, smiling reluctantly as Jeremiah climbed from Cat's arms into his. "Tramp is so excited to play with you."

"Tramp!" Jeremiah reached down trying to pet the dog while he went wild.

"Thanks for babysitting," Jake said as he strolled in from the porch earning an eye roll from Bradley.

"It's no big deal," Bradley replied through clenched teeth, trying not to glare. It wasn't like Jake and Cat had any idea what they'd interrupted. Or at least they didn't until you came rushing down the hallway into the living room with Bradley's undershirt on backward. Cat didn't seem to notice, but Jake stifled his laughter behind his hand.

"Hi, Jeremiah!" you crooned, running your fingers along his cheek. "We're going to have so much fun. Rose will be awake soon, and we can go out back to the playset."

"Sorry about the timing," Jake muttered.

"No, you're not," Bradley whispered. "Now get out of here."

Jake laced his fingers with Cat's as she said, "We'll be back in less than two hours."

"Take your time," you said, waving her off. "We'll have so much fun while you're gone." You took Jeremiah's hand and led him to the couch where you'd left a stack of Rose's books, ready for the occasion. 

When Bradley closed the front door, he heard his daughter's cries coming from the nursery. He rushed in to scoop her up, kissing her fuzzy hair and changing her diaper before carrying her to the living room where you were reading Jeremiah the silly goose book.

"Whoa, Baby Girl. You need to start over. Rosie and I love this book."

"Love!" Jer cheered as Bradley settled down on the couch next to him. The little boy suddenly seemed more interested in Rose than in the book, but you obliged everyone by starting the story at the beginning.

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

The sun was setting after dinner as you nursed Rose on the patio wearing Bradley's clothes and your boat shoes. You hadn't taken the time to turn his shirt the other way, too busy bustling around with the two, well, three kids.

"Higher?" Bradley asked.

"Higher!" Jeremiah replied, and you watched your husband push his swing harder. Peels of laugher filled the backyard, and now Rose was crying for a different reason. She seemed to want to join in the fun as Tramp ran around the playset in circles.

"Jake needs to get this kid a puppy," Bradley eventually said as Jeremiah reached for the dog again. Really, the only thing that seemed more interesting to him was Rose, and he shifted his focus as you walked their way, Tramp immediately forgotten.

"Can you say Rose?" you asked Jeremiah as his swing came to a stop in front of Bradley. "Rose."

He tried his best but struggled with the R sound as Rose reached for his hair. "Be nice, Rosie," Bradley scolded, scooping up Jeremiah at the same time he took Rose from your arms. The sight of him holding both kids was almost too much, and you reached for one of the wooden playset posts to keep yourself standing. He kissed your daughter's cheek and said, "It's getting dark out here. How about a snack and one more round of the silly goose book?"

"We could do that," you whispered, letting your hand rest on your belly. For the briefest second, you started rethinking your threat about the vasectomy.

"You have to read it again," Bradley murmured, leading the way to the sliding glass door with his arms full. "The kids love your voice, and so do I."

By the time you finished the book, Rose was falling asleep and Jeremiah was yawning. But Bradley looked attentive, eyes calculating. At the sound of a knock on the door, he was up from the couch with Jeremiah in his arms. "Well, it's been fun, little man, but it's time for you to leave."

"I didn't even get to say goodbye!" you complained, holding Rose. 

Bradley turned around so you could kiss Jeremiah on the cheek, and then he thrust the child into Cat's arms and closed the door as soon as she said thank you.

"That wasn't very nice," you said with a laugh.

"I disagree, Sweetheart," he told you as he reached for Rose. "I thought that was pretty fucking nice considering what they interrupted earlier. Now say goodnight to your daughter and go get undressed."

"Stop swearing in front of the baby," you scolded half-heartedly before he kissed your lips. God, he was doing numbers on you right now. He was in his demanding 'dad' mode while still wearing his uniform, and you moaned out loud. "Okay, fine. I'll go get undressed."

Everything felt so good tonight. You could hear Bradley singing to Rose as you went to the bathroom and did your bedtime routine. You didn't have to wait long after you tugged his undershirt over your head before he appeared in the bedroom doorway. His brown eyes were playful, but his gaze was glued to your body. "Now, where were we?"

You trailed your hand down your side, along your swollen belly, and let your fingertips graze your tattoo. "Right about here, Roo."

He nodded in agreement, closing the distance with three long strides before kneeling in front of you. His hands wrapped around your thighs as his lips and mustache met your rooster tattoo before skimming along your belly. "Yeah. Right about here."

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

Well, I was wrong... there will be one more part after this! Stay tuned for an anniversary trip. And don't forget to send me your thoughts about hcs and blurbs! Thanks for reading!

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[celuere]

Please I need arle being the biggest piece of shit during a date with reader, pulling every single method of teasing you before dicking you down 🥺 (stripteasing pls)

Feel free to add whatever else you want :333 ty and love you lots

pairing: arlecchino x fem!reader

cw: arles fat fucking dick, stripteasing ngh, teasing, overstimulation, uhmmmm you‘re not wearing any underwear, voyeurism kinda??, usage of a vibrator, unhinged sesbian lex

freakray is at it again (yk i love you)

„is the food to your liking, my love?“, arlecchino cut her own - very raw - steak in half as she awaited your answer.

she just had to take you out to dinner today. she didn’t even ask. all she gave you was a „be ready by six“ and placed a tiny little bag into your lap with things she wanted you to „wear underneath your dress“.

that’s why you were sitting with nothing covering your pussy underneath todays attire.

the bag was empty.

you don’t how much dignity you lost in the span of the last three hours but given your husband‘s almost… smug face… she planned this all along.

„the lobster is certainly very delicious, i cannot complain…“, you took an extra big bite into the juicy meat to show her you were serious.

„my… usually i only ever see you this passionate about a different kind of meat.“

her next bite couldn’t have looked more casual.

„e-excuse me?“

„oh, nothing.“

your eyes were wide. filled with shock and something… more carnal as you watched her bring the wine glass to her lips.

and just as you came up with a comeback-

you forced your legs shut. the food in your throat getting stuck as you watched your husband muster you as if she doesn’t have a single clue about what’s going on underneath the table.

as if her hand isn‘t fidgeting with the remote to the vibrator that she had shoved up into your cunt just moments before leaving the house.

„ma cherie… you look a little red in the face. perhaps a few sips of your champagne will cool you down.“, she accompanied her recommendation by tapping on the glass with her razor-sharp nail.

you only glared at her as you rubbed your hand over your thigh to ease the tension, too scared to open your mouth.

fucking sadist.

it didn’t get any better over the duration of your dinner.

you came twice underneath the table before you finished your dessert, legs already quivering as you watched your waitress whisper the bill into the harbinger’s ear.

not letting you know about the ridiculously high price she is paying for the both of you tonight. a common trait of hers. (she refuses to let you even pay for your own part of the dinner every. single. time.)

„it has been a delight to serve you both on this lovely evening. i wish you a safe ride back home.“, the server bowed her head before quietly retreating from your table, leaving you with your husband alone.

a red painted nail trailed the pattern of the table cloth before her, almost in an attempt to distract you- before the lovely toy stuffed between your legs went off again, forcing you to slam your hand onto your mouth this time.

still, with the restaurant staff still being present you could do nothing except scowl at her.

„darling, we should catch the carriage home. don‘t you think so?“

you merely nodded.

the ride to your mansion equaled a death sentence.

with a black hand grabbing and squeezing the plush of your quivering thighs it was fairly hard to take in the winter wonderland outside the windows.

she didn‘t comment on how soaked your inner thighs were in your own arousal, in fact… she didn‘t say anything at all. as if she wanted to keep you on edge as good as possible. as if she wanted to ruin you as much as possible before delivering the grand act- in your bedroom.

the moan that threatened to slip past your lips the more she inched closer to your aching pussy and even with the vibrator turned off, you were cartwheeling on the inside.

what is she planning?

will she torture you even further?

did she just mess with you out of boredom?

„sit and watch.“

two hands pushed you down onto the soft mattress.

„huh- wh-what?“, you watched your husband in slight bewilderment as she stepped away from you, her hand already getting to work on loosening up the tie around her neck. her black blazer already discarded over a nearby chair, leaving her in a bordeaux shirt.

„you heard me.“, your throat went dry as she let it hang loose on her shoulders before her fingers proceeded to unbutton the fabric, „i tortured my poor wife for the whole evening. allow me to pay her back. now keep. your. eyes. on. me.“, each word was undermined by a button being plopped open one after the other.

your body grew hot as the scarred skin came into view first. followed by a toned body that was honed over the years through intense- almost cruel physical labor- and training. yet she never looked more beautiful to you, her wife.

„you are staring, ma amour.“, the slightest hint of a smirk played around her lips as she slid the last layer of clothes down her arms- her bra.

seeing her so… bare in front of you. at her most vulnerable… 

„i‘m allowed to look at what’s mine…“

her hands stilled on the buckle of her belt.

„…indeed, you are. my whole being belongs to you after all. there is no denying that.“, the tall woman stepped closer to you again until she was standing directly before you. it was only now that you noticed the bump in her pants. a fucking big bump.

„go on… undress your husband…“, arlecchino allowed herself to run her hand through your hair and letting her nails caress your scalp, forcing a pleased hum from your lips. 

your pussy clenched. the vibrator already removed from inside of you but you were soaked nonetheless. soaked and not taken care of.

but the knave always takes care of her business.

when she folded you in half on the mattress with her cock rutting into you, it was probably the closest to heaven the both of you will ever get. your nipple engulfed by her lips with the skin already covered in a messy chaos of hickeys and the remains of an expensive bloody-red lipstick.

but she fucked you so well. she knew which pace to use on you, how to angle her hips, what words to whisper to you in order for your vision to be clouded by dancing stars.

„tu es si belle avec ma bite qui bourre ta chatte...“

„you look so beautiful with my cock stuffing your pussy…“

you hope salvation will one day come in form of your husband‘s dick.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Had an idea: Okay but Keller writing your initials on the tape of his stick and Sarah asks him about it. Not my favourite execution of it, not sure how I feel about it but here you go anyway. Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

He's not the biggest fan of doing media, he does it because he's captain and it's expected. The exception to the rule is mini-mic. Maybe he doesn't want to spend hours on it, but the questions are funny and he likes making jabs at the boys. It's the only reason he doesn't mind so much when Sarah catches him as he's getting his gear on for practice, mini mic in hand.

The first few questions are fun, hypotheticals, the sort of thing that Cools and Doaner would respond to be with 'King' or 'King's cats'. Nothing too deep or serious, stuff Clayton barely has to think about as he ties his skates.

"Clayton, one final question before I let you go, what do the letters on your tape job stand for? Is that reminder to do something or a sentimental thing?" Sarah pushes the mini mic back to him and Clayton can't help it really, can't help that way his smile grows even when having a mini mic and a camera shoved into his face....because the question is ultimately about you and he loves talking about you, almost as much as he loves you.

"These?" He's pulling his stick forward without being asked, showing off the 3 little letters on the tape of his stick near the top, showing it off to the camera like it's a trophy.

"Uh, my girlfriend's initials. She's my good luck charm so this way she's always with me." The way Sarah awws over him while he smiles down at the initials, a letter for each of your first, middle, and last names, has him turning beet red. Flushing brightly because he's the Captain and here he is gushing over having his girlfriend's initials on his stick.

It's Cooley who chimes in as he walks past with a towel around his neck, a wide grin as he pokes fun at Clayton, "Cause he's whipped!" Like Cooley can even talk. He can talk when he's not single as fuck and complaining about it every time he gets drunk.

"Hey, hey! You would be too if you were dating my girlfriend!" Clayton might be whipped, smitten, enamoured, infatuated. Whatever you want to call it, but he'll never be ashamed of it. Fuck, he loves you so much that it's actually scary sometimes. It doesn't matter that he's red in the face, that Sarah's grinning at him with the mini mic still picking up every word he says or that this is definitely going on the Utah Hockey Club tiktok later. All that matters is that he's not going to hide how he feels about his girl. Ever.

"He's got a fair point there, Cools." Kess throws his two cent in, shoving Cools out the way to get to his locker section.

"You saying you have the hots for the Captain's girl?" Cooley gets the biggest shit eating grin on his face at the way Kess flounders, face dropping in horror because shit, he's not trying to hit on his Captain's girlfriend, he doesn't want to die. He's seen how protective Clay gets of you and he doesn't want a hand around his throat (if Kells can reach him without a step ladder that is).

"No! No! Kells, i'd never-"

"Are you saying my girlfriend isn't hot?"

Kess literally freezes, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Not knowing which was the better option, saying Clayton's girlfriend was indeed hot in an effort not to offend, but upsetting Clayton anyway or saying that she wasn't and risk having the Captain still upset with him.

It's the way Clay laughs at him that has Michael nervously laughing back, shoulders relaxing a little, body unfreezing because of course...Kells is joking with him. Of course he's not serious...

Until he is. Until Clay's face drops into a glare, lips pursed tight and eyes narrowing on Kess like he's contemplating 1001 ways to dismantle him.

"But seriously, don't think about my girlfriend like that."

"Aye, aye, Captain. Whatever you say, boss!"

It's Sarah that breaks the moment, grinning at him still as she holds that mini mic in Clay's face because this might be the most entertainment she's had in a while. She loves working with the Utah boys, but this? This is something else.

"You were saying about your girlfriend?"

"Oh, um...y'know she's just good luck, y'know? First game she came to was a win, so I just...I feel better if she's with me on the road." Clay's hand reaches for the back of his neck, rubbing at it nervously. He's back to flushing red, a hand gripping the tape of his stick tightly, thumb unconsciously smoothing over your initials like he does with the back of your hand.

"Does she know her initials are on your stick? That you're such a soppy romantic?" Sarah's already thinking up at least 3 or 4 more video ideas for Clay on the topic especially as Valentine's day gets nearer and nearer.

"No and maybe? I guess she'll find out now though."

"Oh, she definitely will when this goes on the tiktok channel. 100k followers and she's one."

He groans even as he grins because he knows...God, he knows the internet is going to love this one but he can't find it in him to be ashamed or care that much. He's going to love you unashamedly even if that means the internet makes fun of him for it, especially because he knows he's definitely going to get a kiss out of it once you find out. Maybe 3, maybe even 5.

[no-144444]

hello helloooo ☝️

i have a funny request lols

over the weekend i went sledding and i slid my face on the ice (lmfao) and i think a cute fluffy fic of reader doing the same and ollie doting on reader even though it’s literally just a scratch on their face

idk if it makes sense and no rush 🫶

sledding incident- o.bearman

summary: an accident in the alps

pairing: ollie bearman x fem! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

As a last hurrah before the season started, you and Ollie decided to run off to the Swiss Alps for a weekend away. Was it the best idea? No, probably not considering it was less than a month until you had to give him back to Haas who would keep him for 9 whole months, but whatever. You both wanted a nice trip to round off the end of his junior career.

Now, the worst idea you’d ever had, came in the form of sledding. It was snowing, it was cute, and you decided it was a good idea to sled. Ollie had tried to point out what an awful choice it was, considering you were the most uncoordinated person he knew, but you charged on anyway.

As he said. Awful choice. 

The first run you did, you completely flipped and landed weird, eliciting an embarrassing scream from you, and Ollie came running. 

“Are you alright?!” he demanded, reaching you in record time. He cupped your cheeks, and looked you over as you formulated a response. “Where does it hurt?”

“My nose,” you admitted, you pulled your hand back from your nose and the terror in Ollie’s eyes was slightly unmissable. “Holy fuck, is it bad? Is my nose fucked? You’re looking at me like it’s bad Ollie. Shit, I liked my nose,” you rushed out as you noticed the blood on your white gloves. 

He shook his head. “Your nose isn’t that bad, just bleeding. I don’t think it’s broken.”

You groaned. “Don’t think? Ollie, I would like confirmation.”

He chuckled. “You’re dating an F1 driver, not a doctor. What were you expecting?”

“More than this,” you mumbled as you started to get up, but he (gently) pushed you back down. 

“You’re not walking back up the hill yourself, you’re injured,” he rolled his eyes, sassy as always. “Come here,” he offered out a hand to help you up, then he hooked a hand under your leg and another under your back. To his credit, he genuinely did lift you back up the hill, and when you got inside, he made you a mug of hot chocolate and called his personal trainer to check that your nose wasn’t broken. It wasn’t. 

“See, I knew I was right,” he smugly smiled at you.

You scoffed, turning your attention back to the tv. “Shut up Ollie.”

He was quiet for a moment, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “I like your nose too.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[bernardsbendystraws]

⋆𖦹.ೃ࿔*:･ Snow .ᐟ Reader x FWB .ᐟ Matt

How it all began.

⤷ cw: smut, angst, p n v, toxic ex, fem!recieving, troubles?cumming, not proofread

au masterlist

Matt knew you were having troubles with your boyfriend, but he didn’t realize to what extent. 

It hurt when he saw you rush in, crying to Nick and spilling all the details. Your now ex was pathetic. He cheated on you, claiming he didn’t actually cheat—whatever the fuck that meant. 

Although you’re technically Nick’s friend, Matt’s always considered you to be someone he cares about. A lot of small conversation, jokes, and awkward tension led him to grow fond of you over the past couple months. A little too fond. 

Everything your boyfriend did pissed him off. Hearing the entire truth while you cried to Nick made him angry. You deserved better than that, you deserved a lot fucking better than that. 

And he showed you. 

He stepped up as a friend, lingering on crossed lines as boundaries became blurred. Honestly, you started hanging around a lot more, even when Nick had traveled internationally for over a month. 

You swore he wasn’t a rebound, and you really didn’t think he was, but you couldn’t really make any sort of coherent inference anymore. 

That relationship meant everything to you. Three years down the drain, a completely new perspective on who your ex truly was, and a terrifying realization that you didn’t know how to live without being someone’s girlfriend. 

Crossing lines should be wrong, but it didn’t necessarily feel wrong. It started with a simple touch, Matt grasping onto your waist when you both woke up from a nap in his bed. 

Gazing into each other’s eyes, you both got lost—hypnotized, even. 

Before either of you could comprehend the gravity of the situation, all clothes had been removed, his lips hungry and desperate as he showed you what actual pleasure was supposed to be like. 

Pleasure used to be confusing, it still kinda is, but Matt put his fingers inside of you, finding nooks and crannies no one has ever touched the same way. 

You thought something was wrong with you. Maybe it was all the brainwashing from your ex, but you truly thought you couldn’t cum. 

Matt proved you very wrong. 

The first time, he made you finish twice. 

Your thighs were collapsing around his head, his tongue swiveling and circling around your hooded clit as it became puffier with each motion. 

His fingers dove into you carefully, prodding with precision as he stimulated a spot that made your inner thighs quiver and tense. 

Once feeling that wave of euphoria, you begged him to give you more, and Matt was more than happy to do so. 

He was enthralled to fuck you into pure bliss. 

Your eyes were rolled back, the heels of your feet digging into his back as he fucked you into his bed. 

The ring of milky cum around the base of his dick was loud. You could hear how good he was fucking you, you could feel nothing but hazy euphoria as he gave you everything you could’ve ever wanted and more. 

There was no stopping once it started. 

Lingering stares led to hesitant touches. Any gentle caress pursued your lips to touch, and that was a point of no return. 

It’s something about the way he kisses you. You’ve never felt so intimate—not even with your ex who you dated for years. 

But he’s been long forgotten. 

Matt’s treated you way better regardless of the lack of an actual title. He buys you food, takes you on mini-dates, always making sure to let you pour all your worries or frustration out to him, comforting you in every way possible. 

It started small—it started so miniscule that it could be excused as friendly gestures, but now it’s odd. He’s not your boyfriend, but everything he does screams otherwise. 

Especially when he tells you he would marry you. 

Part of you plunders to think of a future with him. You kinda like it—more than you would ever want to admit, but you’re scared. 

You need to be alone, you need to feel like your own person without someone else consuming your energy and love. 

Matt knows this. 

He laughs when he talks about your future together, pretending he’s joking, but deep down there’s something hidden in plain sight.

A/N: This is their backstory. I'm sorry for making your heart hurt and your pussy throb at the same time prolly.

With love and big tits, Rose

[whumpster-fire]

This may be a controversial take with some of you but yes actually I think "filed paperwork incorrectly" should not be grounds for getting sent to a torture camp indefinitely without trial and neither should "you filed the paperwork correctly but the government fucked it up."

(the conditions described above are unacceptable for any crime, including after trial because have you heard of the fucking 8th Amendment but especially before trial)

Failing to file taxes in the USA draws the attention of the IRS. Failing to renew visas draws the attention of ICE. Coming to the country legally but overstaying your visa makes you an illegal resident.

Motherfucker the IRS doesn't go straight to throwing people in prison in inhumane conditions for missing the fucking filing deadline. It does not throw people who are actively filing for extensions straight into prison. It does not throw people who fucked up their tax filing and took a deduction they shouldn't have, who are offering to pay back the money they owe, straight into prison. It does not arrest people who are in the fucking IRS office trying to get help on a minor issue with their taxes. The IRS follows a policy of only using extreme measures as a last resort. If it were imprisoning people for missing the filing deadline, or claiming some office supplies as a business expense but actually using some of them at home, that would be completely fucking evil and dystopian.

And to avoid those horrific conditions, all the illegal immigrants need to do is...not be illegal immigrants. If you break into someone's house and get a beating for it, they are not the criminal in the case. If you illegally enter the US you are the criminal and criminals get arrested and put in jail.

If you enter someone's house because you were invited to a party, or because you were hired to do work on the property with the homeowner's agreement, or because you're a fucking legal tenant, and you overstay your welcome for whatever reason so the homeowner, instead of telling you to get out and allowing you to leave, kidnaps you at gunpoint and imprisons you in the basement for two weeks, the homeowner is very much a fucking criminal.

Listen. Believing that human rights shouldn't apply if someone commits a bad enough crime is already pretty fucked, but at least if you're drawing the line at rapists or mass shooters or child molesters I can understand the sentiment and I'm willing to try to reason with you. If your threshold for deciding someone no longer deserves human rights is the equivalent of a fucking parking ticket, you are completely fucking evil.

Story below the cut to avoid a paywall.

There was no explanation, no warning. One minute, I was in an immigration office talking to an officer about my work visa, which had been approved months before and allowed me, a Canadian, to work in the US. The next, I was told to put my hands against the wall, and patted down like a criminal before being sent to an Ice detention center without the chance to talk to a lawyer.

I grew up in Whitehorse, Yukon, a small town in the northernmost part of Canada. I always knew I wanted to do something bigger with my life. I left home early and moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, where I built a career spanning multiple industries – acting in film and television, owning bars and restaurants, flipping condos and managing Airbnbs.

In my 30s, I found my true passion working in the health and wellness industry. I was given the opportunity to help launch an American brand of health tonics called Holy! Water – a job that would involve moving to the US.

I was granted my trade Nafta work visa, which allows Canadian and Mexican citizens to work in the US in specific professional occupations, on my second attempt. It goes without saying, then, that I have no criminal record. I also love the US and consider myself to be a kind, hard-working person.

I started working in California and travelled back and forth between Canada and the US multiple times without any complications – until one day, upon returning to the US, a border officer questioned me about my initial visa denial and subsequent visa approval. He asked why I had gone to the San Diego border the second time to apply. I explained that that was where my lawyer’s offices were, and that he had wanted to accompany me to ensure there were no issues.

After a long interrogation, the officer told me it seemed “shady” and that my visa hadn’t been properly processed. He claimed I also couldn’t work for a company in the US that made use of hemp – one of the beverage ingredients. He revoked my visa, and told me I could still work for the company from Canada, but if I wanted to return to the US, I would need to reapply.

I was devastated; I had just started building a life in California. I stayed in Canada for the next few months, and was eventually offered a similar position with a different health and wellness brand.

I restarted the visa process and returned to the same immigration office at the San Diego border, since they had processed my visa before and I was familiar with it. Hours passed, with many confused opinions about my case. The officer I spoke to was kind but told me that, due to my previous issues, I needed to apply for my visa through the consulate. I told her I hadn’t been aware I needed to apply that way, but had no problem doing it.

Then she said something strange: “You didn’t do anything wrong. You are not in trouble, you are not a criminal.”

I remember thinking: Why would she say that? Of course I’m not a criminal!

She then told me they had to send me back to Canada. That didn’t concern me; I assumed I would simply book a flight home. But as I sat searching for flights, a man approached me.

“Come with me,” he said.

There was no explanation, no warning. He led me to a room, took my belongings from my hands and ordered me to put my hands against the wall. A woman immediately began patting me down. The commands came rapid-fire, one after another, too fast to process.

They took my shoes and pulled out my shoelaces.

“What are you doing? What is happening?” I asked.

“You are being detained.”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean? For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

That would be the response to nearly every question I would ask over the next two weeks: “I don’t know.”

They brought me downstairs for a series of interviews and medical questions, searched my bags and told me I had to get rid of half my belongings because I couldn’t take everything with me.

“Take everything with me where?” I asked.

A woman asked me for the name of someone they could contact on my behalf. In moments like this, you realize you don’t actually know anyone’s phone number anymore. By some miracle, I had recently memorized my best friend Britt’s number because I had been putting my grocery points on her account.

I gave them her phone number.

They handed me a mat and a folded-up sheet of aluminum foil.

“What is this?”

“Your blanket.”

“I don’t understand.”

I was taken to a tiny, freezing cement cell with bright fluorescent lights and a toilet. There were five other women lying on their mats with the aluminum sheets wrapped over them, looking like dead bodies. The guard locked the door behind me.

For two days, we remained in that cell, only leaving briefly for food. The lights never turned off, we never knew what time it was and no one answered our questions. No one in the cell spoke English, so I either tried to sleep or meditate to keep from having a breakdown. I didn’t trust the food, so I fasted, assuming I wouldn’t be there long.

On the third day, I was finally allowed to make a phone call. I called Britt and told her that I didn’t understand what was happening, that no one would tell me when I was going home, and that she was my only contact.

They gave me a stack of paperwork to sign and told me I was being given a five-year ban unless I applied for re-entry through the consulate. The officer also said it didn’t matter whether I signed the papers or not; it was happening regardless.

I was so delirious that I just signed. I told them I would pay for my flight home and asked when I could leave.

No answer.

Then they moved me to another cell – this time with no mat or blanket. I sat on the freezing cement floor for hours. That’s when I realized they were processing me into real jail: the Otay Mesa Detention Center.

I was told to shower, given a jail uniform, fingerprinted and interviewed. I begged for information.

“How long will I be here?”

“I don’t know your case,” the man said. “Could be days. Could be weeks. But I’m telling you right now – you need to mentally prepare yourself for months.”

Months.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

I was taken to the nurse’s office for a medical check. She asked what had happened to me. She had never seen a Canadian there before. When I told her my story, she grabbed my hand and said: “Do you believe in God?”

I told her I had only recently found God, but that I now believed in God more than anything.

“I believe God brought you here for a reason,” she said. “I know it feels like your life is in a million pieces, but you will be OK. Through this, I think you are going to find a way to help others.”

At the time, I didn’t know what that meant. She asked if she could pray for me. I held her hands and wept.

I felt like I had been sent an angel.

I was then placed in a real jail unit: two levels of cells surrounding a common area, just like in the movies. I was put in a tiny cell alone with a bunk bed and a toilet.

The best part: there were blankets. After three days without one, I wrapped myself in mine and finally felt some comfort.

For the first day, I didn’t leave my cell. I continued fasting, terrified that the food might make me sick. The only available water came from the tap attached to the toilet in our cells or a sink in the common area, neither of which felt safe to drink.

Eventually, I forced myself to step out, meet the guards and learn the rules. One of them told me: “No fighting.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” I joked. He laughed.

I asked if there had ever been a fight here.

“In this unit? No,” he said. “No one in this unit has a criminal record.”

That’s when I started meeting the other women.

That’s when I started hearing their stories.

And that’s when I made a decision: I would never allow myself to feel sorry for my situation again. No matter how hard this was, I had to be grateful. Because every woman I met was in an even more difficult position than mine.

There were around 140 of us in our unit. Many women had lived and worked in the US legally for years but had overstayed their visas – often after reapplying and being denied. They had all been detained without warning.

If someone is a criminal, I agree they should be taken off the streets. But not one of these women had a criminal record. These women acknowledged that they shouldn’t have overstayed and took responsibility for their actions. But their frustration wasn’t about being held accountable; it was about the endless, bureaucratic limbo they had been trapped in.

The real issue was how long it took to get out of the system, with no clear answers, no timeline and no way to move forward. Once deported, many have no choice but to abandon everything they own because the cost of shipping their belongings back is too high.

I met a woman who had been on a road trip with her husband. She said they had 10-year work visas. While driving near the San Diego border, they mistakenly got into a lane leading to Mexico. They stopped and told the agent they didn’t have their passports on them, expecting to be redirected. Instead, they were detained. They are both pastors.

I met a family of three who had been living in the US for 11 years with work authorizations. They paid taxes and were waiting for their green cards. Every year, the mother had to undergo a background check, but this time, she was told to bring her whole family. When they arrived, they were taken into custody and told their status would now be processed from within the detention center.

Another woman from Canada had been living in the US with her husband who was detained after a traffic stop. She admitted she had overstayed her visa and accepted that she would be deported. But she had been stuck in the system for almost six weeks because she hadn’t had her passport. Who runs casual errands with their passport?

One woman had a 10-year visa. When it expired, she moved back to her home country, Venezuela. She admitted she had overstayed by one month before leaving. Later, she returned for a vacation and entered the US without issue. But when she took a domestic flight from Miami to Los Angeles, she was picked up by Ice and detained. She couldn’t be deported because Venezuela wasn’t accepting deportees. She didn’t know when she was getting out.

There was a girl from India who had overstayed her student visa for three days before heading back home. She then came back to the US on a new, valid visa to finish her master’s degree and was handed over to Ice due to the three days she had overstayed on her previous visa.

There were women who had been picked up off the street, from outside their workplaces, from their homes. All of these women told me that they had been detained for time spans ranging from a few weeks to 10 months. One woman’s daughter was outside the detention center protesting for her release.

That night, the pastor invited me to a service she was holding. A girl who spoke English translated for me as the women took turns sharing their prayers – prayers for their sick parents, for the children they hadn’t seen in weeks, for the loved ones they had been torn away from.

Then, unexpectedly, they asked if they could pray for me. I was new here, and they wanted to welcome me. They formed a circle around me, took my hands and prayed. I had never felt so much love, energy and compassion from a group of strangers in my life. Everyone was crying.

At 3am the next day, I was woken up in my cell.

“Pack your bag. You’re leaving.”

I jolted upright. “I get to go home?”

The officer shrugged. “I don’t know where you’re going.”

Of course. No one ever knew anything.

I grabbed my things and went downstairs, where 10 other women stood in silence, tears streaming down their faces. But these weren’t happy tears. That was the moment I learned the term “transferred”.

For many of these women, detention centers had become a twisted version of home. They had formed bonds, established routines and found slivers of comfort in the friendships they had built. Now, without warning, they were being torn apart and sent somewhere new. Watching them say goodbye, clinging to each other, was gut-wrenching.

I had no idea what was waiting for me next. In hindsight, that was probably for the best.

Our next stop was Arizona, the San Luis Regional Detention Center. The transfer process lasted 24 hours, a sleepless, grueling ordeal. This time, men were transported with us. Roughly 50 of us were crammed into a prison bus for the next five hours, packed together – women in the front, men in the back. We were bound in chains that wrapped tightly around our waists, with our cuffed hands secured to our bodies and shackles restraining our feet, forcing every movement into a slow, clinking struggle.

When we arrived at our next destination, we were forced to go through the entire intake process all over again, with medical exams, fingerprinting – and pregnancy tests; they lined us up in a filthy cell, squatting over a communal toilet, holding Dixie cups of urine while the nurse dropped pregnancy tests in each of our cups. It was disgusting.

We sat in freezing-cold jail cells for hours, waiting for everyone to be processed. Across the room, one of the women suddenly spotted her husband. They had both been detained and were now seeing each other for the first time in weeks.

The look on her face – pure love, relief and longing – was something I’ll never forget.

We were beyond exhausted. I felt like I was hallucinating.

The guard tossed us each a blanket: “Find a bed.”

There were no pillows. The room was ice cold, and one blanket wasn’t enough. Around me, women lay curled into themselves, heads covered, looking like a room full of corpses. This place made the last jail feel like the Four Seasons.

I kept telling myself: Do not let this break you.

Thirty of us shared one room. We were given one Styrofoam cup for water and one plastic spoon that we had to reuse for every meal. I eventually had to start trying to eat and, sure enough, I got sick. None of the uniforms fit, and everyone had men’s shoes on. The towels they gave us to shower were hand towels. They wouldn’t give us more blankets. The fluorescent lights shined on us 24/7.

Everything felt like it was meant to break you. Nothing was explained to us. I wasn’t given a phone call. We were locked in a room, no daylight, with no idea when we would get out.

I tried to stay calm as every fiber of my being raged towards panic mode. I didn’t know how I would tell Britt where I was. Then, as if sent from God, one of the women showed me a tablet attached to the wall where I could send emails. I only remembered my CEO’s email from memory. I typed out a message, praying he would see it.

He responded.

Through him, I was able to connect with Britt. She told me that they were working around the clock trying to get me out. But no one had any answers; the system made it next to impossible. I told her about the conditions in this new place, and that was when we decided to go to the media.

She started working with a reporter and asked whether I would be able to call her so she could loop him in. The international phone account that Britt had previously tried to set up for me wasn’t working, so one of the other women offered to let me use her phone account to make the call.

We were all in this together.

With nothing to do in my cell but talk, I made new friends – women who had risked everything for the chance at a better life for themselves and their families.

Through them, I learned the harsh reality of seeking asylum. Showing me their physical scars, they explained how they had paid smugglers anywhere from $20,000 to $60,000 to reach the US border, enduring brutal jungles and horrendous conditions.

One woman had been offered asylum in Mexico within two weeks but had been encouraged to keep going to the US. Now, she was stuck, living in a nightmare, separated from her young children for months. She sobbed, telling me how she felt like the worst mother in the world.

Many of these women were highly educated and spoke multiple languages. Yet, they had been advised to pretend they didn’t speak English because it would supposedly increase their chances of asylum.

Some believed they were being used as examples, as warnings to others not to try to come.

Women were starting to panic in this new facility, and knowing I was most likely the first person to get out, they wrote letters and messages for me to send to their families.

It felt like we had all been kidnapped, thrown into some sort of sick psychological experiment meant to strip us of every ounce of strength and dignity.

We were from different countries, spoke different languages and practiced different religions. Yet, in this place, none of that mattered. Everyone took care of each other. Everyone shared food. Everyone held each other when someone broke down. Everyone fought to keep each other’s hope alive.

I got a message from Britt. My story had started to blow up in the media.

Almost immediately after, I was told I was being released.

My Ice agent, who had never spoken to me, told my lawyer I could have left sooner if I had signed a withdrawal form, and that they hadn’t known I would pay for my own flight home.

From the moment I arrived, I begged every officer I saw to let me pay for my own ticket home. Not a single one of them ever spoke to me about my case.

To put things into perspective: I had a Canadian passport, lawyers, resources, media attention, friends, family and even politicians advocating for me. Yet, I was still detained for nearly two weeks.

Imagine what this system is like for every other person in there.

A small group of us were transferred back to San Diego at 2am – one last road trip, once again shackled in chains. I was then taken to the airport, where two officers were waiting for me. The media was there, so the officers snuck me in through a side door, trying to avoid anyone seeing me in restraints. I was beyond grateful that, at the very least, I didn’t have to walk through the airport in chains.

To my surprise, the officers escorting me were incredibly kind, and even funny. It was the first time I had laughed in weeks.

I asked if I could put my shoelaces back on.

“Yes,” one of them said with a grin. “But you better not run.”

“Yeah,” the other added. “Or we’ll have to tackle you in the airport. That’ll really make the headlines.”

I laughed, then told them I had spent a lot of time observing the guards during my detention and I couldn’t believe how often I saw humans treating other humans with such disregard. “But don’t worry,” I joked. “You two get five stars.”

When I finally landed in Canada, my mom and two best friends were waiting for me. So was the media. I spoke to them briefly, numb and delusional from exhaustion.

It was surreal listening to my friends recount everything they had done to get me out: working with lawyers, reaching out to the media, making endless calls to detention centers, desperately trying to get through to Ice or anyone who could help. They said the entire system felt rigged, designed to make it nearly impossible for anyone to get out.

The reality became clear: Ice detention isn’t just a bureaucratic nightmare. It’s a business. These facilities are privately owned and run for profit.

Companies like CoreCivic and GEO Group receive government funding based on the number of people they detain, which is why they lobby for stricter immigration policies. It’s a lucrative business: CoreCivic made over $560m from Ice contracts in a single year. In 2024, GEO Group made more than $763m from Ice contracts.

The more detainees, the more money they make. It stands to reason that these companies have no incentive to release people quickly. What I had experienced was finally starting to make sense.

[everlastingephemera]

la petite mort | Spencer Reid

— or the one where Spencer had (again) been gone too long, but he always makes up for it in the loveliest way possible. [Spencer Reid x fem!reader]

Word Count: 3K. (Want to say) proof-read.

Content Warnings: (18+ MDNI) SMUT. SECOND-PERSON POV. No use of Y/N. Soft-dom!Spencer (if you are asking me, that is), sub!reader(?), established relationship, fingering, oral fixation (if you squint), slight overstimulation, fade-to-black smut, Spencer Reid’s a tease, who am I to go against canon?

Author's Note: Okay, listen. If my angst/fluff fanfics are one level of self-indulgent, then you cannot imagine to what level my smut fanfics can be classified as that. I wrote this in one sitting while listening to The Neighbourhood’s A Little Death because I need this man desperately. Proud of it enough to post, not proud of it enough to say that this is me at my smutty best. It was originally meant to be a fully-detailed smut fanfic, but I decided that my smut debut should be a Spencer Reid fingering fanfic. Might be more of anticipatory smut with how wordy it is, but fuck, I am a slut for detailing and the build-up, so, do with that as you please! Anyway, as always, if it’s not your cup of tea, then of course, ignore it. And if anyone happens to like it enough to interact with it, I am glad that I could deliver!

Everything had started innocently enough. Truthfully, it always did. With Spencer, each lingering glance, each creeping touch, each tender moment, all of it was almost instinctive. A rehearsed dance. A fated connection between magnets meant to attract each other. A deliberate merging of hearts, minds, souls, and bodies.

Bodies that have been together for much longer than apart, that have known each other in such intimate detail, that wilt from a thirst that cannot be adequately quenched until they become entwined again.

They say that love is stored in waiting, in the patient yearning for whatever is sure to come. You wait not because you have to, but because you cannot do otherwise. Because you don’t want to do otherwise. Because there are countless of moments that make you feel glad you are alive, but none of them can compare to the sweet embrace of the tiniest death at Spencer’s hands.

La petite mort. Literally translating to a little death. That’s how the French referred to an orgasm. A phrase going back centuries, that the English borrowed from them, not exactly or solely to be used with that reasoning.

You’d never thought of it like that ever before. How that brief window between consciousness and unconsciousness, where all senses are heightened and your mind’s focused only on feeling, not thinking, resembled death. It was Spencer who had let you in on that tidbit of knowledge (just like he had countless others), the words whispered following feather-light pressings of his lips across your body as he soothed your overwhelmed senses. You’d smiled and pulled him closer to you, welcoming the reprieve, both intellectual and sensory, that he’d offered, although you’d of course not spent any time considering the intricacies of it in that vulnerable state you were.

Since then, Spencer had touched you many, many, many times. He’d pleased you in a plethora of ways, all of which managed to drive you towards that enticing brink, pushed you over that sweet, foreign realm of sensations, only to bring you back to what you’ve always known. Sometimes it happened suddenly, without time for excess anticipation, and others extensively, as if there was all the time in the world for that dulcet built-up alone. It was all of those times that came, and the ones yet to come, though, that he did it for no other reason than he loved you infinitely, in ways that words couldn’t possibly capture quite as his body’s yearning desire for you could. Words weren’t his strongest suit, anyway. They were yours. He’d always been more practical, collecting aces up his sleeve in the form of experiments and keepsakes alike, enjoying and opting for the hands-on approaches in every aspect of his life. And with every one of them, you’d begun to understand just why the French used those words to describe that feeling.

That feeling that, although inherently sickly and pleasing as it was, became otherworldly, sacred in Spencer’s hands. A weapon you’d gladly be in the receiving end of, time and time again.

Maybe that’s why you miss him so much when he is gone, why his temporary absence haunts the marks of his ever-lasting presence on your body enough for you to physically ache. He has made a home inside of you, across each part of you, that is hauntingly empty whenever his presence is more a memory than anything else.

Maybe that’s why you’re already here now, moments after he’s found himself home from a case which had kept him away for a week, and you’ve found yourself sinking down against his forest-green bedding. 

Only you’re not reaching for the emptiness you reside with while he’s gone, but his body as he finds himself on top of you, chests colliding over thick fabrics.

“Missed you,” You mumble after he pulls back just enough for you to remove his suit jacket from his broad shoulders, “Missed you so much.”

He doesn’t waste time throwing it on his bedroom floor carelessly enough. Neither does he interrupt you as you fiddle with the buttons of his cardigan — Fuck, why did he always have to wear this many layers? — and his own hands reach to feel you underneath your oversized sweater, “I know, baby, I know. I missed you, too.”

A tiny grumble slips past your lips after you successfully remove his cardigan and unbutton the bottom part of his shirt. “Mhm, did you?”

“Of course, I did. You know I did,” His voice is heavy and husky where it vibrates against your jawline, his lips latching onto every sweet spot he has memorised, “I always miss you when I’m away.”

“You didn’t call enough…”

He sighs, gingerly lifting his head from the crook of your neck, brushing his nose against yours, “I know, baby, I’m sorry. I wanted to.” The pout on your lips after he pecks them sweetly is as adorable as your futile attempts at pulling off his tie. He’d be more than happy to kiss it all night. After all, a week away from you’s too long. He’s eager to make it up to you. “Will you let me redeem myself?”

“Please.”

He gives you a languid, tender kiss, one of those that he always turns to when he feels especially happy that you are his, before murmuring his gratitude and getting back to work. 

Yanking off his tie, it takes him mere seconds to remove his now fully-unbuttoned shirt, while your lithe fingers reach for his belt buckle. He ignores your half-hearted but very pointed comment for him to be gentle with himself, not because he doesn’t find it endearing, but because he wants to go back to touching you.

You’ve already unzipped his trousers when he ducks down again, reaching for the hem of your sweater, meeting you halfway as you assist him in finally removing it. You hug him close by his neck, your hips unconsciously starting to grind against his thigh.

“Oh, my sweet, eager girl.” He croons, nipping at the heated skin of your chest, the mounts of your breasts not covered by the thin, lacy fabric of your bra. He responds, pushing forward just enough, just the way you like, giving you what you want until you start moaning next to his mouth. 

Your desperate movements are enough for his trousers to easily join the pile of clothes on his bedroom floor, your heaving mouths refusing to part during the somewhat awkward commotion. 

The need to breathe wins both of you over eventually, and Spencer takes his time descending down your front, loving you everywhere he can with his eyes and his mouth and his hands, taking you in after missing you so much, “Tell me what you want, honey.” He asks, ever so politely, as his fingers hook under the sides of your underwear.

“Spencer!” You could almost groan from arousal and frustration and impatience all alike, your hips already canting upwards to send the excessive fabrics adorning both of your bodies to Hell already.

“Oh, baby,” The smile in his voice is evident enough, yet you still open your eyes. To see it, to see him. God, how you love to see him. “You know I’m listening, I’m always listening. Go on. Tell me. Please?”

The sole sound of that teasing plea is enough to make your hips buck, which in turn only made the corners of his lips twitch into a wider smirk. He knew exactly what to do to get you to ask for what you want. It didn’t matter that he already knew the answer. Nevertheless, you complied. You always complied. You can’t find it in you to value your dignity over your incessant need for him. Not during these moments. Not ever, honestly. 

He has you wrapped around his finger and you have him wrapped around yours. Both of you made your peace with that fact a long time ago.

“You know what I want—”

“Mhm, I do,” He hums, and his teeth graze that deviously pleasant spot in your inner thigh, fingertips burying into the plush of it, “But I still want to hear you say it.”

“I want you.”

“You have me.”

“For someone who’s looking to redeem themselves, you’re talking too much,” That groan that you kept holding back on finally made its way past your lips as your fingers tugged at his unruly curls, a little too desperately. He always liked that. “Do you really want me to say it?”

“I find your way with words to be entirely necessary for your utmost fulfilment, as well as mine, so, yes, I do.”

At that, you can’t help but giggle. Fuck, he was a vision. He was a miracle. He was an absolute dork. He was yours. You somehow still can’t believe it. 

“Fine. I want your fingers.” Your voice is all charming provocation, and absolutely no edge. It doesn’t happen often. He loves that only he gets to see you like this. Unguarded, vulnerable, desperate for something only he could give you. You were everything.

The tinge of warmth becoming apparent across his cheeks doesn’t really surprise you. You doubt it even surprises him. If it does, he’s entirely preoccupied with teasing your already soaked entrance with his ring finger.

A desperate, achingly beautiful whine escapes you, and your body seeks him out like a hunter does its prey, although he’s not exactly the preying kind. That’s usually your part of the equation.

“My fingers, huh?” His middle finger joins his ring finger in circling your slit, right as his thumb barely brushes over your clit, “Like this?”

He has barely sunk them home inside you when you gasp, and it’s already over, your eyes alight with a pleading fire as they stare down at him.

Right. Enough teasing.

He kisses you where you need him most and you melt, like you always do. You stick to him like honey, a taste so sweet that leaves him craving more. 

When he feels your warmth enveloping him, he can’t help but curse, a groan rumbling through his throat, “Fuck, baby, always so warm and tight.” He takes his sweet time pumping both of his fingers inside of you, only curling them when he feels your nails graze against his scalp, “Jesus, fuck, I’ve missed you—I’ve missed this so much, pretty girl.”

“Oh God, Spencer—” Your breath catches in your throat, and you twist the blankets next to you in your fist, desperate for a tethering of any kind. You rock your hips against his hand, feeling your entire body being set alight with impeding pleasure, “Mh—Fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s—”

“I know, honey, I know,” He murmurs against your core, planting kisses everywhere he can, his dexterous fingers fucking you the way you loved, “There we go, that’s it, huh?” He can’t take his eyes off of you as you buck and burn under his onslaught of touches, “So warm, so wet. Fuck, look at you, baby. Taking everything I’m giving you so well, letting me fuck you with my fingers. ‘s been too long, huh? It doesn’t feel like this when you do it, does it?” Spencer doesn’t need you to whine out your response to know that he’s right. He can feel it in the way you clench around his fingers. He can see it in the way your heart thuds inside your chest. He can see it in the evidence of your arousal painting his fingers. Still, he smiles triumphantly at your reaction, feeling his cock twitch in the confines of his briefs. “Of course, it doesn’t. ‘s alright, I’m here now, baby, there we go. We’re going to make you feel good, just like that, yeah? There’s my good girl—”

You’re barely holding on, slipping further and further towards unfathomable bliss as Spencer’s thumb draws figure-8s on your clit, and he speeds up the pace of his fingers, his motions precise but gentle. You’re being so overwhelmingly fucked, it’s everywhere. You can feel it, you can hear it, you can see it. Through half-lidded eyes, you look down, and there is Spencer, in his blurry glory, mouth half-pressed against your skin, fingers knuckle-deep inside of you. Your nails dig in his shoulder, and he turns to kiss your thumping pulse on your wrist.

Fuck, he’s so good to you.

When his eyes meet yours, it’s enough for the knot in your stomach to twist, signalling you were very close to that oh, so sweet brink of blissful oblivion. Spencer can see it, he can feel it. Instantly, he offers you his free hand, and you take it, squeezing it tightly. “Oh my God, I’m—Spencer, I’m—” You say his name in that particularly breathless way you do at times like this, and you twist your intertwined hands on your stomach as you arch, as he anchors you down, reminding you that he is here, that you can always take it.

“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you. Come for me—” And he doesn’t have to say it twice, doesn’t really need to give you the green light, before you see stars, your jaw falling open as you tremble while you ride out your orgasm, with Spencer’s eyes locked on you the whole time. He doesn’t stop, continuing to fuck you with perfect skill, until your hand falls limp in his grip, and it all becomes too much. That’s when he settles on kissing your hips, murmuring sweet nothings and endless praise as you slowly come to.

A few moments of you being a panting mess pass. His hand ascends over your front, tracing your hardened peaks through the black lace of your bra, until he finds your pulse point, pressing down on it with a feather-light touch to soothe you. 

You’re okay, you’re alright, you did so, so, good, baby. I love you.

Your heart-rate starts to go back to normal, and you preen. Right, reborn again after the perfect little death. 

Blindly, your chin drops, and you search for the cradle of his palm, ever so needy for the affection which to someone else might be contradictory to such an explosive aftermath of sensations, but to Spencer, has always been like second nature. He’s as gentle as he’s passionate, as careful as he’s unyielding.

A laugh escapes you, small but delirious, nevertheless, and you look at him all hazy and fulfilled and brought back from that tiny, glorious death that he both inflicted upon you and revived you from. 

He kisses you just to kiss you. So that he can taste the pleasure overflowing through and spilling out of you. You kiss him back, and sigh in contentment. When his doting fingers find your jawline, you imprison his thumb inside your mouth, and suck lightly on it.

His gaze darkens and he gulps, his free hand already creeping behind your back to work on the clasp of your bra, as your own pushes the material of his boxer briefs down between your bodies. When you’re both completely bare and still aching with love and desire, it’s his turn to chuckle softly yet deliriously.

“God, I’ve missed you so, so, so much.” 

You look at him all starry-eyed. He grins, his eyes equally soft and holding an entire universe worth of affection just for you. You take his face in your hands, thumbs tracing over the apples of his cheeks, as he settles between your thighs. You are still burning just as much as he is when he sinks inside of you, filling you up incandescently. He takes one of your hands in his, intertwining them next to your head. 

It was him that now needed to be anchored down, as you decided that the French were indeed right, but that one perfect little death with Spencer will never be enough. 

You’ll always crave more. You’ll crave death, and you’ll crave being reborn.

Again and again.

Only if it comes from his hands. 

[kxsagi]

I saw this one idea from an acc and i LOVED IT. Bluelock boys x football player reader?? Thank uuu

“𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐟 > 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦”

a/n: soccer is such a hot sport

ft. itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, tabito karasu, otoya eita, yukimiya kenyu

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐫𝐢𝐧

rin doesn’t do loud cheering. no standing ovations or dramatic fist pumps. nah, he’s the type to sit in the stands with his arms crossed, expression blank, looking like he doesn’t even care. but anyone with half a brain could tell by the way his eyes are locked on you, laser-sharp and focused, that he cares more than anyone else in the stadium. when you score, his lips twitch into the tiniest smirk, and he barely nods, but his fingers tighten around his phone, snapping a photo of you mid-goal. and when you jog over to the sidelines for a water break, he casually offers you his bottle with a deadpan, “good shot.” but the way he holds it out, already uncapped, like he was waiting for you? yeah, he’s been holding that bottle for the last ten minutes, just in case. 

𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐲𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐢

you know shidou’s the type of bf who yells your name like he’s front row at a concert. “THAT’S MY GIRL, BABY! YEAH, SHOW ‘EM WHO’S BOSS!” he’s practically hanging over the railing, shirt half unbuttoned, hair wild from how many times he’s run his fingers through it in excitement. the man is hoarse by halftime from screaming praise at you. when you land a perfect corner kick, he turns to the random dude next to him and slaps his shoulder. “DID YOU SEE THAT? THAT’S MY GIRLFRIEND. LIKE, ACTUALLY. I’M DATING HER.” post-game, he practically tackles you with a hug, sweaty jersey be damned. he grins like a maniac, pressing wet, obnoxious kisses all over your face. “fuck, you were insane out there. mvp. the whole field was yours.”

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐞

sae acts like it’s no big deal. like, whatever, you’re just a pro soccer player, no big deal. but he cannot help himself. whenever someone even vaguely mentions soccer, he casually slips your name into the convo like it’s nothing. “yeah, my girlfriend scored twice in her last match. no big deal.” except he says it so smugly that people have to ask. and oh, does he love when they ask. his voice is flat, but the glimmer in his eyes is unmistakable as he shows them a highlight reel of you absolutely cooking defenders. and when you spot him watching from the sidelines during your game? he’ll give you the laziest little wave, like he’s totally unbothered, but the way his lips twitch ever so slightly when you look his way? yeah, he’s so proud. 

𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢

isagi is basically your personal hype man. he knows all your stats by heart – goals, assists, minutes played – and he’s ready to recite them at a moment’s notice. before your match, he’s pacing by the tunnel, hyping you up like a coach. “you’ve got this. you’ve been nailing your shots in practice. just play your game, baby.” and when you score? oh, he loses it. he’s standing, hands in his hair, eyes wide with disbelief like he just watched you score the winning world cup goal. “holy crap, that was insane!” he’s clapping so hard his palms are probably red. post-game, he hugs you so tight you can barely breathe, grinning like a fool. “i’m so proud of you. like, ridiculously proud.”

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

bachira is a menace on the sidelines. he’s doing little soccer tricks with a stray ball while you play, calling out your name every chance he gets. “go get ‘em, baby! woooo!” when you nutmeg an opponent, he full-on sprints down the sideline like a deranged golden retriever, yelling, “MEGURU’S GIRL, MEGURU’S GIRL!!!” when you win, he storms the field, despite the officials yelling at him to stay back. he picks you up and spins you around, planting kisses all over your face. “you were sooo cool! did you see yourself? wait, of course you did, you were right there! but still!! you were SO COOL.” and yes, he absolutely posts 30 blurry photos of you with captions like, “my goat gf 🐐💖.”

𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐨

reo buys box seats just so he can get a better view of you. he’s wearing designer sunglasses even though he’s indoors, and he sips his expensive sparkling water all casually, acting totally chill. but the second you make a play, he drops the rich guy act. suddenly, he’s standing, clapping loudly and shouting, “YES, BABY! THAT’S MY GIRL!” he’s the type to bring an entire bouquet of roses to your post-game interview and place them dramatically in your arms with a grin. “for the most talented player on the field.” and if the cameras catch it? good. he wants the world to see how proud he is of you. 

𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨

nagi might seem lazy about everything else in life, but when it comes to your games? he’s fully locked in. he shows up wearing your jersey, hair still messy from a nap, but his eyes are glued to you the entire time. he may not be the loudest cheerer, but his voice is the one you hear the most clearly. every time you make a play, he leans forward and mumbles, “so cool…” under his breath, a small smile tugging at his lips. when you win, he’s the first one to greet you, still half-sleepy but grinning ear to ear. he loops his arms around your waist and leans into you like he’s about to fall asleep. “mmm… you’re my mvp. carry me home?” (bro’s gonna break your back)

𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐨

karasu cannot shut up about you. he’s straight-up posting memes like, “my gf could outplay your entire team.” at your game, he’s the guy standing by the railing with his arms spread wide like, “did you guys see that?!?!” if you score, he’s turning to random strangers like, “that’s my girl. mine. you see that? yeah, i go home to her.” when you walk off the field, he greets you with the cockiest grin. “pfft. that was light work for you. wasn’t even a challenge.” but then he softens, brushing some hair out of your face. “seriously, though… you were unreal out there. my little soccer star.”

𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐚 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐚

otoya is leaning against the stadium railing like a walking thirst trap, winking at you every time your eyes meet. “hey, number ten, you single?” he calls out dramatically, earning glares from nearby fans. when you land a perfect free kick, he lets out an exaggerated, impressed whistle. “damn, babe. you always this sexy when you destroy your opponents?” post-game, he slinks over with that flirty grin, resting his arm around your shoulders. “you were so hot out there. i think i need a private post-game interview with you. maybe in my hotel room?”

𝐲𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐮

yukimiya is all soft smiles and heart eyes. he watches you like you hung the moon, his hands clasped together as if he’s witnessing a miracle. when you score, he exhales softly, eyes filled with admiration. he’s not the type to shout, but you can feel the warmth in his applause. post-game, he greets you with open arms, pressing the softest kiss to your temple. “you were incredible,” he murmurs, voice full of awe. he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes glimmering with so much pride it makes your chest ache. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[velvetvexations]

If your objection is that this was intended as a simple slice of life archival photo without implication to your feelings on the GDR and their police because you are not a tankie, I will not debate you on that point. For the sake of argument we'll ignore the fact that the first thing I saw on your blog was reblogging directly from someone who is 100% a tankie who specifically believes that the GDR was a cool fun praxis paradise because I personally called her on that exact topic less than a week ago.

Whatever clinical neutral mere uploader of photographs you may be, unsurprisingly the primary appeal of a cop and his cop girlfriend in an authoritarian police state having a cute tender moment is, wow, people who stan that nation and praise it being a police state!

I mean, what, exactly, do you think people find so interesting about this? Confused Star Wars fans who think they're cosplaying Imperial officers? Whenever I reblog a quaint historical image of the profoundly evil country I'm historically fixated on I go out of my way to add commentary on a historical tidbit, and always without divorcing it from that evil, so I'm not just reblogging black and white photos of Zeroes a few hours before the methed-up penny postcard in the cockpit turned it into loose chunks of burning debris littering a mildly damaged flight deck.

I mean, for fuck's sake:

I don't accuse the OPs of images of Imperial Japan of anything, but I'm under no illusion that they're primarily reblogged by people who are way too into the Principality of Zeon. When this post was shoved in front of me with over a thousand notes, I correctly deduced, like anyone with a pulse could, that it was popular with the above idiots regardless of whatever you may have meant by it. The reblogs were what I was criticizing, not the existence of the photo in and of itself, and if you're going to post things like this you should maybe learn to live with the fact that people will point out a basic fact about it's audience.

East German policeman nearing the completion of his education, with his girlfriend who is a candidate for the police school, 1988

[tiramissyoucake]

Can I request a scenario where Mohawk Mark and Girly reader first met each other, like he's the school's bad boy and no one mess with him since he's basically crazy.

Reader was maybe getting hit on and cornered into a wall or being followed then bump into mohawk mark and ask for his help, then he did. Which ends with the results of reader following him everywhere and over sharing to the the point they started dating.

Getting in trouble together, having quickies in the most unlikely places and sleeping naked together even though they didn't do anything before that, they're just enjoying each other's company

I love this idea so much. Mohawk Mark x girly reader you will always be loved.

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

CW: semi-public? Piv, fem reader (girly/Bimbo coded), corny ass flight confession thing, stripping after fucking, not proof read

.

When Mark's powers started coming in slowly but surely, he immediately thought of all the things he could do for his own satisfaction. A few days after getting them, at school, he punched a student so badly he was suspended for a week, he saw it as a vacation.

When he came back, the student he punched had a patch on where he got hit and everyone steered clear from Mark with uneasy eyes or judgemental glances followed by whispering, (except William, but William already barely talked to him now.) He didn't care, he was a God among men now, he learned to pull his punches, he had a feeling killing a student with a singular punch would be more trouble than it's worth.

He talked back to teachers, harshly bumped into whoever was in his way and glared back twice as hard to anyone who had the gall to look at him, he was untouchable so why should he care about what anyone else thinks? He doesn't mind suspension if it means scaring these losers into knowing who's stronger.

His appearance was enough as is, he was certain he was the only student with a mohawk. He fumbled with his locker, the weight of the books growing more irritating as he finally got it open, tossing whatever he didn't need inside, he heard speaking next to him- not the usual shit talk some gossip fiends would jabber about, he heard arguing.

"Can you back off?! I have a class to get to!"

"Just ditch with me! Who cares about class?"

"I do, dumbass! That's the whole point of school?!"

Following the noise, he immediately saw you, your annoyed expression didn't match the adorable appearance. Pretty glossy lips, styled hair, a bag with too many charms and keychains. You were fending off a guy who was getting a bit too close, even for him. Some no-name jock who he was sure had less personality than he had brains which was already low.

"Don't touch me!" You jerked your shoulder out of his hand with a glare. "What, now you're too good for me?"

Okay, this was embarrassing. Mark rolled his eyes before slamming his locker shut, approaching the bickering.

"She's not interested, dickhead." He started, taking your side. "Why don't you fuck off before I make you?"

The guy scoffed, sure he was more muscular but he didn't have half-viltrumite genetics. "What're you gonna do? Think you're some kinda hero?"

He didn't wait for anymore incentive, his fist flying immediately into his jaw- granted he had to hold back *a lot* of momentum he picked up in his swing, you gasped, the jerk staggered and held his jaw and stared in shock.

"Yeah that's what I thought, pussy." Mark grinned, his fist unaffected as he turned to you- you looked starstruck. "What do you for first period?"

It took you a moment to find your voice, stuttering. "Uh— history..?"

Huh. So did he. "Come on." He grabbed your arm and tugged you along, you followed with no protests. Mark was surprised at how obedient you were being given you were arguing with the dumbfounded idiot back there like hell, a small smirk came onto his face- maybe you were terrified of him like everyone else.

He stopped once he reached the correct room, letting go of your arm to open the door, he turned to you to say some cool goodbye he'd been practicing but paused.

You practically had hearts in your eyes as you stared at him, restraining a smile. "I didn't get to thank you for helping me back there!" Your friendly tone was a welcome change from the earlier hostility. "I'm (Name), you're Mark, right?"

"... how'd you know?"

"Duh? Everyone knows you! You're the guy that punched a guy." Yeah, that was about right. "I didn't know you were such a Knight in shining armor, though!"

He scoffed, almost offended at that. "Hell no, he was just pissing me off. You just happened to be there."

"Whatever you say~"

It started from there, in that history class, you sat next to him and kept trying to pass notes, to which he crumpled and tossed aside. You chalked it up to the tough guy persona he was trying to uphold because why else would he repeatedly glance at you?

You walked with him to his classes and monologued since he barely responded to make it a conversation. "-but I dunno, like sometimes I wanna go for the messy hair look but I can't leave my house without styling it! What do you think? I mean I like your mohawk, like rarely any guys can pull off a mohawk-"

Details he didn't care about were being retained in his head, and he prayed to God you'd leave him alone during lunch, maybe you had your own bimbo friends to talk to so he could get some peace and quiet.

All hopes of that were thrown out the window as he saw your tray land on the table he occupied, you sat down and smiled like he was the best thing in the world. "Hey, you!"

He dropped the plastic fork, sighing. "Fine. What do you want?"

"What do you mean?" You responded so cluelessly as you brought out a compact mirror from your bag.

"You've been following me around like a damn dog since this morning." You pissed him off, how could you worry about if you had enough glitter on your face at a moment like this. "What the fuck do you want?"

You scoffed, like he was stupid. "Uh, because I like you? And wanna get to know you? I know you have a pretty... yikes. Reputation. But I don't care, earlier this year they spread rumors that I slept with everyone on the football team." You leaned closer, grinning. "I wouldn't touch any of those losers with a ten foot pole."

Mark furrowed his eyebrows, he didn't trust you fully but you weren't exactly a nuisance. He shrugged. "Suit yourself, princess."

The gasp you let out scared him into dropping his fork again. "'Princess'?! We're on a nickname basis now?! Omg, okay! I'll call you Marky!"

"Don't." He gritted, that made him sound like a boy toy, he hoped his scowl brought your attention away from his reddening cheeks.

.

He hated admitting his parents were right, but he knew why keeping the powers thing a secret was important, he didn't want government losers trying to recruit him for corny hero work or get civilians talking, but he figured you wouldn't be a problem and shockingly, you weren't. The first thing you asked him was if he was like 'real life superman'.

Sneaking into your painfully adorable bedroom, he ignored all your questions of "how'd you get in?!" And "what's wrong?", holding your wrist.

"C'mon, I gotta show you something." You got up from your bed, magazines discarded as he tugged you closer to the window. "Hold on! Mark, my parents are gonna kill me!"

He rolled his eyes, one leg already out the window. "They won't know, trust me. C'mere."

He pulled you closely, chest to chest as he guided you out the window. One moment, your feet were on the windowsill, and the next he's soaring through the sky with you held tightly in his arms.

"If you drop me, I swear I'll kill you!!" You yelled as you clung to his shirt, Mark grinned and propped you up.

"Uh oh, my hands slipping!" His little jab made you yell and cling to him harder, he almost went crazy feeling you hide your face in his neck and tighten your hands' grip on him. "MARK!! THAT'S NOT FUNNY!"

He couldn't help laughing, you were adorable enough as is, seeing you huddle up to him in his arms in the sky was a sight to see. At this point, he hovered and went at a decent pace over town, watching your expression. "What'd I tell you? Worth it or not?"

"Everything looks so pretty from up here.." You mumbled while glancing around, looking up at him. "Taking me out for a romantic flight, what's next? Are you gonna confess to me?" Your smile gave him the message that you'd hoped he would.

"Yeah? And if I was?" He leaned in, a grin on his lips, truth be told, after accepting your presence as a reoccurring thing in his life he found himself liking you more and more, following him around like a lovesick stalker. (it helped that he thought you were hot as hell too)

"I'd be real happy if you did?" You hummed, a blush dusting your cheeks. "You already know that I really like you, Marky."

That stupid nickname he came to accept, you were gonna be the death of him. "I like you too, princess. I really really like you." He repeated as he leaned closer, tightening his grip on you.

Pressing his lips to yours, you had a feeling the first kiss wouldn't be innocent, and you were right. A groan escaped him as if to silently say "finally", it was messy, biting your bottom lip, his tongue darting out to deepen the kiss further and tilting his head when you parted your lips for him, if only he did this in your room so he could properly kiss you until your lips were bruised.

the scenery itself made him want to roll his eyes, your Mark holding you in the air in the nightsky- hovering over the town like he was some cheesy comic book hero with a damsel; as corny as it was, it was perfect.

.

You kept in contact after getting accepted into college while he didn't make the effort to even apply. How could you not? Every time you'd see that stupid mohawk in the distance, you'd get so excited you could burst. Mark still had his methods of sneaking in your dorm and whisking you away to God knows where.

A house party hosted by someone you both don't know, a club that was way too exclusive, a festival with everyone bringing their own spread blankets for some show, that one was your favourite; your deviant of a boyfriend found a secluded corner near the woods you could set up your blanket at and he wasted no time having you all to himself.

"Be quiet you— mmff..!" He hissed, his hands grabbing your hips to guide your movement, his dick buried inside you under the skirt he thanked god you decided to wear, perfect for tugging your panties off and having his way. "Fuck, just like that..."

Your whimpers and moans drove him insane but he didn't want any festival goers to find you two like this, you bouncing on his cock with his pants tugged halfway down, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. "C-can't, Marky..! So good...!"

Mark let out a breathless laugh, bucking his hips up to you. "C'mere- kiss me." You obeyed, you always did. Lips parted as yours slotted against his own, his tongue invading your mouth almost instantly to swallow any of your adorable moans, he groaned as his hand came down to spank you briefly, a short but strong swing that stung in the best way and made you yelp into his mouth.

"You like that?" He grinned, mischievous and filthy. "Such a good slut for me- mmh, mine, right?" You nodded rapidly, that didn't seem good enough as he spanked you again to ellicit a response. "Ah! Yes! Yours..! Only yours..! Mark!!"

He noted your pace, humming. "As much as I love seeing you hop on my cock, bunny." He sat up, flipping you over and shoving you back down to the blanket he chuckled at your shocked noise. "I wanna fuck you proper."

His hips pistoned against yours, a devastating pace as he panted and grunted over your moans, his hands intertwining with yours. "Yes, fuck- take it, that's a good princess.." he huffed, your legs locking around his waist.

And that wasn't the end of it, as if fucking you like it was your last time meeting wasn't enough, back at your dorm he pinned you back to your bed and threw your clothes off for round two. It must've been Viltrumite stamina or something because he couldn't get enough of you, or maybe he was just that obsessed with you.

He stilled with a loud groan as a stuttered moan escaped you, his hips grinding against you as he pumped you full. "Yes, yes, yes. Fuuhuuuuck...!" Mark almost drooled out as your pussy hugged his cock closely.

"God— I love you, Markyyy..." You extended the nickname, a blissed out expression on your face as he came closer, licking his lips. "I love you too, you're so fuckin' cute..." a satisfied moan escaped him as he kissed you, your hand cupping his cheek gently as you reciprocated happily.

"Mmm... gotta go soon.." he begrudgingly reminded you, to which you whined and clung to him. "Nooooooo..!"

"Baby, come on. You know you'll get in trouble if anyone finds me here." He remembered your college's harsh guidelines on 'uninvited guests' in the dorm, that didn't stop you from insisting. "God, they won't know! Don't worry!"

He rolled his eyes affectionately at you as he settled next to you. "Okay, okay! Just gimme a sec to take this shit off.." he threw aside whatever remaining clothes he had on, a pile forming in the corner as he tossed aside the articles of clothing one by one. "You took, off. Now."

A giggle escaped you as he started to remove your clothes, almost too playfully as he coaxed you. "What's funny? C'mon! You gonna let me be the only naked freak here?"

Sweat had coated your bodies from the rush at the festival and running back, so peeling off whatever remaining clothes was a huge relief. Laying back in the small bed, the size wasn't an issue as you two shuffled closer, skin to skin.

"You comfy?" His arm wrapped around you while the other propped up his head up on your pillow, you let out a happy hum, kissing his cheek. "Uh-huh, you better not leave before I wake up in the morning!"

"Oh, baby I wouldn't dream of it." Mark grinned, holding you possessively.

He wasn't ideal, he wasn't someone who would encourage you to be your best, you knew these late outings and rendezvous that ended up with him naked in your bed wouldn't end well, but the two of you didn't care, you were perfect for each other and that's all that mattered.

[dollbrbie]

♡ ⸝⸝ THE BREAKUP

cw. fratboy isagi, so so so angsty, isagi really gets his feelings hurt :(

“i think we should break up.”

isagi gives a slight huff, “it’s not funny when you say things like that.”

you breath in, “i’m not joking, isagi.”

he turns around to face you, currently sat on his bed with your brows pinched together slightly. it was clear you had been thinking about something.

“what’s going on, baby?”, he asks, his tone more concerned.

you debated telling him the truth, making yourself look like a fool and having isagi so easily convince you that you’re wrong. he’s too reassuring like that.

ever since you heard everyone say you weren’t good enough for him, that you were too mean, too much for someone like isagi, it just kept playing on your mind like an endless loop, causing you to second guess yourself over and over.

because as much as you hate to admit it, they were right. you were mean, way too mean for a guy like isagi. he’s so sweet and genuine with not a nasty bone in his body. he deserves to be treated like a king, to have a girlfriend adore him just as much as he adores you.

but were you really that? are you really giving him everything he truly deserves?

“i just don’t think.. we’re really working out.”, you sigh.

he frowns, “you don’t think that at all. why’re you saying this?”, the hurt evident in his voice.

and that hurts you.

“isagi, stop.”

he doesn’t.

“no. tell me why you’re saying this. you’re not throwing our whole relationship away because in your eyes we’re suddenly ‘not working out’.”, he explains with air quotes, “you don’t get to say that without some explanation, it’s fucked up.”

you wish he just made it easier for you, to just accept this. but now having to rip the bandaid off you say, “fine then. i just don’t want to be with you anymore.”

there’s a long pause where isagi just processes what you say, “you don’t mean that.”, he whimpers, his eyes glossy.

of course you didn’t mean that. god, the look on his face hurt you more than anything, your own heart heavy. that’s when you knew you had really hurt his feelings and that’s the last thing you ever wanted to do. but, this was in isagi’s best interest.. right?

“i do.”, you whisper, you eyes down as you fiddle with your fingers, sat cross cross on his bed.

“why? what did i do? i can fix it, baby. whatever i did, i can fix it.”, isagi pleas frantically, scurrying closer to you by sitting on the edge of his bed, “please, just tell me.”

“you can’t, isagi. just stop it, okay?”, you sigh, getting up from his bed before grabbing your bag and packing up the few essentials you had in his room, “we just aren’t working, that’s it.”

“no- i just, i don’t understand what i did.”, he swallows, “i thought- i thought you loved me. i love you.”

you feel your bottom lip tremble. this felt like kicking a sweet puppy who kept running back to you.

you don’t say anything, in fear of losing composure and crying your heart out. so, you carry on packing your things, muting out isagi’s frantic pleas and breaking voice despite how hard it was, before rushing out of his room to get back to your own dorm, leaving him alone where everything felt too silent besides his thumping heartbeat.

and that’s when he felt the tears fall from his eyes, and down his cheeks. isagi wasn’t a crier, not at all. but, here he was, crying over you as you leave him with no closure, no nothing. without the answers you couldn’t give him, all he could do was wonder what the hell went so wrong. what the hell made you leave him so suddenly?

with all of his thoughts going rampant in his mind, isagi mutters, “fuck, man.”

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work