#oh but we just need to work harder to do better for everyone

[docholligay]

sounds like you successfully argued to have migrants put in PRISON instead of the equivalent of a hurricane/emergency evac center :/

So i had a whole, really cutting takedown of this statement, and, in general, the smattering of bad faith engagement I've had with a post that went far beyond my usual reach so wasn't written with as many protections against folks looking for a crack in the wall.

But being mean to someone, who, in any case only believes what they are saying so far as they can be anonymous while doing it, isn't helpful. It doesn't inform you any better, it doesn't inform anyone of how to go about this stuff, it just makes feel good that I, what? Made someone on tumblr look silly? Everyone claps? Jesus Christ what a waste of life.

So, let me tell you what actually was successfully argued. What was argued was that the one place in the state that had been offered up by the politicians was rejected by its people. There may be one someday, but not here and not today.

The prison that guy mentioned? (It was not me, but you'd be forgiven for thinking it--this went around with an INSANELY, fox newsbite level, bad faith crop that made me immediately regret not editing better) It's not owned by the state. I went and looked it up later. It's owned by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Supposedly they are running it for their own use. It's gonna be a lot harder to get them to use that.

What we successfully argued, is delaying the implementation of anything. Delaying is a huge part of resistance. Every headache you give people, every hour you cost them, is a win. We cannot afford to wait for utopia, and perfection, and a savior. Some of our greatest weapons in life are delaying, and feigned incompetence, and picking at threads. Especially if you live in a red area, sometimes you gotta go, "Oh sure, yeah, but you know, not THERE, and...no, not there either, cause of X, and, man, Y is almost a perfect place but I just can't sign off on it because..." you see what I'm saying? Oskar Schindler was arguing he needed Jewish children to polish the insides of gun barrels.

The other thing that was argued, is when the commissioner said, 'We'll bend over backward to accommodate your orders," we said, "No we won't." And that goes much further than any site. It sends a small message, that, even in a red part of a red state, not everyone is falling into line. This is why action matters.

I'm not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, and my work in political arenas is not either. But, I have been doing stuff in political arenas since Obama, and, I have always worked here, in this very complicated place. I am an extremely pragmatic worker. I do what works. I don't care much about the appearance of goodness. Sometimes delaying a project is what it takes. Sometimes, in life, you lose anyway. But that doesn't make the delaying worthless. I have lost a lot of fights, and I am going to be set up to lose a lot more. But, today? An offer had to be withdrawn. And that's something.

I hope you come back, and reread both the post and this response, and, even if you disagree with me, have a different perspective on how political action can be approached. More than that, I want it to give you hope that even small, imperfect actions matter. The perfect is the enemy of the good. And the good is the enemy of the literally accomplished.

[gongedtornado]

“employees are so lazy! people in america don’t want to work anymore!” actually we work our ass off, but your complaining and our unlivable wages make it insufferable.

[m1dn1ght-r0t]

Eyes Wrapped in Wool

Yandere! (ex) husband x amnesiac! fem reader

TW: manipulation, toxic/abusive behavior, mentions of (potential) forced imprisonment, coercion A/N: pretty sure amnesia doesn't work this way (i'm no medical professional) but pls suspend disbelief for the sake of the plot ahahah

Your husband never expected things to turn out this way. But by some stroke of luck—or perhaps divine intervention—you ended up bed-ridden in the ICU, suffering from multiple bone fractures and a terrible, oh-so-terrible, traumatic brain injury. Just last week you were talking his ear off about how you've had enough. How you were done with him controlling what you could wear or who you could see, his suffocating clinginess that devolved into explosive rages when you spent time focusing on work or with friends instead of with him, the negging, the snooping, the smashed plates... Jesus Christ. You just never knew when to shut the fuck up, did you? At some point he had stopped listening. Chalked off your dramatic tirade as nothing more than you acting up because of your period—merely white noise. How many times have you guys had this same broken record conversation? Yeah, he knew this marriage wasn't smooth-sailing. If it were, you'd be less opinionated, less bitchy, more pliant, more dutiful. But what relationship was ever perfect? So, he waited for you to run out of steam, as you inevitably do, before adding salt to the wound:

“You know baby, if you weren’t parading around in those slutty clothes of yours and acted your grown age for once, I wouldn’t be behaving that way.”

The scrunch of disbelief mixed with disgust on your face only spurred him to double down. “And maybe if you actually committed to this marriage like a devoted wife would, rather than prioritize your career and practically everyone over me—your husband, need I remind you—then we wouldn’t be having these issues. Ever considered that, hm?” He purposely dragged out his words, a patronizing lilt to his tone, in hopes of reminding that thick, dumb skull of yours that he always knew best.

It wasn't until you had thrusted the divorce papers in his face that he grew silent, the severity of the situation beginning to creep in. ...What? You couldn't actually be serious... right? This was just some lover's spat. A temporary blip that'd be smoothed over with a few intentionally placed saccharine words and hot make-up sex. Like always. So why the fucking theatrics? Are you really gonna be a bitch about this and d— When you slammed the front door shut with your packed bags in tow, leaving him to stew in your parting words—that you deserved better, so much better than him, and that if he didn't sign the papers, he'd be hearing from your lawyer—did the gravity of it all finally sink in. By the end of the week, your voicemail was battered by his countless furious messages. Are you done being a flighty little piece of shit, huh? What the fuck do you think you're doing? I swear to god, baby, I'm gonna drag your ass back here. And if I have to lock you in some basement and chain your hands and legs so you'd never think to leave me again, then so fucking be it. Divorce? Yeah right. Over my dead fucking body. Then came an unknown call. It was like whiplash, really, to first hear that you had been involved in a major car crash, and then, upon rushing to the hospital at neck-breaking speed— "I'm afraid she has retrograde amnesia", the doctor solemnly informed him. He could cry. Oh, he could fucking cry.

On the outside, anyone could see how distraught he was, his hands trembling as he processed the diagnosis, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Poor husband that he was, having almost lost his beloved wife in a freak accident, he now had to deal with the news that she didn't remember who he was. Inside, however, raged a war he couldn't reconcile: what was harder? Holding back the tears, or pretending those very tears were out of sadness rather than pure, unbridled joy? Because what this neatly packaged situation had presented him with was a do-over, a chance to mend the broken marriage teetering on the cusp of divorce. And like hell he's about to let you throw away a three-year connection like some ungrateful cunt when he loves you so, very much.

~

"Hey sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

As he walks up beside your hospital bed, he can't help but revel at how vulnerable you look. The slight furrow in your brows hinting at your confusion, the way you curl in on yourself as if to protect yourself from who is no doubt a complete stranger in your eyes, and your meek "Who are you?"—a far cry from the usual feisty, snarky attitude you used to dish out.

But perhaps most rewarding of all is the tentative gaze you offer him, eyes filled with a sort of curious glimmer, free from the hostility, disappointment, and hurt you'd flashed his way. You didn't look at him with hate. You simply want to know who he is.

Oh, aren't you precious? He'll gladly feed you his carefully spun narrative until you're full of nothing but adoring love for him—the embers of your thoughts about divorce and leaving him snuffed out for good.

"I know how confusing all of this must be for you. Take all the time you need. I'll be right here with you, as your husband, helping you fill the gaps, okay baby?" He delivers this with as much patience as he can muster, softening the edges of his words to avoid spooking you. But you're not soothed. If anything, you're more overwhelmed than ever. "M-my husband?" You echo, tasting the foreign word, sticky like warm toffee on your tongue.

"And...and my family? Where are they?" Your disorientation is a sight for sore eyes; how badly he wants to devour you right now. “Dead,” he intones, a script he’d been desperate to act out ever since you said your vows. The jarring news pulls a barely audible whimper from you, your eyes widening a fraction.

Shit. Too cold. Too careless.

His expression softens, the corners of his mouth tugging downward in a facsimile of sorrow as he injects a note of pity into his voice. “They died when you were very young, you see. I’m sorry.” He’s really not.

"What…? How could that be? So my p-parents, they're both—" Your breath hitches, tears welling at the corner of your eyes.

At that, he gently grabs your bandaged arm, wanting to comfort you. But when you flinch slightly, he has to resist the urge to snap at you—Oh, cry me a river. Who the fuck cares?? I'm right here, aren't I? I'm right here, damnnit, so look at me!

Instead, he tempers the resentment that's still fresh in his heart after the divorce stunt you'd pulled by reminding himself that he's supposed to be your kind and gentle partner.

So he settles for cradling your hand in both of his like it's fine china, grazing his lips over your fingertips. "But you have me, sweetheart. And I'm not going anywhere."

He half expects you to question his story—it wasn’t very convincing, even to his own ears—prepared to be barraged by your endless streams of “No, you’re wrong!”, “I don’t believe you!” or some other similar outburst.

But when all you do is gaze up at him with cinched brows, seeking reassurance, blinking at him so sweetly with your hand still snugly warmed in his, he pauses. That’s it? No suspicion, no skepticism, no outburst? Hah! He has to physically restrain himself from snorting because how fucking easy can this get?

Maybe the collision had completely scrambled your brains, rewired you to be more stupid, a little slower—exactly how he likes you.

"You trust me, right?"

And when he feels that subtle twitch of your fingers—what he gathers is your attempt at squeezing his hand back for confirmation—accompanied by the sight of your small, almost shy nod, he breaks out into a giddy smile at how utterly adorable you’re being.

Fuck, it’s hard not to already feel high off these micro-doses of innocence and receptiveness from you. Emboldened by your intoxicatingly sweet naivety, he dares to be a little greedier, creeping to perch on the edge of your bed, his hand now moving to cup your cheek.

“You have no idea how worried sick I was when I got the call. I thought you had…” He trails off, his implication clear. His face is mere inches from yours now, breaths as featherlight as his fingertips mapping every divot on your face.

“I love you.” He drags his thumb across your bottom lip, the act agonizingly slow. “So, so, so much.” Each whisper spills out heavier than the last, mirroring the increasing pressure of his thumb—your lip almost bruising from how hard he’s pinching them.

How long has it been? He can’t remember the last time he felt the warmth of your touch, your skin… eons too long without your pillowy lips pressed against his has left him completely starved.

“You can’t leave me…” A murmur too quiet to pick up. His gaze, now half-lidded, drifts downward in a drunken daze. “My wife. My good little wife. You love me too, right?”

Without warning, he leans in to close the minuscule gap.

And it’s all too fast and soon because you can feel the suffocating heat of his proximity, the chilling shared breath floating between the tight space. It’s all too much. So, in the last second, you hesitate, pulled from your stupor as you turn your head away.

But he’s not having it. Not when you’re already in the palm of his hand and he’s so fucking close. When he can already taste the opportunity to finally take out the trash and parasites leeching off you, to call up that godforsaken shithole you call a stable, steady-paying job and quit on your behalf, to have you all to himself—a blank slate to knock up with several kids and mold into the perfect little housewife he's always wanted you to be. God, he's already hard at the thought.

Grabbing your jaw firmly, he jerks your face back towards him, thumb roughly wedging between your lips and prying your mouth open.

“Baby.” The endearment spills out, sharp and cold, stripped of any warmth it might've once held.

His gentle veneer cracks ever so slightly, and for the briefest moment, you see something else. A flicker beneath the mask—raw, ugly, messy. It gnaws at the edges of your mind, dredging up something you can’t quite grasp. A memory?

“Gimme a small kiss, hmm?” Despite the smile on his face, there is no kindness to it. Just a twisted caricature warning you that you shouldn’t push further.

All of a sudden you feel like you can’t breathe, weighed down by the unsettling intensity of his stare. The man in front of you—the one claiming he's your husband and calling you “baby,” the one touching you—feels wrong. He’s a stranger, you remind yourself. An almost involuntary shiver runs down your spine, like your body remembers something your mind refuses to.

At this point, your husband has caught on to your rather obvious spiralling. He’s not an idiot—he can see your doubt giving way to panic. He contemplates smoothing things over by playing nice, but the selfish part of him ultimately wins.

He squeezes your jaw, nails biting into your skin.

“Kiss me.”

It isn’t a request this time.

[stardust-thief]

look after you

an: this my first x reader fic LMAOO, i needed to write smth and this spencer was on my brain :// i am in the middle of a rly long donna fic but i cba this was much easier. also i absolutley have not proof read this sorry

synopsis: you get hurt while hunting down an unsub, after some reluctance (and kind words from papa rossi) you let spencer take care of you, 1.7k words

cw: descriptions of violence, panic attack, spencer swears and can drive (the most un-canon thing abt him) umm italians..., the rest is just fluffy, hurt/comfort, x reader but no y/n

masterlist

The unsub had his gun pointed at you, the cold press of the barrel against flesh. He was ranting and raving about needing to be seen and understood, having spent his childhood in emotional neglect. Teachers and parents failed him at every turn, it’s not his fault that this happened but he can fix it if he just drops the gun. Rossi tried to tell him this over and over, but he only got more angry, pushing the gun in harder and harder. 

If you were to open your eyes, you would’ve seen JJ and Luke there too, guns trained on the unsub. Their eyes glancing between you, the unsub, and the gun. But you didn’t. Not until the bang went off and you could breathe again. 

The flashing lights of the ambulance do nothing to dissuade the pressing headache you feel coming on, the movement of people helps even less. You watch as the EMT’s cart the unsub away on a gurney, sheet covering him. 

“You okay, kid?” Rossi asks from beside you, he had been hovering ever since the ambulance arrived. 

“I’m fine, just need a good night's rest. I’ll be good as new.” You hummed half-heartedly. 

David Rossi always knew when someone was lying to him, part of that talent comes from his job as a profiler, but it’s mostly because of some ancient Italian magic. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that to me. Look, Hotch is on his way with Reid and Emily. They’re gonna be taking some witness statements, but I imagine Boy Wonder will be a little distracted. I want you to let him take care of you, ok? You’ve been through hell tonight kid, let him worry.”

Italians never lie, although you wish they did. Spencer had very obviously caught feelings for you, everyone on the team could see it. Unfortunately, so could you. Spencer Reid was one of the kindest, most genuine people you had ever met, always putting other people's needs before his own. A voice in your head kept telling you that there is nothing you have done to deserve someone like him doting all over you? You had only brought trouble to the people who loved you. Eventually you learned that it was better to just keep everyone at a distance; if you don’t let them in, they can’t get hurt. Which worked well, up until Spencer.

He had such a wormy way of getting into your brain at the worst times; whether it was when you were alone in your kitchen, or at slightly dangerous, very inappropriate times on a case. You couldn’t stop thinking about him and his stupidly cute (and sometimes ill-timed) facts. Some part of you wanted to let him in, in the end the stubborn side always took over. 

Before long, you heard the worried cries of Spencer trying to find you in the chaos. Rossi called his name and gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Remember, you deserve to be looked after too.” and left to find Hotch.

“Oh my god, are you okay? We tried to get here as soon as we could, but they managed to take down the unsub right? What happened, did he hurt you? How did you get so close? Talk to me are-” Oh, how he rambles. 

“Spencer, I’m fine. I just need to… rest, you know. He didn’t hurt me that bad, just a sprained wrist, couple bruises. Could’ve been worse.”

He spluttered, “Could’ve- you know, that doesn’t make this any better, I was so worried about you. He had a fucking gun to your head, I was going insane thinking about what could’ve happened. What did the EMT say about your wrist?”

“Just to rest it, and use an ice pack if it starts to swell or hurt.” You couldn’t look him in the eye, he was so worried about you. It made butterflies dance in your belly, but there was a twinge of guilt there too. He was so busy, he worked so hard and then went home to look after his mom. He had too much on his plate, how could you add more to it? “Spence, I’m really sorry about worrying you. I should be fine to leave now, so I’ll just head home and sleep it off. Have a good night.” You pushed yourself off the ambulance, eyes focused downwards, restless fingers fidgeting with the already frayed bandage.

“No- wait what are you talking about? You’re gonna drive yourself home in this condition? I can’t let you do that, even thinking about it makes me feel sick.” He lowered his head to yours and spoke softer this time, “Please let me take you home. I don’t have to stay, I just want to make sure you’re ok, ok?”

Fuck that voice did things to you. Leaning from side to side, you thought about what Rossi had said earlier. Maybe, it was ok to let someone in? It would be cruel to let him suffer more, not knowing if you were ok or somehow got in a car crash with 5 other vehicles on your way home. Just this once, you think.

Looking up into his soft eyes, you give a small nod. His lips immediately turned up into a smile, his hand comes up to cup your head, fingers stroking your cheek. It felt… nice. His thumb was calloused but he still moisturised enough for it to feel smooth, and he smelled like lemongrass and ginger. His hand fell to the small of your back as he guided you to his car. Ever the gentlemen, he opened your door and softly placed his hand over your head as you got in. Manoeuvring himself into the driver's side, he pulled out his phone and typed something, then quickly stuffed it away into a pocket and turned on the engine.

The sky was dark when you woke up. The unsub had a gun to your head at dusk, and Spencer was walking into your apartment when the moon was out. He took off his shoes and the door, and walked into your living room.

“I’ve never been here before,” he mused. “I like it.”

He looked at ease wandering around your apartment, his shoulders had relaxed and he let out soft musings as he perused your photo collections.

“Oh Spencer, not that one, it’s embarrassing!” You tried (with not a lot of effort) to pull him away from the frame.

“No this is cute, was this when you were at University?” He asked, wrapping an arm around you.

Oh my god. “Yeah, um- those were some of my friends at the time. I try and keep in touch but, you know.”

He hummed, pulling you closer into him. Finally content, he looked down at you. “How’s your wrist?”

“It’s ok,” you shrugged, “just a little tender now.”

“Where’s your kitchen, I can get some ice.”

“Spence-” you wanted to tell him no, to go home and look after himself. But his body was so warm, having him so close to you melted your brain, leaving you unable to think of any good reason as to why he should leave. “It’s the first door on the right.”

His grip tightened for a moment before he swiftly navigated you to the sofa, and turned to leave for the kitchen. The cold of the apartment rushed to get you as soon as he unraveled his arms. You hadn’t been alone all day since the unsubs attack, it somehow felt more claustrophobic. His hand on your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. The way he grabbed your arm, contorting it so he could throw you to the ground. The gun, pressed into your forehead. The knowledge that the only thing between you being alive, and you being in a ditch, was a madman's finger on the trigger. Reality faded as each memory pressed further and further into your mind. You weren’t in your apartment anymore, you could feel the cold concrete beneath your hands. The thick air in your lungs, Rossi and the unsub shouting.

A hand on your knee, a soft voice bringing you back. There was no unsub, no gun to your head. You were alive. You were alive and Spencer was in your apartment, wiping the tears that had fallen down your face.

“You with me?” His voice was so soft, you couldn’t recall ever hearing Spencer raise his voice in anger. He was so gentle when he touched you. 

The floodgates burst, choked sobs made their way past your lips. Your shoulder shook as you cried, pressing yourself into Spencer’s arms. “Oh honey,” He murmured, pressing his lips into your head, softly rocking you back and forth as you sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It was too much. You could have died today. Very nearly did. You weren’t ready to die, not yet at least.

As your cries softened into hiccups, you pushed yourself back from Spencer. “I’m sorry, that was so disgusting. It just all- I don’t know.”

 “Hey, you don’t ever have to apologise to me ok? What you went through was really scary, I’d honestly be more shocked if you didn’t cry.” His hand moved to draw soothing shapes along your back as you leaned back into him. “You want to watch something to calm down? I brought you some water and an ice pack for your wrist.”

He would be the death of you. You nod and push yourself back into the sofa, moving your wrist to rest in your lap. Spencer gently places the ice pack across your wrist and grips the tips of your fingers. He leans forward to push your cup of water towards you and grabs the TV remote, then turns and leans back so your side is pressed into his front. Truthfully, Spencer didn’t seem like the type to watch cable TV but he navigated the menu with somewhat ease. 

“Look at what’s on! It’s your favourite isn’t it, you want me to put it on.” He said as he nudged your shoulder.

He remembered your favourite film, of course he would remember it he has an eidetic memory. You hummed a yes as you relaxed your body further into his, finally content. Maybe Rossi was right, having Spencer close really wasn’t so bad after all.

[solelifauna]

Yandere Batfam & Neglected Reader Prt. 2

Okay, so I didn't realize how much building I was gonna do around (Y/n's) social life so this chapter is honestly about knowing (y/n). Anyways, the next chapter will be from the batfam's pov and focus more on the yandere bits! Hope you enjoy this chapter tho!

Tag List!: @sitepathos @ferakillia @uknowimdumb @shycreatorreview @niggrrooo @dhanyasri @cantfindmelol @space1crow @earth-to-mee @rosecentury @yuyuzi-ling @simpingfor-wakasa @bat1212 @sheepintherain @person-from-daaaa-voidddd @resident-cryptid @cupids-pretty-boy @danni1323

The change started slowly on a normal evening, an evening like every other. It was a football season game day, the big match between the Gotham City High Bats and the Gotham Prep Knights. For the rich prep kids, this was nothing more than another game, but for your school, this game was everything. This would help your school get the recognition and funding it deserves, and allow some students to be scouted and rewarded for their talent.

Not only that, but Gotham Prep always, every season goes to state, beating out all the other public schools in the city. They haven’t lost a game since the early 80s so there was a lot riding on this game. 

Your role, funnily enough, was representing the school as one of the Gotham City High school cheerleaders. Turns out that the gymnastics classes you took before were actually useful for purposes other than trying to impress Dick. You surprisingly took to cheerleading like a fish to water, liking the competitiveness and sense of belonging that came from joining the team. 

Anyways, you, the cheer team, and the football team were on a bus headed towards the bigger, better Gotham Prep football field. The bus was loud with music and schoolmates hyping each other up for the big game. Ethan, a friend of yours on the football team was nervously shaking his leg and squeezing his helmet so hard you thought it would crack.

Both you and your friend Arya noticed.

“Ethan, the game hasn’t even started yet and I already see a crack forming on your helmet.” You said jokingly, a gentle arm on his shoulder.

He startled, “Jesus Christ (Y/n) warn a guy next time.” Ethan spoke, offering a nervous smile.

“You need to stop freaking out bro. When you do, it freaks out the others on the team.” Arya gently said.

“I know, I know but— but there’s just a lot riding on this game. For a lot of us, this is our only way to get out of Gotham, and if we screw up the finals, we’ll be stuck here forever.” Ethan said solemnly, looking around at all his teammates.

“Well then good thing you guys aren’t gonna lose. Y’all have spent two years training to make this comeback, to make sure that Gotham City High finally gets this win. I promise you’ve worked harder than those assholes at Gotham Prep, so just go out there and put your training to use. Don’t let your nerves get to you, you have no reason to.” You calmly said.

“Yeah—yeah, we have trained harder, haven't we? Yeah, you’re right! We've just gotta go out there and play like we've practiced.” Ethan exclaimed, as if suddenly realizing why he should have confidence in himself and his team.

“Exactly!” Arya said, matching his enthusiasm and hitting Ethan playfully on the shoulder. 

The rest of the bus ride to the stadium was louder than ever, the coach and other teammates taking turns to hype up the more nervous members, to get them confident for the field. Everything was about normal once everyone made it to the stadium. The band was set up, and people were flooding the bleachers. It wasn’t until the last ten minutes before the game when normalcy died.

“Hey (Y/n), isn’t that your family?” A girl, Maya, says.

Lo’ and behold, Bruce Wayne and his entire gaggle of children were sitting on the home side of the bleachers, sporting Gotham Prep t-shirts. 

“What—oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. What the hell are they doing here, they don’t even like football like that!?” You shout in frustration.

It was then when you remembered a conversation Dick, Bruce, and Damian had at the dinner table. Something about how it would help Damian out if he started going to school events and games, getting him acclimated to what being a normal teenager was like. That was all fine and dandy, but you didn't think the entire damn family was going to show up. Oh, the gossip columns are gonna have a field day with this. You could already imagine the headlines, “Bruce Wayne openly isolates daughter (Y/n) Wayne” or even, “The Wayne Family once again publicly shows dislike for daughter (Y/n) Wayne.”

You rolled your eyes at the thought, you had bigger things to worry about right now.

“Are you good (Y/n)?” Arya questions softly. 

She was one of the only people who you spoke your sorrows to, one of the only people who actually knows of just how lonely you were. Of course everyone knew that Bruce Wayne and his family didn't really like you very much– thank you Vicky vale– but nobody but Arya and Ethan really understood the crux of your situation. 

“Yeah, I'm all good bro, don't worry about it. Just focus on the game.” You said dismissively. It didn't bother you anymore, sure it hurt a little bit, but this was expected.

“Alright, its time to shake hands with the other team, everyone line up!” the football Coach, Coach Daniels, all but yelled.

You sighed, moving to the front of the line for the cheerleaders; you were team captain after all. Both the football teams and cheerleaders made their way to the center of the field where they met. You looked back at the rest of your team, you all knew that this was going to be an unpleasant interaction, it always was. The Gotham Prep cheer captain walked up to you, disdain and poorly concealed disgust on her face. You all quickly shook hands, trying to get this exhausting ordeal done and over with, but of course the other captain had to open her mouth.

“You lower end city girls sure have your own sense of style.” Darla, which was basically code for calling you and your team sluts. Wow, how original.

“You should see what’s underneath the jacket.” You replied, giving her a sharp smile.

She floundered, clearly expecting her insult to rile you and your team up. 

“Ugh, as expected of Bruce Wayne’s biggest embarrassment. You sad Daddy doesn't like you? Or maybe she’s just glad she gets to mooch off of him before he ends up disowning her.” Another girl pipes up, drawing mind grating giggles from the rest of their team. You recognized her, she was the daughter of some hot-shot CEO.

You just tiredly look back at your team, a few of them getting angry on your behalf while others looked to you in concern. 

“What, not going to say anything?” The other captain haughtily questioned. 

“I mean, what exactly is the response you’re expecting? Yeah, Bruce Wayne doesn't like me, but at least I didn't have to buy my way into the cheer team or have my daddy pay to make sure I wasn't held back.” You stated boredly.

She was silent in shock, right before the anger came bursting through.

“You whore! I’m going to fuck you up, take you to court and sue you!” She shrieked.

“You’re going to sue me? You mean sue Bruce Wayne?” You snorted, “Like that’ll ever happen. And bitch, you couldn’t fight if your life depended on it, so next time you threaten me remember–I can and will beat the ever-loving shit outta you.”

That must have sparked some fear in her because she just turned around and led her team back to their side of the field. You’re sure others noticed your altercation, obviously having no idea what was being said, but it was clear to both sides of the field that nothing good was said. You’re ready to turn back to your side when you accidentally make eye contact with Tim. The cold, calculating look in his eyes has you shifting in discomfort, you quickly look away as the cheer team and football players head back to their respective sides.

The players took their place onto the field while your team got into formation.

“Aright guys, this’s the big one! Give it all you got, just like we practiced!” You yelled.

Just like that, the whistle blew signaling that the game started. 

By the time you reach half time, Gotham Prep is fifteen points ahead of Gotham High. Your school does its low budget halftime performance which pales in comparison to the extravagant Gotham Prep performance. Your side of the stadium grows louder, louder in support of the football team. Before you know it, the boys are lining up for the second half of the game. Thankfully, Gotham High shoots up in points, the score now becoming 34 to 29. The issue is, the game is starting to come to an end with only two minutes on the clock. The crowd is loud, but everyone knows it'll be damn near impossible for Gotham High to win now. The only way to win would be to score a touch-down, which would bring Gotham High to 35 points.

It isn't until the 36 second mark when Ethan sees an opening and makes a run for it with the ball. The crowd is booming, your own voice adding to the mix of cheers and shouts. 

“Come on Ethan! Come on!” You yell, voice undoubtedly hoarse.

There's 5 seconds on the clock when Ethan dives over an opposing player and rolls into the other team's touchdown zone. The score board changes, the numbers now showcasing 34 to 35. Gotham City High with 35. Everyone goes crazy. You and Arya are holding each other jumping up and down. Holy shit, yall won! The football team was celebrating on the field, as they’re announced as the winners, a big trophy being handed into Ethan and his team's hands. And by tradition, you, Arya and the coach go grab the large gatorade barrel and proceed to soak the football team with it. There are yelps and laughs but everyone knows what it means, it means “you’ve won”. You and Arya run up to Ethan launching into him, uncaring of the gatorade now soaking your uniforms. 

It was a good day, a happy day. Everyone started loading up into the buses, starving for the victory dinner at Taco Bell. You honestly, truly forget that the Bats were even here. Shit hits the fan however, when you're in the middle of messing up a chalupa and Bruce Wayne and the rest of his brood walk in, making awkward eye contact with you. You promptly proceed to choke, Arya hitting your back to get you to stop. You do, but holy shit was that embarrassing. Also, what in the ever-loving fuck were they doing here!? 

Before you could voice your utter disbelief, another familiar face barrels into your table. Oh great.

“Hey ladies, how’d you like the game? Betcha I looked good on the field.” The voice of Adrien, a freshman player on the team, made itself known. 

He even made it a point to flex his arm muscles, hoping to impress you and Arya. You both just looked at each other before bursting out laughing. This poor freshman has been trying to get with y'all all year, despite you and Arya being sophomores. His god-awful attempts at flirting were absolutely adorable and downright hilarious. 

“Guys please don't laugh, I promise I have better pick up lines.” he begs, his demeanor that of a kicked puppy.

“I'm sorry man, you're just too adorable, we can't take you seriously.” Arya says amused.

“Why don't you go talk to one of the freshman cheerleaders? I'm sure I heard Hiba and Darla talking about how good you did on the field.” You pipped in.

“No way! Are you serious!? Oh-uh, gotta blast ladies! See ‘ya around!” Adrien stutters, excitedly scrambling off to go find the girls you mentioned.

You and Arya broke off again into a fit of laughter.

“Were you guys teasing Adrien again?” Comes a lighthearted scold from Ethan.

“Not anymore than usual. Plus, I think we finally got him to pursue girls in his own grade.” You responded, a smug smile on your face.

Ethan just chuckled before sitting down with you and Arya. You all talked and laughed some more, your mood only being slightly soured by the Wayne family’s presence at the table across from yours. You did your best to avoid their not-so-casual glances in your direction. Why they were here is a can of worms you had to marinate on later. But for now, you'd just enjoy the rest of your night.

It didn't take long before everyone started getting ready to leave. Some students had their parents come pick them up, probably to go celebrate the school's victory with their families, whilst everyone else was getting ready to load back up into the buses and head to the school where parents would be waiting for their kids. You, however, would be biking back to the manor on your own. Sure both Arya’s and Ethan’s parents had offered you a ride, but you had declined. There was no need for them to go out of their way for you, especially when they should be spending their time celebrating with their children. You’d honestly just ruin the mood with your shitty circumstances.

So as you threw away the last of your trash and started walking to leave the restaurant, you were not expecting to be stopped, let alone stopped by Bruce Wayne. You froze, not knowing what to do. What did he want?

“(Y/n),” He started, voice lacking any tell-tale emotions, “no need to get on the bus, you’ll be riding home with us.”

You noticed immediately how he didn't really give you a choice, just an order meant to be followed. You swallowed nervously, you did not, under any circumstances want to be in a car with any of them.

“There's no need for that Bruce, I–um actually left my bike back at the school and I can't just leave it there so…yeah. I’ll–I'll see you back at the manor.” You said nervously. You weren't used to talking to him and to be quite frank he scared you.

Bruce of course took note of the fact you had not called him “dad” or “father” and had called home, “the manor” instead. This is when Dick decided to chime in.

“What, you're not going to bike all the way back home, are you?” Dick jested sarcastically.

“Uh, yeah? It's how I get back home everyday.” You mention abashed. Did they seriously not even know how you got home? Whatever, you’re too tired for this.

Bruce and Dick glance at each other, their shared look holding a meaning you couldn't understand.

“Well, it doesn't matter. You’ll just ride home with us from now on.” Dick stated, faux cheer in his voice. 

“Wha–what? Hold up, I can’t just leave without my bike! It’s gonna get stolen or–”

“We’ll get a new one, now stop fussin' and get a move on,” Jason grumbles, cutting you off.

You just sigh in defeat. Why the hell are they doing this? Why now? In the end, your questions don't matter as you get marched over to the waiting Rolce Royce Limo. That was when Arya and Ethan noticed you walking away from the bus, not even noticing the Waynes in their hurry to catch up to you.

“Hey (Y/n), why are ‘ya–oh.” Arya yells out before going silent after noticing the intimidating figure of Bruce Wayne and the even more intimidating figure of Jason Todd.

“Oh, hey guys. So–uh, I actually have a ride back to the manor now so I'm all good.” You say awkwardly.

“That's–that's great! But, what about your bike bro?” Ethan questions worriedly, the awkward and almost tense energy affecting him.

“I'm just going to pray and hope that it's still there when I come back for it tomorrow.”You answer tiredly.

“Damn, well, get home safe and get some sleep. We’ll see you soon girl.” Arya says, hugging you.

You hug her back.

“You too guys, get home safe. And Ethan, good job on the field bro, we’re all super proud of you.” You voice, a small smile on your face while you give him a hug.

“Thanks (Y/n), couldn't have done it without y’all hyping me up.” He says.

“Alright, alright no more sappy, corny lines. Now get on the bus before Coach Daniels pops another blood vessel.” You joke.

“Shit, I didn't even realize that was him yelling! Ethan, we gotta go! See ya (Y/n).” Arya exclaims, practically dragging Ethan to the bus with her.

You wave at them, your smile slowly disappearing as you realize you're about to have the worst fifteen minutes of your life on this car ride. The staring you were trying to ignore when talking to your friends was more prevalent now, making you anxious as you entered the car, squirming and fiddling uncomfortably in your seat as everyone else piled in.

You internally sighed as you heard the door shut and the car engine start. Perhaps it’d be better if you drank acid and died instead, but alas, it was too late for any of that. 

You’d just do your best to stay quiet and avoid the eyes boring into your very being.

[hottiesforhockey]

ultimate girl boss ⎜l.hughes

pairings: luke hughes x afab!reader genre: romance ⎜smut ⎜ strangers-to-lovers? ⎜ warnings: mentions of alcohol ⎜oral (f!recieving) ⎜ use of pet names (princes) ⎜ kitchen sex ⎜ one night stand ⎜fingering ⎜ p in v ⎜luke is a bit of a dork ⎜ he falls first and he falls harder ⎜size kink...kinda? ⎜mentions of pain with sex ⎜both luke and the reader love the miscommunication trope ⎜ short and sweet tbh ⎜ synopsis: you know you shouldn't have slept with a player, but it's not like you'd really see him again, right? word count: 7.7k authors note:  this was a top contender in my what to finish next poll so I hope you all enjoy!!

(unedited)

“I want to thank everyone for being here tonight — and want to say I’m sure we’re all excited to kick off our first ever staff and players halloween party.” Your friend says into the mic, everyone letting out cheers in response, “I know we usually have seperate parties but this year we want the staff and players to really get to know each other and what better way to do that then by getting completely hammered with each other.” He says says letting out a soft cheer when the rest of the room stays quiet, the hushed chuckle here and there. “Anyway I hope everyone has fun and please remember an open bar doesn’t mean you can damage property, I’m looking at you Timo.” You clap slowly as your friend climbs down from his spot on the bar table, his cheeks flushed a bright red as he joins you in leaning against the bar. 

“That felt awkward — did it look awkward?” He asks slowly, accepting the beer bottle from the bar tender with a grimace. 

“It did look awkward.” You agree, taking a sip of your lemonade reaching over to pat his hand softly in reassurance, “Dawson everyone loves you because you’re awkward so don’t think too much about it.” Dawson perks up as one of his teammates calls his name, bounding away from the bar his hair fanning out from under his cap.  You’re still smiling to yourself when someone slides into the spot Dawson left open.

“You really sticking to lemonade all night?” a familiar voice says, smooth and amused, cutting through the music and chatter around you. You glance sideways — and there he is. Luke Hughes. In a bright green shirt, overalls, and a little green hat with a giant “L” on it. Luigi. Of course.

You can’t help but laugh. “I don’t know if I’m more surprised you’re dressed as Luigi or that Jack actually agreed to be Mario.”

Luke’s grin is boyish and crooked, the kind of grin that makes trouble look like a good idea. “Trust me, it wasn’t easy. Took a week of convincing and a few beers.”

“And here I thought sibling pressure only worked on younger brothers.”

He leans an elbow on the bar, watching you with a playful glint in his eye. “Oh, it definitely works both ways. Besides, you can’t be Mario without Luigi. We’re a package deal.”

“Cute,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “I’m sure jack’s girlfriend thinks the same.” You tease, both of you glancing over at the tall blonde dressed as Princess Peach, the girl sticking close to her boyfriend’s side as he mingles with his teammates. “You didn’t want to stick with you ‘package deal’?” 

Luke smirks, tapping a finger against the bar. “Jack likes to wander off — probably challenging someone to a drinking game.”

“Sounds about right.” You pause, letting your eyes sweep over him. “So, what? You decided to make rounds as everyone’s favourite sidekick?”

His smile widens. “Who says I’m a sidekick?”

You arch a brow. “You are Luigi.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m just here to rescue Princess Peach,” he teases, leaning in a little, you shoot a questioning gaze over to his brothers girlfriend. 

“She does look like she needs saving.” 

He shakes his head with a smile as his voice lowers, playful but laced with something that makes your heart skip. “Or maybe I’m here to make sure someone’s getting to know the players, like Dawson said.”

Your pulse jumps at his proximity, but you keep your cool. “So, I’m the metaphorical Peach in this scenario?”

Luke’s eyes flicker with amusement, lingering on yours for a beat too long. “Would that be so bad?”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider. “Hmm. I don’t know. I’ve always been more of a Toad kind of girl.”

He laughs, shaking his head, the sound warm and genuine. “Yeah? I can see that.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Luke raises both hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Nothing. Just that you’d make a pretty cute Peach, too.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding your smile. “Is this how you plan to win me over? Bad Mario references?”

“Is it working?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you finish your drink, set the glass on the bar, and meet his gaze head-on.

“Maybe.”

His grin sharpens. “Then I guess I’ll keep going.”

You let the word hang between you for a beat, the teasing lilt of your voice lingering in the air. Luke watches you, his grin never quite fading, a flicker of curiosity sparking in his dark eyes. The party buzzes on around you both—music pulsing, laughter spilling from groups of people in costumes, but none of it seems to matter right now.

“So,” he says, tapping his knuckles lightly on the bar, “you planning on heading out early, or are you here for the long haul?” You glance around the room, spotting Dawson across the way engaged in an animated conversation with another teammate. A few more familiar faces pass by, offering smiles and nods, but your attention drifts back to Luke almost immediately.

“Honestly?” You shrug, a casual, playful expression crossing your face. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Luke leans in a little closer, elbows resting on the bar. “What would it take to convince you to stick around?”

You give him a slow, considering look, letting the question settle in your mind before answering. “Depends. What’s in it for me?”

He laughs, low and soft, shaking his head. “That’s a dangerous question.”

“Maybe I like danger.”

Luke’s gaze lingers, his smile never wavering. “Alright. What if I promised to make it worth your while?”

You raise an eyebrow, amusement flickering across your face. “Big promises from Luigi.”

“I deliver on my promises.” He pauses, his voice dropping slightly, a teasing edge in his tone. “Especially when it comes to rescuing princesses.”

The playful banter between you feels like a dance, each word carefully chosen, each glance lingering just a fraction too long. There’s a buzz in the air—a tension that neither of you seems in a rush to break.

“Alright, Luigi,” you say, setting your empty glass down on the bar. “Convince me.” Luke doesn’t take long to whisk you to the dance floor, the lanky man awkwardly moving his limbs along yours, the smile lighting up his face convincing others to join in, the dance floor filling up quickly. 

Luke’s hands stay linked with yours as he spins you around, twisting your bodies totally off beat, “White girl dancing is my favourite.” He yells over the music, his movements mimicking the slow, seductive sways of a sorority girl. 

“I can tell.” You laugh, your eye catching Dawson’s over the crowd as he pumps his eyebrows in knowing, your shoulders shrugging as you lose yourself back in the feeling of Luke’s god awful dancing. 

It’s two hours before you pull yourself away from the crowd, Luke following behind you like a lost puppy as you reach the bar, skulling the glass of water the bartender offers you. “So, have I convinced you to stay?” Luke smiles, leaning against the counter as he accepts his own glass of water. 

“I suppose.” You smile, placing your empty glass back on the table as you rifle through your purse for your keys. You glance up at Luke his face dropping as you watches you gather your stuff, your witch hat sitting on the bar as you check you have all your belongings. 

“I guess my convincing wasn’t good enough.” He sighs, trying to keep a light smile on his face so you can’t see the disappointment in his eyes. Luke was having fun, finally being able to seperate himself from his brother, he thought you were having fun too - the pretty girl from the head offices finally letting loose all because cause of the borderline frat boy dressed as Luigi. 

But clearly he was wrong. 

“I guess I’ll see you around.” He says, watching as you tilt your head, your brows furrowing as you chew on your bottom lip. 

“Wow, didn’t know you wanted to get rid of me so quickly.” You tease, reaching up for the collar of his costume pulling him down until his ear is level with your mouth, “I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me.” You whisper, Luke’s spine straightening quickly, his eyes locking with yours in surprise. “Guess I know where you stand now, Luigi.” You sigh dramatically, making the move to turn and walk out when his hand latches to your wrist. 

“Wait…Wait…” He stutters, his brows still pinched in confusion, “You want me to come home with you?” 

You quirk a brow, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "Why else would I ask? To play Mario Kart?" Luke looks momentarily stunned, his hand tightening slightly around your wrist before he catches himself and lets go, running a hand through his messy hair beneath the green cap. He swallows hard, the playful confidence from earlier faltering just a little, replaced by something more raw, more unsure.

Maybe he wasn’t wrong after all. 

“I—I didn’t think…” He trails off, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your mouth and back again, as if trying to gauge if you're serious or just messing with him.

You lean in again, your voice soft but unmistakably deliberate. "What, you didn’t think I’d actually be interested?" His lips part slightly, but no words come out. The party noise seems to fade into the background — the music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses all muffling under the pounding of your heart in your ears.

“I’ve seen the way you’ve been watching me tonight,” you say, your voice low but steady, your eyes locked on his.

“And I’m not blind, Luke. You’ve been flirting since the second you walked over here in that ridiculous costume.”

His cheeks flush a deep pink, but that boyish, crooked grin of his creeps back onto his face. “Maybe I have.”

“And maybe I don’t want the night to end just yet,” you say, your fingers brushing against his arm, trailing down until your hand rests lightly on his wrist again. The tension is thick now — electric and undeniable. Luke steps in closer, closing the space between you. His voice drops to a low murmur, just for you. 

“If I say yes, I’m not just coming over for coffee.”

You bite back a grin, eyes flickering to his lips before meeting his gaze again. “Good. I don’t even have coffee at home.” That does it — the playful edge in his grin gives way to something hungrier, more intense. His hand finds your hip, fingers pressing lightly through the fabric of your dress. 

“I’ve never liked coffee anyway.” The air between you hums with anticipation, both of you lingering in that charged moment, knowing exactly what’s coming but savouring the tension for just a little longer.

“Come on, Luigi,” you whisper, stepping back and tugging him toward the door. “Time to see if you really deliver on your promises.” Luke follows without hesitation, his hand still wrapped around yours, the warmth of his palm grounding you both in the moment. As you weave through the crowd, you catch Dawson’s wide-eyed expression from across the room. He mouths what the fuck? at you, but you just flash him a grin over your shoulder. Outside, the cool night air hits your skin, but you barely notice. Luke’s presence next to you, the way his fingers tighten around yours, the way his arm brushes against yours as you walk to your car — it’s all-consuming.

“So,” he says after a beat, voice lighter now but still laced with that playful tension. “Does this mean I’m officially more than just a sidekick?”

You glance up at him as you unlock your car, the smirk on your lips teasing but your gaze soft. “Depends.”

“On what?”

You step in closer, your body nearly pressed against his. “On how well you play the hero.”

Luke leans down, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m pretty sure I can pull it off.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” It’s all the invitation he needs. His hands cup your face as he closes the gap, his lips finding  yours with a mix of urgency and sweetness that leaves you breathless. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing — just the two of you, completely lost in each other.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

“Better than Mario Kart?” he whispers, his voice rough and a little unsteady.

You laugh softly, fingers curling into the fabric of his overalls to keep him close. “Much better.”

Luke grins, his eyes dark with desire but softened by something more genuine beneath it all. “Good. Because I’m not done rescuing you yet.”

You press one more lingering kiss to his lips before stepping back and opening the car door. “Then let’s get out of here, hero.” As he climbs into the passenger seat, pulling the ridiculous green hat off and tossing it into the backseat with a chuckle, you can’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — this Halloween party wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Luke settles into the passenger seat, stretching his long legs out with a playful groan. His hair is a mess from the hat, sticking up in every direction, and he looks ridiculously good like that — a little wild, a little disheveled. You catch him watching you as you adjust the rearview mirror, his grin lopsided and lazy, the kind of smile that makes your pulse race.

“You’ve got that look on your face again,” you say, glancing at him as you start the car.

“What look?”

“That ‘what the fuck is happening’ look.”

Luke laughs, low and warm, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down. “I can’t believe this is happening, to be fair.” His voice low as he adds, “The ultimate girl boss is inviting me home — maybe I will have to thank Dawson for the party idea.”

"Don't call me that." you say as you roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the butterflies in your stomach. As you pull out of the parking lot, the conversation flows easily. Luke teases you about your driving — “Are you always this aggressive behind the wheel, or is this just a Halloween thing?” — and you fire back with playful jabs about his costume. The sexual tension from the party hasn’t faded; if anything, it’s simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to boil over.

When you reach your apartment, Luke follows you up the stairs, his fingers brushing yours as you unlock the door. The quiet click of the door shutting behind you seems to amplify the tension in the air.

“So, this is it?” he says, glancing around your cozy living room. He looks a little out of place in the Luigi costume, but there’s something endearing about it — like he doesn’t care how ridiculous he looks.

“This is it,” you say, kicking off your shoes and setting your keys on the counter. “Make yourself at home.” Luke takes his time wandering through the space, his fingers trailing over the back of your couch, his gaze flicking to the framed photos on the wall. When he turns back to you, there’s a softness in his expression, but his eyes are still dark with something more.

“You weren’t kidding about the no coffee thing,” he says, peering into the kitchen.

“Told you.”

He steps closer, his footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor. “So, what do you have?”

You lean against the counter, tilting your head. “Depends. What are you in the mood for?”

Luke’s lips twitch into a grin as he closes the distance between you. “I think you already know.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as he stops in front of you, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. His hands find the counter on either side of you, effectively caging you in.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he says softly, his voice low and rough. “I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it or if you were actually interested.”

Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, your breath catching. “What do you think?”

Luke’s gaze drops to your mouth, lingering for a beat before meeting your eyes again. “I think I’m done guessing.”

His lips are on yours before you can respond, the kiss slow and deliberate, like he’s savouring the taste of you. His hands move to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you let yourself melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss deepens, your bodies pressed together, and you lose yourself in the feeling of his hands exploring your back, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck. Every touch, every kiss, feels like a spark igniting something inside you.

“Luke…” His name slips from your lips in a breathless whisper, and he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “I hope to god you know how to take a corset off.” Luke’s soft laugh captures your breath as his hands spin your around till you face the counter. 

“One thing about hockey players is we’re good with laces.” He says quietly, making quick work of undoing the ribbon on the back of your corset, letting the faux leather fall off your body once the laces are loose enough, your dress sitting over your frame loosely as Luke’s hands run up your sides. 

“Do you want me to show you something else that hockey players are good at?” Luke asks softly, his lips skimming just under your ear as you nod. Luke moving your quickly as he spins you back around the face him, leaning forwards to capture your lips in a quick kiss before dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands pulling the fabric over your dress up to your waist, motion for you to grip it with your own hands. 

“I need you to stay still for me, Princess.” He coos, his fingers linking in the waistband of your panties before dragging them down your legs, his hands slowly reaching up to rub against the soft skin of your thighs, the plush flesh tensing under his touch. He leans forwards swiping a tentative lick against you, his eyes turned up to yours, watching you as your eyes fall closed, your hands gripping the fabric of your dress for dear life. Happy with your reaction he delves forwards, his tongue pressing flat against you as his nose bumps against your swelling clit. His hands trail softly up the backs of your thighs, over your ass until they sit comfortably on your hips. 

You whimper as he pulls your cunt firmer against his face, his head moving as his tongue circles around your clit, teasing before he sucks the bud into his mouth. “Fuck.” You curse, your back curving against the counter until your resting on your elbows, your head thrown back.. You can feel Lukes’s crooked grin against you as one of his hand drops to lift your thigh, draping the limb over his shoulder opening you up further for him. Luke’s movements become quicker, more feverish as his tongue dips inside you for just a moment before licking back up to your clit. 

“Are fingers allowed, princess?” He questions softly, as he pulls his face away from your cunt much to your dismay, his eyes teasing as you nod quickly, your lip trapped between your teeth as he slides one finger between your folds, gathering any juices he could before slowly pushing the single digit inside of you. 

“God, I can feel how desperate you are.” He coos as you clench around his single finger, a loud branch snapping outside of the shed making you jump, his finger sliding out of you slightly before sliding back in to the third knuckle, Luke chuckling as he presses a kiss against the thigh hanging over his shoulder. “Surprised?” He questions. 

You barely getting a chance to respond, as he sucks your clit sharply releasing it with a grin as you let out a low whine as he presses his thumb harshly against your clit, his fingers calling at just the right time, your cunt clenching so forcefully he lets out a surprised laugh. He pauses his movements for a moment, watching the way you pant as you come down from your orgasm, whispering his name. 

“Jesus, Luke.”

“Don’t praise me yet.” He whispers as he slides your leg off his shoulder, slowly rising to his full height as he towers over you, pushing you further against the counter, “I’m not finished with you.” Luke spins you for the third time of the night, your hands bracing against the counter as you pant, Luke snatching your dress from your hands as he pulls it up and over your head, your breasts falling free as he presses you against the cold kitchen counter. 

“You’re stunning.” He murmurs as his hands make quick work of unbuttoning his overalls, letting them fall to the ground as he steps out of them, your breaths coming faster as you feel his body pressing against yours. His hands slide over your waist, tracing the curve of your hips, before gripping firmly. He’s warm, solid, and the intensity in his gaze when you glance back at him is enough to set your skin ablaze.

Luke leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, voice husky and teasing. “You sure you’re ready for this, Princess?”

You nod, pushing back against him slightly, your body arching into his touch. “I wouldn’t have invited you here if I wasn’t.”

He groans softly, his hands steadying you as he presses a line of kisses along your shoulder and down your back, his lips trailing fire over your skin. His movements are purposeful but unhurried, each touch and kiss designed to build the anticipation thrumming between you. When you feel the tip of his arousal teasing against your entrance, your breath hitches, and he pauses, his fingers tightening on your hips.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your skin.

You turn your head slightly, meeting his eyes over your shoulder. “I’ll let you know.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushes into you, both of you gasping at the sensation. He fills you completely, stretching you in a way that’s almost overwhelming but impossibly good. Your eyes squeeze shut as you let out a harsh breath, Luke pausing once he’s fully seated, giving you a moment to adjust, his hand smoothing over your lower back in silent reassurance.

“You okay?” He asks softly, his lips pressing gently to your neck as he waits for you to relax, your pussy squeezing him as you nod your head slowly, letting it drop against the counter. 

“I just need a second.” You hiss, “It always hurts at first.” You add, focusing on your breathing and relaxing your pelvis as Luke tilts his head in confusion, his hands still rubbing against you tenderly. 

“Do you want me to pull out?” He asks carefully, unsure how to help as you adjust a little more, a relieved sigh leaving you as you glance over your shoulder to smile at him. 

“You can move.” You assure him. Luke nods slowly, his movements careful as he puts out and pushes back in, the pain shifting deep in the pit of your stomach as you let out a soft moan. 

“You feel…” he starts, his voice thick with restraint. “Perfect.” You can barely respond, your mind hazy with the pleasure coursing through you. When he starts moving, it’s slow and steady, each thrust measured and deliberate. He watches your reactions closely, the way your body responds to him, the soft sounds that escape your lips.

“Luke,” you whisper, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter for support as he quickens his pace. His name on your lips seems to spur him on, his rhythm becoming more urgent, his grip on your hips firm but not painful. The tension between you builds with every movement, the sensation almost too much to bear. He leans forward, his chest engulfing you as he presses against your back as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you upright. The new angle has you crying out, your head falling back against his shoulder as he buries his face in your neck, his lips and teeth teasing your skin.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of awe and desire. “You’re incredible.”

The praise only heightens the sensations coursing through you, your body trembling as you feel yourself nearing the edge. He seems to sense it, his movements becoming even more focused, his free hand sliding down to where your bodies are joined to circle your sensitive clit.

“Come for me,” he urges, his voice low and rough. “I want to feel you.” It’s all you need. The coil of pleasure tightens and then snaps, waves of bliss crashing over you as you cry out his name, your body tightening around him. He follows shortly after, his pace faltering as he lets out a low groan, his grip on you tightening as he finds his release.

For a moment, neither of you moves, your breaths mingling as you both come down from the high. Luke presses a kiss to your shoulder, his touch suddenly gentle as he leans against you. Luke places one more kiss to your shoulder, before standing up, your body seeming to melt further into the counter as he pulls out - your body cringing as it tries to adjust to the feeling. You take a few more breaths as you listen to Luke pull off the condom and walk across the room to place it in the bin. 

Luke leans against the counter, his hands gripping the edge as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His overalls hang low on his hips, his green shirt untucked and rumpled. He hasn’t said much since pulling away, and now the silence between you feels heavy, like a weight pressing against your chest.

You finish slipping your dress back over your head, your fingers fidgeting with the hem as you glance his way. He’s watching you out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable but not indifferent. You can tell there’s something he wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he clears his throat and straightens up, his hands disappearing into his pockets.

"I should probably get going," he says softly, his voice careful, like he’s testing the words out loud.

The tightness in your chest sharpens. You knew this moment was coming—the logical end to what just happened—but it still hits you harder than you expected. You hesitate, watching as he takes a small step toward the door.

"Wait," you blurt out, your voice louder than you intended. He stops immediately, turning to face you, his brow furrowing.

"Yeah?" he asks, and you can hear the note of uncertainty in his voice.

Your heart pounds as you scramble to find the right words, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with your now-rumpled dress. "You don’t… you don’t have to go," you say quickly, stumbling over the words. "I mean, it’s late, and…"

Luke’s eyes widen slightly, and you can see something flicker across his face—relief? Hope? He blinks, and his lips part like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. You push on, needing to fill the silence.

"You could stay," you continue, your cheeks flushing. "If you want to. I mean, it’s just… it’s late, and I drove you here anyway—“

"I’d like that," he interrupts, his voice soft but firm.

You stop mid-ramble, staring at him. "You would?"

Luke nods, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He takes a step closer, his hands still buried in his pockets. "Yeah," he says quietly. "I didn’t really want to leave, anyway."

The admission makes your stomach flip, and you glance down, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Okay," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "You can stay."

He watches you for a moment longer, his gaze warm and steady, before he nods again. "Thanks," he says simply, but there’s a weight behind the word that makes your chest tighten in a different way.

You gesture toward the bedroom, your throat dry as you try to keep your voice casual. "Uh, the bed’s big enough… if you’re okay with sharing." Luke’s eyebrows lift slightly, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve made things weird. But then he smiles—soft and genuine—and the tension in your chest eases.

"I’m okay with that," he says, his voice light but sincere.

You nod, turning toward the bedroom. "Okay. I’ll just… get things sorted."

As you step into the room, Luke follows, his footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor. You pull back the covers, smoothing them out as if that will somehow make you feel less nervous. When you glance over your shoulder, he’s standing by the doorway, hesitating.

"You sure?" he asks, his voice quieter now.

You meet his gaze and manage a small smile. "Yeah," you say softly. "I’m sure." That seems to be all the reassurance he needs. He steps inside, pulling off his overalls completely and leaving them in a heap on the floor. His green shirt is next to go, his unsurprisingly toned chest making you swallow heavily,  only left in his boxers now, and somehow, the casualness of it makes you feel less self-conscious.

You both climb into the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. For a few moments, neither of you speaks, lying side by side with a cautious amount of space between you. But then, slowly, Luke shifts closer, his arm brushing yours.

"Thanks for asking me to stay," he murmurs, his voice so low it’s almost a whisper. You turn your head to look at him, your face so close to his that you can see the faint freckles scattered across his nose. 

"I didn’t really want you to leave," you admit quietly.

His lips curve into a soft smile, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing yours under the blanket. "Good," he says, his voice warm. "Because I really didn’t want to."

The two of you end up tangled in each other throughout the night, Lukes arm draped over your waist as he drags you across the mattress to press against him, his face tucked into your neck as your relax into the warmth of his chest. 

When you wake up the warmth is gone, the mattress is empty and a small post it note sits on the pillow besides you. 

‘I had fun last night, had to leave early for practice, sorry.’ 

The cold sheets isn’t a surprise as you throw the note across the room, Luke doing exactly you expected the hot shot hockey player to do. 

+

+

“I can’t believe we have to do another company get together.” You huff as you readjust your hair in it’s ponytail for the tenth time, Dawson bouncing besides you in excitement. “And a hike? Who do they think we are? Athletes?” You continue your frown deepening as you watch the tall, curly haired hockey player interact with one of your colleagues a few metres away, his smile lighting up the group around him. 

“Well some of us are athletes.” Dawson teases as he bumps his shoulder into yours, his gaze following yours, a mischievous grin breaking out across his face. “It’s been three months since the halloween party, I think we’re overdue for an outing.” Dawson starts slowly, your gaze flicking over to him, the small cogs in your brain turning as you feel the panic begin to set in. 

“Dawson, don’t you dare.” But he’s already gone, stepping up onto a big rock as he calls attention to himself. 

“I thought it might be good for each of us players to pair up with one of our lovely office workers to really get the full effect of the company bonding.” He suggests, your heart dropping to your stomach as everyone quickly agrees, already spreading themselves out as each player finds someone to team up with, your boss quickly snatching Dawson off his rock as you watch the curly haired man’s blue-green eyes meet yours. 

“Thank me later.” Dawson coos as he starts up the mountain, his arm linked with your boss’s as they ramble as they walk. 

“I’m going to kill that man in his slee— oh hey Luke.” 

“Hey, I um… noticed you didn’t have a partner?” He says, well questions, his brows pinched tight as he studies your body, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, you gaze anywhere but on him. Luke motions for you to start following the rest of your colleagues up the trail before quickly matching your pace, walking besides you easily with his long legs. 

The cool spring air brushes against your skin as you step onto the trail, the sound of chatter and boots hitting the dirt path filling the air. The company hike was supposed to be a casual event, a chance to mingle with colleagues, relax, and get away from the office for a few hours. But, as usual, it feels a little more complicated than it should be.

You glance around the small group you’ve been assigned to — everyone seems in high spirits, laughing and chatting, but you can’t help but feel a sense of discomfort. You’ve been quiet, your mind occupied with thoughts that don’t seem to want to let go.

The trail twists up ahead, and you can feel the weight of someone’s gaze on you. When you glance to the side, you see Luke walking beside you, looking every bit the confident, carefree guy he usually is. But today, there's something different about him. He’s watching you with an expression that seems to mix curiosity and confusion. It’s the kind of look you know too well — the one that tells you he’s trying to figure something out, trying to read you, but doesn’t quite know where to start.

You quickly avert your eyes, focusing on the path ahead, pretending to be absorbed in the beauty of the trail. The last thing you want right now is to deal with whatever this... thing is between you two. Whatever it was that happened the night of the Halloween party, whatever moment was shared between you, has left a lingering tension in the air. It’s subtle but undeniable, and the last few months have been filled with an awkward distance you’re both trying (and failing) to navigate.

Luke seems to notice your change in demeanour right away. You can feel the shift in the atmosphere, the way his presence suddenly feels more pronounced. He slows his pace just slightly, a move that draws you out of your own head, and when you glance at him, he’s giving you that familiar, crooked smile.

"So," he says casually, his hands resting loosely in the pockets of his jacket. "You’ve been awfully quiet today. Everything okay?"

You shrug, your eyes ahead as you force your voice to sound casual, "Yeah, just... tired, I guess."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Uh-huh." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "Because you’re usually pretty chatty on these things." The gentle teasing in his voice stings more than it should, but you keep your expression neutral, refusing to let him see the way his words unsettle you. 

"Guess I’m just not feeling it today,” you reply with a half-smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

You know he doesn’t buy it — Luke’s not an idiot. He’s seen you in better moods, and knows enough about you from all of his desperate attempts at reconnecting with you through Dawson, that he knows enough to notice the shift in your behaviour toward him. 

Ever since that night, things have been... different. After everything that happened between you two, it felt like one of you was always pulling back, unsure of how to move forward. For you, the uncertainty of the night, the chemistry, and the suddenness of it all left you second-guessing yourself. You never really figured out where you stood with him after that.

Luke takes a deep breath, then breaks the silence with another question, his voice more carefully measured this time, "Is this because of... what happened, that night?"

Your heart skips a beat. You stop in your tracks, suddenly feeling like the ground beneath you has shifted. You don’t want to face this. Not here, not now. But you can’t deny that Luke’s words have hit a nerve, and the air between you both grows thick with unspoken tension.

"Don’t..." you begin, but your voice falters before you can finish. You feel exposed, like a part of you that you’ve kept hidden is being laid bare for him to see.

Luke notices the shift instantly. He takes a half step toward you, a small frown pulling at the edges of his mouth. "I didn’t mean to make things weird," he says quietly, his voice softening in that way it does when he’s being sincere. "I just... don’t get it. You’ve been acting different lately, and I’m not sure why. After that night, it felt like... like something happened, and I guess I’ve just been waiting for you to say something."

You bite your lip, feeling the weight of his words settle on your chest. 

He’s right. 

Things have been different. But you’re not sure how to explain it to him, not when everything you’re feeling seems to clash with what’s happening in your head.

"You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?" His words aren’t accusatory, just observant, and it makes something inside you twist painfully.

You nod, the truth hanging between you both in that awkward silence. You don’t know how to explain the mix of emotions swirling inside you. Part of you wants to laugh it off, pretend it’s nothing, but the other part of you feels the sting of being too close to him and too unsure of where to stand.

Luke takes a step closer, and you can feel the weight of his presence, his eyes not leaving yours. "I didn’t think I’d made you uncomfortable," he says quietly, the tone of his voice softer than usual. "I thought... maybe you had fun. I thought we had fun."

The way he says it, so uncertain, so vulnerable, makes your heart ache. "We did," you reply, barely above a whisper. “You could’ve woken me up before you left, you know?” The words are out of your mouth before you can shove them back in, Luke pausing, his stop forcing you to stop walking as well. 

His mouth drops open as he shoots you a dumbfounded look, “Are you kidding me?” He lets out a shocked laugh before adding, “You didn’t even bother to call me - it’s been three months and you’re holding a grudge because I had to leave early but don’t see anything wrong with you just blatantly ignoring my phone number?” 

“Call you?” Your body almost recoils in shock as you look up at him in confusion. “How was I supposed to call you?” 

Luke looks equally as confused now, his hands perched on his hips as the two of you just stare at each other. “Did you not look on the back of the sticky note?” He asks softly, his face relaxing in understanding as everything seems to click into place. 

You blink at him, still unsure of what he's talking about. “Back of the note?” you echo, your voice unsure, as if you’re not quite processing what he’s saying. You’re trying to piece things together, but it's all so disorienting. This whole conversation feels like a game of telephone gone wrong, and you’ve missed the message completely.

Luke's face softens as if a realisation is dawning on him, a quiet chuckle slipping from his lips as he steps a little closer. “Yeah, you know,” he says, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket, “the sticky note I left you the morning after Halloween.” He watches your reaction closely, his eyes flicking from your face to your stiffened posture, noting the way you're not quite meeting his gaze. "I thought it would be pretty obvious..."

You shake your head slowly, heart sinking in your chest. This doesn’t make sense. “I… I didn’t even notice anything on the back.”

Luke tilts his head, eyebrows knitting together as though he's trying to process your words. “Are you serious?” he asks, though not unkindly. He sounds almost amused, but it’s the kind of amusement that’s mixed with a touch of disbelief. You blink, a wave of realisation hitting you, but it doesn’t make things clearer—if anything, it only makes them more confusing. The night of the Halloween party, everything had been a blur after… after what happened between you and Luke. You'd woken up alone, with no trace of him. The only thing you had found was that stupid post it note on your pillow. You’d glanced at it, but in your haze of confusion and disappointment, you had dismissed it as just a random note, trying to rid himself of the guilt of walking out after your night together. You never once thought it would have his number on it.

“I thought you were gone,” you murmur, still not fully understanding. “You just… disappeared. After that night.”Luke’s face softens, his expression shifting from confusion to something quieter, more patient. 

“I didn’t disappear, I just—” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I didn’t want to wake you up. You were sleeping, and most people don’t want to wake up at five in the morning, and I wasn’t sure if you even wanted to see me again after everything. So I thought… I thought the note would be enough. I thought you’d get it.”

You feel the blood rush to your face, the weight of misunderstanding suddenly crashing down on you. That note. All these months, you had been carrying the confusion, the anger, the hurt of what you assumed was his rejection. All this time, you’d believed that he had left without a word, leaving you to overthink every moment, to wonder what went wrong, why it all felt so unfinished. But it wasn’t rejection. It was a miscommunication, a simple mistake in the way you both had handled things.

“I never saw it,” you say quietly, the words almost feeling foreign in your mouth. “I thought… I thought you just left. You had got what you wanted and left.” Luke exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair, a small, sheepish laugh escaping him. 

"Well, now I feel like an idiot." He glances down, clearly embarrassed at how the situation has unfolded, and you see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he’s trying to navigate this, just like you.

“I mean, I should’ve told you,” he continues, his voice softening. “I should’ve woken you up, but I didn’t want to make things awkward if you weren’t interested. I didn’t want to push it if that wasn’t what you wanted.” The words settle between you both, and you feel the air shift, the distance that has been between you for months beginning to dissipate, just a little. The weight in your chest lightens as you finally start to understand what happened, what you both had been too afraid to face, too unsure to talk about.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, the apology slipping from your lips before you can stop it. “I should’ve paid more attention.”

Luke shrugs, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “No need to apologise. It’s just... both of us being kind of ridiculous, isn’t it?” His smile widens, but it’s not the same playful, confident grin you’re used to seeing. It’s more real, more raw. “I thought you were just avoiding me for some reason, and here you were thinking I ghosted you.”

You let out a small laugh, though it’s mixed with a breath of relief. “I guess we were both just avoiding the obvious.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, his voice easing with the tension. He takes a small step closer, his eyes locking with yours as he lowers his hands from his pockets. “So, now what?”

The question hangs in the air, and you find yourself looking up at him, the distance between you shrinking with every word you say. You take a deep breath, suddenly realising how much this conversation, how much this moment, has been long overdue. The walls you’ve both built around each other are crumbling, slowly but surely.

“Well,” you begin, trying to gather your thoughts as you look at Luke. He’s standing so close now, and despite the lingering awkwardness, there’s something about him that feels more approachable, more open. "I think... maybe we need to stop assuming things about each other. Because, honestly, I had no idea what you were thinking. And you had no idea what I was thinking. So maybe we should just start from scratch."

Luke’s face lights up, a genuine smile spreading across his face as he nods, his eyes bright with a hint of mischief. "I like that idea. Starting from scratch sounds good to me." For the first time in months, you feel a sense of relief flood your chest, the tension between you two breaking apart. . 

“Yeah,” you reply, returning his smile. “How about we start by you giving me your number?”

Luke laughs, the sound light and easy now. “Sure, let’s take our time. But don’t go ghosting me.”

“No more ghosting,” you agree, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you start walking again, side by side.

As you continue up the trail, the tension that once felt so heavy now seems almost silly. What had felt like an insurmountable distance between you two has suddenly shrunk, and you can’t help but wonder how different things might’ve been if you’d both just taken a moment to talk. But for now, you’re content with where you are — a little wiser, a little closer, and finally ready to leave the past behind.

[kanekisfavoritegf]

PERFECT LOVER: The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

CHAPTER ONE:

The lights somehow made you glow in Kento Nanmi's eyes. Or maybe it was just you, and your effortless ability to draw everyone's eyes on you. You stood atop a table dancing with Satoru wildly, arms flailing and your body rolling along to the rhythmic pounding of the bass. Pink and blue lights stuck to you and everyone in the nightclub's eyes.

"Stare any harder, Kento; lasers might shoot from your eyes," Suguru smirked as he spoke.

"I don't know what you mean, Suguru," Kento said curtly before taking a swig of his drink.

"Don't worry, I won't tell."

"There is nothing to tell."

"Do you want me to schedule a date with you and Yuki?" 

"Yuki?" Kento coughed a drop of his drink catching in his throat.

"Your eyes have been locked on her since she got on the table with her friend." The blonde man almost laughed in his face from pure shock.

"Who wouldn't stare with her atrocious dancing, almost like a headless chicken. Either way, stop trying to set me up; I've sworn off dating, remember?"

"How could we ever forget." Satoru chimed in, sliding next to Suguru, sweat making his blue work shirt cling to his body tightly, "One bad kiss in University and suddenly, any romantic opportunity was thrown out the window with you."

That was the washed-down version of what happened to Kento, but his work colleagues didn't need to know about how he basically got verbally beaten by a girl cause he wasn't ready to lose his V-Card in a one-night stand.

"Oh, all he needs to do is put himself out there more," Yuki said, forcing herself into this embarrassingly uncomfortable conversation. "You are gonna die a virgin if you keep this up."

"Better to die a virgin than known as a whore."

"Hey! I am not a whore." Satoru exclaimed. 

"Yet somehow you knew Kento was talking about you." Yuki quipped back.

"Where is…" Suguru’s voice trailed off when he realized he had forgotten your name.

“Y/N?” Kento helped Suguru find the name.

"Yes," the long-haired man snapped his fingers, "Where is Y/N? She is going to miss the cake."

"Cake?" Kento grumbled. "You didn't say there was going to be cake, Satoru. You promised there wouldn't be cake."

"Okay, I lied." Satoru tried to conceal a smile

Kento raised to his feet, ready to leave before the birthday parade showed up with cake, probably with something stupid on its icing, and a club screaming happy birthday drunkenly. "But think of it like a welcome cake, too. For Y/N, Yuki wanted her to get to know all of us before her first day in the department on Monday. And you two haven't spoken to her since she first introduced herself." Satoru pointed at Suguru and Kento.

"You are the one who stole her away to do the “Six Devil Shots” and then to the dance floor," Suguru said.

"Or you too could have come and danced with us." You cut in, a cake and candles in hand. "I stole this out of the kitchen."

"You said you were going to the bathroom." Yuki laughed.

"I did, and then I stole the cake."

"Unbelievable," Satoru said. "It was supposed to be a big thing for Nanami." Satoru pouted slightly at the prospects of not being able to embarrass his coworker. 

"Well, Mr. Nanami doesn't seem like the type to enjoy drunk people sing-screaming at him, much less their attention solely on him." You slid your way onto Nanami's side, placing the cake in front of him and the three and five candles in its center. "You have a lighter, right?" You whispered into Kento's ear. He only nodded, letting out a nervous breath before pulling it out and handing it to you.

The group sang Happy Birthday as loudly as they could over the blasting music that played behind them. Giving up after the first verse, Kento blew out his candles.

Thirty-five years old as of today, and he was no better than a teenage boy, semi-hard because you whispered in his ear and stole a cake so he could avoid attention. Sometimes, Nanami felt he was missing out on what Yuki, Satoru, and Suguru had. Some imaginary certificate to adulthood, the type that could only be won through cashing in his V-Card, but then again, would losing it to a stranger make him catch up with others his age? He knew he wasn’t the only virgin at his age, but in situations where a pretty girl flirts with him, and he wants to flirt back, something always manages to catch his tongue. The voice in the back of his head probably reminds him that she wants something from him that Kento knows he won’t be able to give her. So he doesn’t flirt anymore. And as fast as the hard-on came, it was gone, along with any idea of ever entertaining the idea that you would ever want him.

Just because a woman is nice to you doesn't mean you get hard. Kento reprimanded himself in his head.

"Okay, enjoy the cake; I'm heading home now," Kento shouted over the music. "I have to catch the last train."

Yuki and Gojo booed them loudly while Geto threw him a look that screamed, "You are going to leave me with these idiots?"

"So do I." You said, "Mind walking with me?" you said, realizing what time it was.

Kento wanted so badly to say, "Yes, I mind. The whole reason I am taking the train and not a taxi later is to avoid you." but he didn't. He only shook his head and grabbed his coat.

"I'll send you the money for my bill when I get home, Satoru," you said, grabbing your coat. 

"Don't worry about it," Kento said as he placed down a wad of cash before putting a hand over your shoulder, hovering slightly, "You ready?"

You only nodded, ignoring the head in your voice that swooned a little at the simple act of covering your bill. You were tipsy; that's why your delusions ran a little wild.

You made a mental note to never do shots with Satoru again as you slowly made your way through the dancing crowd and out of the nightclub, Kento's hand still on your shoulder.

***

The night air was surprisingly calm for the summer, making you shiver a little as you turned into Kento, keeping his body close to yours under the stars and in a quiet street.

“How was your birthday?” You asked, wanting to break the silence that seemed to fall upon the two of you.

“It was good.” He said curtly, “I don’t really have experience with celebrations to do with me.”

“You don’t celebrate your birthday?” You asked, even though it wasn’t all that surprising.

“What counts as celebrating?” 

“Hmmm, something fun, I guess.” You shrugged.

“Well, it’s my first time going to a nightclub to celebrate.” A small smile decorated his face, “I usually cook a nice dinner for myself or go to a fancy restaurant that I have been saving up on.”

“What about everyone else?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you are telling me this is the first time Satoru has dragged you out for your birthday?”

“The first time since University, yes.” Kento didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t pry, letting a comfortable silence fall upon you two. As you turned the corner, you guys made your way to the train tracks, empty and void of any life other than the three people on the other side of the tracks. 

Just like before, the train ride was quiet. A few people were on the train, but you managed to snag seats together. You don’t know when it happened, but you let yourself drift to sleep, leaving Kento alone to his thoughts.

Each lurch of the cart when the train stopped and started made you curl into the man even more until your body leaned against him completely. 

It was only when his stop approached that Kento realized he didn’t know where you lived or whether you missed your stop. A slight panic filled him, and he shook a fully asleep you back to consciousness. 

“Y/N. Y/N.” He half whispered into your ear. Only to be met with soft groans. He shook you a little harder this time, and that’s when your eyes fluttered open. Still half asleep, though, you barely comprehend what he was saying, mindlessly grabbing his hand and following him as he stepped off the train.

Alcohol was still dancing in your brain; you nodded your head in agreement and followed him to his apartment…

Preview...

Nanami knew he wouldn’t last long, but as he sunk into you, the idea of even holding in the waves of pleasure that drowned him was impossible.

TAG LIST: @marikuchanxo @sukunasstomachtongue @getosgirlfailure @allysunny @tojicvmslut @typefeisu @aiyaaayei @villsophie @sillysillygoofygoose @jinleft @rivversin @haikioo @destinyblue-jjk @ramonathinks @actuallysaiyan @actuallysaiyan @melisuh123

CHAPTER TWO UPLOADED

[gojorgeous]

"sure thing"

pairing: target!gojo x assassin!fem!reader summary: you've been hired to kill the satoru gojo. how will you pull it off... and what will you do when he figures it out? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, darkish content (all is well in the end), no established relationship, assassins/organized crime, blackmail, mention of a “suicide mission”, attempted murder (uhhhh), hidden identity, intended use of sex as a means to an end, mating press, unprotected sex, p->v, creampie, oral (fem!receiving), praise, pet names (gorgeous/sweetheart/baby), slight aftercare. a/n: me 🤝 describing gojo as having dimples welcome to my second 1k followers event fic! At this rate tho i’m going to hit 2k before i finish the 1k event LMAO. not that i'm complaining hehe. thank you for being patient and for all the support on my recent works! i really appreciate every ask, comment, follow, reblog, everything. they mean the world to me. check out the rest of my 1k event here. enjoy and remember that ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! creds: twitter template by @cafekitsune wc: 7.8k

“Who?!” 

No fucking way. There’s no way he just said what you think he said. 

“You heard me,” he scowls. He glares at you from across the desk. His seat is one of those cushy little office chairs, of course. Yours is plastic– cold and hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you hiss. There’s no other explanation for what he’s asking you to do. He’s lost his fucking mind. 

“We have a client willing to pay big money for this. Big money for just an attempt,” he answers. 

You laugh, but there’s absolutely nothing funny about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Probably because he’s practically invincible. I’ll never even lay a hand on him.” 

Your “boss”, for lack of a better term, only scowls harder, the wrinkles forming near his eyes etching deeper in his skin. “Well, you’d best find a way to make it work. You’re taking this job. That’s final.” You scoff. Maybe you should recommend he see someone… “No. There’s no way. I’m not doing this.” You stand, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “Get someone else to go on your suicide mission.” You take a couple strides toward the door before two very large men move to block your path. 

“Not so fast,” your boss calls. You pause, eyeing up your competition. You could definitely take them if you needed to. You sense only a very faint amount of cursed energy coming from each of them– not even enough to make you blink– but something in your boss’s tone makes you turn back. 

“Yes?” You cross your arms over your chest, fingering a blade hidden in your breast pocket. 

He fiddles around in his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up right there in his office. You don’t try to hide the way your nose scrunches up. “You want to do this job.” 

Your eyes narrow. Something tells you you’re not going to like what comes next. “And why’s that?” 

He takes a long puff, letting the smoke flowing out of his lungs with a slow exhale. “Because otherwise that little brother of yours is gonna be…” he pauses to give you a smile that makes your stomach churn. “Hmm… a lot smaller, shall we say? Maybe in several limb sized pieces?”

You think your heart stops. Time halts as ice runs through your veins. Nobody knows about your brother. At least, they didn’t. 

Your boss’s smile grows even wider. In all your time as an assassin, you’ve never wanted to kill someone more. But you know you can’t. Just an attempt on his life will end your brother’s. 

“Don’t worry. He’s all tucked away and safe at home where you left him.” Just a tiny piece of your heart thaws with relief. “But try to run with him, or run yourself, and he won’t be safe much longer.” Your pulse pounds so viciously you’re sure everyone can hear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. “Now, will you accept the assignment?” 

Your jaw clenches. He got you. In all these years of working for him you’ve been careful, meticulous about hiding every piece of your personal life to avoid situations just like this. But he still got you. He got you. 

“Yes,” you breathe. You have no choice. You will either kill Satoru Gojo or you will die trying. 

“Good,” is all he says, and then you’re being escorted out of the office wondering where the hell you went wrong. 

~

It’s been three weeks since that fateful meeting with your boss. True to his word, your brother has remained unharmed, but you see his lackeys lurking around every corner. Neither you nor your brother are truly safe and you never will be again unless you can pull this off and then put together some plan to escape your boss’s clutches. 

You’ll fail. You know you will. The thought eats you up inside with every waking moment. 

You’ve done your best to learn every possible piece of information about Satoru Gojo in the past two weeks. You know you can’t tail him closely– he’d pick up on your cursed energy and notice your incessant presence, so you’ve had to study from a distance with only minimal moments of proximity. You know where he works, who he works with, what restaurants, bars, and clubs he frequents and what days of the week he tends to visit. You know what his order is at his favorite ramen restaurant, where he lives, what time he wakes up. Hell, you know what fucking brand of dish soap he uses. He lives a surprisingly… predictable lifestyle. He makes no attempt to switch up his schedule or cover his tracks. In any other situation he’d be every assassin’s dream, but this is Satoru Gojo and Satoru Gojo doesn’t need to worry about assassins– assassins need to worry about him.

It took you the first week to come up with a plan. You had no clue how you were going to get close to him, much less kill him, and his infinity technique was going to prove particularly problematic. How were you supposed to kill him when you couldn’t even touch him? You had to get him in a situation in which he would willingly let his guard down for you. 

You’d been on the subway when it hit you. Sex. You’d get him to have sex with you. If you could get him to take you home, he’d have to turn infinity off for at least a short time. That would be your time to strike. 

You’d spent the next two weeks primping yourself. You’d bought the most expensive dress you’d ever owned, got a mani-pedi, whitened your teeth, and spent a small fortune on makeup. Considering your circumstances, you thought your plan was quite a good one. You knew when he’d go out to the bar with his friends, which bar he’d go to, how long he’d stay, how he’d get a taxi home. You also knew when you’d arrive, how long you’d stay, and how you’d get a taxi with him– everything planned perfectly to best catch his attention. But for all your planning, there was still one thing you didn’t know. What kind of woman did Satoru Gojo go for? Someone submissive? Teasing? Aggressive? Playful? In all your time tracking him you’d never seen him take somebody home. It struck you as… odd. He was Satoru Gojo, renowned for his power, wealth, and good looks– surely he had women falling at his feet. Maybe he was just a little more… selective. If that was the case you’d have to be even quicker on your feet when you finally met him. And that time is now. 

You’re in your bathroom, checking your makeup one last time before heading out the door. Your brother sleeps soundly in the room down the hall, safe for the time being. You’ve contacted a friend, one who is at least willing to try to get him out if– when– you fail. You doubt it will be enough.

You make your way to his room. A quick peek inside reveals he’s snuggled up with a plushie elephant that he carries around like they’re attached at the hip. You creep inside, a sad smile on your lips. This may very well be the last time you see him. You brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the crown of his head. With one last whispered ‘I love you’, you’re out the door. If you linger, you won’t be able to go– and you have to. For him. 

The streets of Tokyo are cold tonight, like the weather knows what you’re about to attempt, like it’s preparing for death, for failure. For your failure.

The club you arrive at is upscale, and one where you’ve already tipped off the bouncer to let you bypass the line. You hear a few groans from the people behind you as you saunter straight inside. 

You’re conscious of every little move from the second you step inside. At any moment, he could see you and it could make or break your entire plan.

You press your shoulders back. You have a plan– stick to it. 

You make your way over to the bar, weaving your way between groups of people who are somewhere between giggling a little too loudly and tripping over their own feet. 

You find a free space at the bar and lean up onto your elbows, your eyes screening the bartenders. You smile when you see a familiar face. 

“Hey, Dean,” you call.

He turns and the sight of his friendly green eyes sets you a little more at ease. 

“Oh, shit. Hey!” He slings a towel over his shoulder and comes to stand across from you. “You’re back,” he says. You nod and smile softly. Ever since you’d determined this would be the place you’d been coming periodically, chatting up the bartenders. The last thing you needed was to stand around in a corner alone with seemingly no friends. That wouldn’t attract anyone, much less Satoru Gojo. 

Out of all the bartenders, Dean was your favorite– and you’d been oh so happy to learn that his schedule put him on every Friday night. 

“Yeah. Long day at work.” 

A smile pulls at his lips, but there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “The usual, then?” 

You nod solemnly. “That’d be great. Thanks.” 

You watch him prepare the drink for you, feeling a little bad that it’s all a lie. There’s no bad day at work, you didn’t just happen to come in here one day and strike up a conversation with him. All of this is premeditated, planned, and it feels… lonely. It feels lonely to know that on what is probably your last night on earth you are surrounded by people who only think they know you. 

“So, anything new happening?” Dean drops your drink in front of you and you have a feeling it’s filled with a little more vodka than he’s supposed to put in there. 

Your eyes shift around the bar as subtly as you can manage. As much as you want to seem like you fit in, you also need to find Gojo. It’s a fine balance. 

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess I just feel like a lot of things are going to be changing for me pretty soon.” 

His brows pull together and the look he gives you is one of genuine interest and concern. It makes your heart wrench. “How so?” 

You swallow. “Dunno. Just… everything.”

There’s a moment of silence and then the tapping of a finger on your glass. “Damn, girl. Drink up. You need it.” 

You can’t help but smile. You have a feeling that Dean would have been a good friend of yours in another life. 

You take his advice, though, and bring your drink to your lips and force a smile. You can’t be moping– not tonight. 

The next twenty minutes are spent with Dean. Even when he’s making other drinks he’s still chatting with you, still being a good… friend. You dread leaving your little haven at the bar. The time is coming when you’ll have to seek out your target.

You’re shocked when it’s the other way around. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” There’s a light brush on your shoulder and you turn. It takes all you have to keep your features schooled and calm. Satoru fucking Gojo just tapped your shoulder. 

Nothing prepared you for how handsome he is up close. All those days of research, of tracking and tailing– none of it does the real thing justice. Even with those stupid sunglasses inside… he’s fucking beautiful. “I’ll pay for all of your drinks tonight if you let me skip this hideous line,” he whines. 

You give yourself no more than a second to recover. You school your features into a smirk. You glance at Dean with an ‘is this okay?’ look. He just smiles and shrugs. 

You turn back to Gojo, bracing yourself this time for the beauty you’re about to face. You meet his gaze and know you could get lost in it. “Be my guest.” 

His smile nearly blinds you and his dimples nearly make you pass out. Still, you keep your cool. 

“Yesssss!” He looks like a puppy just offered a bone. 

He spills his drink order to Dean and it’s far more than could possibly be just for him. He’s here with his friends, then. Probably the blonde man who always looks too tired to be here and the girl with the brown hair who always seems like she’s just along for the ride. 

You bite your lip to hide a laugh when he orders himself two strawberry daiquiris. Somehow you still catch his attention. 

“What?” he pouts. You can’t help but feel a small stirring of surprise in your gut. He’s far more… relaxed than you’d expected him to be. He’s almost… childish? 

You press your lips together and shake your head. You’ve reached the point where your research can’t take you any further. From this point on, it’s up to you to discover what Satoru Gojo likes in a woman. 

You debate how to answer. Play coy? Tease him? Stay silent? Any option could be as correct as the next. You didn’t know where to start… so maybe you’d just start by being yourself. 

“Just, um… not the order I was expecting,” you laugh. It’s halfway genuine. With the way he’s acting, it’s hard to remember that he’s the most powerful man alive. 

His pout only intensifies. “Well, what’s your order?” 

His question is answered when Dean sets another cosmopolitan in front of you. You laugh. “Never said I was judging, just that it wasn’t what I expected.” 

Another smile tugs at his lips and something stirs in your gut that you try your very hardest to ignore. This was a job. There was no room for actually enjoying it. This man was probably going to kill you later, in a matter of hours. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then a slight shift in his demeanor. He leans closer and you see a twitch of his lips. Your heart jumps. 

“You’re a sorcerer,” he says. 

You hold back an exhale of relief. You thought he might be onto you. If he is, he’s choosing not to reveal it yet. 

You nod and take what you hope is a casual sip of your drink. “And you’re Satoru Gojo.” 

A brow arches high enough for you to see it over his sunglasses. “You know who I am?” 

You force a chuckle, smirking despite the pounding of your heart. “Who doesn’t?” 

You’d decided long ago to tell him that you knew exactly who he was. It would seem more suspicious for a fellow sorcerer to have no idea what the Satoru Gojo looked like. 

He flashes you a smile full of white and stupidly fucking perfect teeth. “That’s true, heh.” You press your lips together to avoid a smile. Not too humble, then… 

“So, what’s your technique” 

You shoot him a glance that questions his sanity. Asking a sorcerer what their technique is… is personal. It’s not information you give out to a rando at the bar– even if it is Satoru Gojo.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You take another sip of your drink, trying your hardest to remain somewhere on the border or interested and casual. 

“Bet I could find out.” 

That makes you turn fully, angling your body toward his. “Oh yeah? You challenging me to a fight?” You smirk and shake your head. “I’ll pass.” 

He pouts again, but you see a hint of a smile peeking through. “Aw, come on. That’s no fun…” 

You chuckle and take another sip of your drink. You’re not sure you’re sipping just for appearances anymore. You think you probably just need a little liquid courage to see this thing through. “Sorry. I value my life.” 

You watch as he slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, just enough for you to get a glimpse of what’s behind. You nearly choke again and this time you don’t manage to hide your nervous swallow when he smirks. 

“You’re so sure you’d lose?” His voice is teasing now and you hate that it’s actually having an effect on you. Job, job, job, just a job… 

You clear your throat. “I like to think I’m not stupid enough to think that I could win.” 

His eyes are blue– so fucking blue– and you feel like he’s seeing straight into your soul. Can he see? Can he see your filthy intentions? Your plotting? The rottenness of what you’re going to do? “What if I promise to take it real easy on you?” 

Your drink is forgotten now. You’re lost in what he’s saying– in him. “No thanks.” Your voice is growing lower and you feel like there’s some magnet forcing you to lean into him, to seek his warmth. 

“So you like it rough, then.” The trance is broken and your blood runs hot. Holy shit. This man is flirting with you and you hardly even had to try. He's trying to take you home. Little does he know, you’re a sure thing. 

You watch as he throws back the rest of his strawberry daiquiri with a pleased “ahhh” at the end. When he turns back to you his eyes have a certain spark in them that makes your thighs press together. “You wanna dance with me?” 

Fuck. This is going too well to be real. But you’re not about to pass up a good deal. 

“What about your friends?” you ask and eye the several untouched drinks still left on the bar. It’s risky– giving him an out, but you can’t seem too eager.

He follows your gaze only to bounce his eyes straight back to you. “I’m sure they’ll get a look at ya and understand.” 

The smirk he’s giving you is making electricity shoot straight between your legs. Damn. You really wish you didn’t have to kill him– or at least try to. 

When he extends his hand you only hesitate for a second. Your heart leaps when you feel his skin on yours, knowing he’s let infinity down. He pulls you onto the dancefloor and it’s not long before he’s running his hands all over you– groping your ass, pinching your thighs, nipping at your neck. Pretty soon the dancefloor evolves to a dark corner of the club with his lips on yours and goddamn he’s a good kisser. You’ve got your fingers in his hair and his hand way too close to your boobs when he whispers those fateful words– “let’s get out of here.”

You can only hide your swallow and nod before he’s pulling you through the crowd, leaving the club behind. He hauls you both into the backseat of a taxi and the door’s barely closed before he’s all over you again. You think you hear the taxi driver mutter something about ‘staining the seats’ but you’re too far gone to give a shit. 

Fuck, he feels good. He’s kisses you like he’s starved and your lips are the fountain of fucking life, like he’s never felt something so good and now he can’t get enough. And, god, he’s handsy. You’re forever grateful to your past self for discreetly hiding your blade in your bra– he would have felt a holster on your thigh at least ten times over by now. 

He groans when you arrive at what you know is his apartment building, though you don’t let on that you recognize the place in the slightest. The look on his face makes you think he’s feeling actual physical pain at the prospect of having to peel away from you for even a second. Nonetheless, he tosses a wad of cash at the taxi driver and pulls you straight inside.

He can’t even wait for the elevator to come, groping your waist right there in the lobby and then when the elevator finally does come, shoving you up against the metal wall a licking stripe across your collarbone. 

You can’t deny how nice it feels to be so desperately… wanted. Never once has a man made you feel this way– so consumed by him, him, him. Once again you curse the universe that you’re here with a mission other than getting laid. 

You find yourself giggling when he pulls you out of the elevator and presses his palm to a fucking scanner to get into his apartment. You try to pull yourself together, but when he laughs with you, you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, he’s got you up against another wall with your legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in your neck. His sunglasses are long gone and you pull at his shirt, popping the buttons straight off the fabric until you slide the shirt down his shoulders and onto the floor.

“That was Versace,” he whines. 

You plaster your lips to his. “I don’t care.” All he does is chuckle. 

“So gorgeous…” he breathes and your head slumps back against the wall, giving him better access to the soft skin of your neck. Any minute now. Any minute he’s going to start stripping your clothes off and you’re going to have to let this charade crumble. You don’t want to. He’s practically worshiping you. It’s perfect, it’s amazing, and you don’t want it to end. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass and suddenly you’re moving again– moving, moving, moving until your back is bouncing against the softness of a mattress and you’re fucking giggling again like a lovesick idiot. Maybe you’d had a few too many sips of those cosmopolitans. 

He’s smiling as he crawls over you and the sight makes your heart flutter with both lust and terror. Lust because he’s so fucking beautiful and terror because you know that any moment now you’re going to attempt to end that beauty forever. 

A lump forms in your throat and you try unsuccessfully to swallow it. You have to do this, have to try. There’s no other way, no other option. Not for you.

Your thoughts must not have been as perfectly concealed as you’d thought because he quirks a brow. “Something goin’ on up here?” His lips slide across your temple in a touch that feels far too tender for a hookup. “Don’t worry, baby. It’ll fit.” He snickers at his own joke before burying himself in your neck. His hand slides down your side, pressing you up into him until you can feel every curve and cut of his muscles. 

You bite your lip. You’ve already slipped enough for him to notice your nerves– you can’t let it happen again. You have to do it soon. Now. As soon as you see an opportunity you have to strike. You have to. 

You arch up into him, scratching your fingers down his back, trying to seem as invested in the moment as you can. He gets greedier, leaving open-mouthed kiss down your neck, across your collarbone. You nearly freeze up when he kisses low into the valley of your breasts– as low as your dress allows. Then he moves over your clothes, kissing down your stomach as his hands rub your thighs. 

Now. Now, while he’s not looking.

You slide a hand into his hair and another up to your chest, trying to play it off like you’re touching yourself. You sneak your fingers into your bra, feeling the cool metal of your blade glide across your thumb. Now. 

You fist your fingers in his hair, holding his head down as best you can while you arc the blade toward his neck. Just one good hit, please… 

You think you’re going to strike true– you’re so close– and then a firm hand wraps around your wrist, stalling your attack just as it was about to land. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t look up right away, but you hear him sigh, feel his hot breath fanning over your thighs and stomach. When he finally does look up it’s with the eyes of a teacher who’s disappointed his student didn’t do their homework. 

“Come on now, baby. I was really hoping you’d forget about all this and we could just have a good night together…” He’s pouting, whining, like a child who’s been told he can’t have dessert before dinner. Your shock stills you long enough that he easily maneuvers the blade from your hand, throwing it with a thwack into the wall to his right. It lands perfectly. 

This is it. You’re going to die now. But not without a fight. 

You spring up from the bed, kicking him a couple times in the process. You’ve missed your only chance. Now, if there’s even the slightest chance of escape, you have to take it. 

You bare feet hit the carpet. No time to find your shoes. You dart for the door and hear him groan behind you. For a second you think you might actually make it, but you should know better. 

He appears in front of you, straight out of fucking thin air, and his pout has transformed into something a little more sinister. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s talk it out, yeah?” 

You take a shaky step back, but you know it’s no use. He’s got you. It’s over. 

You swallow and lift your chin– you at least want to die with a little dignity. “Just make it quick. Please.” 

He sighs again and slides his hands in his fucking pockets, like this is just a stroll down the street. He stalks toward you, forcing you back until you’re pressed up against another wall. This motherfucker really likes walls. 

His pout shifts to a smirk that borders far too closely on a grin. “Oh, no. I’ve always had a thing for taking it slow.” 

You nearly snort. He certainly hadn’t had a thing for taking it slow just a minute ago. His arms cage you and your world grows infinitely smaller until it’s just him and those blue-ass eyes staring you down. Some distant part of you thinks you might not mind if it’s the last thing you ever see. 

“Damn, I really thought you might give it up and just let me fuck you,” his pout returns. “So disappointing…” he sighs. 

Your lips part. “You knew?” 

That lights his face up like a Christmas tree. “Sensed you tailing me these past few weeks. Started on theeeee– 21st, no?” 

Fuck. You’d been so careful. You’d only tailed him in public spaces, where your energy would be more diluted by the crowds. You’d stayed far enough away that he should only have caught mere glimpses of you, even suppressed your energy. He should not have been able to sense you. But he was Satoru Gojo– things people were not supposed to be able to do came easily to him. 

But you have one thing on him. 

“The 18th,” you whisper. “Started on the 18th.”

There’s a beat of silence and then his smile is growing wider, wider, wider, until it’s practically blinding you. “Well, shit,” he laughs. “You’re pretty good.” 

You let a tiny smile slip through your terror. “I try.” 

His eyes travel up and down your body, his pout slipping away to a frown. “What to do with you… hmm…” You lift your chin, taking shallow little breaths through your nose. You’re looking death in the face, but you’d never thought it would be so beautiful. He sighs. “I guess I could let you go.” 

You freeze. He notices. 

He quirks a brow, another smirk sliding across his lips. “What? Didn’t think that was an option?” You stay silent. No way he’ll let you go. It’s a bluff. A cruel trick. “It’s not like you could try again, gorgeous. I know your energy now and what you look like. Sorry, but your chance is gone.” That was fine by you. Your breaths come a little heavier, hope pulsing in your veins. “But–” shit. “Letting you go is so… boring. Especially after where we left off, yeah?” 

Your jaw drops. “You cannot seriously be suggesting that we–” 

He cuts you off with a kiss, one that makes your toes curl in the carpet and your stomach clench in anticipation. 

“Oh, yes I am,” he chuckles. You feel his hand sliding down your hip, cool and calculating. “I know you weren’t faking the whole thing, gorgeous. Nobody makes out like that when they’re faking it.” You feel your cheeks heat. “And nobody gets this wet-” his fingers snake beneath your skirt, pressing to the wet patch on your panties. “When they’re faking it.” You gasp and reach out, hands clasping onto his shoulders for support. He only chuckles. “No worries, gorgeous. No need for any more faking tonight. I’ll make sure it’s all real.” 

Somehow you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist again and you’re headed to the bedroom– again. It’s like a replay– a redo. 

“Let’s keep it less killy this time, yeah?” 

Your back hits the mattress, your body bouncing lightly on its softness before he’s crawling after you. It’s simultaneously the best and worst deja vu you’ve ever experienced. 

His hands slide down your body again, fingertips hooking beneath the hem of your skirt and shimmying it up your thighs until your panties are on full display. 

“Shit,” you breathe. He’s moving so fast, like he’s desperate to go further, to get his greedy hands all over your bare skin. 

You can’t say you blame him. You feel the same.

His thumbs hook under the fabric of your panties and you know it’s over for you. You can feel his warm breath skating across your thighs, feel the calluses on his hands scraping against your skin. You reach a hand down, tangling it in his hair, and you nearly faint when he smirks and looks up at you with those blue fucking eyes. 

“I think I’ve seen this film before, sweetheart.” He tilts his head, resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. “No more knives hiding anywhere, yeah?” 

You clench your jaw, trying to control your pounding heart. You can’t believe you’re doing this. Why are you doing this? You wish you had a better answer than he’s beautiful and sexy and just a glance at him makes you want to rip his clothes off and climb him like a tree. 

“Silent, hm? Guess I’ll just have to check myself…” 

He’s pressing up the hem up your skirt, more, more, more, until he’s pulling your dress straight up over your arms and running his hands down your bare sides. 

“None there…” His fingers cup your breast and you gasp, unable to contain your shock and the jolt that just rushed through you. He traces the outline of your bra. “You had the last one in here, no?” Your chest heaves under his touch, pressing the flesh of your breast up into his fingers. He smirks. “Best check again.” You feel an arm slide beneath you back and then your bra loosens before it’s completely gone. 

There’s a beat of silence, of admiration. He gazes down on you and you see his snark falter for just a moment, replaced by a sparkle in his eyes. It makes your skin heat. His fingers brush the swell of your breasts, thumb trailing down over a nipple. You arch and gasp again. 

“Fuck. Quit teasing so much.” 

He chuckles and the sound washes over you until it settles in your bones. “Sush. I’m not done checking for weapons yet.” 

You scowl but before you can even move to open your mouth he’s sliding your panties down your legs, hooking them around your ankles and tossing them somewhere on the floor.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you watch him settle himself down between your thighs, eyes never once leaving your center. “Don’t see any knives here, either, but maybe I should double-check…” he breathes. 

He hooks your legs over his shoulders and you shudder, your breaths shaky. Fuck. You were supposed to kill him tonight but if he keeps going like this you’ll be the one deceased. 

He meets your eyes when he takes the first long lick along your folds. You swear he’s smirking.

Your head rolls back and a pathetic sounding groan slips past your lips. You hadn’t realized how much he’d worked you up. Just the slightest touch feels like heaven.

His tongue nudges at your clits and your legs clench, tightening around his head. He laughs into your cunt and his warm breath skates up and over your tummy. Your fingernails scrape his scalp.

“I think you like this, gorgeous.” 

Each word sends little puffs of air against your folds. It’s driving you crazy. You stare down at him, letting a smirk pull at your lips. Your eyes dart over his mouth, wet with your slick, and you don’t fail to notice the way he’s struggling to hold your gaze, eyes flickering back down to your cunt every second. Your smirk grows. “I think you’re liking this, too.” 

He licks another stripe, from you pulsing hole to your throbbing clit, and this time he’s the one groaning. “Damn right I am.”

He eats you out like he kisses you– like a starved man, like he’ll die if he stops for just one second, like he can’t live without your juices on his tongue. 

You whine and bury both hands in his hair, tugging desperately when his lips wrap around you clit and suck. It’s so much, too much, and yet it’s just right. 

Your hips buck and squirm, but he’s got his fingers pressed deep into your flesh, holding you down to take whatever he gives. You think you see heaven when he slides two fingers into your walls, curling them into that gummy spot that has an unbearable heat building deep inside you. 

“S-Satoru-” you stutter and you hear him moan and mutter into your cunt like he’s unwilling to leave it for even a second.

“Fuck, yes. Say my name, sweetheart.” Who are you to deny him? You whisper, whine, and whimper his name with every thrust of his fingers, every lick of his tongue. It’s delicious. Every so often he swaps his mouth and hand, thrusting his tongue as deep inside you as he can while his fingers rub dangerous little circles on your clit. Whenever things get a little too filthy he laps his tongue across your entire cunt and along your inner thighs, cleaning up every stray drop. You don’t know how much longer you can last under such a complete and total assault. 

“S-Satoru, ‘m gonna-” He licks a thick stripe through your folds that makes your sentence end in a whine, his lips settling to suckle on your clit again.

God, it’s messy. It’s fucking disgusting. His whole chin is covered in spit and slick– and you love it. “Cum for me, baby,” he breathes. 

You don’t need to hear much more. You let the heat inside you release with a whine, thighs trembling on his shoulders. Your walls pulse and throb around his fingers, sucking him in and never wanting him to leave. His tongue continues to rub lazy circles around your clit, working you through your high and making it last so long you think you might pass out.

Warmth spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and your muscles tense and clench with each pulsing throb. You swear to god you see fucking stars.

It seems to go on forever, leaving you limp and shaking when the last waves finally slip away. 

He presses a final kiss to your clit, one that makes your hips jolt from the overstimulation before he’s lifting himself up. “Wow. That looked like a big one,” he chuckles. He runs a soothing hand along your thigh and you don’t even have the energy to give him some sort of snarky reply. There’s hardly even a pause before something shifts in his eyes. “Let’s see if we can get one that’s even bigger, yeah?” 

Before you can even process what he’s said you feel strong hands slide under your thighs, pressing them tightly to your chest as he settles himself close to you

You grasp at the sheets, hearing the clinking of a belt buckle and then the familiar pitch of a zipper being undone. 

“Fuck,” you mutter. He’s big. Long and pretty and with a perfectly flushed tip. Your eyes are rolling back just thinking about having him inside you.

A strong hand smooths along your thighs, folding you in a way that feels more vulnerable and exposing than anything you’ve ever done before. He pauses for a beat, just staring down at you silently.

“Gorgeous,” he finally mutters, and something in your heart squeezes. His hand grips your hip firmly, holding you in place and you gasp when you feel him prodding at your entrance. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Big bad assassin turned simpering little bitch over some good Gojo dick. 

“Just relaxxxxx, baby.” His hand rubs soothing little circles into your side and it’s so divinely distracting that it catches you by surprise when he starts pushing into you. You gasp and he only chuckles. Asshole. 

He’s big– really big – and the stretch is somehow both painful and perfect. You groan into the air, struggling to take him. Every inch feels like it must be the last, but then there’s more. Your walls clench around him on instinct, trying to force him out. 

“Fuck, baby. What did I say about relaxing?” You hiss when his hand skates down your tummy to rub messy circles on your clit. The relief is instant and you moan when you feel him slide in a little further. “There we go. Good girl.” 

He continues feeding his dick into you, inch by inch, until his hips finally press to yours and you think you can feel him in your fucking throat. You hear him exhale, like it’s a relief to finally be fully inside you, like he’s been waiting for ages. 

You expect him to not hold back, to let himself go and pound into you relentlessly, but he doesn’t. He only leans down closer to you, settling in when he starts a pace of slow, sensual thrusts. His brows pinch, his eyes hardened in concentration.

“Ah, fuck. You’re so tight.” 

You want to shoot something back at him, but you’re hardly remembering to breathe with how deep he’s sliding into you. Instead, you just end up holding him tighter, your eyes fluttering shut. 

Lips dust across your cheeks, just below your lashes. “Keep your eyes open, gorgeous. Wanna see you.” 

You blink, thinking that it’s a notion that feels a little too intimate for a hookup. Regardless, you do as he wants, opening your eyes and holding his gaze.

A smile splits his lips and he presses his forehead to yours, picking up the pace of his thrusts. It’s not long before the sound of skin on skin fills the room and you’re both panting. His breath skates across your skin, hot and heavy, hitching with the groans and whines that spill from his chest. You can’t help but pull him closer, raking your nails down his back hard enough to leave marks. The action makes him emit a noise you can only describe as a desperate whimper. “Fuck, baby. Yes.” 

His lips press to yours in a kiss that’s all desperation and teeth and tongue. You kiss him back with equal intensity, your body rocking with each heavy thrust. He’s pounding into you now, frantic for more, more, more of you. You want him to take it, take all of you. 

A familiar heat pinches in your stomach and you know it won’t be long before he’s pushing you to another release. His dick drags in and out of you, prodding at the gummy spot inside you with every thrust and brushing so deliciously against your cervix that you can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips. It has you seeing stars again, has you clawing at him and panting into his mouth. 

“Satoru… harder,” you breathe. You need more– more of everything, of him. 

He groans. “You got it, gorgeous.” 

His hips slam into you and it’s so perfect that you can’t help but whimper beneath him. It only gets worse when you feel his fingers on your clit again, hand pressed between your bodies. “Cum on my dick, baby.” Your eyes roll back, that coil inside you rolling tighter. You feel his muscles tensing and shaking above you and you know he’s close, too. “Where do you want it?” he asks, and from the pinched look on his face you can tell exactly where he wants it. You know you’re an idiot for feeling the same. 

“Inside,” you breathe. He groans so loudly it rattles in your ears.

“That’s my girl,” he says, but it’s nearly a whisper with how strained it is. His hand continues at your clit, rubbing perfect little circles that make your legs tremble where they’re pressed against your chest. Your jaw hangs open, but you don’t dare close your eyes. Satoru is still holding your gaze intently, desperately, like he needs to see you. The thought throws you over the edge.

You cry his name, clawing at his shoulder and shaking like a leaf as you feel yourself gush and pulse all over his dick. For the second time that evening you feel the heat inside you swell and burst, washing through you in waves that nearly consume you whole. It’s a struggle to hold his eyes, to not let them roll back into your skull and give into the pure ecstasy of your high– especially when he’s cumming, too. You can hear him moaning in your ear, feel him twitching inside you, feel his hot cum coating your walls and there’s just so fucking much of it. You swear he cums for a minute straight before he slumps down onto you, burying his face in your neck as you pant. 

You’re shaking and so is he, breaths heaving in and out. Reality slowly starts to seep back in, even with his dick still softening inside you and his cum leaking down your thighs. 

You tried to kill him. You failed. You had sex. Now what? Would he really let you go like he’d said he would? You wanted to believe it, but life hadn’t taught you to be that trusting. You should move, untangle yourself from him and escape before he has time to change his mind. 

“You assassins are always thinking so hard,” He mumbles into the curve of your neck. “Maybe you should try to relax for once.”

You swallow when you feel him pressing his lips to your throat, trailing up to your jaw. It’s… tender, gentle, and it feels so nice. You can’t help the way you melt into the touch a bit. You feel him smile into your skin. “There we go.”

His hand settles on your waist, rubbing soothing little circles that send a jolt of urgency up your spine. No. You’re enjoying this– being close to him, laying here with him, breathing him in. That’s not what this is supposed to be. 

You tense again, shifting to get away from him, but he only sighs and presses his weight onto you. 

“Come on, gorgeous. No need to leave so soon. Just stay for a bit, yeah?” He nibbles at your jaw, but it doesn’t work this time. You have to go. You’ve failed your mission. You don’t know what that means for your brother. You’d never thought this would have an ending besides your death. 

“I have to go,” you mutter, pushing at his chest. 

He chuckles, but you don’t miss the strain and… hurt? “Got something more important than trying to kill me?” 

You clench your teeth, trying once again to shove him away. “Yes, actually.” 

He finally pulls back to meet your gaze, brows slightly pinched. “Like what?” 

You push in earnest now, anger and panic rising in your gut. You have to go, have to check on your brother, have to figure out what you’re going to do. “That’s really none of your business,” you seethe. 

You go for another shove, but strong hands clasp around your wrists, pinning them to the bed. His expression has gone flat now, serious. “Actually, I think it’s completely my business. You going to report your failure? Should I expect another assassin soon?”

You scowl, tugging at his grasp and trying to free yourself. “Yeah, probably. He’s an insufferable idiot. I told him it wouldn’t work and it didn’t, but I don’t doubt he’ll send another.” 

His face cracks, his brows pulling together again. “If you knew it wouldn’t work then why’d you take the job?” 

You struggle again, less angry and more desperate now. “Because he’s got my fucking brother at gunpoint and I’ve got to figure out how the fuck I’m going to save him!” you shout.

There’s silence for a long moment– a long, uncomfortable beat of it– and then his expression softens into something… tender. It sends a chill up your spine. Satoru Gojo was never supposed to be tender with you, and that’s all he’s been. 

“I’ll save him,” he says. Your heart jumps and his grip on your wrists loosens, allowing you to slip free. 

“What?” you breathe. He sits back, allowing you to prop yourself up into a slightly less vulnerable position. 

He exhales slowly, but you don’t miss the way his hand settles on your bare thigh, a comforting weight. “I’ll save your brother and then I’ll take care of your boss.” A smirk creeps across his lips. “What? Don’t think I can do it?”

You stare blankly, lips parted. There’s no doubt he can do it, but that’s not the question swirling in your mind. 

“Why would you help me?” You’d tried to kill the man. You couldn’t make heads or tails of a reason why he’d go out of his way to help you. 

He chuckles. “Well, in case you didn’t know, I’m a hero of sorts.” You have to fight not to roll your eyes. “And… there’s something I want from you.” 

There it is– the catch. He wants something. You have no idea what you could possibly have to give him, but you’re willing for it to be just about anything. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

He grins, but you can see the glint of mischief in his gaze. His hand slides further up your thigh, up your side, over your shoulder, until it rests at the nape of your neck and his face is only inches from your own. “What’s your number, gorgeous?”

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please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

[littlelamy]

𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓼

lamy's note: hi everyone!! sorry for not being as active on this blog. im going to try and post (and answer more asks) from now on!!

rafe’s footsteps were slow, deliberate, the leather of his boots a whisper against the polished floor. he had come home early, the plans he’d canceled clearly secondary to the discovery laid out before him: you, sprawled on the bed, your back arched as your fingers gripped the base of a slick dildo, thighs glistening in the low light, evidence of how long you'd been working yourself, head thrown back, moans filling the space, completely unaware. until now.

the creak of the bedroom door had you freezing, eyes snapping open to meet his piercing gaze. his lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk, the kind that promised trouble.

"well, well," rafe drawled, voice low and gravelly. "couldn't wait for me, huh? decided to be a greedy little slut all by yourself."

"I—" you stammered, cheeks flushing with heat, but the words died as he strode toward the bed, his presence overwhelming. he grabbed the toy still buried in your soaked cunt and yanked it free, making you gasp at the sudden emptiness.

"you're dripping," he said, his tone a mixture of amusement and reprimand. he ran the tip of the dildo along your folds, teasing, before tossing it aside like it was worthless. "this is what you need? some plastic junk? i'll show you what you need."

before you could respond, his hands were on you, flipping you onto your stomach with effortless strength. his weight pinned you down as his fingers probed your slickness, one thrusting inside with ease, then another, his thumb circling your clit.

"you're so wet for me," rafe murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "but i think we can do better. i think all these holes of yours need attention tonight."

rafe’s eyes roved over your quivering body, stretched out beneath him like a banquet he was starving to devour. he licked his lips, dragging his gaze from the glistening mess between your thighs to the dildo discarded beside you. a chuckle rumbled low in his throat, dark and wicked.

"you’re insatiable, aren’t you?" his voice was thick with mockery and hunger. he reached for the slick, glistening toy, still wet from your arousal, holding it up as if to inspect it. "did this little thing really satisfy you? or were you just getting started?"

you whimpered, squirming under his intense scrutiny, but his hand was already on your hip, pinning you firmly in place. "rafe, i—"

"you don’t get to talk right now," he growled, cutting you off as he shifted onto the bed, positioning himself behind you. his large hand slid down your back, forcing an arch in your spine. "you think you can touch yourself like this and not get caught? oh, baby, we’re doing things my way now."

the cool tip of the dildo pressed against your slick entrance again, teasing, but instead of thrusting it where you expected, he dragged it lower, smearing your wetness between the cheeks of your ass. your breath hitched as the realization hit, and you wriggled in his grip, but his hand clamped down harder, holding you still.

"stay. fucking. still." his voice was a command, laced with promise. "you’re gonna take this, and you’re gonna thank me for it."

you trembled, biting your lip, anticipation mixing with trepidation as the tip of the dildo pressed against the tight ring of your ass. rafe’s other hand spread you wider, his thumb stroking possessively along your skin. he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. "relax, baby. let me in. i know you can handle it."

with a deliberate push, the dildo breached your tightness, the stretch making you gasp. rafe groaned low, watching the way your body resisted, then surrendered to him. "fuck, look at that," he murmured, almost to himself. "taking it so well. such a good girl for me."

he pushed it deeper, slow and relentless, until the toy was buried halfway. the burn mixed with pleasure, and you couldn’t stop the moan that spilled from your lips. rafe’s grin widened, his free hand slipping around to toy with your dripping folds, fingers finding your clit and stroking it in lazy circles.

"see? you’re already loving this," he taunted, his voice a seductive growl. "your greedy little body just needs to be stuffed full, doesn’t it?"

he twisted the dildo, making you cry out, your back arching further. "you can scream if you want. no one’s here to save you. no one but me, and i’m not done with you yet."

as the toy slid deeper, he leaned back, taking in the sight of you completely at his mercy. his cock strained against his jeans, the image of you stuffed with the toy making him throb painfully. "this is just the start, baby," he promised, fingers still working your clit. "by the time i’m done with you, you won’t know what it feels like to be empty."

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[luveline]

can we possibly get the one where Gideon doesn’t like bombshell reader and poor Spencer is watching like☹️

Spencer feels a little like a child of divorce. Like, he absolutely is a child of divorce, but he didn’t think he’d feel this way at work. Lately, all Hotch and Gideon do is argue. 

It’s especially odd in that Hotch doesn’t usually go against Gideon’s judgement, even when he doesn’t agree, but you seem to be something Hotch is willing to fight for, and Spencer has no idea why.

“We don’t need her,” Gideon says. Spencer knows it isn’t Gideon being cruel, just stern. “We have a fine team without her.” 

“But with her, we’re better. And we have an opening. I know you like Greenaway for it, and I do too–”

“Everyone likes Greenaway for the position, she’s more palatable than L/N, and she works harder.”

Spencer tries not to whip his face back and forth like he’s following a ping pong ball, but it’s hard to keep up. He has no idea what his mentor’s talking about in all honesty, you’d seemed more than palatable when you met him last week. You were nice. And barely anybody is nice to Spencer. 

You sounded like you actually wanted to hear him talk, something Gideon has often been alone in. And palatable is a subjective word. 

“That’s not necessarily true,” Hotch says, knowing he’s losing. 

“We’re not gonna rush into picking someone,” Gideon says, less stern, more neutral. 

“No. I have invited her to the Georgia consultation this afternoon.” 

Gideon sighs through his nose. The afternoon rolls around quickly. Spencer doesn’t want to think about it but he’s excited to see you, and he feels conflicted in that; Gideon is the first person in a long time who actually seems to care about him, so Spencer is guilty of always aiming to please, but he can’t understand why Gideon dislikes you so much. Am I being easily led? he wonders. 

He’ll admit to finding you attractive. In his head, that is. You’d spoken so particularly, you’d looked stunning, and you didn’t make a fuss when he wouldn’t shake your hand. You called him beautiful. 

It’s the nicest, kindest attention he’s had since he started. Morgan calls him pretty boy. Spencer knows it’s not the same thing. 

They gather in the conference room, Morgan, Hotch, Gideon and Spencer, just a few minutes before 2PM. A minute later, you’re knocking on the door. 

“Hello…” You smile when you realise they’re here. “Am I late?” 

“No, L/N. Come and take a seat,” Hotch says. 

There’s a plastering of documents on the table and an empty seat by both Morgan and Spencer. You choose the one beside Spencer despite a stack of manilla folders, tucking your chair in neatly. “Oh, the grizzly stuff. This will upset my feminine energy.” 

Morgan laughs. Gideon glares at the table. 

Spencer likes it when you’re around. One more person and suddenly the consultation is a conversation and not a debate. You can keep up with everyone. You laugh at Spencer occasionally and he doesn’t know why, but he can tell it isn’t cruel laughter; he’s had a long time to work out the difference. 

Gideon excuses himself for a coffee half an hour in. 

Hotch immediately leans across the table. “I’m trying to help you,” he says. 

You grimace. “What am I doing wrong now?” 

“The laughing.” 

“You laugh.” 

“I know.” Hotch smiles at you. “You’re getting good at this, you have good insight on the dark triad. You read the book I sent?” 

“How’s Haley?” you ask.

He shakes his head, but his smile stays. “Don’t joke about that.” 

You’re not flirting. Or, Spencer doesn’t think so. It’s more likely you’re joking as Hotch says, everything about your body language pointing to amicable friendliness besides your flirting tones. “I read the book,” you say. Your gaze turns to Spencer. “Bet you’ve read it too, huh? Morgan said you’ve read every book ever written.” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” Spencer says. 

“But close?” you ask. “I’d love some recommendations. You know. For profiling.” 

“Don’t let her fool you, Reid, she’s well read,” Morgan says. 

“Wait, Gideon doesn’t like you because you laugh?” Spencer asks. 

It’s a socially inept thing to say, he realises after. You lean back in your chair all sweet and soft with your legs crossed, your dark stockings thin at the knees. He’s so, so worried you’re going to be offended and that’s exactly what he needs, a possible friend isolated again by his inability to read the room, but you don’t chew him out. You nudge his leg gently with the toe of your heel. 

“Now who said he doesn’t like me, handsome?” you ask teasingly. 

Spencer regrets the heat that floods his face and neck. 

“It’s complicated,” you add, your smile more than friendly, Spencer can’t work it out. “But don’t worry, I’ll turn him around eventually. It’s one of my many talents.” 

Oh, he thinks. That’s what it is. Spencer’s finally in on the joke. 

[bunny-jpeg]

secret tattoo (vol. 3)

lando norris

tags: smut/pwp, secret relationship, tattoos, assistant!reader, kitchen sex, implied dom!reader,

max edition // charles edition // lewis edition // toto edition

"she must have secrets somewhere. no one is that innocent. not even like a facebook profile or something....." lando trailed off while him and oscar eyed you while you were speaking to zak.

you were lando's new assistant, around his age with everything to the t. every box checked, perfect to keep mclaren's wonder in check. the issue was that lando had a keen eye. and he knew there was something, some secret that you were hiding.

curiosity got both drivers and a deep dive into your internet footprint turned up nothing. it wasn't that you had a lack of presence on it, it was just there was nothing to show. not even a drunken night at a club or an unsavory joke on twitter.

"maybe she's just that good." oscar shrugged, "perfect for this line of work." he turned to you, "i think maybe you're just assuming things, mate."

lando remained unconvinced. it wasn't until saw you after the summer break, usually your windbreaker while on the track covered your neck. but a shorter haircut plus the lack of the jacket combined to expose your dirty little secret.

you had a tattoo.

tattoos were no scandals. everyone and their mother had a tattoo nowadays. but the knowledge that you had one made sparks light off in lando's brain. it was so normal, but to lando it seemed so scandalous.

a little tattoo of a checkered flag. wasn't that sweet. it was so sweet that it made lando a little harder in his jeans when he saw it. he wanted to trace his fingers across it, kiss at it. watch you grow weak in the knees.

maybe it built onto the crush that lando harboured for you since the two of you met before the season. when you reached out and said, "lovely to meet you, mister norris. i hope we can work well together." then flashed him a smile that made something in his soul met.

you made him melt in ways that made him more willing to listen to his lovely assistant. zak once remarked that you trained him well. which you simply replied, "well mister brown, if lando is made is iron. then i'm made of steel."

so no wonder when you two ended up in a relationship. it was on your terms. lando was more than happy to put the trust in your hands. after all, you made sure that he got from point a to point b. you kept on a better leash than anyone else at mclaren could do.

but lando still wanted to kiss that tattoo so badly.

"hey, angel." he said as he came up behind you. he wrapped his strong arms around you and kissed the side of your neck. he asked, "i didn't know you had a tattoo?"

you chuckled, "i've told you i was always a fan of racing. so of course i'd end up with a tattoo of it." you rested against him, "i also have another one."

he replied, "and i thought that you were the innocent one."

you snorted a laugh as you flipped the pancakes in the pan, "oh please. unlike you, lando, i didn't have photos taken of me of every moment of every day. not everything needed photographic evidence."

"ah, well. i'd love to see you drunk at a club." lando remarked with his lips near the back of your neck, "now where's this other tattoo?"

"maybe after breakfast you can find out." you replied as you got the next pancake onto the plate. but lando was impatient with that sort of things. and he leaned over you to turn off the stove. and when you tried to swat him away with the spatula. you ended up over the counter top next to the stove. you could feel the heat of the appliance near by.

"mmm, aw, c'mon, beautiful. show it to me now. i wanna know all your dirty secrets." his voice was seductive. and while you held the reigns, lando know how to curl his hand in them as well. he leaned over you, his clothed hard on rubbed against your clothed behind, "i bet it's a tramp stamp. awww, dirty girl."

you moaned with your flushed face against the counter. damn lando norris, damn him. you replied, "it's not a tramp stamp. i've never been that drunk. it's on my bicep." and yelped when he got your shirt off over your head. his hand instantly touched your right bicep.

"aw, well isn't this a cute little tattoo.. a little cow."

you replied, "maybe you should get a matching one." you shuddered and let out a soft noise when lando's hands reached to the waistband of your sweatpants.

lando kissed the inked skin and replied, "no, no. i think you should get another. lucky number four." he chuckled, "that would be very cute. maybe my intials right up against your collarbone." his voice tinged with affection and sexual want.

to see his girlfriend/assistant with his number and initials across his skin was an arousing thought.

you chuckled against the granite counter top, "mmm, you know more girls ask for a ring, right? a little less permanent than a tattoo."

lando dropped your sweatpants and panties to your ankles and spread your legs a little further. he grabbed at his hard cock in his own pants and replied, "that's why i want you to get it. after all, i consider your my number one fan."

you rolled your eyes, "just a fan, huh?" and when you tried to move away from the counter, he placed a broad hand at the middle of your shoulders and pressed you back onto the counter. you moaned a little.

"but you're so much more than that, babe. you're the light of my life. the keeper of my secrets. you're my lover and so much more." he pulled his sweatpants and briefs under his cock. he stroked it a few times at the sight of your pussy and smiled to himself, "you're everything and so much more."

"and yet you want to taint my skin, mister norris?" you replied before you chuckled. your back arched a little when lando pressed himself into you.

"mm, i want to taint all of you." he held onto your hips, "make you all might. head to toe. body and soul." he kissed the center of your back where you were still in your bra. you felt the shudder of pleasure course through you as he fucked you up against the counter.

"you sound like a possessive man, lando." you looked over your shoulder and winked at him, "maybe you could have my name on you. so no one gets the wrong idea."

lando beamed at you for a moment, "well of course, everyone should know the woman who keeps me in line. made me a good boy." he rocked against you a little faster and you rested your head back against the counter.

you blushed a little more. his words really made your stomach clench. you felt really amazing under him. he knew how to fuck you so good, he knew how to make your stomach twist in the best way possible. there was something about lando. despite the trouble he could and had caused you, you yearned for him. something so deep. it felt like it was in your soul.

"you're everything to me. in more ways than one. i'm so lucky to have you, beautiful." he moved against you. he leaned forward once more and kissed the back of your neck where the tattoo was.

the sensation of his lips against a ticklish part of you made you tense up. your cunt clenched around his cock and he groaned at the feeling. which only spurred him on to kiss your tattoo more. to hear your sweet moans as he continued to fuck you with a heat in his gut.

while you usually didn't have sex in the kitchen. but lando couldn't help himself with you. there was something about you that just pulled him in. he loved the feeling of you in his arms.

he knew from the moment you met, that he'd want to be in your life for a long while. you held onto the edge of the counter while he rutted up against you. you moaned against the cool counter top, your hot breath warmed the area of the counter you were up against.

you could feel your sweaty body hot against the counter while he fucked you with an intensity that it radiated through your body. your thoughts were full of your lover while he moved. the two of you in the quiet kitchen of your apartment.

you were supposed to start the morning with some breakfast. pancakes for you to share, but it was hard to do that when lando had you up against the counter with his cock snug inside of you. but you could barely resist your lover on the track or when he was giving you puppy dog eyes when you scolded him for forgetting to reply to an email or was late for a meeting. so all bets were off when you two were alone.

his continued to kiss at the back of your neck and you held onto the counter top even tighter. he could feel the excitement in his chest, which caused it to clench. he panted heavily against you. he even kicked under the tattoo, where you were still ticklish and it made you tense up even more.

lando could only imagine how loud you got when you got the tattoo. he kissed your shoulders and continued to rut against you. his thrusts were short and fast, but the mounting pleasure made you feel the heat in your core.

"i can think of some other tattoos for you, beautiful." he said, "you look good with a bit of ink on your skin. turns me on even more." he chuckled as he kissed at you more.

"i can't believe you didn't know that i had another one."

he chuckled as he held onto you tighter, "never looking at your arms when i'm making you feel good." he said as he kissed your neck, which made you feel even more turned on.

"well aren't you a romantic." you moaned as you felt the pleasure hit its peak. you held onto the counter tightly as you arched your back a little bit and climaxed around his cock. your noises were short and your breathing was heavy. your heart was racing and you cursed under your breath.

this spurred lando on. he continued to fuck you and you made such sweet noises as he moved himself against you. he could feel the tension in his legs and the jelly in his knees. for even as someone as strong as him, it was hard for him to fuck while standing up. but, if you were able to climax. then he was going to get his.

his pace didn't stagger, only quicken. he felt the thrum of excitement in his chest as he moved. he kissed your back once more. with a few more thrusts, he pushed himself up inside of you. and finished inside of you. he groaned and said, "you're my girl." as he came.

he slowed to a stop and he kissed your cheek with a deep affection. you giggled a little. when he pulled out and got his cock back into his sweatpants, you still laid against the counter for a moment.

you exhaled deeply before you said, "you better help me finish the pancakes." before you reached for your bottoms. if he was going to give you mind blowing orgasms. he could at the very least help make breakfast.

-

there wasn't much affair when it happened. after a successful weekend in silverstone. you walked up to meet lando. he noticed a bandage behind your ear. it wouldn't be until you got to your next location that you'd show lando what was under the bandage

it was small, mostly covered by your hair. but lando say it as clear as day. the lucky number four, inked onto your soft skin. <3

the checkered flag tattoo

the cow tattoo

[pedrospatch]

fall into temptation | three

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, reader has a father and two sisters, all who come with names, reader gets put into a a very uncomfortable situation, insecurity, anxiety, Seth is an asshole, protective Joel, he threatens to break someone’s jaw which is a warning in and of itself. SMUT. loss of virginity, reader is inexperienced but not totally clueless, oral (both m and f receiving), risky unprotected p in v sex (please wrap it up), lots of praise and pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, you know, the works), Joel gets a teensy bit rough, creampie, hint of aftercare, ends with a cliffhanger, but also not really if you think about it?

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 10k

a/n: it was not my intention to post this on jesus day, but here we are. this took forever and a day considering the second part was posted back in september, but i am so so proud of myself for finally completing a wip i could cry. i did a bulk of the editing while i’ve been sick and in all honesty i probably should have asked someone to beta for me because i think i coughed out like 90% of my brain cells this week, but i think it turned out okay. ish.

Somehow, even over the volume of the live music, you could still hear their hushed, astonished whispers.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is that Joel Miller with Pastor John’s daughter?”

“What’s she doing holding his hand?”

“He’s got to be at least twice her fucking age—”

Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.

His shoulders were squared back, his head held high. 

Solid. Steady.

Joel couldn’t seem to care less about the bewildered stares, the judgment that was being flung his way. Not once did he seem to waver. But you?

Oh, you were already starting to crumble underneath it all, on the verge of falling apart right before everyone’s prying eyes. Shame sat heavily inside of your chest, the weight of the feeling suffocating you, making it harder and harder to breathe as it prevented air from reaching your lungs.

It had nothing to do with Joel. Of course it didn’t. It had all to do with you and with who you were. Their beloved preacher’s sweet, innocent young daughter. 

His youngest daughter. 

Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.

“Oh God, she’s not going home with him, is she?”

“That’s not right! Someone should say something!”

“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”

“Poor thing’s naive—she doesn’t know any better.”

Hot, stubborn tears of frustration glazed over your eyes and threatened to spill. It was as if you were a child who didn’t know any better, a gullible, clueless little girl with nothing in her brain who needed to be rescued—saved from the bad, bad man before he did bad, bad things to her.

Had it been anyone else, no one would have batted an eye. No one would have noticed, let alone cared. But it was you that Joel Miller was leaving the bar with in the middle of the night and it was you whose hand he had clasped in his own. That is what made it wrong. That is why it was a problem.

Everyone’s concerns had nothing to do with him at all, they had everything to do with you. You, you, you. You were the sole reason why it was a problem, the reason why he was being perceived as the Devil himself, horns out as he dragged the poor little unsuspecting angel down to the fires of Hell.

“Joel?” Overwhelmed, you instinctively reached for his arm with your free hand. Cold and trembling, your little fingers curled tightly around his bicep, digging into the firm, bulging muscle through the thick corduroy fabric of his sleeve. You whispered his name again. “Joel—”

“S’alright, babygirl,” he reassured you quietly over his shoulder. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “S’alright. Just keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You just keep on lookin’ right at me, okay?”

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and focused on him. Only him. The broadness of his back and his shoulders. Tufts of hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Only him. He’s what mattered. He’s all that mattered.

“Almost there,” Joel murmured, squeezing your hand again as the door came into view. “Breathe, baby. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you. Promise I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around the old, brass handle that you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding out in utter relief, though it was very, very short lived. Just as Joel pulled the door open, you felt a hand wrap around your arm. Dry, slender fingers dug into the soft flesh above your elbow as an attempt, and a feeble one at that, was made to tear you out of Joel’s grasp.

The music stopped and the bar fell silent. Everything and everyone came to a sudden standstill, freezing mid dance, mid drink, mid bite, mid gossip.

Shocked, you glanced over your shoulder. “Seth?” you squeaked his name. “What—what are you doing?”

Seth didn’t acknowledge you. His focus was on Joel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miller?”

Joel’s anger couldn’t be seen, but it could be felt. So palpable you could have wrapped your fingers around it. It radiated off of him and loomed over the entire bar like an incoming storm cloud. Threatening. Dangerous.

“Where are you taking her?” Seth demanded, his other hand curling around your wrist as he tried, but failed, to snatch you from Joel’s side once more. “Let the girl go! You let her go right now, you hear?”

Caught in between the two men, you nervously turned to look at Joel. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, seething eyes that did the talking for him. His message was loud and oh so abundantly clear.

If Seth didn't take his hands off you, he wasn’t going to have any hands.

Not after Joel Miller was through with him.

Blazing heat flooded your face. As if it couldn’t possibly get any worse, everyone had now gathered around you to watch the tense encounter, eyes wide, brows raised and jaws practically on the weathered, hardwood floor.

Tommy Miller stood among the crowd, subtly shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line of disapproval as he glowered at his older brother. Would he be looking at Joel like that had it been Esther in your place? If she was the one he was taking home? Would any of this be happening if it was her instead of you?

“Seth.” Uttering his name, you shifted your attention back to him. You sounded calm and collected, despite feeling anything but. Joel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you steady and grounded. His touch was the only reason you hadn’t yet spiraled into a state of panic. Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke again and tried your hardest not to waver. “Please let go of me.”

Still fixed on Joel, he spat, “I’ll be damned if I let him take you anywhere.”

“He’s not taking me anywhere, Seth.” Without thinking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth—loud and clear for everyone in that room to hear. “He isn’t forcing me to go with him. I’m making the choice to leave with him. Out of my own volition. Please let go of me.”

Finally, Seth looked at you. His old, worn features were twisted in disbelief. “What?”

You swallowed dryly. Part of you wanted you to shrink away, curl into yourself. Instead, you straightened your posture, forced yourself to stand a little bit taller. Willed yourself to have a backbone for once in your life.

“You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. Several onlookers gasped in surprise at your rebellion. Where had this insolence come from? “I’m choosing to leave with Joel. Now, please let go of my arm.”

Behind you, Joel stood silent and still. 

Watching. Observing. Waiting.

He wanted nothing more than to intervene. Rip you out of Seth’s hands and shatter each and every last bone in all ten of his fingers for putting them on you. Had Joel not realized that this was probably the first time in your whole, entire life you’d mustered up the courage to use your voice, he would have easily given into the urge. He wanted to protect you. He needed so badly to protect you. Yet, he knew you weren’t helpless or incapable of standing on your own two feet. He knew you deserved the chance to stand up and speak for yourself after a lifetime of being silenced, a lifetime of being forced to stay in your place, seen but never heard.

“Seth, let go of my arm,” you repeated. It was no longer a polite request. It was a demand.

He scoffed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you leave with somebody like him? You think I’m just going to stand back and let him take advantage of you?”

Oh, you hadn’t liked that insinuation, not one bit. 

It caused something inside of you to finally give way.

Snap.

The blood in your veins boiled, ran hot enough to make you feel like you were about to burn from the inside out. “Joel isn’t taking advantage of me! It isn’t like that,” you seethed, furiously. The quiet, well mannered, obedient good girl everyone in Jackson knew was gone. And she could stay gone. In your periphery, you could see Leah elbowing her way through the sea of people to the front of the crowd with an incredulous look plastered on her face. She stood there beside Tommy, who appeared to be just as incredibly bewildered by your outburst. “Don’t treat me like I’m some child who doesn’t know any better! I’m an adult and I’m old enough to make my own choices, okay?”

For a moment, you had forgotten it was Seth standing there in front of you.

“I’m capable of making my own decisions! I don’t need you to dictate my life. I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t good for me—controlling what I should and shouldn’t believe in.” Your voice trembled as emotions you’d been suppressing for years bubbled their way up to the surface. Amidst the chaos, you could feel Joel squeeze your hand again, as if silently encouraging you not to lose your nerve. He was your anchor, the only person who could keep your world from capsizing. You knew he wouldn’t let you drown. Not even God, who you had always been forced to believe was your pillar of strength, had ever made you feel this protected. Safe. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live and much less when it’s the end of the world.”

It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.

It was your father.

Your father, who controlled every last thing, from what you would eat to the way that you dressed and how you wore your hair.

Your father, who refused to let you have a mind of your own, who simply could not bear the mere thought of you thinking for yourself.

Your father, whose love felt like shackles, heavy, rusted metal restraints that had been digging into the flesh of your wrists for far, far too long.

“You need to let me go now,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. Once more, you caught Leah from the corner of your eye, your heart lurching in your chest when you noticed her desperately trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room who understood how you felt. Her rebelliousness only ever masked the pain of knowing her father’s love came with terms and conditions—and the fear of knowing what would happen if those terms and conditions weren’t met. For several weeks, you’d gotten a taste of what she went through everyday, how her fear of putting her foot down led her to run around in secret and live a double life. “Just let me go.”

Seth firmly shook his head. “No! I’m not letting you go anywhere with him. I don’t know what the hell he did to you, but he’s clearly got you all fucking brainwashed.”

That was fucking enough. Joel stepped in, lowering his voice as he said, “Y’know, I’ve just ‘bout lost count of how many fuckin’ times she’s asked you to let her go now and it’s really startin’ to piss me off.” Raising an eyebrow, he laid his offer out on the table. “Here’s the deal. You let go of her right now and I won’t shatter your fuckin’ jaw into pieces. That seem fair enough to you?”

“No.” Seth gripped your arm even harder, prompting you to let out a little yelp as his nails dug painfully into your skin. Though it’d been accidental and he hadn’t meant to hurt you, it didn’t matter. He’d just set off the ticking time bomb that was Joel Miller.

Furious, Joel snatched a fistful of his shirt with his free hand—the other still held yours. Gentle, despite being mere moments away from beating someone to within an inch of their life.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy’s voice broke through the tension as he approached. His footsteps were slow—careful and cautious, as if he was afraid to make any kind of sudden movement. “Joel. Hey. C’mon now, let’s not do this, alright? Ain’t gotta handle things this way. We can talk it through. No need for anyone to wind up bleedin’ in the fuckin’ infirmary tonight, so just take a breath and let him go.”

Blatantly ignoring Tommy’s attempt to keep the peace, Joel tugged Seth forward, yanking him closer. “Listen to me and listen to me good ‘cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ say it again. You’d best take your fuckin’ hands off her right now unless you wanna spend the rest of the night sweepin’ up your teeth off the floor of your own fuckin’ bar,” he threatened, his tone enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, even your own.

“You wouldn’t dare, Miller.” Somehow, Seth managed to keep a straight face, but you could see it so clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his lower lip—oh, he was terrified of Joel and rightly so. “Not in front of all these people. Not in front of your brother. That wouldn’t be a smart move considering you’re already on thin fucking ice for what you did to that boy’s face, now would it?”

Joel tugged him closer. “Test me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Go on. Fuckin’ test me.”

His challenge was immediately met with a pathetic look of defeat. Seth dropped your arm and he was released.

“S’what I fuckin’ thought.” Without another word to the man, Joel whirled around and roughly pulled the door open, leading the way outside. As you both descended the building’s old, creaking wooden steps, you began to shiver and he suddenly remembered he’d left his jacket behind inside the bar. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere, my little dove,” he murmured as he tucked you against his side for warmth. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was light the fireplace.

“Should start warmin’ you up, sweet girl,” he’d said to you over his shoulder. He tossed a log into the blaze as you sat perched on his couch rubbing your bare arms with your hands. “M’gonna go upstairs and find you a blanket, alright? You stay put.”

“Okay,” you’d mumbled, knowing there was no point in telling him not to fuss over you.

Even with the soft, fleece throw blanket he had draped around your shoulders and the warmth of the flames in front of you, you continued trembling. Subtle, but he’d noticed it, felt it when he had sat down beside you and pulled you close against his side. “Oh baby, you’re still shakin’?” That was when he realized you weren’t cold. Frowning, Joel rose to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He came back to the living room a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. With a small, labored grunt, he dropped to one knee in front of you and held it out. “Here.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Maybe not, but I’m kinda worried you could be in a bit of shock right now,” he stated, the creases in between his brows deepening as he observed you for any other physical signs of distress. Carefully, Joel lifted the glass to your lips, gently coaxing you to take a drink. “C’mon, darlin’. Think you can be a real good girl for me and at least take a couple sips? Hm?”

Sighing softly, you nodded and did as he asked of you, taking a small sip of water. It soothed your dry mouth and throat and you took another one. Maybe you were thirsty after all.

“Little more, now. Little more. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Once he was satisfied with how much you’d had to drink, Joel set the half empty glass down on the oak coffee table behind him. He turned back to you, placing his large hands on either side of your thighs below the hem of your dress. He started tracing soft, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “M’real proud of you for standin’ up for yourself back there, sweetheart. Took a whole lot of fuckin’ courage to do that, y’know.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap. “Mhm.”

“Baby. Hey. Look at me.” One of his hands abandoned your leg and he reached up, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted your face upwards, his worried gaze meeting your own. “Talk to me. M’right here.”

“That—that was a lot,” you admitted meekly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline started wearing off and your body slowly came down from the peak hormone rush. “It was a lot.”

Sighing, Joel’s hand fell away from your face. “Yeah, I know it was a lot, babygirl. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”

His chest heaved with another sigh, this one deeper, heavier, bearing the weight of his guilt. “Well I am,” he said. He planted his hands on either side of you on the couch and lightly shook his head. “Didn’t even fuckin’ think twice when I pulled you outta that fuckin’ supply closet and took your hand in front of all those people. I was so fuckin’ hellbent on showin’ everybody you were mine that I didn’t even stop and think ‘bout what all it would mean for you. It was selfish of me. Real fuckin’ selfish. And I’m sorry, little dove.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.

Joel chuckled in spite of himself. “M’pretty sure I’m the one who should be askin’ you that question, darlin’,” he remarked. “Tell me. Do you regret it? Do you regret me pullin’ you outta that closet?” He momentarily paused. There was a stutter in his heartbeat when you dropped your gaze away from his, silence your only reply. “Do you regret me takin’ your hand in front of everyone?”

Of course not.

You wanted to be his and you wanted everyone to know it. There was no regret, none. 

Still. 

The consequences that you would undoubtedly have to face in the morning were overwhelming. Daunting.

Surely, by then, your father would know about you and Joel. When he came downstairs right after sunrise and he discovered you weren’t in the kitchen helping Lydia prepare breakfast, he would question where you were and make some kind of remark about how you should not be sleeping in this late. He would tell her just how irresponsible it was for you to ignore your duties and obligations to him and the family. Sloth was one of the seven deadly sins, after all. He would make her trek upstairs and wake you, and when she did, your sister would find your bed empty.

Meanwhile, there would be a knock at the front door.

No stranger to having members of the congregation show up on his doorstep when they were in need, be it of prayer or comfort, your father would answer it only to find someone, not in need of solace, but who felt that it was their responsibility and moral obligation to inform him that they had seen his youngest daughter leaving The Tipsy Bison with Joel Miller in the middle of the night, hand in hand.

He wouldn’t believe them.

“Now, that is simply not true,” he would say, offended that anybody would have the nerve to show up at his door and accuse you of something so vile. “That’s not possible. I know my daughter and she would never do such a thing. It must have been someone else that you saw with him. Someone who looked like her, perhaps.”

Then, Lydia would descend the staircase and tell him you weren’t in your bedroom. “She must have gone up to the main street as soon as she woke up,” she would suggest with a shrug, not yet privy to the events that had taken place the night before at the party you and Leah had snuck off to. She never had to worry about you, the good one. “I did notice we were running pretty low on eggs. Sugar, too. She probably wanted to be the first in line at the pantry to—Papa? What’s the matter?”

The color would drain from your father’s face when the realization slowly sank in. No, you weren’t out on the main street picking up eggs for breakfast and sugar for his tea. You were lying up in Joel Miller’s bed—defiled, impure, and with the curse of Eve on your flesh. Even after dedicating his entire life to making sure you did not stray from the path of righteousness, he had failed. You had fallen into temptation. 

There was a chance he would have mercy on you. All you had to do was beg and plead for his forgiveness—and more importantly, for the forgiveness of God. “Vow to atone for your sins,” your father would say, his gaze fixed on the Holy Bible in his lap. He probably wouldn’t be able to look at you, not after what you had done. “Repent. And swear to me, child, that you will never so much as glance in that man’s direction ever again.”

No. That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him. 

But that freedom came with a high, high price.

You were willing to pay it, but you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to navigate the consequences. Then again, was there really any way for someone to prepare themselves to be shunned by their own father?

“I can take you home,” Joel offered quietly, the sound of his voice taking you out of the future and bringing you back into the present.

“What?”

“I can take you home,” he repeated himself. “I can take you home right now if that’s what you want, sweet girl. Won’t give you any kinda grief ‘bout it.”

Confused, all you could do was stare at him.

“Listen to me, baby. You mean a lot to me. More than I can even begin to explain,” Joel reassured you before any kind of doubt could find its way into your mind. “I want you to stay with me. There’s nothin’ on what’s left of this fuckin’ earth I want more than for you to stay here with me. But what you want matters to me a hell of a lot more than what I want.” He reached up, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you decide you wanna go home and go back to your family—back to your old man—then that’s where I’ll take you. Okay?”

Your father would give you an ultimatum. But Joel? He was giving you a choice. And he’d respect that choice.

“I wanna free you from your cage, my little dove. But I think we both know you’ve gotta make the choice to fly outta there on your own.” He lightly swept his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “Door’s wide open for you. What you do next is all up to you.”

“I’m afraid, Joel,” you confessed. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and rolled its way down the side of your face. He was quick to wipe it away, along with the others that followed. “I do want out of my cage. I really, really do. But I’m terrified. All I have ever known is my family and my faith. I have never been apart from my father and my sisters.”

His expression softened. “I know you’re scared. Can’t promise you things will be easy, but there is one thing I can promise you.”

“What’s that?” you questioned, then waited with baited breath.

He gingerly cupped your cheek in his large palm. “I’ve got you,” he swore to you, just like he had done so back at the bar. “If you decide to stay, I promise I’ll take real, real good care of you, alright? For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout a thing with me by your side. Swear it on my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your heartspace and finally, you stopped trembling. Lifting a hand, you curled your fingers around his wrist as your gaze fell to his mouth. “Joel?”

“What is it, darlin’ girl?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

With a gentle nod, Joel’s other hand found your hip, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton fabric of your dress. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against yours. It was a chaste thing, soft and innocent until you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. “Babygirl,” he mumbled against your lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your parted lips and into your mouth. He tasted like bold bourbon and citrus beer. There was a faint hint of tobacco too—you recalled him admitting to you one night in the church house that while he wasn’t all that much of a smoker, at least not like he used to be when living in the zones, he would occasionally partake in the habit if he happened to come across a pack of cigarettes while out on patrol, pairing the nicotine with a drink. He tasted delicious. He tasted delicious because he tasted like yours.

You sank back into the worn, supple brown leather of his couch, tugging him forward so he sank in with you. Over you. Releasing your near death grip on his collar, you managed to wedge your hands in between your bodies and began to claw furiously at the buttons of his shirt, your fingers shaking out of pure desperation to feel him. It wasn’t until you were halfway down that he finally noticed what you were doing and leaned back, catching both of your wrists.

“Baby, wait,” he panted, shaking his head. “Don’t think now’s a good time for that—”

“Joel, please,” you pleaded, the intense ache between your thighs almost too much for you to bear. “Please. I want it. I want you.”

“S’been a rough night for you.” Joel’s voice was hoarse—strained, like he was aching just as much, if not more. “You’re real emotional right now. Vulnerable. Last thing I want is to take advantage of you at a time like this.”

You frowned. Had Seth’s words gotten into his head?

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“Darlin’ I just don’t think we should—”

“Joel, please,” you begged him again. “I was so good for you, was I not? Wasn’t I patient, just like you asked me to be?”

His lips thinned into a tight line. He wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. You, his beautiful little temptress of Eden.

“I waited for so long,” you reminded him. “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, just make me yours already. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be with you. Please, Joel. I need you so badly it hurts.”

Christ.

No man could stand it. No man could possibly have the strength to deny you.

With a look of utter defeat, he folded. Before he could say another word or make another move, your greedy mouth was on his, and you kissed him with fervor, with urgency, as you finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, the corduroy fabric fell into a crumpled heap behind him, nearly knocking the glass of water off the coffee table. You broke away from him and shamelessly marveled at his mouth watering form—you admired the way miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over his wide shoulders, broad chest and soft, soft belly. Arousal pooled between your legs and you reached out and raked your fingers down his chest, and over his stomach, going lower and lower, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that led you to his brown leather belt. You clumsily started fumbling with the brass buckle until he caught your hands once more.

“Slow down, my little dove,” he murmured. “No need to rush this. We’ve got all night.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. Time blurred a bit—maybe it was your nervousness mingled with the eager anticipation of what was to come, but there seemed to be a small gap in your memory, a blank space that spanned from the moment you rose off the couch until the moment you found yourself standing in his bedroom where you were about to answer to the call of the flesh.

Dropping your hand, Joel switched on the lamp on his bedside table and kicked off his boots before taking you into his arms. “C’mere, honey.” He nuzzled your cheek with the tip of his nose as he spoke, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheek. “Couple’a rules, sweet girl. I do somethin’ that you don’t like, you tell me. You want me to stop, you tell me to sto—”

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the floor and knelt at his feet with purpose, as if kneeling before an altar, a sacred, holy space. Though you felt anxious, you were eager to worship. “I haven’t forgotten about what I said earlier tonight,” you cooed, noticing the mild look of surprise on his face. “I said I’d make it up to you and I intend on keeping my word.”

All the blood in his body rushed south to his cock and it strained painfully against the crotch of his jeans. “Baby, I—” Again, he was cut off, only this time by the sound of his own groan when your hand brushed up the front of his thigh and over his growing bulge. He glanced down, his heart thrumming painfully hard against his sternum as he watched you reach for his belt buckle.

With all your might, you willed your hands so as not to tremble. It was self-explanatory, what you were about to do, but your total lack of experience sowed seeds of doubt into your mind—you wanted to make him feel good, just like he had made you feel good outside of the church house during services. Just how you knew he would make you feel tonight.

Hand still over his buckle, you pressed the tenderest of kisses to his bulge through his jeans. Then, turning your head, you rested your cheek on one of his thick, blue denim clad thighs and peered up at him through your eyelashes with a small, nervous smile as you confessed what he already knew. “I’ve never done this before.”

Oh, how sweet and endearing you were. Joel reached down and smoothed your hair back and away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “S’alright, honey,” he crooned, grazing the silkiness of your cheek with his index finger. “I’ll walk you through it. Teach you how to be a real good girl and suck my cock just the way I like it. That what you want, my little dove?”

His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

Slowly lifting your head off of his thigh, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and managed a clear, consenting nod as your hands fumbled with his buckle, the clinking sound of metal ringing loudly in your ears. You undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, your throat drying when you saw the outline of him, his size intimidating even behind the cotton fabric of his faded, black boxer briefs.

With a harsh swallow, you glanced up at him, silently asking him for his permission to continue.

Such a polite little thing, Joel thought to himself. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged.

You tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs and hooked your index fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down and freeing his cock. There was a deep, swooping sensation in your belly as you watched it slap up against the lower part of his abdomen. After many nights of sitting in his lap, feeling him through his clothes, grinding your cunt down onto him, you thought you’d at the very least had an idea of what you would be in for, but oh, how wrong you had been. He was so much bigger than you could have imagined, and your stomach swooped again when you realized he was not going to fit. Anywhere.

Licking away the dryness of your lips, you take him in one of your hands, feeling the heaviness of his length in your palm. He was so long and so, so thick.

“Oh fuck,” Joel hissed the curse through gritted teeth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as your touch sent a charged jolt of electricity shooting up the length of his spine. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Christ. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, but seeing you sitting so prettily at his feet was almost enough to make him come on the spot.

Delicately wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself almost in awe at the way your fingertips barely, just barely, touched. The sheer size of his cock dwarfed your hand, and made it seem so much smaller than it really was.

“You’re so big,” you murmured, echoing your thoughts. You licked at your lips again, suddenly feeling ravenous, an appetite that had seemingly come out of nowhere making you salivate. The tip of him was flushed red, slit already glistening—how badly you wanted, needed a taste. Never, ever, did you think you would be down on your knees for anything but prayer, but there you were, starved and desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit.

“What’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ girl?” he croaked.

“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.

“Go right ahead, baby. S’all yours—I’m all yours.”

Yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Finding your first push of courage, you leaned forward and so carefully swept your tongue along the tip of his length, collecting the slight saltiness leaking from the slit and getting your first delectable taste. With your hand still wrapped firmly around his base, you looked up, your eyes locked on Joel’s face as you flicked your tongue up against the rigid underside of his cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, all of the muscles in his stomach already pulling taut when he felt you dragging your tongue in a slow, purposeful lick along the length of him. “Babygirl.”

“Is that good?” you asked him, sounding hopeful. “Am I doing good?”

“Doin’ so, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty down on your knees for me.”

Pleased, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his length, pressing forward and taking him in as far as you possibly could—which, in all fairness, wasn’t very far. At least not as far as you would have liked. Another groan tore itself from the depths of his chest as your plush, plump lips sealed around him, your tongue warm and wet on the underside of his cock. Moving both of your hands to rest on the sides of his thighs, you began to move your head back and forth, following what felt most natural to you. The nerves you initially felt slowly but surely dissipated, vanishing one by one with every curse, every tremble, every sharp breath.

Joel resisted the urge to buck his hips forward, fought the desire to feel himself at the back of your throat. He needed to be gentle, so careful with such an innocent, pliant thing who had much, much to learn. “Sweet little fuckin’ mouth feels so good around my cock, baby, just like I fuckin’ knew it would. Y’think it can take more of me, little dove? Hm?”

You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.

“Yeah? Y’trust me?”

Your reply came in the form of a muffled, “Mhm.”

Joel reached down and cradled the back of your head in the palm of his hand. He carefully guided you further onto his throbbing length, slowly feeding you one inch at a time. Your fingers dug into the denim of his jeans. He was much more than a mouthful for you, and you could only take about half of him before he hit the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him. Drool dribbled out from the corners of your mouth and down the sides your chin, dripping onto your lap.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Little more now, honey,” Joel encouraged. He bucked his hips forward, his head slipping further down your throat. Just when you felt like you were about to choke, he pulled out and you tried your hardest not to cough and sputter as you took in a much needed, precious breath of air. He gave you a few seconds or so to finish catching your breath as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs further down his legs. He stepped out of the articles of clothing and kicked them somewhere off to the aside, standing before you completely bare. “Open up.”

Your absolute devotion to him bred sweet submission, so as worried as you were that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, you nodded obediently and very willingly did as you were told. 

He guided himself right back into your waiting mouth, pressing deeply. You tried to relax your jaw, reminding yourself to breathe in and out through your nose. Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you did your best to forestall another gag. “Little bit more,” he said, thrusting his hips in a slow, steady controlled rhythm. He advanced even further into your mouth—trusting he wouldn’t suffocate you, nor push you too far past your limits, you opened up wider. He moaned, “Yeah, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With a bit of newfound confidence, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him. You swiped your tongue along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock, earning yourself more of his sweet, sweet praise.

“Fuck, yeah, suck me off, sweetheart. This pretty little mouth was fuckin’ made for sin,” he breathed, guiding your head back and forth with a firm, but gentle hand.

You moaned, the noise muffled around his length. Slick soaked through your panties and coated the insides of your thighs. With another moan, you tightly squeezed your legs together, inwardly reminding yourself that patience was a virtue.

Noticing the way you had shifted, Joel moved his hand from the back of your head, lightly curling his fingers around your jaw. He pulled you off of his cock, a loud, lewd popping sound bouncing off the sage green walls of his bedroom. “C’mere, baby.” He grabbed your arms, effortlessly hoisting you up to your feet.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned him worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Chuckling softly, he brushed a finger along the strap of your dress. You could do no wrong, his perfect, perfect girl. “Of course not, sweet girl. You did so fuckin’ good for me,” Joel reassured you, lightly tracing along your collarbone with his finger and making your flesh erupt in goosebumps. He leaned forward and feathered a kiss onto your lips, murmuring against them, “Are you wet, little dove?”

Before you could even process the query and generate some kind of coherent response, he dove his opposite hand between your thighs, cupping your warm heat in his palm. At this, your weak knees buckled, prompting you to reach out and grab onto his arms to hold steady and keep yourself from falling into a helpless heap on the floor.

“Oh, honey. You’re soaked. That what sucking my cock does to you?” he cooed. He peppered another kiss, this one onto the corner of your mouth. His voice lowered another octave. “Poor little thing. She needs me, don’t she? Needs me to take care of her?”

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Manners, babygirl,” he reminded you, skimming your cheek with his nose. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

Humming in approval, Joel withdrew his hand from in between your legs and guided you backwards towards his bed. “Sit,” he commanded gently, bidding you to let go of him. “Arms up.”

Reaching for the hem of your dress, he took great care in pulling it over your head, then discarded the vibrant yellow material over his shoulder, leaving you in nothing but your cowboy boots and thin, cotton white panties. Without a word, he knelt before you and pulled off one boot, and then the other, setting them both aside. He hooked two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, coaxing you to lift your bottom off of the bed, just long enough for him to pull them down and slide them down your legs. He was so tender in the manner in which he undressed you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, beautiful girl,” Joel praised. His dark gaze dragged down the length of your body as you sat before him wearing nothing but the delicate, gold chain around your neck. The holy cross nestled between your supple breasts gleamed in the light of the lamp on the nightstand. He would leave it on until your decision was made, set in stone. “My pretty little dove.”

“Joel.” You whimpered his name, hands curling around fistfuls of his dark blue sheets. You were drenched now, in dire need of some relief. If he didn’t touch you where you needed him most, you would surely lose your mind.

Desperate, you leaned back slightly onto his bed and parted your knees, your folds glistening as you showed him just how badly you needed him.

Joel groaned, almost visibly salivating at the sight. The blazing heat in his eyes sent ripples of desire coursing through your body, straight to your throbbing core.

You opened wider. “Please.”

“Christ, babygirl. Already soakin’ the sheets.” Sliding a finger up along the seam of your pussy, he grazed your clit, the touch light, but somehow still enough to make your hips arch off the mattress as white-hot pinpricks of pleasure danced their way up your spine. He lowered his head and leaned in, your sweet scent drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Just when you were about to start pleading him for more, he dipped his face into the apex of your thighs, his mouth finally, finally, meeting your wet heat.

“Oh!” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fuck!”

Against you, his lips curled upwards into a wicked grin. He’d never heard you curse before, not until now.

Joel took his time devouring you, savoring the essence of your cunt with each broad stroke of his tongue. Sealing his lips around your clit, he flicked the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, eliciting from you some of the sweetest noises that he had ever heard in his entire life. In preparation for what you both knew was to come, he pushed one finger inside of you, the invasion causing you to fist his sheets even harder. He then slipped in a second finger, groaning in sheer, carnal bliss at how your walls squeezed them, at the mere thought of them squeezing his cock in the same manner. How was it that you felt so much tighter this time around?

“Oh God.”

You shouldn’t be saying His name. Not like this.

Not when something this sinful was being done to you.

Hungrily, Joel lapped at you, curling both of his fingers in an upwards motion to hit the perfect spot. He knew you were close, felt it in the way that you squirmed and writhed. Draping his arm across your hips, he pinned them down onto the bed, holding you still as he chased your high as if it were his own.

“Joel,” you chanted his name over and over again in a fevered prayer. Releasing the sheets, your hands found his hair, tangling themselves in his curls. Your head fell back, and you cursed at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Joel—”

Pushing onto his mouth, you came, moaning his name so loudly you were certain the whole neighborhood was getting an earful.

Joel pulled back, his beard and mustache slicked with your spend. “S’right, honey,” he crooned, his digits still buried to the knuckle as he helped you to ride out your wave of ecstasy. Eventually, when he pulled them out, you tried closing your shaking legs. He tsked and shook his head, wrenching them open further. “No, no, baby. Keep those pretty thighs open for me. Wanna see her.” He admired his work, his cock twitching at the sight of your pussy, swollen and shining, and ready to take him.

Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.

Mind still in a haze, you hadn’t even realized that he’d risen to his feet and guided you further up onto his bed, not until you were lying on your back with your head on his pillow and he was hovering over you, his hard length brushing against one of your messy, inner thighs when he settled himself between your legs. 

Your heart began to pound in a mingle of both fear and excitement.

Joel’s eyes met yours. His pupils were blown so wide, there was not one, single trace of brown anywhere to be seen. “Y’absolutely sure about this, little dove?”

Your response came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your submission was a gift, and he would cherish every last second of your surrender to him, savor it for as long as he possibly could. His lips, soft and warm, skimmed along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps in their wake.

If, by some chance, you decided that you wanted to go back to your father and to your faith, Joel didn’t know how he would find it in himself to let you go, not after this. Of course, he would have to let go, though.

The last thing he wanted was to help free you from one cage just to stick you right back into another. While he was no stranger to loss, he had to admit to himself that to lose you would be a knife to whatever was left of his heart.

Shoving the thought out of his mind, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock, pumping it in his fist before running the leaking head along your puffy lips, coating himself in your wetness with the hope it would ease some of the pain you were bound to feel. “Ready, babygirl?” he asked you, lightly teasing your entrance. “Might hurt a bit. M’gonna go slow. Just need you to relax for me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”

Though he knew he had all of your trust, Joel could still sense your anxiousness. He reached out for your hand, lacing your fingers together with his own as he gingerly pressed forward and eased himself into you, taking the very innocence you had been taught your entire life to preserve, one slow, careful inch at a time.

“Oh—Joel!” You cried loudly at the initial stretch, your pretty face scrunching in discomfort. Tightly slamming your eyes shut, sparks flew behind your eyelids when he finally bottomed out. The burning sting in between your thighs was too overwhelming, almost impossible to cope with. He felt so enormous within you, you could have sworn he was in your belly. Another broken cry fell from your lips and he swallowed it with a comforting kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your lips, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, neck, and chest. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he suppressed his urge to thrust. Instead, he dropped his face into the hollow of your neck and waited, giving you the chance to adjust to him. He mumbled against your skin. “Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. Y’know that? You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.

He squeezed your hand, and after a minute, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips—and then another and another before he ceased his movement once again. He was so big and you were so deliciously full of him.

Eventually, the pain subsided, and you found yourself asking, no, begging for more. “Move.” Your other hand found itself cupping the side of his face, coaxing him to lift his head and allowing your gazes to meet. Your soft, plush thighs parted further to help accommodate the breadth of his hips. “Please, Joel. I need you to move—I need you to fuck me.”

Surely, you would be the death of him.

He drew his hips back with cautious, tender care, then advanced in the same manner to fill your precious cunt all over again. He did it over and over, your pleasured moans encouraging him to begin picking up the pace. He drove his cock in and out of your weeping pussy, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the lewd, wet squelch of you around him inspiring him to fuck you harder, faster. And the noises you were making?

There was something oh so beautiful about your cries, sweet raptures of submission as you laid there beneath him, all too graciously taking everything he had to give you like the good, good, good girl you were for him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” Joel rasped. “Look at you—look at the way you take my fuckin’ cock, honey.”

And you did.

Glancing down, your gaze fell between your bodies and you watched in awe, openly marveled at the way Joel slid in and out of your cunt, how he knocked hard so deeply inside of you, driving himself as far as he could possibly go.

“Fuck Joel, I’m gonna—” You tried warning him as the pressure in your belly neared its peak, but you tumbled over the edge before you even had the chance to finish your sentence. Arching up off off the bed, you pressed your chest against his, your fingers squeezing his own so hard you feared you might break them.

“That’s it babygirl, let go,” he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock—just like that. Good girl. My perfect, perfect girl.”

You didn’t quite get the chance to let the praise sink in.

Joel pulled himself out of you, and with ease, he flipped you over onto your belly. His hands gripped your hips and pulled them up off the mattress, his fingers moving to firmly knead the fleshiest part of your ass. He leaned over you, the head of his cock nudging at your hole. “Y’think you can handle a little bit more, sweetheart?” he whispered the question into a tumble of messy hair, the delicate scent of the lavender shampoo you used to wash it filling his senses. “Answer me, little dove.”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly with a nod. “I can.”

With a satisfied hum, Joel sank into you, this second stretch not quite as overwhelming at the first, but still intense. “Relax,” he murmured, hunching further over your quivering back. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and then leaned down to brace his hands on either side of you. “Need you to be sweet for me just a bit longer, okay, baby?”

“God,” you whimpered when the heaviness of his balls came to rest on your sensitive clit.

It was the second time you’d uttered His name.

Joel almost grinned at the irony. He found his rhythm, groaning in gut-deep satisfaction with each snap of his hips—each smooth stroke in and each smooth stroke out.

“Oh fuck, sweet girl.” Heaven was indeed a real place, and Joel Miller was buried in it to the hilt, right at this very moment.

He was getting closer and closer.

Maybe it was your eagerness to help him reach his own release mingled with the pride you knew you would feel once you did that gave you a second wind, a fresh, new burst of energy. You planted your hands firmly on his pillow. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you curved your spine and pushed back onto Joel with purpose, meeting his thrusts halfway as you rode his aching length to the satiation that waited for him at the end.

“There’s my girl,” he rasped. “Oh fuckin’ Christ—”

No way he could live his life without you now.

He needed you.

He needed you so much more than you needed him.

Joel slipped an arm around your shoulders, across your chest.

“Oh!” you gasped as he then yanked you back, pulling you flush against him. The rough crash of your back against his chest, combined with the angle in which he was fucking you knocked the wind out of your lungs.

His lips were at the shell of your ear. “Stay,” he panted, his breath hot against your cheekbone. He wrapped his other hand lightly around your throat. Relentless, were his hips now—his movements had become frantic. Desperate. “Stay with me, baby.”

Even as you fought to catch your breath in the position he had you in, you picked up on the fact that he wasn’t asking you of it, nor was he demanding you of it.

He was begging you.

Him, the most feared man in this town. Begging you?

“Joel,” you choked.

“Please, my little dove,” he pleaded, turning your head towards him. His mouth was then on the corner of your own, his beard roughly scratching the soft and delicate flesh of your cheek. “I need you, babygirl. Stay with me. Please, just fuckin’ stay with me.”

Your hands curled around his wrists. “Yes, I’ll stay,” you moaned. “I’m yours, Joel. I’m all yours. I—I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay with you.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled through his chest. Joel firmly took hold of your cross, and without so much as a warning, he ripped the chain from around your neck and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. He heard it land on the hardwood floor with the tiniest, faint clink the moment he spilled into you, ropes of warm release coating your fluttering walls. Curses and groans spilled from his lips and into your neck. Your cunt clutched at his pulsing cock, greedy for every last drop of his spend she could get.  

Once you were filled, you both collapsed beside each other on the bed, heaving to catch a steady breath.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Joel managed to ask, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Exhausted, all you could do was nod and utter, “Mhm.”

He exhaled an amused huff through his nose. “C’mere.” He reached for you and pulled you against his side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as was possible. “Y’did so good, honey.”

Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.

Several minutes had passed by, and despite telling him that you were too tired to even think about moving, Joel made you get up and use the bathroom, and while you did so, he ran a clean washcloth under warm water. “Here, darlin’. Let me clean you up,” he’d said, his lips meeting your forehead in a loving token of affection before he sank down onto one knee and ran the damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He took extreme care when he wiped at your swollen folds, knowing you were still sensitive to the touch. “There we go. All done, now.”

Not long after, you were both back in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets.

Yawning, you nuzzled into bare his chest, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each and every second that ticked by. You’d started drifting off when you heard his voice.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you answered sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what, Joel?”

There was a brief pause. “Y’know, when you said you’d stay with me.”

Snuggling closer to him, you mumbled, “Mhm. Of course I did.”

“S’not gonna be easy,” Joel murmured into your hair.

“I know.” You yawned. “But I have you.”

“You do. You’ve got me—and I’ve got you, babygirl.”

“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”

You felt him kiss the top of your head and then fell fast asleep in his arms.

The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.

Your father would wake soon, that’s to say if he wasn’t up already.

The nerves began to set in.

Joel must have sensed it. “Breathe, baby. S’gonna be okay,” he soothed, squeezing your hand.

With one of his warmer, heavier jackets that normally didn’t see the light of day until winter season draped around your shoulders, the two of you made your way down the road and towards your house. Or better said, towards your father’s house. Because after what you were about to do, that yellow and white cottage would no longer be a place you could call home.

He led you up to the porch. “Y’sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” he asked, quietly.

You could have laughed. You almost did.

“Do you believe that to be a wise choice?”

“No, I reckon it ain’t the best idea,” Joel admitted with a sigh, raking his free hand through his unkempt, salt and pepper hair. He looked up at the house, then back at you. “Look, little dove. No matter what happens in there, just know that everythin’ will be alright. M’gonna take care of you. For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. I’ll try my hardest to be everythin’ you need.”

“You already are, Joel,” you said, your gaze earnest.

His chest swelled with warmth.

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know how he had managed to defy the odds—how he, of all people, had managed to make his way into that sweet, innocent, beautiful little heart of yours, but somehow he did, and he would not take this responsibility lightly.

He brushed your lips with his and promised, “Gonna be waitin’ right here, okay?”

“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you willed yourself to let go of his hand and took a step back. You then started up the porch steps on wobbling legs. When you made it to the top, you glanced over your shoulder at Joel, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Exhaling slowly, you reached for the knob with trembling fingers and turned it, opening the door. You stepped inside, your heart dropping into your stomach when you saw your father sitting there at the foot of the staircase, as if he’d been waiting for you. He had been waiting for you. Fully dressed, he sat on the second to last step with both hands folded on his bible in his lap, a rosary clutched between them. “Papa?”

He said nothing. Instead, he silently observed you—his eyes glazed over the men’s jacket and the short dress you wore underneath it, the disheveled, loose hair and kiss swollen lips. Your holy cross nowhere to be seen.

“Papa.” You swallowed harshly and shifted your weight anxiously from the heel of one boot to the other. “We, um—we really need to have a talk.”

He peered around you, catching a brief glimpse of the man standing outside, waiting for you at the foot of the porch.

He cleared his throat, lightly. “Yes, child. I suppose that we do.”

Nodding tightly, you turned around and slowly closed the door. Joel’s words rang in your mind over and over, giving you the push of strength you knew you would need.

I’ve got you.

divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍

[greynatomy]

rivals?

alexia putellas x messi!reader

request here

with all the alexia angst being posted (my fault), here’s some fluff

———

In the world of professional football, rivalry between two players are always one that many fans are eager to watch.

In the men’s world of football, there was Messi and Ronaldo.

In the women’s, Messi and Putellas. Two of the most sought after female footballers of this time.

You and Alexia were known as fierce rivals on the field when competing for your country. You for Argentina, Alexia for Spain. Both of your competitiveness fueling debates among fans. Little did everyone know, behind the scenes, you both shared a secret that could rival the on-field intensity.

Away from the spotlight, you and Alexia were much more than rivals and teammates — you were married.

Your love story began when you’d transferred from playing in the Women’s Super League to Barça. From the first time she’d laid her eyes on you, there was an instant connection. At first she didn’t know how to feel about your transfer, only having played against you for the national team, where the rivalry grew and grew, but as you both played for Barça, the understanding and pressure you both experience helped you grow closer.

Late-night rendezvous, secret getaways, and coded messages allowed you to maintain your privacy. It was difficult to keep everything a secret, something you’ve both agreed on. Time moved quickly from the first time she’d seen you in a Barça kit to now, six years later.

You’re both cuddled up on the couch, watching a replay of the match you’ve just played, pointing out the things you and the team could have done better, when you heard some whining on the baby monitor searched up on the coffee table.

With a kiss to your head, Alexia got up to see what the fuss was all about. You watched on through the monitor, seeing how your wife delicately held and talked to your two year old, making you fall in love with her all over again.

“See look there’s Mami.” Alexia points you out, walking in with Rosa in her arms.

“Mami.” Rosa mumbles, arms reaching out for you, cuddling into your body once in your hold.

“How was your nap, bebé?”

All you got was a whine. Alexia cuddles back into your side as Rosa falls back into a slumber.

“I’ve been thinking.” Alexia starts.

“Uh oh. Mamá has been thinking.” You tease, earning you a playful shove.

“Seriously. Rosa turned two a bit ago and I want to be able to show her what her Mami and Mamá do or work. The environment with all the fans.”

Alexia starts to ramble. Saving her from spiraling, you place a hand over her mouth stopping her words.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

With a bright smile on her face, Alexia pulls you in a passionate kiss, careful to not wake your daughter up.

Three weeks later, Spain has a friendly match against Argentina. Everyone played hard no matter that it was only a friendly, the match ending in a draw.

As far as the public knew, you and Alexia were still rivals, enemies, or any other term they use, so whenever they see you conversing after matches, fans and media freak out, like right now.

What the fans didn’t expect was a small child running into your arms with laughter. Standing up with Rosa in your arms, Alexia wraps her arms around both of you, kisses being placed on her cheeks by both of her moms.

To say the fans and media were exploding was an understatement.

“Alexia, they need you for media.”

Alexia settles herself at the table in front of all the press, waiting for the questions to come.

“Hola, Alexia. Great game today.”

“Thank you.”

After a couple of questions about the match, a little kid is seen throwing themselves onto Alexia.

“Mamá!”

A second person is seen chasing after the child.

“Sorry, sorry. She’s gotten fast.”

You run in, trying to grab Rosa from your wife, who is wriggling to make her harder to hold.

“You can leave her here.”

“You sure?”

She nods so you give them both a kiss on the head and walk out the room.

“Sorry about that.”

“Who do we have here? If you don’t mind us asking.”

“Bebé can you tell them your name?”

“Soy Rosa Putellas.”

The room let out a collective ‘aww’.

“So-so she’s your daughter?” A reporter stutters, stunned by the little girl.

“Yes.”

“And Messi’s?”

“Yes.”

The room full reporters burst, questions being asked over the others. Alexia just stands up, walking out of the room.

“I think you broke them.” Is the first thing you say when she walks into the locker room.

“Eh.” She shrugs. “Makes it fun.”

[softtdaisy]

when hearts find their way / Aaron Hotchner

summary. if Hotch decided to break up with you to protect you, he regrets it anytime he looks at you. And he looks at you a lot.

words count. 2,443

a/n. just a short story, she said, just to start writing again. And here comes my first Hotch fic with more than 2k words. It's a first, I hope you'll like and well...I'll write something happier another day (it has a good ending I promise)

F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

Hotch wished he could stop looking at you.

It wasn’t like he needed to focus on you right now. Not outside the office. Not at Rossi’s party to celebrate another year as a completely alive team. Not when you’re clearly out of danger.

Well, except if he counted Emily’s and JJ’s drinking with you more than usual. 

But that wasn’t a real danger. Especially when there were plenty of people not drinking tonight to make sure everyone will go back home safe. Including Reid. Including himself.

However, Hotch was incapable of putting his eyes away from you.

Too scared there might be an unknown treat around here. Too scared you might disappear if he dared look away. Too scared you might find somebody else to end the night.

That was the scariest thought above all. 

He clinched on his drink harder, blaming himself for being so stupidly attached to someone he shouldn’t. Someone he already told no before. 

“And I thought we locked up Hotch in the office to get Aaron tonight,” Rossi said, standing next to him. Hotch let out a small and single amused sigh. He took the risk of closing his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, you were still there. Thankfully.

“I’m fully here, David.” he answered, turning to his friend who looked more than amused by the situation. There was one problem with being close with your coworker: when their work is to analyze people, you can be sure they will do it with you too. “Having fun?”

“More than you I guess.” Hotch opened his mouth to respond to it but didn’t get the time before Rossi put his hand up. “Or your level of fun is watching over her?” 

Was he that obvious? Technically, he had been standing alone in the corner of the room for a few minutes now. “I’m not watching over her.” Of course, it didn’t convince Rossi. Worse, it made him laugh. 

“Oh you clearly are, Aaron. I know you’re not a man of many words but you should consider that speaking is better than stalking.” 

He sighed, taking another slip of his drink. “Would you stop, please?” 

But Hotch had to be honest. Because he did take profit of the silence and the small break Rossi was giving him to take another look. He saw you dancing with Morgan. The first thing that came to his mind was that he was safe.

Safe from what, you idiot? It’s not like he had any right to be jealous or possessive. Or even protective. You weren’t his. And it was his fault. 

Hotch could never forget how your expression went from desire, the need to kiss every single piece of face, to the sadness and the anger of being rejected. “We shouldn't do that.” He heard himself say. Four stupid words. Four stabs right into your heart. 

“I’ll give you some advice.” Rossi said to interrupt his thoughts. And Hotch gave up, fully concentrating on whatever he had to say to prevent himself from reliving the night that ruined everything. 

“Either you talk to her and make a move. Or you leave her alone. But stop playing with that girl's heart and mind.”

“You say that like she cares.” He knew that by saying that, he was admitting there was more than a professional conflict between you. Not that anyone in this house was even believing that it was only professional. You don’t look at a member of your team like they were the loss of your life. Not the biggest, but close.

“Oh she does.” Rossi said, looking at you. So did Hotch. And for the first time tonight, he caught your eyes on him. Just for a second before you noticed and went back to your discussion with Emily. But it was enough for him.

__

Later that night, Hotch learnt that Rossi wasn’t the only one aware that something was going between you two.

He was one of the first to sit at the table, in front of JJ. They talked for a few minutes and more members of the team started to join. Until JJ got up suddenly and called your name. “Please, take my seat.”

“What? Why?” you replied, confused at the offer when there were still some places available at the end of the table. You didn’t take the time to look at JJ’s seat, next to who she was. It was like she gave you the time too anyway.

As soon as you approached, she put both hands on your shoulder to make you sit. “It will be easier to check on Henry if at the head of the table.” she replied, putting a kiss on your hair before leaving you still very confused. For a few seconds.

Until you looked up and met those brown eyes that you started to know by heart until they became a mystery again. 

“Very subtle, Jennifer.” you sighed. But you weren’t mad. Not at her for reading you and trying to help you. And neither at Hotch. You could tell from the little frowning, because everything was always little when it comes to expressing himself -but thankfully not little on other things-, that he was as confused as you are.

You saw him lean closer to you, his hands on the table to stay stable. And you did the same to hear him. “I didn’t…it’s not…”

You could restrain the smile on your face. You could blame it on the alcohol to not accept it. But it was a genuine reaction to him, opening himself to you. A little. “I know.” you replied, naturally putting your hand on top of his. 

When Hotch freezed at your contact, you assumed you went too far. Again. And immediately take your hand off, lean back on your chair and start a new conversation with Reid to avoid your boss.

When Hotch freezed at your contact, he actually was just thrown back to weeks earlier when you couldn’t stop touching him. And for a brief second, he remembered how good it felt to be appreciated. 

Sadly, it didn’t last long. Because he was incapable of keeping people he loved in his life.

Most of the dinner was bittersweet for Hotch.

The team was loud and most of you laughed so hard you had a stomach ache. And the food was so nice that Emily asked multiple times if Rossi was sure he couldn’t adopt her. The answer sadly stayed no.

And Hotch would lie saying he didn’t have a good time. 

But he would also lie if he said your lack of interaction didn’t hurt him.

He noticed how you always make sure to not meet his eyes when he couldn’t stop looking at you. With the way the candle’s light was dancing on your face, he felt like discovering your traits again. 

Or how you only responded when he talked to you directly. Which he stopped after a few tries.

Hotch wasn’t the only one noticing that. None of the team felt like stepping in a story they didn’t know. Even if they heart felt for their boss who felt disarmed for the first time -at least, for them. And for you, because you had your reasons to act like that.

But in the end, they did step in. Without meaning to.

When the party came to an end, they all started to organize the ride back home. JJ jumped into Reid’s car while Morgan brought Emily back to her place. Everybody left slowly. 

Until there was you.

And Hotch.

“Of course.” you mumbled when you saw him and Rossi talking in the hallway. They didn’t notice you yet and you took the opportunity to watch the man that broke your heart. Because you had to be honest, Aaron still held a special place in your heart. He looked so good tonight and especially right now, with his shirt more unbuttoned than before and his jacket laying on his arm. You loved his hair a little less styled after many hours or how his eyes looked more glassy from the wine and the fatigue. 

You loved many things about that man. Which made the heartbreak even more difficult to accept. 

“Oh, you’re here.” Rossi noticed you and opened his arm to add you in the conversation. “Hope you enjoyed the evening.”

“It was perfect David, thank you.” you replied with a genuine smile that created the exact same one on Hotch. When you turned to him, he was surprised that your smile didn’t drop. “Can we go?” you asked and he simply nodded.

“I’m sorry.” Hotch said once you were both sitting in the car. “I didn’t plan this.” 

If you had any doubt that it wasn’t his fault, you were now sure that he wasn’t the thinker of this situation. From the way he couldn’t look at you or how his hands were shaking before he put them on the wheel. “I know.” 

Without a surprise, the ride was calm. Hotch was a silent driver, focusing on the road and the music coming from the radio for a low volume. And you appreciated that. You did back then when you saw each other because it was peaceful. You still did. How ironic that the ride to your place felt more like home than the idea of going to your own apartment.

It was a memory of a better time. Of coming home from cases with Aaron, going to your place because it was more serene to him than his silent home. The only thing missing was his hand grabbing yours now and then during the drive. Multiple times, Hotch actually started to move his hand before remembering he couldn’t do that no more. 

When he finally parked, you turned to him to thank him. Even, maybe, probably, apologizing for your attitude tonight. But he spoke before you.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

You frowned. “Driving me home? I mean, Rossi could have given a room for the night but I really appreciate you dri…”

“Breaking up with you.”

The silence came back. Because you didn’t know what to answer. Sure, he shouldn't have done that.

Aaron shouldn’t have looked at you after spending another night with you. Not after sharing a hotel room with you in San Francisco during all the cases. Not after making love every single night that week there to forget about the atrocity of the world outside. To feel loved. To give love. 

Not after making you believe that this could become a routine. Something normal. Something real. Something that he thought could become real too.

No, he shouldn’t have looked at you from where you were laying: on your bed, still naked under the sheet. While he was putting on his shirt from yesterday. And said “We shouldn’t do that.” Four words. Not more. Not an explanation because of course Aaron Hotchner didn’t have to explain himself. He was the boss, after all. 

And you were so mad that morning, knowing that this could come but believing it wouldn’t, that you didn’t ask for more. You only gave him an emotionless “ok”.

“After San Francisco,” Aaron started, “I got scared. Because I’m your boss. Because this felt natural. I really wanted this to continue, but at what cost? Too many scenarios came to me during the flight back. What if something happened to you during a case. What if we break up and we can’t work together properly. What if someone finds out. Who should leave, you or me? And you knew I was being selfish because if that happened, I know people above would make sure I wasn’t the one fired.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was your heart, but when he looked at you after opening his heart to you like that, more than ever before, you felt the tears coming. Because for the first time since the break up, you were able to stop this idea of an arrogant Hotch that took what he could and threw the rest away. You saw again the Aaron that you fell in love with: the broken man that was trying his best to breathe and find happiness again. 

“In any scenario, I lose you. I stupidly believe that having control over that loss would be easier. But it’s even harder to know I broke your heart and mine at the same time and couldn't do anything to fix them.” 

“But why…” you said softly, moving a little closer to him. “Why imagine and accept the worst when everything was great?”

“Because life has always been difficult and I stopped believing good things could happen to a man like me.” he let out a sad laugh. “I lost my wife, I didn’t know how to be a good dad to my son, I sometimes feel overwhelmed and incapable of doing my job right. Why would things be great with you?” 

It was a genuine question. Aaron felt like happiness was an unknown concept in his life. Anytime something good happened, something bad came right after. He couldn’t even appreciate the soft hand you put on his cheek now.

“Because you deserve to be happy, Aaron.” you whispered. He let you put your forehead against his. You remembered how it appeased him back then. “Please, stop rejecting the ones that want to love you. We are here for you.”

“We?”

“There still can be a us if you want to.” 

Aaron closed his eyes. He needed to think about that. He wanted you. He wanted to give himself to you. But it meant fighting against his fears. Can he be strong enough for you? Like you could read his mind, you added “We can fight together.” 

Slowly, he brought a hand to your neck to have you even closer and to kiss you. A soft, sweet and small kiss on your lips. A promise that he couldn’t say outloud but he wanted you to understand. Sure, Aaron needed love. But he needed someone willing to fight against the world with him and for him. 

“You know, things could have been a little easier if you told me that instead of breaking up with me when I was naked.” you said against his lips which made him laugh. 

“Would you accept compensation for that moment?”

“I have all night, all day and all my life for you.”

Holding hands, you brought Aaron back to the place he felt the more at peace these past years. But in all honesty, he started to think that maybe any place with you would be a peaceful one. 

[shelbgrey]

I NEED some of those smutty/fluffy head cannons for that beautiful sexy hot cake of a man named Jackson, Plz Pookie!!!

Poison(Jackson Avery)

Paring: Jackson Avery x Sloan!Reader

Summary: ever since the hospital merge Jackson and y/n Sloan didn't get along and would often bit each heads off dispite the growing tension. Then one day they both snap in a unexpected way

Warrings: SMUT! Enemies to lovers Smut, unprotected sex, sorta hate sex.

A/n: I'll do you one better, Pookie, I'll give a whole damn story.

MasterList ML2

Jackson wasn't expecting to see her in the on-call room, but today wasn't his day. Deep down he didn't mean to scowl when he saw her, but after losing his patient, Mark and his mother being on his ass he just wasn't in the mood. He wasn't even in the mood to make a sind comment when he see saw her. He just rolled his eyes and sinp out a comment “Great, just what I needed!”

Jackson and y/n have been working together for a while now and they could never stand each other. Everyone could see that, but everyone(aside from Jackson and y/n) could see the sexual tension that grew stronger every day.

She looked up from the chart she was studying and roll her eyes and got up from the bed. Her day hadn't been the greatest either and she had a long day. She wasn't on the mood to deal with him. “don't worry I was just leaving” she frowned and grab her lab coat that was crumbled up on a chair.

He looked almost amused as he watches the fire grown in the eyes he secretly loved. “Seriously, why do you always have to be so difficult?” He walks towards her, his body language aggressive, but still controlled by his emotions.

She took a deep breath and walked around him. “Seriously, Avery I'm not in the mood”

“I can see that. What's got you all riled up?” His voice drips with sarcasm as he steps infront of her, blocking the exit of the on-call room.

“Don't patronize me, we all know you hate me... Just as much as I hate you” that wasn't true, she didn't hate him. But she wasn't about to get used or her heart broke by him.

He stops, looking down at her, anger and jealousy clear in his eyes. “Fine, let's play it your way. If you hate me so much, maybe we should just get it over with” He steps closer.

She immediately back up until my back hits the wall of the on-call room, her heart is pounding. “g-get what o-over with?” I stuttered.

He smirks, taking another step closer. “I think you know...” his beautiful eyes stared into her soul as stepped closer, leaving nothing more than an inch between them. “You always know how to push my buttons.” He leans both palms against the wall, trapping her between him and the hard surface.

Her breath hitches as she stared at him with doe eyes. “the feeling is mutual Avery” she said, trying to stand my ground. Jackson smirked, capturing her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. “which part?”

Jackson chuckles the dryly and grabs her wrists, pinning them above her head. “oh, I do know... since we're both feeling it, we might as well do something about it.”

She suprised herself when she did't fight him, she stood still and watch him as her heart pounded against her chest “Avery...what are you doing?”

“His face is inches from hers as he leans in, his breath hot on herskin. “I'm taking what's mine.” he said roughly then he crashes his lips against hers in a possessive, demanding kiss.

Her breath hitched and her eyes widened at the unexpected contact. She pull away, staring into his beautiful eyes with determination. “you don't own me, I'm not yours to take”

He grabs her chin, forcing her gaze back to his. “Oh, but you are, and I plan to prove it.” He kisses her again, harder this time, his anger and jealousy fueling the intensity. Her lips smashed against his, it was fueled with all her frustration. The first moan of this whole situation fell passed her lips as she felt his tounge brush against her lips demanding entrance. Feeling brave she doesn't, closing her lips denying it entrance.

He groans against her lips, his hands traveled down her waist to her ass, gripping it hard. She gasped at his roughness, giving him the opportunity to slip his tounge passed her lips. Their tounges fought for dominance, but she let Jackson win. As he deepens the kiss. His anger and jealousy start to mix with desire.

Y/n gripped his scrub top in her fist and and pushed him towrds the bed in the on-call room with force. Jackson stumbles back slightly, hitting the bed. His heart is racing as he looks at her. “You really want this?” He asks, his voice rough from the kissing.

“Shut up” she said roughly and stratled his lap, slamming her lips to his for a rough kiss.

Taken completely by surprise, Jackson groans into the kiss. His hands roam down her sides to her ass, pulling her body flush against his. “You're going to regret this when we're done” Jackson murmurs against her lips.

“Probably” she whispered then nipped as his jaw as she pushed him flat on his back on the bed.

“Fuck” He groans, his head falling back against the pillow. His hands slided his large hands under your lab coat, gripping her hips. Y/n quickly tugged her lab coat off and drop on the floor, his breath hitched as he watched her grind her hips against his.

“Fuck, Jackson” she moaned his first name for the first as she grind her hips a little hared. She let a moan slip past her lips when his growing erection pressed against her core.

Jackson groans, arching into her. His hands roam down your his, cupping her ass through her scrubs. “Fuck, I want you” he growls, biting his lip.

Jackson sat up, keeping her trapped in his lap as his lips trail kisses down her jaw and neck. His hands move to the hem of her scrub top, tugging it over her head. “I've dreamed about this for so long.” He whispers, grabbing her hips to control her movements against him.

“M-me too” she accidentally admitted.

His fingers brush against her bra, tracing circles against her clothed nipple with his thumb. “Then stop fighting me” He growls, capturing her lips once more in a hungry kiss.

“What's the fun in that?” she asked breathlessly as her fingers play with his short hair.

He chuckles against her skin, the sound vibrating deliciously. His hands slide underneath her scrub bottoms, caressing her ass. “You're going to be the death of me, you know that?” He teases, his lips trailing down her callorbone to the top of her breasts.

She bit her bottom lips so didn't give him the satisfaction off hearing her moan. She huffed, tugging at his scrub top, wanting it off. Feeling the tug on his scrub top, Jackson smirks against the skin of her breasts before pulling back slightly. “Impatient, aren't we?” He teases, helping to remove his scrub top, revealing his toned torso.

She gulped when she saw his chest, her eyes traveled down his toned torso and bit her lip again, stopping a moan as her hands instinctively traveled down his chest.

“slower,” he sighs, loving her delicate touch. His lips trail kisses up your neck, stopping at your ear. “Take your time.” He whispers, his hips pressing against her's again.

Her finger traveled down his chest slowly till she found the drawl strings of his scrub pants. He groans, arching into her touch. He moans as he watches her hands undo the strings and slide the pants down, freeing his cock. “You're so fucking sexy,” he whispers.

“you're driving me crazy,” he growls, his hands trailing down her sides, pushing her pants along with her underwear off. He discarded them then slides off the bed, pulling his boxers off. He climbs back on top of her, his erection pressing against her slick core. “Tell me to stop”

She shook my head no as pulled him down for a kiss. “Good girl” He whisperes, kissing her deeply. His hips start to rock against her, making he moan. He slowly pushing into her tight heat. He kisses down her jaw and a crossed her collarbone, sucking lightly as he continues to thrust.

“God, you feel so good,” he breathes, his eyes locked on hers. His thrusts become faster, harder, as he loses control. “You're mine,” he growls, biting her bottom lip.

She wrap her legs around his waist, pulling him closer against her. “s-so good” she moaned an incomplete sentence, too distracted by the way he feels against her.

“I'm going to make you scream my name” he warns, his eyes burning with lust. He picks up the pace, driving deeper into her wet heat. His body shudders with the effort to hold back as he feels her clenching around him.

“Harder, Jackson... Please” she moaned desperately.

“Fuck” he hisses, slamming into her over and over again. His mouth finds her neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses as he loses control. He groans her name as he feels his impending release, his hips bucking wildly.

“jackson!” she screamed against his shoulder as she bucked he hips up, trying to meet his thrusts. He cries out as well, his entire body tenses, shooting his seed deep inside. He holds himself over her, panting. “Holy shit.” He groans out, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.

A loud moan leaves her lips as his climax ignited hers. She held onto his shoulders, cumming all over his cock “J-Jackson” she panted as held on to him.

Jackson kisses her softly, his heart still racing. Slowly, he pulls out of her, leaving a trail of their mixed fluids on his member. “God damn it,” he mutters, clearly frustrated with himself.

She look at him with a confused when she saw his expression. He runs a hand over his short hair, trying to calm himself down. He climed off the bed and slipped his boxers on. “I'm sorry. That was... I shouldn't have-” He trails off, not really sure how to finish that sentence.

Her heart crumbled. “I knew it” she mumbled, shaking her head. She had let her guard down and it was like he's already trying to hurt her. Did he hate her that much? This this all just a joke to him?

He saw the pain in her eyes. “No, baby,” he says, pulling her into a tight hug. His heart aches at the thought of hurting her. He knows he's messed up before, but he never meant to make her feel this way. He holds her close, breathing in her sweet scent.

She pushed him away gently. “don't call me that” she mumbled and quickly put her scrubs back on.

His heart sinks when he felt her push him away. He wasn't handling this well. He watches her put her scrubs back on silently, trying to maintain some semblance of distance between the two of them. “Look,” he starts, taking a deep breath.

“No! you got what you wanted” she started as tears pricked her eyes. “you can go back to hating me... I'm glad you got your frustration out” she gritted her teeth as the sarcastic comment fell out.

Jackson's eyes widen at her response, shocked by the harshness in her tone. He didn't expect her to react this way. “I... I didn't mean it like that,” he says, reaching out to touch her arm lightly. “I'm just...”

She shook her head as a single tear fell down her cheek. “J-just stop... Please” she whispered, shaking her head. She refused to look at him.

The sight of her tears only serves to further torment Jackson. He hates knowing he's the cause of her pain. But he also can't seem to control his jealousy. “Fine,” he snapped, having too much pride to tell he how he truly felt.

“I'm gonna go” she croaked out and grabed her lab coat, leaving.

As she walk away broken hearted, Jackson watches her, feeling a mixture of anger, frustration, and guilt. He knows he needs to deal with his jealousy before it destroys everything, but right now, it's consuming him. “God dammit,”

She quickly wipe away her tears and walk down the hospital hallway, trying to keep it together. Jackson remains where y/n left him, his fists clenched at his sides. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. This isn't like him – he's usually the one offering support, not causing pain.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

Mark continued to talk, but Jackson wasn't processing any of it. He felt too terrible about how things ended with y/n, even worse he didn't know how to tell his best friend who just happened to be y/n big brother. Mark stopped and looked at him. “Avery, are you even listening?”

Jackson quickly looked up. “hm? Oh yeah... Burn unit right?”

Mark raised an eyebrow, he couldn't help but chuckled. “your way off... What's eatin' you?”

Jackson knew he'd be dead where he stands if he told mark the truth. “nothing”

Mark put his hand on Jackson's chest, stopping him in the middle hallway. “your distracted... What's going on with you?”

Jackson pushed his hand away and looked way, shaking his head. Mark caught sight of a red mark on his neck. Mark chuckled, grabbing Jackson's chin and turned his head to the side to see the hickey on his neck. “so you got laid and it ended badly, so what”

Jackson gulped and moved away from Mark. He felt terrible about y/n and what made things worse Mark ment alot to him. He pushed Mark away, but Mark wasn't done teasing. Mark grabed the collar of Jackson's Lab coat and pulled him back, his smile dropped when he saw the name on Jackson's lab coat wasn't his, but his little sister's. Jackson and y/n must have gotten their lab coats mixed up.

The color in Jackson's face drain as Mark let go of him. “you slept with y/n?” Mark said, his voice dropping. “my little sister”

“Mark I'm so-” Jackson was cut off by mark grabbing him by the collar of his scrubs and slamming him against the wall. Jackson was shaking and his heart pounded with regret. Mark raised his fist and Jackson flinched, but nothing happened.

“Mark, what the hell?” Derek asked, separating Mark from Jackson before he could get punched.

Mark ripped himself out of Derek's grasp. “the basterd screwed y/n”

Jackson was once again shoved against wall. This time he had Derek's arm against his throat. Y/n was just as much as Derek's sister as she was Mark's. “you what” Derek said through his teeth.

Jackson's regret tunred into rage, he shoved Derek off of him. “you don't think I regret hurting her?! She won't even talk to me now!”

“well fix it Avery! Before I knock your teeth out” Mark growled.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

Jackson finally got away from both Mark and Derek, he wanted to find y/n and explain everything and mend what he broke. He couldn't find her anywhere and knew knew she wouldn't awnser his pages. He was about to lose hope, but as he tunred the corner he ran right into her.

He stares at her for a moment before his expression softens. He sees the tears that she's trying so hard to hold back, and his heart aches for her but he can understand she was so angry. He slowly moves in front of her, putting his hand on her arm. “Please... can I talk to you for a minute?” He whispers, not wanting anyone to hear what he's going to say.

I have nothing to say... “she said softly, refusing to meet his eyes.

“y/n, please.” He gently brings her into one of the supply closets, locking the door behind him. He gently pushes her backwards, pauhing her back against the wall. Jackson leans his forehead against her's, holding her face in his hands. “y/n, I know I've hurt you, more than once. I know you probably don't want to hear what I have to say... but I need to say this.”

Tears ran down her cheeks as he pressed his forehead against her's “jackson...”

“I regret everything I've ever done to hurt you, the way I've treated you... I-I'm just...” he takes a deep breath. “I love you, I really, really do. I don't know how many times I've tried to tell myself that I'm not the man for you, I always believed you'd be better off without me, but god damn it” He leans down to gently holds her chin between his thumb and pointer finger, lifting her face up so their eyes met. “when I see your beautiful face I get so... lost.”

The tears wouldn't stop, her heart pounded against her chest from his confession. Y/n looked into his eyes and saw nothing but the truth. She couldn't hold it back any longer, no matter how badly he hurt her “I... I love you too” she said softly.

“You do?” He asked, his eyes searching her's for any sign of sarcasm. After a beat of silence he leans back down and presses his lips against her's, kissing her softly. Y/n kissed him back, holding his face in her hands. This kiss was a lot more gentler and more loving than the first. It was a sign that the odds were in their favor.

“Yes... I forgive you” she said softly, giving him and loving smile.

[faun-the-fawn77]

"𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃"

Lucifer Morningstar x F!FallenAngel!Reader

Genre: SMUT

Word Count: 4.0k

Warnings: oral(m! receiving), creampie, breeding, mentions of having kids, clit play, overstimulation, squirting, brief fingering, whipped!Lucifer, Lucifer being a sweetheart, reader is horny 25/8

Desc: A one night stand is a one night stand... right? What happens when Lucifer keeps going back to the same fallen angel just for a taste of Heaven? Oh no... seems the Devil has caught feelings once again!

Note: Lucifer smut;) like there isn't enough already. Requests are open now! This is third and final fic of the votes. Don't worry to those who voted for others! I will be working on all those fics:) Next after this one is a part two to "Lips Of An Angel". Just have to...find a song that will match the part two:)

I’m so addicted to

All the things you do

When you’re going down on me

In between the sheets

Oh, the sounds you make

With every breath you take

It’s unlike anything

When you’re loving me

Another shitty day in Hell. Sinners were offing each other in the streets of the Pride Ring. The angelic building in the middle of the city shone brightly in the red light, the clock on each side had big letters reading ‘36 DAYS’. 

Lucifer, King of Hell himself, wandered the streets of Cannibal town, a mission in his mind. He tried to avoid Rosie ‘cause she’s a talker and would only make him late for where he needed to go after getting the thing he came to this lovely town for. He scoured the shops looking for the one thing that stood out to him last time he was here. It reminded him so much of Her. Of the one person he couldn’t get out of his mind. 

“Well, hello to our dear king! How are you on this hellish evening?” Lucifer growled lowly at the sound of that radio prick's voice. He turned to the red deer demon and pulled him down by his collar.

“Listen, I don’t have time for your theatrics today. I have places to be and things to get and I don’t need some lowlife sinner messing that up for me,” Lucifer let go of the demon’s coat and strided off to the jewelry shop he spotted out of the corner of his eye, waving behind to the overlord, “Hope you have a bad day!”

Later that evening, Lucifer turned up at his daughter’s hotel. He always came under the guise of seeing his daughter but everyone knew he came for one particular guest of his daughters. Knocking on the giant doors, he waited ‘till either his daughter or the deer prick opened up. 

The doors opened a few minutes later and Lucifer was greeted by, thankfully, his daughter’s voice, “Oh! Back again, dad? But I jus-”

“Charlie! You know I’m always here to see you! I just missed you so much that I couldn’t wait a few days!” Lucifer walked in and hugged his daughter. Vaggie stood off to the side, peering out the door for any dangers. 

Charlie gasped before smiling nervously and patted her dad’s back. She pulled away and held him by the shoulders. 

“Dad, you know I love when you visit. We all do! But uh- Everyone, especially Angel, has noticed that you only come here for a certain someone…” Charlie trailed off. Lucifer stood there silently and blinked slowly, almost frog-like.

“Ah…” He didn’t know what to say. Was he that obvious? The weight in his suit pocket seemed to weigh down on him immensely. He gripped the apple on his cane tightly. 

“Is she here?” Charlie smiled. She wanted her dad to be happy. After her mom had left them, her dad was in a slump. She checked up on him as much as she could but she could tell he wasn’t getting any better. After finding Y/N, a fallen angel just like her father, Charlie brought her with to her family home in hopes of them becoming friends. After that, Lucifer has been stopping by more than he used to. Charlie thought it was because they were good friends but after what Angel told the group last time…Charlie knew her father had fallen once again and this time harder than he fell for Lilith. 

“She’s here. Last I spoke with her, she was working on a secret project. She wouldn’t tell me what it was.” Lucifer looked about ready to bounce off the walls of the hotel lobby. 

“Well I’ll just uh- yeah…” Lucifer ran off towards the elevator and pressed the button for the penthouse at the top of the hotel. He rocked on his heels as the lift made its way up to the top. He stuck his clawed left hand into his suit pocket and clutched the velvet box.

“Well, hello there, handsome.” Y/N’s voice was like smooth silk. It calmed Lucifer’s nerves down, the breath stuck in his throat was exhaled as he stepped foot into his…friend’s penthouse. He wouldn’t call her friend with the amount of times they’ve gotten intimate but, he didn’t know what else to call it. 

“Hello, darling. How is your night going?” Lucifer plopped a seat on the sofa in her living room. He watched as she rounded the island in her kitchen, holding a cup of coffee and wearing nothing but a white silk robe. 

“I’m doing wonderfully, Luci. What prompted the visit?” She folded her legs as she sat on the other end of the sofa. Lucifer cleared his throat and shifted his legs. The robe was a bit see-through which made her breasts very noticeable to him.

“Just wanted to see you…” Y/N smiled cheekily. She knew what she was doing to him. With the way she sat to what she was wearing, Lucifer couldn’t believe he had this much self-control to not jump on her.

“Is that all?” Lucifer gulped. He shifted in his seat once again and gazed away from Y/N’s intense stare. Her eyes darkened with lust as she continued to stare right at him. 

“What do you actually want, Luci?” She placed her mug down, sliding her bottom over and closer to her partner. She watched him cross his legs and grip the arm of the sofa.

“Come on, Luci. Tell me what you desire~” She ran a hand up his arm and over his chest. Lucifer watched with bated breath as she undid his bowtie and slipped the first few buttons of his shirt undone. Her fingers snuck under the shirt and touched all over his pale chest.

“Luciiii~” Lucifer felt the last thin thread snap at the tone of her voice. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down onto the couch. He roughly kissed her and made sure to slide his forked tongue between her lips and into her mouth. He heard her moan and felt her hands run up his arms and into his hair. 

Lucifer pulled away with a dazed look in his red eyes. He was straddling her lap, his erection pushing painfully against his suit pants. 

“Need help with that?” Lucifer sat back as Y/N leaned over him, running her hands from his hair, down his semi-exposed chest, and to his tightened pants. She undid his black belt and slipped it from his pants. She popped the button on his pants and unzipped the zipper. 

“Please…” Lucifer whined. Y/N looked up at him and smirked. She made sure to go slow when she pulled his pants down his legs. Her knees hit the carpeted floor when his pants did. Her soft hands slid from his ankles and all the way up to his boxers elastic. 

“Be patient, Luci.”

“God, I’m addicted…” Lucifer mumbled. He was very addicted to her. To all the things she does to him both in and out of the sheets.

Y/N hummed and brought her mouth closer towards his erection. Her breath fanned across the dampened tip and she quickly tore through his duck-printed boxers. The shreds of fabric fell to the carpet. 

“Oh, Luci…” She licked a stripe up from his balls to tip. Lucifer moaned loudly and rushed to cover his mouth. Y/N laughed, pulling his hand from his mouth.

“You can be as loud as you want, my dear. No one can hear us.” With that, she took the tip of his dick into her hot mouth. Lucifer gripped the sofa, tearing streaks into it with his claws. His breathing became laboured as Y/N made work on his cock. She swirled her tongue around the tip, her hand coming up and wrapping around the base. She wanted to antagonise him. Make him want her.

“Oh my Lord, please! Please do something…” Lucifer could feel his patience run thin. Patience was definitely not one of his virtues, if he had any left. 

Y/N hummed. She removed her hand and placed both of them on his thighs, bracing herself, before taking him whole. 

“OH, Y/N/N! Plea~ah,” Lucifer moaned. He bucked his hips up into her mouth and down her throat. He wanted to feel guilty but he was so into the pleasure that she was giving him. Her nails dug into his thighs, her moans vibrated down his length which caused him to gag her once again. 

“I-I’m sorry! You just-hah-you just are so good,” Lucifer praised. She may have been an angel but by God was her mouth sinful. 

Ohh, girl, let’s take it slow

So as for you, well, you know where to go

I wanna take my love and hate you ‘til the end

It’s not like you to turn away

From all the bullshit I can’t take

It’s not like me to walk away

It’s been a few days since Lucifer has been intimate with his partner. His friends with benefits as he has learned from Angel Dust. He was scared. Every time they’ve gotten intimate, Lucifer was on the verge of telling her he loves her. It took all it had in him to not shout it when he came. 

“Oh, Rosie. I don’t know what to do!” Lucifer plonked his head on the table face first. His glass of whiskey shook at the action. 

Rosie, the one who made sure the cannibals in her town stayed in check, patted her king on his head. She smiled down at the fallen angel and watched as he mumbled to himself.

“Honey, if you don’t tell her how you feel, then how is she supposed to know you feel this way? What if someone else sweeps her off her feet? She is nothing like that ex of yours, ya know.” Lucifer grumbled. He knew she wasn’t like Lilith. Lilith was a cold-hearted bitch who cared about no one but herself. 

“I’m trying to take it slow.”

“Is having a one night stand and then becoming friends with benefits ‘taking it slow’?” Lucifer glared at the smiling cannibal. She was right and he knew it. He sighed and dug into his pocket. He brought out the velvet box and slid it over to his friend. 

“I wanted to give her this when I confessed… I don’t know if it’s too much…” Rosie gently took the box and opened it. She gasped when she saw what it was. 

“Lucifer! This is gorgeous! I’m sure she’ll love it, honey.” Lucifer felt his shoulders sag with relief. The piece in the velvet box was beautiful. It was a silver ring detailed with leaves. Deer antlers were what held the moss agate stone in the middle. He learned from Husk and Angel that she only wore silver jewellery and that her favourite stone was moss agate. It may not have been the most expensive but he wanted it to come from the heart and not from his wealth. 

“I know she will. I just…I hate how much I love her. It’s suffocating with her not knowing.” Lucifer was still scared. Scared that she’d walk away and leave everything they’ve built behind. Just like Lilith. He knew it wasn’t like Y/N to turn away. He knew because he’d attend some of those silly exercises his daughter hosted. 

“Tell her. Let her know and don’t bullshit your way outta this.” Rosie slid the ring back to Lucifer. She watched as he breathed in deeply, pocketed the box, and made his way to the door to her shop. 

“I won’t walk away from her. Not like I did to Lilith.” With that, Lucifer exited the shop and made his way to the hotel.

I’m so addicted to 

All the things you do 

When you’re going down on me

In between the sheets

Oh, the sounds you make

With every breath you take

It’s unlike anything

When you’re loving me

Yeah

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite king! How are you today, my dear?” Lucifer had arrived at Y/N’s place in seconds flat after leaving Rosies. He had spider lilies in one hand and a stuffed black cat in the other. Both being her favourite things she’s seen in Hell. 

“Good! I just wanted to have a chat with you. Hangout for a bit after all the paperwork I did this morning.” Lucifer watched her eyes light up at the sight of the flowers and stuffie. She grabbed them from his hands and raced to get the flowers in some water. She placed the stuffed cat on her loveseat near her bookshelf. 

Lucifer stepped out of the lift and slowly walked towards the kitchen of her penthouse. Y/N was humming as she cut the bottoms of the flowers and placed them in the black vase. Her fingers were nimble and held the flowers delicately to ensure they didn't get damaged. 

“What did you want to talk about, sweetheart?” Lucifer took a seat at the island, snatching an apple from the basket of fruit in the centre. 

“Nothing important… uhm, how was your day?” Lucifer was nervous. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t drop the L-bomb on her. She was too important to him to lose. 

“It was amazing! Your daughter is such a sweetie! She’s helped me adjust to life in Hell wonderfully. I wish I could pay her back somehow…” Lucifer looked at the angel. This angel was of pure heart and faith. He knew Y/N was still struggling with being in Hell. He knew because he could see the way she hid behind his daughter when they went out or when she would quote from the bible only to grow embarrassed when the others looked at her in confusion. 

“She is a sweetie, isn’t she? I’m glad you’re adjusting to Hell. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable while you’re here.” Lucifer bit into the apple. Y/N watched as the juice dripped from his chin. She licked her lips, walking towards the island and having a seat on the stool near Lucifer. 

Lucifer continued to munch on the apple, not noticing Y/N’s hand creeping towards his thigh. When she made contact, Lucifer jumped and choked on a bit of the sweet fruit. 

“Surely you didn’t come here just to talk.” Lucifer felt flushed. He cleared his throat and set the apple core down. 

“I promise it was only just to talk. I know I said it was nothing important but-”

“Shh, Luci. I can see how tense your shoulders are. Why don’t I-”

Lucifer stood up abruptly causing Y/N’s hand to fall from his lap. He stepped back and sucked in a breath. He reached into his pocket and produced the black velvet box for Y/N to see. He could see the confusion in her eyes. 

“Y/N, I love you. I love you so much that the thought of you not knowing was suffocating me. I know it only started out as us being friends and delving into a one night stand that then turned us into friends with benefits. After a while, it wasn’t just the sex for me. I wanted all of you. Heart, body, mind, and soul. I wanted to feel what it was like for you to love me for me and not for my body. I hope this doesn’t scare you off but I wanted you to know how I feel about you.” Lucifer finished up and placed the small box in front of her. He was sweating profusely and his hands gripped the apple on his cane tightly. He watched as Y/N lifted the box up gently and opened it. Her eyes glittered and he swore he saw tears in her eyes.

“Luci…” Her breath was airy. Like he took her breath away.

“Luci, thank you. No one has done this much for me since I’ve been created. You don’t have to be scared ‘cause I love you just as much.” Lucifer could cry. She felt the same! He smiled brightly and bounded up to the tall angel and hugged her tightly. 

“Oh my Hell! I could bounce off these walls in happiness! Oh, I love you so much, my angel!” Lucifer could feel the vibrations of her laugh. She hugged him back just as tightly, the ring he gave her glittering on her right hand. 

“Thank you for accepting me, Y/N/N,” Lucifer mumbled into her breasts. He felt her fingers run through his golden locks as she hummed.

“No need to thank me, honey. I love you so very much.”

…

“Let’s head to the bedroom. I need to get this energy out~”

And I know when it’s getting rough

All the times we spend

Trying to make this love something better than

Just making up again

It’s not like you to turn away

All the bullshit I can’t take

Just when I think I can walk away

They’ve only had a few fights but they were only about Lucifer's work. He was the king and every time he went to sign off on a meeting paper to say he wouldn’t be able to make it, Y/N scolded him and told him he needed to go or the residents of the seven rings of hell won’t take him seriously anymore. 

She was right. Every time they went out on a date, Lucifer could hear the whispers and snickering. He was gone for years when Lilith left and everyone had assumed that he was gone. Now that he’s back and appearing more in the public eye, the sinners in Pride casted snide remarks his way. 

“Honey, a letter just came in from Ozzie. Have you always had a family dinner every month with the seven sins and Charlie?” Lucifer paled at the mention of the dinner. He hasn’t been to one since Lilith left him. Charlie had tried to get him to go a couple times only for him to turn her down and go back to wallowing in his sadness. 

“Uh- yes… yes we do. Ozzie was the one that actually wanted it to happen.” Lucifer bounced his knee nervously. Y/N hummed and made his way into the study and up to his desk. She set down the letter and looked down at him.

“How about we go? Ozzie seems to want to meet me and to introduce us to that little imp of his. This’ll be good for you! We can see family and maybe we could invite the residents of the hotel? Have the sins come from their rings and hang out in Pride?” Y/N has been encouraging him to get back into contact with his family since they’ve gotten together. Seemed she was very family oriented. I mean, she had always had him finish inside her whenever they were intimate. He had a sense that she wanted kids but she hasn’t said anything to him yet. 

“Fine. How about you write the letter back to Ozzie. Have him send out a message to the others that we’ll be having the dinner at our place. I’ll fly over to the hotel and inform Charlie.” Y/N squeaked and pulled a blank paper from her lover’s pile of papers on the desk. She produced a quill with the snap of her fingers and wrote out the letter. Lucifer was happy that she was excited to meet his family. Every time they had the petty arguments about his work and paperwork, she would ignore him ‘til she got too horny and then seduced him into bed. He didn’t want this love to be about fighting and making up with sex. He wanted it to be more than that,

“I told him that we’ll have the dinner this Friday! Make sure you mention to Charlie that I invited everyone from the hotel to be there!” Lucifer smiled as she leaned down to kiss his rosy cheek. She bounced off to who-knows-where while Lucifer sat back in his desk chair and sighed. He had to talk to her. 

I’m so addicted to 

All the things you do

When you’re going down on me

In between the sheets

Oh, the sounds you make

With every breath you take

It’s unlike anything

I’m so addicted to

The things you do

When you’re going down on me

Oh, the sounds you make

With every breath you take

It’s unlike anything

When you’re loving me

Yeah

When you’re loving me

“Oh fuck! Lucifer, right there!” The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping and ragged breathing. Lucifer was pounding mercilessly into his lover’s pussy. He watched as her eyes rolled into the back of her head as his dick hit just the right spot inside her. Her moans echoed off the walls, her hands clenching the silk sheets beneath her. 

“Come on, baby. You have one more in you, don’t ya?” Lucifer groaned out into her ear. His stomach tightened when he felt her clench at his words. He smirked and brought a clawed hand to her pussy. His pointer and middle finger rubbing circles on her clit. She moaned loudly at the contact before she started to shake as her orgasm crashed through her. Juices squirted from her dripping pussy and coated his lower abdomen and thighs. 

“Oh fucking hell…” Lucifer moaned. His dick throbbed and he finally came into her clenching hole. His seed spilled out while he was still in her and when he pulled out he made sure to take his fingers, scoop up the mess, and push it back into her. Y/N moaned and tried to push his hand away only for him to grab it and shush her.

“It’s okay, honey. Just wanna make sure it takes…” Lucifer held still inside of her and when she calmed her breathing down, he made ‘come hither’ motions. She squeaked out and tried to squirm away only for Lucifer to pin her down. 

“One more. One more time, sweetheart. I need to make sure it takes,” Lucifer whispered. He leaned up and over her, pulling his fingers from her pussy and replacing it with his hardened dick. He saw her eyes tear up from overstimulation. He kissed her lips, holding onto her hips and slowly drove his hips into hers. 

“That’s it, sweetie. You can take it. I got you.” Lucifer whispered sweet nothings into her ear as he began to pick up his pace. His grip tightened on her hips when her pussy clenched around him. He moaned out, dropping his head onto her breasts. 

“I’m c-close, Luci! Please!” Lucifer thrusted his hips faster, making sure to hit the spot that made her see stars. Her eyes clenched shut and her hips moved to meet his hips. Her moans grew louder as her orgasm grew closer. 

“Oh, Hell…” Lucifer almost whined when Y/N tightened around his length, her moans loud as she shuddered. Her orgasm hit her full force, her pussy squirting out juices once again. Lucifer sped up until he finally released another load into her abused hole. 

“I want you to be a mama. Charlie already loves you, why not have another?” Lucifer mumbled. He dropped down on top of her, his dick still in her to keep his load inside to make sure it takes. 

Y/N ran her fingers through his messy hair and smiled down at him. He was such a softie for kids. Whenever they would visit the other rings, Y/N made sure they at least went to the circuses that were held that day to support the kids. 

“I love you, Luci.” 

Lucifer snuggled into her more and murmured out tiredly, “I love you most.”

How can I make it through

All the things you do

There’s just gotta be more to you and me

I’m so addicted to 

All the things you do

When you’re going down on me

In between the sheets

Oh, the sounds you make

With every breath you take

It’s unlike anything

It’s unlike anything

I’m so addicted to

All the things you do

When you’re going down on me

Oh, the sounds you make

With every breath you take

It’s unlike anything

I’m so addicted to you

Addicted to you

WOOOO SECOND LUCI FIC!!! Hope I did him justice:')

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