#on my knees waiting for this memory to come home

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: okay my jaw was on the damn FLOOR with your purgatory story. I was hoping you could maybe add some kind of part 2 where maybe she wakes up in the middle of the night and thinks she sees something that they witnessed in purgatory like some kind of monster so she darts to deans room panicking and screaming that there’s something in the bunker. I just know this is going to be so good because your writing is UGH *CHEFS KISS* thank you thank you thank you for writing these amazing stories because there’s nothing else I’d rather be kicking my feet and giggling to.

A/N: OMG that’s the sweetest thing ever. Thank you so much!! I actually really enjoyed writing the purgatory story and I’ve gotten so many requests to add onto it or make a part 2 with different ideas so here’s the first one!! I hope it was what you were looking for but if not just send in another request! Requests are always open :)) thanks everyone!!

Purgatory story: https://www.tumblr.com/winchestersisterimaginessss/773151570802130944/request-can-you-do-one-where-their-sister-is-in

San and Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

The bunker was silent besides for the distant hum of the old pipes, the soft whirring of the air conditioning that hummed through the ventilation system. It was the quiet of a home, of safety, of the world they fought for. But to Y/N, the silence was deafening. To her the stillness was the sound of something in the shadows. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone and that something was lurking, watching, waiting in the stillness. It was around 2am when she had woken up. Now she sat huddled in the corner of her room, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her breath coming in short, frantic bursts. Her eyes flicked from shadow to shadow, her heart hammering in her chest as the memories from purgatory—dark, blood-soaked, relentless—threatened to swallow her whole.

The flickering of the lights overhead made her jump. She clutched her arms tighter, eyes darting around the room. There had to be something—there had to be someone—in here.

Before she even realized what was happening, her legs pushed her into motion, and she was bolting down the hallway, feet slapping against the cold concrete floor. Her mind screamed at her to stop, but the panic was too overwhelming. She needed to get to Dean. She needed to tell him the monsters were here. Her bare feet were slapping against the cool concrete floor of the bunker, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her heart pounded in her chest.

When she reached Dean’s room, her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t even knock—she just pushed the door open, her hands trembling as she shook him awake. Her heart hammered in her chest, a suffocating wave of panic crashing down on her.

“Dean! Dean, wake up!” Her voice was frantic, tight with fear. Her hand grabbing his arm with a force that made him jerk awake.

His muscles tensing instinctively as his hand shot under the pillow, grabbing for his gun before his eyes locked on her. But then he heard her voice—so frantic, so filled with terror—and everything clicked. He knew instantly what this was, knew what it meant when she woke him in the dead of night like this.

“Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, still thick with sleep, but there was no mistaking the urgency in it. The sight of her like that—completely unhinged—struck him like a punch to the gut. His heart, still heavy with the weight of the nightmare he knew she was living, splintered. “What’s going on?”

She was standing there, trembling with her eyes wild and unseeing, like she was staring through him—into something far darker. Her breath came in jagged, desperate gasps.

“I—I saw something,” she stammered, eyes wide and frantic. Her chest heaved with shallow

breaths, and her hands were shaking violently. “There’s something in the bunker. I saw it.”

Dean’s mind screamed for him to stay calm, to think, but all he could do was watch as she fought to keep herself tethered to the present, to the safety they’d worked so damn hard to carve out. He was supposed to protect her, to make sure she never had to go through that again. But here she was, spiraling, trapped in the haunting, twisted echo of purgatory.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay. It’s just the dark,” Dean said gently, but firmly. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing hers in an attempt to ground her, to bring her back to him, back to the present. “There’s nothing in the bunker. Nothing can get in here. You know that. You’re just having a nightmare. You’re safe. We’re safe.”

She shook her head violently, backing away from him, panic surging through her like a tidal wave. “No! No, Dean! I saw something! There’s something in here—in the bunker. Please, you have to believe me. It’s not just my mind. I saw it! It’s like—it’s like purgatory!” Her voice was high-pitched, laced with terror, and she couldn’t control the frantic pace of her words.

Dean’s stomach twisted. He had seen her like this before—too many times. The PTSD. The constant battle against the fear that something might still be lurking, waiting to claim her.

His chest tightened as he pushed himself out of bed, his legs shaky but moving on instinct. He didn’t grab his gun. Didn’t reach for anything but her.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice cracking. "There’s nothing here. You're safe. You’re not in—"

She recoiled, her whole body jerking back, eyes wide with terror. "Dean, no, please, you don’t understand. I saw it! It was—it was there!"

His heart hurt, shattering under the weight of it, because he did understand. God, he understood better than she could ever know. Every terror, every twisted vision from purgatory that she was seeing again—it killed him that he couldn’t just take it away.

“Y/N,” he said again, trying to ground her with his voice, with his presence. He moved closer, his hand reaching out, but she flinched, pulling away from him.

“No Dean! Stop!” She begged, her eyes darting around as if she were searching for something, anything. “Get your gun! What are you waiting for?! They’re here... just like they were. Just like they—”Her eyes were wild, her breath coming in rapid gasps. He could hear the panic in her voice, see the tremors in her hands. He reached out, his fingers lightly grazing her shoulder. “Listen to me. There’s nothing in here. You’re okay. It’s just your mind—”

“No!” She screamed, cutting him off, her voice cracking with pure terror. “It’s not just my mind, Dean. I saw something! I swear to God….Please, you have to believe me. There’s something in here!”

Dean’s heart clenched. Not here. Not in the bunker. Not in the place they had worked so hard to make safe. He was trying to keep it together for her. Trying to reassure her, but the fear in her eyes was breaking him. He knew he had to calm her down before she spiraled completely, before this night became something worse than just a panic attack.

“Y/N, please,” Dean said, his voice softer now, desperate. “You’re safe. We’re safe.” He could feel the weight of the situation pressing in on him. “You know there’s nothing here. There’s no monsters, there’s nothing from purgatory, okay?”

But she was beyond hearing him now. “Dean, no, please, you don’t understand. I saw it! Grab your gun! What are you waiting for?!"

“Y/N, no, stop—” But it was too late.

In a flash, she was moving past him, desperate hands snatching up his gun from the bedside table. Dean’s heart sank as she raised it, her knuckles white as she clutched the weapon like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Y/N, put the gun down. Now.” Dean’s voice was sharp, desperate. His gut twisted as he watched her, knowing she was trapped in a spiral of panic she couldn’t break free of.

“No!” She screeched, her voice so filled with terror that it sent a chill through his bones. “You don’t get it, Dean! There’s something here! Something wrong!”

“Y/N, please,” Dean whispered, his voice low but firm. Before Dean could move, the door flew open with a crash.

"Y/N?!" Sam’s voice was urgent, confused. "What’s going on?" He rounded the corner, gun drawn, his eyes locking onto the chaos in front of him. His heart stopped when he saw the gun in Y/N’s shaking hands, the wild panic in her eyes.

Sam’s own gun was down in an instant when he saw her—saw her shaking, saw the terror in her expression, his expression shifting to one of pure concern. He tried to keep his voice calm, his demeanor soothing. “Whoa, hey, Y/N. What’s going on?”

Her eyes flicked to Sam, and she broke down completely. “Sam! Sam, there’s something in the bunker! I saw it! You have to listen to me! Please!” Her voice was frantic, high-pitched, barely recognizable. She was panting now, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. The gun in her hands was still raised, though it wavered dangerously as she shook.

Sam moved slowly, cautiously, his eyes meeting Dean’s with that unspoken understanding—they both knew there was nothing here. They both knew nothing could get in. But that didn’t change what Y/N was going through.

“Y/N,” Sam said softly, his voice filled with the same compassion, the same urgency that Dean felt. “Listen to me. There’s nothing here. It’s just us. We’re safe. The bunker is safe. You know that.” Sam’s heart broke at the sight of her. He hated seeing her like this, especially when she couldn’t tell the difference between the real world and the nightmare she couldn’t escape. His first instinct was to hold her, but he knew she wouldn’t allow it—not like this, not when she was this terrified… not when she had a loaded weapon ready to be used.

“No!” She shook her head violently, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. “I saw it! I saw something moving, Sam! You have to believe me. Please. I swear I saw it. It’s here, it’s here!”

“Y/N, please,” Dean said, his voice ragged now as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to her again. “Put the gun down, kid. You’re safe here. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I swear.”

But she wouldn’t let go. She screamed, panic clawing at her throat as she kept the gun raised, the barrel shaking as she struggled to hold onto it. “Please! I’m not lying! They’re here!”

Dean’s heart was breaking. He could feel the weight of her fear like a physical presence, pressing down on them both. The look on her face—it killed him. The gun in her hands becoming more threatening by the second.

“Okay,” Sam said softly, trying to keep her attention, trying to pull her back to him. “I need you to breathe, alright? Just breathe with me. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slowly.”

She barely acknowledged him, too far gone into the panic, her mind lost in the terror that kept resurfacing.

“Please,” she screamed, her voice breaking. “We’re wasting time—please, Sam, they’re here!”

Sam shot a quick, pleading glance at Dean, and Dean, knowing it had come to this, took a deep breath, stepping forward slowly, cautiously, like approaching a wounded animal. They had to get the gun away from her. They couldn’t let this escalate further.

With a swift movement, Sam grabbed her arms, gently but forcefully pulling them down, the gun still clenched tightly in her hands. She resisted, her body jerking in a panic as she tried to break free. “No! No! I saw it, Sam! You don’t understand! Why don’t you believe me?!”

Dean’s heart shattered at the sight of her so lost in the fear, so far from the sister he used to know—the one who had been strong, fearless, always there for them. He could barely stand the way she was trembling, the way she couldn’t stop spiraling. And it hurt him in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe.

“Y/N, listen to me,” Dean said, his voice trembling with emotion, trying to keep his composure for her. “There’s nothing in the bunker. I’m not letting anything happen to you. You’re safe. We’re safe. Just breathe. Please.”

But it didn’t work. She screeched, her whole body convulsing with terror, and it wasn’t until Sam had finally wrestled the gun out of her hand that she crumpled to her knees, sobbing.

“Y/N, look at me,” Dean said, crouching in front of her, trying to catch her gaze. “I’m going to check the whole damn place. I’ll make sure it's clear. Okay? There’s nothing here, but I’m going to check. For you.”

Her head was shaking furiously, tears streaming down her face as she went on her knees reaching for him. “Please, Dean, I can’t... I can’t... I don’t—”

“I’m right here,” Dean said softly, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Look at me, I’m right here. I’m going to check. Sams here with you, okay?”

Sam was kneeling beside her now, his hands gently guiding her to sit on the floor. He was watching Dean closely, his expression a mixture of concern and heartbreak. They both knew—there was nothing in the bunker. But there was something terrifying in Y/N’s eyes, something that neither of them could fix.

Dean hesitated, glancing at Sam before he turned to leave. His heart ached as he walked out, knowing the bunker was safe, knowing there was nothing there. His mind was racing, but he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t let her feel this way, not here, not in the bunker. He checked every corner of the place, his gun in hand, sweeping the hallways, the rooms, even the vents. It only took a few minutes, but it felt like hours.

When Dean walked back into the room, he stopped in the doorway. Sam was sitting beside Y/N, holding her hands in his, their fingers tangled together. Her body was still shaking, her eyes wild with fear, but Sam’s presence seemed to ground her, offering her the quiet support she needed. Dean's gaze met Sam’s, and there was a look between them—one of shared understanding. The kind of look that said everything without saying a word.

Dean’s heart twisted as he crossed the room, his voice soft but steady as he spoke, “There’s nothing there, Y/N. You’re safe. We’re safe.” Her eyes darted to him, wide with panic, desperate for reassurance, but it was when she saw the sadness in his face that the truth finally started to sink in. The weight of his words, of his pain, was enough to make her breathe a little easier.

He knelt beside her, careful not to disturb the fragile calm she had found with Sam. Gently, he pulled her into his arms, pressing her head against his chest. His heart thudded painfully in his ribcage as he whispered, “We’re safe, kid. We’re safe.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the steady rhythm of his breathing and the soft sound of her sobs against him. It wasn’t a solution—it wouldn’t erase the fear or the trauma—but for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to feel the quiet comfort of being held.

Dean’s hand ran through her hair, the movement slow, almost protective. He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but when he finally spoke again, it was with a promise that hung in the air, heavy and unbreakable.

“We’re gonna get through this,” he said, more to himself than to her, but she heard it just the same. And somewhere deep inside, she believed him.

[petalsprompts]

𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍; 𝚀𝚄𝙾𝚃𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝚁𝙲𝙴𝙳 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝚂.

change  pronouns,  tenses  and  other  details  as  deemed  necessary. &  please  specify  muse  when  sending  to  a  mumu. slightly edited wording for roleplaying purposes.

My  fault,  my  failure,  is  not  in  the  passions  I  have,  but  in  my  lack  of  control  of  them.

What  reason  weaves,  by  passion  is  undone.

None  of  us  can  choose  where  we  shall  love...

Feeling  too  much  is  a  hell  of  a  lot  better  than  feeling  nothing.

You  are  enough  to  drive  a  saint  to  madness  or  a  king  to  his  knees.

A  great  fire  burns  within  me,  but  no  one  stops  to  warm  themselves  at  it,  and  passersby  only  see  a  wisp  of  smoke

I  want  to  know  what  passion  is.  I  want  to  feel  something  strongly.

I  envy  people  that  know  love.  That  have  someone  who  takes  them  as  they  are.

If  something  burns  your  soul  with  purpose  and  desire,  it’s  your  duty  to  be  reduced  to  ashes  by  it. 

I  have  loved  to  the  point  of  madness;  that  which  is  called  madness,  that  which  to  me,  is  the  only  sensible  way  to  love.

I  raised  you  so  high  that  every  other  on  earth  is  now  doomed  to  live  in  your  shadow.

You  have  corrupted  my  imagination  and  inflamed  my  blood.

You  know  that  when  I  hate  you,  it  is  because  I  love  you  to  a  point  of  passion  that  unhinges  my  soul.

People  wait  around  too  long  for  love.  I'm  happy  with  my  lusts.

The  human  body  is  the  best  work  of  art.

I  would  rather  die  of  passion  than  of  boredom.

Your  memory  feels  like  home  to  me.  So  whenever  my  mind  wanders,  it  always  finds  its  way  back  to  you.

What  if  you  find  your  soul  mate...  at  the  wrong  time?

Only  the  united  beat  of  sex  and  heart  together  can  create  ecstasy.

Light  yourself  on  fire  with  passion  and  people  will  come  from  miles  to  watch  you  burn.

My  eyes  were  dazed  by  you  for  a  little,  and  that  was  all.

[burner141]

One of my FAV tropes is cbf!Johnny but I also like it when reader just does not gaf abt Johnny so lemme combine the two

Ok so cbf!Johnny who you played with as a youth, along with the other neighborhood kids. He was a mischievous little rascal, and you two were probably closer to each other than the others in the group. He'd play minor pranks, scrape his knees on pavement, and get into fights with some older kids from time to time. Yeah, he was rough around the edges, but at the end of the day, he was your sweet Johnny. Johnny who picked wildflowers for you and treated it like a promise ring for when you two would inevitably get married. His words.

However, kids grow up. He decided to go to the military, and while you cared for him greatly, you kind of forgot about him after his grand sendoff. Sure, the first few weeks were hard. No more goofy grinning Johnny looking in at you from your window. First, he climbed trees, then he climbed through your window. Now he was probably climbing ropes in a boot camp or something. Call it object permanence or whatever, but once six months passed, then a year, so did the ache you felt when you remembered he was away.

You went on with life, and so did Johnny. Except Johnny was having a vastly different experience. Every day, he woke up and thought of you. Every night, he dreamt of coming back to you, to a field of wildflowers and the smell of his mother's cooking. At some point, he started writing down the good memories he had with you in a notebook. And then the letters...

Oh, the letters. He wrote and wrote, boundless words scribbled on crumbled paper. But he never sent them. How could he? In a way, they were his darkest secrets. Personal journal entries of every missed moment with you. He could have kissed you when he dropped you off after the school dance. He could have told you that your eyes shined whenever you talked about your interests. He could have confessed to you when you said you had a mild crush on that boy in your class.

He could have.

Once the regret subsided, Johnny began to feel a secondary emotion rise up. Determination. Maybe it was the training hardening him up and enboldening his spirit, or maybe it was the thought that you'd be taken from him in his time away. Whatever it was, his writing shifted. He started to write what he would do to you. Midnight confessions to you and himself that turned blue ink black. He would return home to you. He would put a ring around your finger. He would taste the sweetness between your legs.

He would.

So when he comes home after years of hardship and experiences that could break a man, all he has on his mind is you. You're what kept him alive. Your very existence breathed life into him, even when he thought his time was up.

Unfortunately, you'd moved on. What was once a close comrade became a blurry face in your mind. It's not like you kept up with him and sent letters back and forth (maybe it's better that way). Your relationship was estranged, and when he came in to hug (suffocate) you, you were holding your breath and waiting until it was over. His mother invited you over for dinner, going on about how close you two were. You were about to decline, feeling out of place, but Johnny had responded joyously, like there wasn't a better idea in the world. Huh, maybe everybody had an exaggerated idea of what your relationship was.

Johnny's now huge arm wrapped around your shoulder as he sat next to you. He should have been paying attention to his mother's lovely conversation, but it felt like his eyes were burning holes into you. Talk about awkward. I mean, the guy had been away for years, and now you were expected to just chat him up like you were 8-years-old again?

After a mentally straining dinner, when his mom was cleaning up in the kitchen and your parents were keeping her company, Johnny redirected you to the living room to watch a movie.

"Gotta catch up on what I've been missing out." He said as he led you to the couch you had jumped on as a kid. His eyes lingered on you a bit too long, but maybe he was just getting used to civilian life. Didn't know the correct social cues and whatnot. Don't worry. He'd learn to seem normal very quickly. Can't have you getting scared and running off.

As the movie progressed, you noticed Johnny's legs spreading out more, making you and the couch feel miniscule. His thigh touched yours, and so did his arm, and with how close he kept inching, his breath was about to touch you. Too much. He was just too much.

You told him you had some things to do at home and ran off. He watched you go from the doorway, not bothering to chase after you, no matter how much he wanted to. And he wanted to. It was unfortunate. The red string that connected you two had thinned out.

Good thing Johnny learned how to tie knots in the military. And trust, he's ready to tie the knot.

[hananoami]

We're back to doing the summoning ritual bc Astra knows we're really going need it before August 7th...

[dilf-docs]

It Always Leads To You

joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: it's been a year; now you're back. how can joel be so sure of those old summer feelings in your eyes when there's a new hand holding yours?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, toxic relationship, cheating and infidelity themes, mutual pinning, kinda dark!joel, smut, p. in v., pussy pronouns, oral (f. receiving), fingering, manhandling, lowkey forced creampie, ANGST, the taylor swift evermore (2020) references go wild, happy ending cause y'all weak asses voted for it and i love to keep my citizens happy!

word count: 5,199 words

side note: my joel miller era is alive and breathing after this tlou re-watch i'm doing my brother swears it's for him but it's mostly me and my fic/womanly reasons, yes we love gaslight girlkeep girlbossing in here gotta say, finding inspiration for this amidst my wattpad duties and christmas movie marathon was harder than i thought lol. was it worth the wait? please like, comment and reblog to let me know! it's based on this request (they're still open btw!)

part: I / II

Holidays linger like bad perfume.

Your eyes wander through the streets: the roads you've got to call home, the ones where you grew up. They're familiar, but so foreign, it's hard to believe they're the same ones where you scrapped your knees at ten and kissed Joel just last winter. It's as if both timelines, your life, feels more like two separate lives, miles apart.

"Hey, you okay?" tender, from the driver's seat; you're still getting used to the soft.

There's a reassuring smile your way, his hand finding yours to give it a squeeze. You notice his palm is the same size as yours. It fits perfectly, but there's a ghost of what it feels like to have it all wrapped up, looming over your itchy palm like all the yearning's a joke.

You nod. "Just tired. That's all"

He sighs. "If I wanted you to lie to me, I would've just asked"

"I'm not lying" you defend yourself as his pickup truck parks on the sidewalk.

He makes a funny face, and you laugh.

"I'm serious, Nick" your lips purse, a thing you do when you lie, yet he still hadn't noticed, like Joel. "Don't worry"

He doesn't look that convinced, so you take off your seat belt and grab his hand.

"C'mon. Mom and dad must be waiting for us"

"Hey" Nick calls you out.

"Yeah?"

"Who lives there?" and he's pointing behind you.

It's his. Joel's house.

"A friend of my dad's" you answer, dryly.

It was last december when you stood there in his porch, begging. It feels like time has stopped ever since, and you're still right where he left you.

"So will he be here?" Nick asks. "You know, since he knows your dad"

"Don't think so" you shrug, "he's got better things to do anyway. Bitter old man" comes out, with more venom than intended.

"Oh! Alright, sorry for asking"

You come back to your senses, realizing you've shared more than you should.

"No, I'm sorry. It's not that important; let's just go inside"

Your mom and dad greet you as soon as you cross the door. Last year, you'd basically fled away before New Year's, with a poor excuse and a broken heart. They both greet you as if nothing happened, although you're sure they remember your tear streamed face coming back from Joel's house, where it all ended.

As your mom corners Nick with kisses and embarrassing questions, your dad whispers to you:

"Joel asked what happened" you quirk and eyebrow, "wanted to know why you left"

"Eh, it's not important" you try to dismiss. "Definitely not as important for a guy like Joel to know"

"What is that supposed to mean?" your dad inquires. You often wonder if they knew.

"Nothing" you laugh nervously. "Listen, why don't you go and meet Nick, yeah? Did you know he likes fishing too?"

The distraction works with your dad; the same can't be said about you.

There's conversation flowing, but through the snow covered window, your eyes keep glancing back to his own. The view is dark, and you ponder if he's fled as well, the town plagued with memories too painful to reminisce.

You can still feel his hands roaming your body, the lust filled gaze that hid warmth. Every time he touches you, you have to remind you he isn't there: that the lips that kiss you, don't taste like his, that the hands that hold you, aren't big as his, and that the face that looks at you like they'll never choose another, is one you haven't learned to love yet.

Joel's memory cuts like thorns: they sink their teeth into your heart, that bleeds with that blood-colored sadness you're all too familiar with. He's poisoned you. But-- isn't it his love also the antidote for this disease he's gave you?

You abruptly stand up, plate half eaten.

"I-I need some air"

It's cold outside, but you don't care. All you want to do is sit on the porch, and drop some tears, something you can do inside too, but the fear of your muffled cries being able to be heard stops you.

You walk towards the stairs, to sit there like you do on summer days, yet there's now a difference: the snow. So you end up slipping, falling with your butt on the floor.

You yelp, embarrased although no one can see you.

"Need help?"

That you're wrong, apparently.

You don't even need to raise your view to know who that voice belongs to: you know it like a record, spinning in circles on your head.

He offers his strong hand your way, and although the cold wind hits your face, you're back to spring on the cabin: wet feet, bright sun and beating heart.

"I can get up myself" you reject his help, pushing the hand out. You keep avoiding his gaze, so you don't see how he's reacted, yet you hope he feels bad about it.

You walk up to the front door, and it takes you a while to realize he hasn't left yet. On top of that, it seems like he's following you. Just what you needed.

"What are you doing here?" you question, but your tone sounds like you're offended.

"Your folks invited me over" Joel answers, "Says they got a special guest"

"Yeah" this time, you do look back, finding him to be much closer than you thought he'd be. Yet you stand tall, defiant even. "It's my boyfriend"

You savour the way his expression falters, before the stoic façade takes over again.

"Boyfriend?" Joel scoffs, as if you just told the funniest joke ever.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" you bite back. "What? Think a pretty girl can't get a new man?"

"Never said I'd doubt'it" he clicks his tongue. "Y'a could get any man you'd want, sugar"

Ironically, the only man you want stands before you.

"Right" you chuckle dryly, "I think it's kind of funny of you to say that"

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a clash of emotions circling in his chocolate orbs.

"Y/n-"

"Don't" you stop him. Then sigh, defeated. "Let's just go inside"

As soon as you both arrive on the dinning room, your parents both greet Joel. Then, they introduce him to their guest, just as promised.

"Joel, this is Nick, y/n's boyfriend" your father speaks. "Nick, this is Joel, a dear old friend of mine"

Nick, as the gentleman he is, offers his hand. Joel accepts, but you can see the barely desguised displease behind his eyes.

"Wow, strong grip" Nick comments before joking, "you can let go now, I'm not going anywhere"

The hidden meaning of his words, whether intentional or not, hit Joel in the face. It's obvious by the way he backtracks, letting go of Nick's hand.

As you sit again, Nick leans to your side and whispers.

"Is this the guy who lives in the house across the street?" you nod. "Thought you'd said he had better plans. But, see? I told you: no plan's more important than coming to your house"

He's always making jokes, trying to make you smile, but it's done the opposite now. The food has gone cold long ago, yet you cut through the meat with a violence so palpable, even your mom tells you to slow down.

The nerve of Joel, showing up to your house like it's nothing, talking to you like he's unaware of his spell on you, acting like Nick is some sort of competition when he pulled out of the race himself a winter ago.

"So, Nick. How did you two meet?" your mom adresses him, eager to know details.

"It was at a party, actually, through mutual friends. Not a very spectacular story, that I know. What's funny is, she asked me what hour it was. And what did I say?"

"He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said: For you, I'm available any hour" you answer.

Your parents laugh, but Joel remains quiet. You wonder what he's thinking.

"You know" looking at Nick while cutting the steamed vegetables a little too agressive, "y/n actually hates parties"

"Joel" you warn through gritted teeth.

"Really? I didn't know that!" Nick seems so genuine, Joel can't help but hate him. He looks at you, concerned "You didn't tell me"

You can't believe he would rat you out like that. The appropiate word isn't hate, and you don't know how to describe it, but parties aren't really your environment; if you can, you'd choose to be anywhere else.

He'll pay for that.

"Joel" you seethe, an ugly smile painted in your features, "did you know Nick knows how to fish?"

It's a direct jab at him. He feels stupid for letting you get to him. The inferiority complex towards some random guy he just met, years younger, is actually laughable.

"I like-" Nick wants to add on that.

"Well" Joel interrupts, looking at you. "You never taught me like ya' were s'pposed to"

"You never cared to learn" you reply, acidic.

He sips his drink, trying to hide the smirk that's formed on his lips. You can't shut up, and he loves you've stayed the same.

"That means I've got some classes to take" Joel leans back on his chair, relaxed like he's won this round. "Just tell me when"

The tension cuts like the storm that's just formed outside.

"You should stay over, Joel" your dad offers when he takes a peak at the climate, "it's too dangerous outside"

Joel seems indestructible, like not even a snow blizzard could pierce through the rough old man. But he agrees, much to your dismay.

It's probably midnight already, and all you've done is toss around the bed. Nick peacefully snores next to you, and you envy how easily he falls asleep. You've always find it hard to sleep, the nighttime plagued with too many loud thoughts that fill the silence.

You get up carefully, heading downstairs for some water. You sip with tranquility when a noise jolts you from your sit.

The wooden floor creaks, making you aware you're not alone anymore.

"Can't sleep?"

You don't answer, seeing his sturdy figure emerge from the shadows until the dim moonlight shines over his aging features. Silence settles in. Outside, the wind howls, bumping against the windows with violence, like your heart does now against your chest.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"There's nothing to talk" cuts your response through the thick tension, the air suddenly suffocating.

You take another sip, but the tremble of your hand doesn't go unnoticed by Miller.

"Right" Joel sits next to you, on the kitchen island. "Won't even look at me, sugar? You've got eyes" his voice drops, "use 'em"

"What are you doing, Joel?" you ask looking at him, tears threatening to spill, making your bright eyes shimmer with pain.

He gets up abruptly, like he's woken up from a trance. He's seen his own pain on your eyes, and he hates it.

"Joel?" you ask again, demanding but softly.

He can't answer. Instead, he leaves.

"Goodnight, y/n" voice raw, many emotions boiling, hidden on the inside. It hurts.

If you hadn't changed, Joel too stayed the same.

A goddamn coward.

Two days have passed since, and now it's Christmas Eve.

You kneel, putting the presents under the tree. Normally, your parents would have much more people around for the holidays, but thanks to the storm, it's just them, Nick, Joel and you.

"I'm gonna miss Mrs. Stone's cookies" you pout, "I wish she could be here"

"It's a big loss for tonight" your dad sighs. "Next time, yeah? Christmas will come again faster than you think"

You nod, still absent as he walks away.

"Hey" Joel pops up behind, seemingly from nowhere.

"Hey" you reply, voice laced with tiredness just at the sight of him. How will you manage to survive until New Year's? You have no idea, the task harder if he's staying in the same house as you are.

"Put this in there, will ya'?"

He hands you a box, neatly wrapped up. What stands out the most is the silver bow on top. Your stomach drops: it's your favorite color.

"Y-yeah" you stammer. When the present falls in your hands, you notice it looks like Joel did it himself.

"Didn't know you were capable of nice things" you whisper. There's no anger in your voice, only loss.

"I'm trying" is what he says, before leaving you alone. Until then, you realize he had been touching you, the skin where his hand was on your shoulder burning.

Dinner goes by swiftly, conversation flowing easily courtesy of Nick and your father, who both have in common the love for talking. It may be your brain messing with you, but his eyes never leave you, fixated on your every move, savoring when your lips open and take a bite; when you lick them afterwards, salt in your mouth he'd love to take off in a movement of his tongue. The ghost of your lips haunts him, cruelly playing with his yearning now that he's got you across the table. It's a few centimeters, really, but it feels like you're miles away: and it's his fault. You're no longer his, and he's reminded of it every time your boyfriend kisses what he once had.

Now it's time to open the presents, and you excitedly raise your hand to go first.

"Alright, sweetheart. You know I can't deny you anything" your father beams, "go ahead. Choose any present you'd like to open first"

Joel's eyes are on you, and you know he's desperately waiting for you to open his first. Maybe partly in courage, maybe partly in fear, but you choose Nick's first: something safe to start with.

"That's mine!" he chirps, and Joel mockingly imitates his kid-like joy under his breath.

You unwrap the present, finding a small box inside.

"Please, don't be another box" you joke, and he laughs.

"You think that low of me? Please"

You keep unwrapping and find a bag. The bag has a small tag that reads: Gotcha.

"Nick! God, you're so corny" you tease as you open the bag. Inside, there's a velvet box, and by the looks of it, you can tell it's jewelry. You gasp, pulling out a silver charm tied to a silver thin chain: it's a marlin fish. "Nick..."

"I know. Marlin isn't your favorite fish, but that's all I could find" you get up, wrapping him on a tight hug. Aware you've got an audience, he leans and whispers "I knew fishing was special to you, because of your dad and childhood. Maybe now" he takes it from your hands, carefully putting it around your neck, "it can also be our special thing"

Joel sees the scene unfold in front of him, his grip tight on the cloth of his jeans until it's white. His jaw clenches at the affection display; all he sees is red.

"What about that one?" your mom points out Joel's present. A pit of nerves forms in your stomach. "I don't remember seeing it there"

Before you can grab it, your dad moves faster, examining the box on his hands.

"It's Joel's" he makes a pause, "for y/n"

You pretend to be shocked, and you can tell Nick tenses at your side.

"You didn't tell me you were close"

"Used to" you correct quickly, despite the knot on your throat. "Not anymore"

"He still got you a present, though"

You don't get to answer because your dad leaves the box on your lap.

"Open it" it's soft but feels threathing for some reason, "I'm curious"

Joel's resting hands tremble as much as yours while you open the present. You reveal the simple white box under the wrap, opening it up.

Your voice comes out shaky as you call his name. And he can see it: the muffled laughters on the shed, the warmth of the cabin's fire, the fogged up windows of his car, the bruises on your tits and that voice, so vulnerable, he can see you on his porch, saying those three words that terrified him so much, his solution was breaking your heart.

"What is it?" your dad asks.

"It's a scarf" the fabric tickles your fingers that wander through the loose strands.

You remember it all too well.

"Oh, it's vintage!" your mom comments when she sees the worn-out aspect.

But just as your affair with Joel, you keep the secret of it's real owner.

"It's perfect" you mutter, remembering better times: ones where he'd wrap the scarf colored as the leaves on the ground around your neck, covering bruises he'd just made while you joked you'd steal it, and Joel would say he'd just let you, that it looked better on you anyway.

You've forgotten the good, so used to thinking of Joel at your worst, like a punishment to endure and sink your shipwreck even deeper. You felt lost, replaying memories that seemed stuck on a loop. Since last december, all you've known is pain; creeping up through the cracks in your fleeting happiness, one you've tried to find to no avail. One day, past the curses and cries, maybe there'll be happiness. But as for now, that day seems terribly far.

As he sees your teary gaze, Joel often wonders were it went wrong. When did hurt was all you had for him in that gaze of yours he can't bare to look that long, not before he's reliving all those seasons by your side, replaying his footsteps on the snow, grass, water and fallen leaves, trying to find the one where it all went wrong. The torture he now wears like a second skin, his agony painted words addressed to the fire of a house that feels so empty and alone.

"We should continue" your dad speaks over the silence, "there are still many presents left"

The night moves slowly, and the scarf you've chosen to wear is now suffocating around your neck. But you can't take it off. This is the closest you've been to Joel on a year; it still smells like him. As the presents run out, you excuse yourself early to bed, only to wake up again in the middle of the night. You want to pee, so you exit your room and walk to the bathroom, your bare feet against the cold wood sending shivers down your spine that only seem to augment when you walk past his door, next to the bathroom. After being done, you splash some water on your face, as if that would make some sense get to you.

"What are you doing?" you ask yourself in the mirror. Your tired reflection stares back at you, in silence.

You open the door, ready to go back to bed when a hand covers your mouth and shoves you inside.

"Don't scream" your cries go muffled against his hand, the calloused digits pressing against your soft skin, "wanna wake 'em up?"

You shake your head, so he lets your mouth free.

"Joel" you call out, but he's facing the door, his back all you see. No sound can be heard, aside from his uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry" he says, and then you hear the small click of the door's lock.

"What the hell?"

This time, he faces you, but his movements are so quick you don't register his lips on yours until it's too late. He kisses you like a starved man who hasn't had a meal in years, eating you out while your body acts up on it's own, the urgency embarrasing even.

"No" you pull back. Your mind screams in guilt at how much you want this, and that's all you can hear aside from his ragged breaths.

"No?"

"It isn't fair"

"To lover boy out there?" he teases, "I know he ain't treating you right, or ya' wouldn't look me the way ya' do"

"Don't, Joel" your tone is icy, "Nick treats me better than you ever could"

He laughs, darkly. "You know I ain't meant that" he corners you against the sink, the material cold against your bare legs; you don't sleep with nothing but an oversized t-shirt, despite the weather.

"Riddle me this, sugar: if he treats you so well, why are you so fucking wet?"

Your heart beats so fast you fear you'll die. He gets closer, his hot breathe prickling against your ear.

"It takes a man to please a woman" he tucks a loose strand behind your ear, "and I ain't leaving my baby displeased"

His fingers pull down the panties until your clit is exposed.

"Look at 'er" he traces a teasing finger over the puffy skin, coated on your slick "missed me, didn't she? Gonna treat 'er so good, she won't ever feel lonely again"

He softly kisses your neck, the trepidation and regret tying your stomach in knots.

Joel teases your needy core with his finger.

"Tell you somethin', sugar" Joel finds it hard to hide his adoration, "I missed 'er too"

He stares into your eyes while pushing two rough fingers inside your cunt. You bite your lip, holding back your moans.

"Need summ help?" he kisses you roughly, smirking when he feels your shaky breath against his lips. He pushes them in and out faster, making your walls squeeze tightly around his fingers.

"Did he ever have you comin' this fast? I'ont think so" he whispers against your neck. You whisper his name through labored breaths, making a smug smile adorn his features. "Good girl"

He proceeds to kneel down, despite the creak of his bones. You see him leave a trail of kisses down your thighs, your legs opening wider in response. His tongue gives rapid flickers against your sensitive bud, aware of the lack of time. He slurps the pulsing cunt, his head moving back and forth while he sucks, coating his moustache on your juices. Joel goes back to the quick movements, tongue knowing your spots and twisting fingers as aid, causing your back to arch.

"Fuck" you curse as you come, gripping the sink a bit too tight.

Joel then pulls away and places his fingers coated in your arousal in his mouth and licks them. He sees the obscene display in the fogged mirror, satisfied.

"Goodnight, sugar" Joel bids goodbye like it's nothing, kissing your lips that taste like you. "Still as sweet as ever"

It's New Year's Eve.

"You're leaving?" you sound so sad, Joel can't help but scoff. In the end, he'd stayed long after the storm had passed, your father arguing holidays weren't meant to be spent alone. So he stayed.

And now, Nick is leaving.

"I'm sorry" he apologizes for the millionth time, "but granny is sick. I don't know if she'll make it another year, so say the doctors. I would love to stay, really, but I have to be with her"

You understand, having lost your grandad years ago. But that doesn't mean you're okay with it: Nick leaving means a clear path for Joel, who didn't stop with him sleeping next room, and certainly won't now, despite not having interacted with you since he ate you out on the bathroom.

He pulls you into a long hug and a kiss that doesn't feel the same anymore. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah" you nod, "I'll miss you though"

"Well, I'll be all yours when you get back"

You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"See you, y/n. I love you"

Your lips purse after you utter those three words back.

Later at night, the house is filled with guests. The lively environment is restored, and you feel less confined to Joel's claws, so many faces to speak and distract yourself with, compared to Christmas and the past couple of days. You clutch the marlin charm tightly, mind busy wandering to places it shouldn't. Joel stares at you from across the room, eyes trained on you as he sips his drink calmly, like he's won; you don't know why he's keeping score if he already knows it. You wander off to the kitchen, and Joel follows you.

"You have to stop" you speak as soon as he enters, aware he would follow you.

"I ain't do shit"

You turn around, facing him. "Bullshit, Joel"

"Tell me, what'd I do?" he comes closer, and despite your erratic heart and fear, you stay still; challenging.

"You did this, Joel" his expression falters for a second, the weight of last december's crimes dawning on him. "Don't try to make me feel guilty"

"I ain't. That wasn't your fault" he sighs, breath dragging long like a cigarrette. "But this" he motions with his hands the reduced distance, "this it is"

Your breath hitches.

"We can't keep doing this, Joel. Nick doesn't deserve it"

He pins you against the counter with force, gripping the skin of your wrists until you're sure you'll get a bruise. Joel's eyes darken at the thought of your frail and soft body under his rough figure and belly, his strength and your weakness making the job of putting you under his will, so much easier.

"Don't say his name" he whispers, his breath laced with alcohol, "he ain't here anymore. Ain't nothing to stop me now, right, sugar?" Joel purrs as he steps towards you, taking your face in his hands before starting a heated kiss, making you stumble.

This was so wrong, but it felt so right, the missing pieces falling like dominoes.

He was your pain divine: you needed his hurt to bleed and feel alive again. Maybe the red of the blood and the blue of your sadness could paint your darkest grey skies with a happiness you've craved since you lost him.

"Tell me to stop" Joel whispers, tempting like a devil as he kisses down your neck, littering it with hickeys.

"Don't"

Next thing you know, you're excusing yourself upstairs and then Joel goes missing too, both inside of your bedroom.

Your dress was the first thing to go.

"Wear it for me?" you're about to answer, lips pursing, but he cuts you off, "and don't lie, sugar. Don't get too used to the bad girl schtick"

"I only wore this dress so you could take it off"

He kisses you desperately, legs wrapped around his waist while he carries you to bed, and the memories of your first flood you as he drops you down to your back, watching the way you bounce. He has you just like he wanted: moaning his name while he leaves tender kisses on the soft bare flesh.

"Joel-" you gasp. Despite the chatter downstairs and music, you try to remain low as he wraps his lips around your nipples. He then moves to your breasts, covering them with his kisses and hickeys. He hadn't touched a woman ever since you left, the feeling of the rosy innocent skin on his rough teeth making him loose all common sense, the real thing even better than what he would try to conjure when he fucked himself in the bathroom at the memory of you.

He groans when he feels your hands roaming over his back, nails digging on the scarred skin.

"Someone's eager" he teases, seeing your damp underwear. "Is this 'cause of me?" you don't answer, too busy removing the cloth, only for his strong fingers to grab you and stop you. "Don't be shy, answer baby. We got a whole new year, yeah?"

"I need you Joel" you whine, not laughing at the joke "cut the crap"

He pushes you gently back down to the bed. "So needy sugar, want me to help ya'?"

You eagerly nod, making him laugh. But there's no mock, only love behind the sound.

"Will you let this old man take care of ya', pretty baby? Just use your words, and I'll be all y'rs"

"Do it, Joel. Just do it"

You gasp as your folds begin to be prodded open by the fat head of Joel's cock. You curse, feeling him push in just the tip, the sweet burn of your walls welcoming his size making you grab his arms that stand at the sides of your body, caging you in.

His tummy pushes against your stomach as he adjusts himself, his weight sinking your body on the creaking matress.

"'S just the tip, ready for the whole thing?"

You needed him, all of him.

"Yes, Joel. I want you" You say and he pushes in slowly, feeling his cock fill up every empty space that craved for him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as his hips roll back pulling out about halfway before rocking back in. His sloppy thrusts pick up a familiar pace that makes you moan and beg for more, head falling against the sheets as his pace speds up until he's fucking you senseless.

Joel's brain goes blank at the sight of you creaming on his dick and the obscene sounds leaving your pretty mouth. Did he really give this up? He'd definitely go back in time and slap the fuck out of his past self, because there is simply nothing better than having you under him, screaming his name like that's all you can ever say.

"Does he fuck you like this, huh?" Joel angles his hips, resuming his brutal pace. Your body jolts with each snap. "Is he enough for you?"

"Yes" his stomach drops, dark eyes now hesitant, "but he isn't you"

He pushes himself back in, your eyes fluttering shut almost immediately.

"Tell me you'll leave him, y/n. Look me in the eyes and tell me who ya' really belong to"

Your eyes snap open at the possesiveness clashed with jealousy that drips from his sweat-soaked lips.

The confession falls easily, as meant to be. "Yours, Joel. Always was and will be"

He could cum just at the sight of your loving doe eyes.

Downstairs, the countdown begins, but in your room, all you can hear are his soft groans and your pathetic whimpers, and if the people would stop shouting, you could probably hear the squelch of your dripping cunt sucking in his girth with each thrust.

After a few more erratic thrusts, you feel his warm cum fill you up. Joel was always obsessed with how his cum seeped out of you and around his cock. Without thinking, his rough fingers push deep in you, making you yelp as he makes sure he isn't wasting a drop behind.

The countdown ends, and fireworks erupt outside as your head rests on the crook of his sweat covered neck.

"I love ya', sugar" those words you thought you imagined that one time, now real, so goddamn real his voice quivers and eyes get tearful with grief, "'S okay if ya' don't say it. I just wanted you to hear 'em. 'M just tired of wastin' my time"

He wraps your lips with his with tenderness you had only dreamed of. There is still a lot to talk and heal, but this time, his arms hold you like a promise. And you let yourself believe it.

Y/n's New Years' purposes: 1. Break up with Nick 2. Try to explain this seasonal mess to mom and dad 3. At last, try to be happy

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 (𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖!!) ❞

❝ PROF. GETO IS SO HOT AND NOW HE’S YOUR HUSBAND!! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (extra credit fic for prof geto series) (can be read as a standalone!!)

✧ summary: you visit your family at home, spending the night in your childhood room, and after teasing suguru all morning, your husband decides he can't wait a moment longer to have you.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut , fluff, but also angst depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader was a grad student (now a professor), but age is vague, childhood room sex, semi-exhibitionism, fingering (f! receiving) sex (p in v), creampie, discussion of having kids, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, fanart by @ / polariae

✧ w/c: 2,395

“So this is your childhood room?” Suguru enters your room, glancing around, lips curling at the plushes and posters lining your shelves and walls, a collection of memories of a you he didn’t know, but one that grew into the person that he loved. He could see the pieces of you scattered about the room — and his eyes found the bookshelf tucked into the corner of the room. 

“Yeah we’ll be staying here during our visit,” you sigh, setting down your bag, before sitting on the edge of the bed, “they set up the air mattress for you but I think we can share my twin bed,” 

He tilted his head, “I suppose if I don’t mind curling up or letting my feet dangle,” and you press yourself to his side. 

“But it’s all worth it to have your wife by your side right?” His lips can’t help but curl widely at the title 

“I feel I have to remind you that you have been my wife for two years now and you can’t keep using that card,” and yet his arms slip around your middle, “but I can’t complain when I have such a pretty wife,” 

“Just pretty?” You’re climbing onto his lap, not missing the way his body tensed deliciously at your weight,  a slight pout on your lips, “come on, Professor, you can do better than that,” 

“You’re right,” his hand drag down your sides, squeezing at your hips, “beautiful,” he kisses the swell of your cheek, “ethereal,” his lips trail to the tip of your nose, “brilliant,” his lips chart a course down your jaw, “achingly desirable,” and you’re cupping his cheek. 

“Sure you’re not describing yourself?” And he’s snorting, right as you press a kiss to his lips, and you realize it’s been far too long since you’ve kissed him last, almost two hours in fact from the time the two of you had sat down to dinner with your family — and that was an eternity you didn’t want to relive. 

And neither did he from the way he kissed you again and again and again. 

“I’d never describe anyone but my wife like that,” he murmurs, “and how can you compare me, a mere human, to a goddess?” 

And your laugh is swallowed by his lips again, until he’s retreating his kisses down your jaw and neck, “and how do you plan to please your goddess?” 

His teeth graze the soft skin of your neck, drawing a small gasp from your lips, his fingers slipping under the t-shirt you had stolen from him this morning to wear on the ride over, “Oh the way I always do,” a rumble rasp of a voice that makes heat spread from his touch, “by worshiping every inch of her, offering my praises on my knees, and giving myself to her at the altar,” 

“We already had our business done at the altar,” and he laughs, shaking his head, fingers finding yours to lace with his. 

“Every day I’ll marry you over and over, Princess, if that means you’ll be mine,” 

“I think I was yours from the moment you told me I was late,” 

“If that means I was the object of your hatred,” and you chuckle, your other hand finding purchase on his shoulder, as you lean closer to him, noses bumping. 

“Well, some say hatred is a thin line to love,” 

“Then ours might as well have been non-existent,” and his lips find yours again, eroding your quick reply with the warmth of his touch flooding your every sense. Hands slide down your sides, squeezing teasingly, as his lips curl as he muffle your delightful noises, “because I think I was in love with you from the moment I saw you too,” he parts your lips only to speak, and to see the ruins he had left your perfect lips in, puffy and bitten red. 

“Even when I pestered you with questions about my papers,” he drags his thumb down your lips, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Especially then,” and it’s not a second before your lips find his again, sliding against his own, and he’s becoming unsatisfied with only your kisses, even he wants to have every inch of you — as he always does. 

He’s pressing you against your creaky mattress, springs groaning under your combined weight, and nearly screaming as the two of you shifted into place, “Sugu, we can’t,” you murmur, “someone could hear us,” 

And it was late at this point — a late dinner needed after they got in after 11:00 PM, and everyone had gone to bed, but still, the other rooms were only a door or two down. But still his lips are insistent, peppering kisses along your collarbone, as his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt. 

“We can be quiet,” he murmurs, in your ear, “I’ll go slow, no one will hear,” and he didn’t hide his need well, not that he was trying to — he had desperate for you since you had stolen that shirt of his, so much so that the two of you nearly ended up leaving late, since he had pinned you to the entryway wall right beside the door. You had convinced him to wait, slipping from his grasp, despite your already crumbling defenses to the hot embrace of his need. 

And you were far too gone by the dulcet words murmured in your ear, erasing all forms of logical thoughts from your brain, “fuck,” you murmur under your breath, “if we get caught—“ 

And his fingers are already slipping under your shirt, a gasp parting with lips as he finds bare skin underneath, warming you with his touch, as he rolls your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, “what will happen if we get caught? Will you punish me sweetheart?” His words are hot against your skin, lips grazing the shell of your ear, before pressing a sweet kiss against the soft spot behind it, “I’d like that, so would it be much of a punishment at all?” And he squeezes at your soft flesh before dragging his hand downwards to the button of your jeans. 

“Sugu—“ you warn, and he’s undoing the button of your jeans deftly, tugging them down around your ankles, and it’s only a moment before his thumb teases you through your drenched fabric, “ngh, don’t tease me—“ 

“How can I not when it’s so easy to do, sweetheart?” And his other palm drags down your waist to the swell of your hip and tugs at the elastic of your lacy panties snapping it against your skin, another yelp escaping your lips, “you always make such pretty noises, wife,” and the term makes your cunt ache for him, and it doesn’t go unnoticed, lips pressed to your neck curling in a smirk, “like it when I call you my wife? Because you are. My perfect, pretty wife,” 

And he presses closer to you, hips flush against your ass, as you feel his bulge rub against you through the fabric of his slacks, “I need more,” you whine, and his chuckle makes you shiver. 

“So eager, as always,” his fingers drag your underwear down to join your pants, “even when I’m about to fuck you in your childhood bed,” he circles  he sinks a finger into your needy cunt, swallowing it whole as he swallows the moan that leaves you with his lips, “can’t be too eager baby, I have to loosen you up first,” 

He slowly finger fucks you, the wet squelch so loud in the quiet silence of your bedroom, you would beg him to stop if you didn’t want more — and from the way your juices dripped down his knuckles to his wrists, your cunt wanted more too. 

“Such a good girl f’me,” he murmurs, “I think your parents really like me, the model son-in-law,” he adds another finger, but your walls only beg him to stay as he pumps them in and out, “but what would they think if they heard me fuck you open like this?” 

And he only wishes he could see your face, he knows from the telltale flutter of your walls, you’re growing close to release, and he could see your lovely lips parted for him, eyes blown out in pleasure or squeezed shut, and your face the epitome of ecstasy — but the soft pants that left your lips were good enough. 

“Sugu, I’m close—“ and you’re only whining louder when he pulls his fingers from you, your body arching into his, desparate for his touch, for friction, for anything — but he only licks his fingers clean with a pop, “fuck, please—“ 

You hear fabric rustle until you feel him tease your dripping entrance with the tip of his leaking cock, “Want it that bad, sweetheart? Need to cum?” And you know his lips are curled in that annoyingly smug smirk of his, “a little frustrated?” 

And you know he was toying you, if only to repay you for this morning with this delicious torture — your husband was a brilliant man, but as cruel with his touch as he was with his red pen. 

“Baby,” you cry, and he’s clicking his tongue, “please—“ 

“Don’t be so loud, someone could hear us, remember?” And your cunt is begging, warmth trying to welcome him even as he pulls his tip away, “would you like that? Can you be quiet for me?” And you’re nodding, a whimper leaving your throat, and finally he sinks into you, inch by inch as his fingers drag down your tongue, “good girl,”

“Sugu,” he filled you so well, stretching your cunt with his girth and sending delicious pleasure up your spine, pulsing inside as it dragged inside your sweet walls, “need more—“ 

And he begins to rock into you, bed squeaking traitorously as his hands drag down your front, as the slaps of your skin filled the silence of the room, and your eyes squeezed shut as if that would help you keep this dirty secret in the midst of the night. 

“Wonder if you ever thought you’d fuck your husband on this bed one day,” he kisses your neck, drawing the back of your fingers against your cheek, as his dick missed placed he only wished he could reach with his tongue, wet warmth beckoning him deeper and deeper, “if we’d make a baby in the very bed you spent growing up into the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known,” and fuck, he wasn’t making it easier to stay quiet, loud whimpers and moans muffled against his fingers that your spit dripped down of. 

And then you hear a door creak nearby, and he freezes, the moan of the floorboards as someone walked by making you tense, your pussy a vice grip around his cock, and he couldn’t resist fucking you. His hips piston against you harshly, and you nearly bite his fingers as a gasp works your way from your leaping chest. 

“Careful, baby, someone might hear us, hear you whining and begging for me to fuck you harder, and how would that look? A wife so needy for her husband’s cock?” And he’s snapping his hips rougher making it nearly impossible for you to stay quiet as he no longer cares who hears — as long as he can make you both cum. 

You’re pulling his fingers from your mouth, “s’close, Sugu, I can’t—“ and god, it’s nearly enough for him to cum then and there, but no, no, he has to make you cum first — need to feel your juices drench his cock before he cums inside. 

He’s reaching down, right where his cock is thrusting inside to rub at your needy clit, “cum on my cock, sweetheart, need to feel your pretty pussy cum—“ 

And you do as he says with a cry of his name that he muffled with his lips, fucking you hard through your orgasm, the sounds white noise to you both now — the wet squelch of your cunt was too much, too good, and his balls tense, all too ready to cum. 

You part from his lips only to whisper between gasps, “Cum inside, Suguru, fill me, please,” and your words send over the edge with you, notching his cock deep, as he finally comes undone, hot release painting your walls white, as he moans your name in your ear. 

He’s fucking his cum deeper as his hips stutter against you, slowing, as he finally stills, the bed ceasing its groaning as both of your quiet pants fill the silence. Bodies sticky, he pulls out of you, groaning as he watches his cum spill from inside you, as he grabs a towel from his nearby suitcase to clean the both of you up. 

He presses sweet kisses to your neck, “you okay baby?” 

And he knows you’re pouting even before you start speaking, “If anything heard us, I’ll—“ 

He laughs, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “You’ll what? You love me too much to hurt me,” 

“I do, but I can tease you myself, as you know, far better than you can,” you turn to face him, your lips ghosting over his jaw while your fingers drew circles on his chest, “student has far surpassed her teacher on that front,” 

“On every front,” and you roll your eyes, “I mean it, Princess,” 

“I know you do,” you murmur, “which is why I guess you’re so desperate to have a baby with me,” and he flushes, and not from exertion, gaze shying away, “but lucky for you, I am too,” and his eyes snap to yours. 

“You—“ 

“We’ve discussed it before, Suguru,” your fingers trace his jaw, nuzzling his cheek, “we’re settled in our careers now, we bought our house. We’ve been married for two years now — do you want to?” 

His eyes shine impossibly, even in the dim moonlight filtering in from the window, “there’s nothing I want more than to have kids with you, Princess, but are you sure? It’s a much bigger decision for you than for me, it’s your body,” 

“But it’s our child,” you smile, “and I know you’ll be making it up to me for the rest of our lives,” 

“Don’t know if I’ll be able to ever make it up to you for everything you do for me,” Suguru presses his forehead to yours, “but I’ll spend my whole life trying.” 

✧ a/n: ahhh i've teased this fic for so long, it makes me so happy to write this!!! honestly i've had horrible writer's block and writing these two are always so easy and such a joy for me :). i hope you guys enjoy <3

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @difficultdomains, @diogodxlot, @that-goth-bisexual, @dazailover1900, @aliyalala @ashhlsstuff , @blue041803 , @mwtsxri i , @bblgumfairy , @sukunasleftkneecap , @xo-evangeline , @fiannee , @teatreeoilll , @chalametet , @ryukaver , @d1gitalbathh , @saga3ious , @seventhcinema , @satosugucide , @your-l0nely-star , @sokkasmoon , @deegausserr , @hyookka , @oggsyy , @littlebitb , @higuchislut , @ti-mame , @itoshisins , @cerene-dipity , @onionsoop , @sinlillith , @izzythenaive , @lalacute03 , @rxndou , @c-themoon , @xxrag-d0llxx , @hqtoge , @sugarxlumps , @hopeluna , @actualdeemon , @enchantedpendant , @serendididy , @soulstealercat , @neuviloved , @simply-a-s1mp , @satorusmochis , @lalacute03 , @sugurora

[pierregazly]

simply a joke ꨄ lewis hamilton

lewis hamilton x assistant!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), lewis was pining and reader was oblivious [1.6k words]

request: 🌶 I would request for Lewis Hamilton and [20. “I’m gonna fuck you so good you forget all about that bastard.”]

The bill was placed down on the table, the waitress giving you a sympathetic look as she openly asked whether it would be cash or card.

“You don’t mind paying right? I’ll forward you the money, just forgot my wallet of course, such a lapse of memory sometimes,” he said, an arrogant smirk on your blind date’s face while he waited for your response.

Humming in acknowledgement, you muttered that it would be on card to the waitress. 

You didn’t give him much of a chance to say anything further, bidding him a farewell the moment the bill was paid, and a denial to a second date. The shock on his face made your smile grow when you whirled around, making the trek towards your car while you contemplated how your life had even got to this point.

A quick text sent off to the only person you actually wanted to see was met with an easy ‘I’ll leave the door unlocked, see you soon’, prompting you to direct your car in the opposite direction of your own home.

Lewis was always happy to have you over, saying more than once you may as well just move in with him with how often you were there anyways. Always shrugging the comment off, you would just laugh and remind him the two of you see each other enough during the week and that you were pretty sure Mercedes would be unhappy with a driver and his team-assigned assistant living together.

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what they would want, actually? Full access for both of us, love,” Lewis practically had the response memorized, a shove to his shoulder the only answer he ever received to it.

Huffing as you flopped down on the couch next to the Brit, Lewis quirked a questioning eyebrow at you, silently imploring as to what could possibly be creating your current set of emotions.

“I’ve just come back from a date, what an absolute nightmare, Lew. I’ve never met someone who managed to talk about themselves more than that guy. Don’t think I even got a word in,” you complained.

A small chuckle fell from Lewis’ lips, his hand gently patting your knee with a sympathetic expression falling across his face.

“Like… am I the problem, Lew? Be honest, because I’m going insane here, I don’t think I’ve even had sex in months. I genuinely think I’m on the verge of insanity,” you said, practically begging for a response from the Brit.

Huffing, Lewis turned his gaze onto you. Looking you up and down, you felt yourself heat under his gaze. You would never admit it aloud, but you couldn’t deny that the Mercedes driver was borderline gorgeous. 

“I think if all you’re looking for is sex, going on a date in the outfit you’re wearing right now… well it’s not doing you any favours, really.”

Pouting at him, you looked down at your outfit while trying to decipher what was wrong with it.

He continued, “before you start, there’s nothing wrong with the outfit. You look gorgeous, really. But you’ve got the buttons up all the way to the top, the pants aren’t formfitting at all, and you’ve got incredible legs, you just refuse to wear shoes that accentuate them. You’re dressed like you’re going to a business meeting, not like you’re going on a date with the intention of being taken home after.”

He emphasized his words by coming closer, flicking open the top four buttons, allowing the top of your breasts to peak through, the lacy bra you were wearing visible to the open-eye. 

“You don’t get it, Lew. Sure, I could wear a shirt that shows off my breasts, pants that accentuate my ass… but I don’t just want sex. Sure, yes, I want sex… but I want to be taken seriously, I want to be taken on a real date and actually enjoy myself.”

“I could give you both, but you keep denying my offer,” he shrugged his shoulders, turning his attention back towards the television.

Trying to wrap your mind around his words, “You act like your offer is ever serious, Lew. We both know it’s a joke.”

“You’re the one who says it’s a joke and that I’m not being serious. Not sure what else I’m really meant to say that’s going to make you believe me, love,” he said.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He had been making jokes like this for years. It was easy to assume they were comments he made with everyone, his personality naturally flirtatious.

Your body moved on instinct, pressing yourself closer to him as you contemplated your next words.

“Can I kiss you, then?”

He didn’t give a response before he was pressing his lips to yours, his hand instantly pressing to the back of your neck, tugging you closer to his body. His lips were soft, his tongue wet as it pressed gently at your lips, begging for an entrance. 

A soft moan fell from your mouth when Lewis pulled your body on top of his, your legs encircling his waist. You ground your core against his, a rumble of a groan falling from Lewis’ own lips, his head falling back against the couch behind him.

“God, baby. I’m gonna fuck you so good you forget all about that bastard, about fucking all of them, I swear.”

The whimper that fell from your lips was unintentional, your body subconsciously grinding down against the hardness growing between his legs; the pit in your stomach growing, the desire for him so prevalent in your actions.

You had never realized how much you truly wanted this, how much you wanted those comments you thought to be jokes, to be real.

“That better not be a joke, Lew,” you moaned, his lips pressing to your neck as he guided your hips back and forth over his lap. 

You felt your back hit the couch, Lewis’ body crawling over top of yours as he began kissing down your body. The buttons on your shirt having come undone at some point making it easier for the Brit to continue his ministrations across your skin.

Looking up at you imploringly, his tattoo-covered hand tugged gently at the waistband of your pants, a silent question in his eyes. You nodded eagerly, lifting your hips slightly so he could tug the offending material off.

He lightly nipped at your hip, pressing a kiss to sooth the heated skin before continuing his actions to the other side. Small love bites, kisses, short presses of his tongue to your skin as he continued to move down your body. Lifting a leg to press a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh, you moaned at the action.

It didn’t take long for your panties to join the discarded pants, his eyes hungrily taking in the display. You couldn’t help the self-conscious thoughts, your legs instinctively closing around his body. 

“Nuh-uh, none of that, pretty girl,” he said, his hands pushing your legs open.

A finger gently pressed to your core, parting your lips as he ran a finger through them, collecting the wetness that was seeping from you. A tiny whimper departed your lips as you watched Lewis bring the finger to his mouth, sucking the collected juices from the digit.

It was like watching a man possessed as he got in between your legs, your hands finding their way to his head as the first press of his tongue resonated throughout your body.

There was no surprise that he was skilled with his tongue, the same way he was skilled with his fingers; the same way he was skilled when he put his mind to anything else he desired success in.

His fingers moved in tandem with his tongue, pressing against the spot inside your core that had you practically keening for him, your hips pressing up against his face; the only thing keeping his mouth from drowning in your wetness was the hand he had pressed to your pelvis, pushing you back down against the bed.

A loud moan fell from your lips as Lewis sucked at your clit, a third finger joining the other two inside you, a squelching sound vibrating throughout the living space as you felt yourself hit your peak.

Your orgasm crashed through you, your legs shaking as Lewis’ fingers and tongue slowed down, allowing you to ride out your orgasm. Your head was still thrown back when you heard the sound of more clothes hitting the floor, your eyes peaking open to a view that had your mouth practically watering.

It was common knowledge that Lewis was an incredible sight. From his hardened muscles, to the pops of ink that covered his body, everyone knew he was gorgeous. But his cock? All you wanted to do was wrap your lips around it, which in time, you knew you’d be able to.

But for now? All Lewis wanted to do was press inside you, feel the way your walls pulled him in, the way your wetness coated him, the way you’d stretch so lovely around him.

“On your knees, pretty girl. I wanna’ see this lovely arse when I push inside you for the first time, been thinking about it lots.”

You were quick to do as he demanded, flipping your body over so you were on your knees, resting on your elbows as you felt the couch dip behind you.

A low whimper fell from your lips as you felt him run his length through your wetness, coating his cock in your juices before pressing the tip inside. The stretch was delicious, your body pushing back against his, begging for more.

Obliging, his entire length pushed forward, your lips wrapping around him, the wetness dripping from your core making it easier for him to slide inside.

“Gonna fuck you so good, make you never wanna leave, baby. Can’t wait to feel you cum all over my cock, been wanting to feel that for ages,” he whispered in your ear, biting at the lobe as he pulled away.

Moans and grunts fell from your lips with every thrust of his hips, his body seeking the release he knew yours could give him. The way he made you feel, the feelings his body evoked from yours; it made you insatiable, made you crave the feeling more and more. Made you regret ever believing his comments were simply a joke.

anyways. i got carried away. please enjoy (reader has a hand kink specifically for lewis as i also do sorry!!! bye!!!)

[nhlclover]

SECRET SANTA QUINN HUGHES

— event masterlist !

pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes

summary: during a christmas party, an unexpected gift rekindles a cherished memory and leads to a heartfelt confession under the quiet glow of city lights.

warnings: brief mention of a grandparent passing, brief mention of alcohol, fluff

wc: 1.28k

notes: piece number eight of my xmas event! this is the locket i'm describing if you're curious!

Twinkling string lights draped around the room bathed the annual Christmas party in a warm, golden glow. The gentle hum of festive music blended with bursts of laughter and the cheerful clinking of glasses. Everyone had packed into Ava's cozy living room, ready for the chaotic yet heartfelt tradition of the Secret Santa gift exchange. Beneath the tree, a colorful heap of wrapped presents sat in a kaleidoscope of glossy paper and hastily taped edges, waiting to be unwrapped.

You sat cross-legged on the carpet, a glass of white wine in your hand, excitedly watching your friends open their gifts, attempting to guess who their Santa was, even though you’d all agreed it would remain a secret. Once everyone else had gone, a single gift remained under the tree — a neatly wrapped box tied with a satin ribbon, bearing your name. As Ava handed you the small box, the room quieted, the lighthearted teasing momentarily replaced by the collective curiosity of a dozen eyes on you.

“Open it!” someone urged, teasing grins spreading around the circle.

You slid your finger beneath the ribbon and peeled back the paper, revealing a velvet jewelry box. A strange mixture of hope and disbelief twisted in your chest. As you flipped it open, your breath caught.

Inside was a delicate gold locket, its surface engraved with intricate filigree, identical to the one you’d lost a few years ago. You froze, the room and its noise fading into a distant blur.

Your hand trembled as you lifted the locket, the weight of it familiar, a bittersweet rush of memories washing over you. The locket your grandmother had given you, a relic of her love and warmth, had vanished when you’d moved to Vancouver. You’d mourned its loss quietly, never expecting to see it — or anything like it — again.

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. The voices around you blurred into a hum.

“Whoa,” someone said. “That’s… way over budget.”

“Whoever got you that wins Secret Santa for life.”

“Any guesses who it was?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your gaze instinctively sought Quinn across the room. He sat on a footstool, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, focusing intently on his glass. His usual easy confidence was missing as he avoided your eyes.

The party swirled on, but the locket sat heavy in your palm, its presence grounding you.

Later, after the gift exchange dissolved into the comfortable chaos of card games and too-loud music, you found Quinn on the balcony. He leaned against the railing, his breath misting in the cold air, the city lights sprawling endlessly behind him.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping out and closing the door behind you.

He turned, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. Escaping the madness?”

“Something like that.” You joined him, your shoulder brushing his lightly as you leaned on the railing.

The chill in the air pricked at your skin, but the warmth of the wine in your veins and the quiet tension between you and Quinn made the cold an afterthought. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the sounds of the city below blending with the muffled revelry inside.

“So,” you began, your voice breaking the silence, “You going home for the holidays?”

Quinn shook his head, keeping his gaze on the cityscape below. “Don’t have enough time this year. Petey’s invited me over for Christmas dinner though.”

“I’m sorry you can’t go home,” you said softly. “If it’s anything, I’m staying here too.”

“You want me to snag you an invite to Petey’s?” Quinn asked.

“You think you can get me into such an exclusive event?”

Quinn chuckled, his breath coming out in little clouds. “I’ll try and pull a few strings.”

A comfortable pause settled over the conversation before you shifted your weight, fiddling with the locket hanging around your neck. You’d put it on the moment you’d stepped away from the tree, unable to let it go. Its familiar weight felt like a piece of you had returned, something you hadn’t realized you missed so deeply.

“Thank you for the gift, by the way,” you said suddenly, turning to face him.

His brow furrowed. “Wasn’t me.”

“Oh, come on, Quinn.” You tilted your head, smiling as his protests faltered. “Don’t play coy. You’re the only one who’d know how much this means to me.”

He shrugged his shoulders, trying not to let on how much thought and effort he’d put into the gift. “It wasn’t a big deal,” he murmured, his ears tinged red despite his attempt to play it cool.

Your heart swelled as his modesty only confirmed what you already knew. “Not a big deal?” you echoed softly, lifting the locket between your fingers. “This is everything to me.”

Quinn's posture tensed, his fingers gripping the railing. You took a deep breath, the words slipping out before you could second-guess yourself. “You’re the only one who’d know about this. About what it meant when I lost it.”

Quinn’s gaze finally met yours, the vulnerability in his blue eyes mirroring the lump forming in your throat. A memory surfaced unbidden — a quiet night earlier this year, the two of you the last ones awake after a group get-together. You’d been sitting on the couch, feet tucked under you, Quinn on the floor in front of you. The conversation had turned uncharacteristically deep, buoyed by the late hour and the weight of unspoken things.

You’d confessed how your move to Vancouver hadn’t been all adventure and excitement, how you’d lost something irreplaceable in the chaos. Your grandmother’s locket, you’d told him, the one she’d clasped around your neck the summer before she passed. How losing it felt like losing her all over again. You hadn’t cried, but your voice had cracked in a way that was almost worse. Quinn had listened, his quiet presence a balm, though you’d never imagined he’d carry that moment with him.

You reached out, your hand gently resting on his bicep. “You’re the only one who cared enough to do this.”

The corner of Quinn’s mouth twitched like he was about to respond, but no words came. Instead, you leaned closer, emboldened by the weight of the moment, by the way the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. “It was you,” you whispered, the space between you growing smaller, like gravity was pulling you together. “And it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Quinn swallowed hard, his breath hitching as your lips hovered near his. You didn’t wait for him to close the gap — you did it yourself, pressing your mouth softly to his, the cold of the balcony disappearing in the warmth of the kiss.

He froze for a heartbeat before his hand came up, cupping your cheek, deepening the kiss just enough to make your chest ache. When you pulled back, breathless, his eyes searched yours, both of you caught in the glow of the moment. He laughed softly, shaking his head. “I guess I should’ve confessed a long time ago.”

“Confessed what?” you teased, though your heart raced, knowing exactly what he meant.

“That I like you. More than like you,” he admitted, his voice low, a vulnerability threading through his words.

Your grin widened, relief and happiness blooming in your chest. “Good,” you replied, brushing a hand against his cheek. “Because I’ve been waiting for you to say it.”

Inside, the party roared on, oblivious to the two of you standing beneath the soft glow of the balcony light. And as the city glittered below, Quinn pulled you close, his lips capturing yours again, as if to make up for every unspoken moment.

[spencerreidenjoyer]

MORE VIRGIN SPENCERRRRR

from the start | spencer reid x reader

Spencer's a nervous mess in your bed, but you like it.

wc: 1.7k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: puppy bf!spencer, virgin!spencer, early seasons!spencer, hookup, friends with benefits(?), dominant fem!reader, gratuitous use of petnames (baby, darling, etc. but it wouldn't be a minnie special without petnames), praise kink, cunnilingus, unprotected sex

a/n: a weird dream of mine turned into a spencer self-insert (jk) so I wrote 1.7k words just to fuel my delusion. this is also a little birthday gift from me to all of you! i've hit 1000 followers (!!!!) on this little spencer blog of mine and i am so so grateful so the only thing i can do is write spencer smut to celebrate! also this lovely anon asked for virgin spencer and I literally cannot refuse (also crossposted to ao3)

You aren’t complaining, ending up in bed with Spencer Reid again. 

You’d met at a bar, the usually shy genius (according to his friends) coming out of his shell to talk to you, and it had ended in a couple of drinks and you making out with him against the wall in the back of the bar. 

You’d brought him home, fully expecting to fuck him. You’d gotten him into your bed when he’d confessed he’d never done anything like this before, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him you could tell. Instead, you’d given him a blowjob before he fell asleep in your bed after a long week on a case. The next morning he’d bashfully woken up to breakfast, and a promise that you’d like to see him again.

“It’ll be less intimidating like this,” you pet his cheek softly, before you turn over onto your hands and knees. You notice that Spencer doesn’t move, so you turn your head to look at him. 

Spencer frowns. “I thought– I wanted to see your face.”

“You’re sweet, darling,” you chuckle. “Come on. I promise this will be easier on you for your first time. You know what to do?” 

Spencer hums, his eyes shyly looking to your rear now. You’re on display for him, thick thighs framing the wetness of your pussy. You know he can’t take his eyes off you, his inexperience obvious and extremely arousing.

Spencer had been a bumbling mess as you’d kissed him, as you’d undressed each other, his hands trembling through it. “You know you can touch me, right?” You tease, and Spencer whines rather petulantly. “Take all the time you need, baby.”

Spencer’s large hands are on you, gentle on your skin. His hands pet you rather sweetly, over your hips and thighs, before he feels the softness of your ass under his palms. You hear his shallow breathing, and feel his thumbs spread you open. His breath hitches. 

You don’t say anything, patient as you let him explore your body. He touches you with an avid curiosity, like he wants to find out about everything that makes you tick, like he wants to commit the lines and curves of your body to memory. 

His movements slow like syrup, his touch moves to your cunt, sticky with your slick. His fingers slide over your pussy; along your folds, over your leaking hole. “I’m going to…” Spencer trails off, as he presses his index finger gently to your entrance. 

You moan as your head drops between your shoulders, with Spencer sliding a curious finger inside of you. He feels around, and it feels more like a medical exam than foreplay, but Spencer’s lack of experience still turns you on extremely. Spencer’s voice is strained. “You feel so warm. You’re so tight.”

“Yeah, baby, I’m not sure if you’re goin​​g to be able to fit,” you tease playfully, smiling as you look back at him. “You’re going to have to make it fit, won’t you?”

Spencer’s eyes are wide, and he swallows nervously. “Yes– Yes, ma’am.”

“Ugh, you’re so cute– Oh!” You gasp as Spencer’s finger presses into you insistently, nudging against your spongy walls, against the spot that makes you lose your mind. “Mm, right there, fuck–”

Being eager to please, Spencer does exactly that – he keeps fingering you, slow and steady, and waits for your approval. You’re basically melting as he fucks you on his fingers, and you only remember you have a bigger plan until he whimpers. “Hmm, baby?”

“I want to- I wanna taste you,” Spencer says, and you moan as his thumb nudges at your clit.

“You- You sure you can last long enough for foreplay?” You jab, but you shudder in a moan as Spencer rubs at your swollen clit with more intention, pleased with the way he takes you apart.  

Spencer scoffs. “I think I should ask you the same.”

“Eat me out, Spencer,” you demand. Spencer just gets his head between your thighs. 

You feel his mouth on your cunt, kissing you sweetly, moaning as he tastes you. His lips are soft and plush on your skin, his lower lip massaging at your clit as he eats you out. His tongue slides over your folds, wet noises coming from his mouth as he takes his time tasting you. 

“You’re stupidly good at this,” you moan, your face buried in his pillows as you’re barely able to keep yourself propped up. The pleasure Spencer gives you courses through your veins, electric from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. You think you hear Spencer mumble a thank you, and the vibrations only make you moan even louder. 

You want to come right now, but you know it’ll be so much sweeter to orgasm when Spencer’s buried inside of you. You don’t know if he’ll be able to handle it, the hypersensitive, easily overwhelmed genius in your bed simply might lose his mind fucking you.

“Spencer, baby,” you coo. “Wanna- Need you to fuck me now, darling.”

A high whine leaves Spencer’s throat, and he’s quick to pull away from you, as fast as he’d put his mouth on you earlier. “Please! Please, I need to–”

You giggle, beckoning him to come closer to you. He leans over your frame until his face is close to yours, and you kiss him sweetly. You taste yourself on his lips, but Spencer is giddy as he kisses you back. He tries to trail after you as you pull away, and the sight is both adorable and extremely arousing. 

“You gonna fuck me good, baby?” You smile, feeling the hardness of his length pressed against your ass. 

“Yes– Yes, ma’am,” Spencer stammers, swallowing his anxieties. “Can- Can I?” 

“Please, baby,” you groan, your hand reaching behind you to grab Spencer’s cock. He whimpers as you tug as it roughly, your movements haphazard due to the angle, but you’re lining him up with your hole. “You know what to do.”

It doesn’t take much effort for Spencer to press his cock into you. There’s uncertainty in his movements, but it feels like heaven as your cunt practically swallows him in. He fills you up so perfectly, his thickness rubbing against your walls in just the right way until he’s buried to the hilt, his bony hips pressed against the fat of your ass. “Oh! That feels good, baby.”

You clench around him, relishing the feeling, and then you hear a pathetic little whine from Spencer. “Hurts,” he says, in a weak, wet voice, and you want to both coo at him and fuck his brains out. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” you soothe. “I’ll make it feel better, yeah?” 

“Please,” Spencer whimpers. “Need you.”

You lift yourself off of Spencer for a moment, pulling yourself off his cock before sinking back down on him. Spencer is big, not even knowing what he’s been gifted with when you had seen him for the first time. He fits so well inside of you, feeling so perfect as you fuck yourself on him. 

You would ask how he’s doing, but whimpers and moans liberally fall from his lips, and he’s holding onto your hips with a death grip, like he’ll lose all sense of himself if he isn’t holding onto you. His nails dig into your flesh, a delicious bite of pain through the pleasure of it all. 

“Pretty boy,” you groan. “You fill me up so good, holy fuck, oh my God–”

Spencer moans so loud your ears ring. “Feels good, so good, please–” 

“Fuck me, baby,” you gasp, your hips slowing on him. He chases after you like he can’t control himself, as he starts to thrust into you. “Yeah, just like that, baby. Fuck.”

Spencer whines again, chasing his own pleasure as he fucks into you. His hips slap against your ass hurriedly, eagerly, like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. “Fuck, oh, God–”

“You’re so deep inside of me, baby,” you groan, barely able to keep your voice steady. You reach for his hand, guiding it to splay out against your lower stomach, where his cock bulges with every thrust. He practically sobs. “You feel so good, darling.”

“Think– I’m gonna– Hhrghh– I’m not gonna last long,” Spencer finally gets the thought out, his genius clearly and understandably slashed when he’s buried in warm, wet pussy. You feel kind of proud of that. 

“Cum, baby,” you groan, not unaffected by Spencer’s eager, frantic fucking. “Inside of me.”

He lets out a pathetic little sob, one that turns you to no end, and then you feel Spencer coming inside, his load hot and messy as it paints your walls, filling you up. You clench around him at the feeling, so heady and overwhelming, and Spencer’s little whine at the pressure has you orgasming too. It’s a new kind of high, a perfect storm of pleasure filling every bone in your body. 

Spencer is warm and heavy as he half-falls on top of you, a sweetness to his movements as he rests his chin on your shoulder. His cock twitches inside of you but begins to soften. Your arms and legs feel like jelly, but you manage to coax him to lay down. His arms sling around your waist to hold you, and the position is surprisingly intimate. 

“Thank you,” he says breathlessly. You turn around in his grasp, letting Spencer’s cock slip out of you. He whines a little, but smiles when you look up at him. Spencer repeats, sounding more earnest. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, baby,” you say, smiling, and lean forward to kiss him. It’s sweet, no heat behind it as you press your lips to his. Spencer seems to appreciate the affection, his thumb tracing little circles into your hip. “You were really good. Was that good for you too?”

“Couldn’t you tell from how fast and how hard I came?” Spencer laughs, seeming a bit shy. 

You coo, your hand cupping his cheek. “Even if you did, it was extremely endearing.”

“I think you just like corrupting me or something,” Spencer smiles, quirking his eyebrow.

You shrug, a teasing grin on your lips. “Maybe I do.”

[y3sterdaysproblem]

obsessed - c.s (greedy pt. 2)

part one

summary: chris finally gets you all to himself

warnings: smut

wc: 5.8k

dividers by @issysh3ll

The following few weeks were nothing short of tense.

You barely even wanted to go by Matt’s place just for the sole reason of wanting to avoid Chris and all of the feelings that came with seeing him, always asking Matt to come to your place instead.

Your sex life with him had gone back to normal. Almost. Aside from the lingering desire for his younger brother that constantly buzzed at the surface of your skin anytime you guys were intimate and you hated to admit it but you caught yourself closing your eyes and imagining it was Chris a couple of times, having to physically shake yourself out of your daydreams.

You hadn’t seen Chris much after everything but the couple of times that you did made you feel like you were actually melting into the floor beneath you. The first time was the worst, making you want to rip your clothes off right then and there and fuck him until you were dizzy.

You had just gotten to their home, not planning on staying long, just waiting for Matt to finish up in the shower so you guys could go out, and it seemed quiet enough, not hearing his brothers creeping around the house, so you felt safe from having to interact with the one person you felt like you couldn’t handle seeing right now.

You were dressed cute, ready to enjoy a day full of date activities with your boyfriend, wearing a short, black skirt with an oversized, off the shoulder sweater, wandering around the house as you waited for Matt, grabbing and putting down random little things you found in the kitchen before you found yourself in front of the fridge, staring at all the ripped out coloring pages stuck on there with magnets, giggling to yourself at the tiny ‘By Matthew’ written in the corner of some of the pictures.

You were way too caught up in your own world to hear the quiet footsteps that approached you, only realizing you weren’t alone when you felt hands suddenly gripping your hips roughly, pulling you back into a firm chest, making you gasp.

You didn’t even have to wonder for a second who it was, the touch far too aggressive for it to be Matt. A shiver ran down your spine as you leaned into the body behind you, feeling hot breath hovering over your ear, fingers kneading into your skin like they were itching for more.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Chris growls into your ear, dropping his face to press a kiss onto your neck, slowly trailing his lips down to your exposed shoulder. You let out a small breath at the feeling, your knees instantly turning to jelly. “The way you look, the way you sound.” He pauses, bringing his lips back up your neck. “The way you taste.”

Fuck.

This is exactly what you were trying to avoid.

“I know you’re thinking about me, too. That’s why you haven’t come around, right? ‘Cuz you can’t help yourself from thinking about me.” Chris reaches his hands around your hips, slowly pulling your skirt up so he can run his fingers over the crease in the tops of your thighs, humming softly into your skin. “I’ve gotten off to the memory every single night, wishing I could have you again. Remember the girl I was talking to? I can’t even look her in the fucking eyes now because all I can think about is you on your knees with my fucking cum all over your face.”

You can’t help but let out a whimper at his words, turning around to face him, his arms still wrapped around you. His hands move to your ass now, still resting underneath the skirt so he could feel your skin. “Stop.” You tell him meekly, staring up into his eyes.

He looks down at you, eyes dark as his eyebrows twitch in confusion. “Stop what?” He asks lowly, dipping his head forward to kiss your neck again, moaning into your skin while he pulls your hips against his.

You tilt your head away from him, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Stop this,” you breathe out, hands sliding up his chest to rest there, not having it in you to push him away. “It was a one time thing, Chris.”

His fingertips grip harder against your skin, body moving forward to pin you against the fridge. “I can’t stop,” he tells you, pulling back to stare down at you again. “Now that I’ve had a taste of you, you want me to stop? I’m sorry, princess, but that’s not gonna happen.”

Your breathing is shaky as you look into his eyes, knowing he was telling the truth. You both have uncovered a part of you that would only ever be satiated with each other, even if you tried to ignore it, it would always be there, lingering in the shadows. Unless you acted on it. Which you definitely wouldn’t.

Definitely not.

“Chris,” you whisper, your faces inches closer together.

You’re dragged back down to earth by the sound of the bathroom door ripping open and the light switching off, indicating Matt was done with his shower. Your eyes widened and your hands became firm on Chris’s chest, letting him know the moment was over. He just smirked and leaned down to place a kiss on your cheek, hands squeezing your ass one more time before he pulled your skirt back down and backed away.

Matt had gone from the bathroom to his room, giving Chris ample time to scurry out of the kitchen and back downstairs to his room, leaving you completely alone and shaken up when Matt walked into your line of vision, smiling wide at the sight of you. “Hey, baby,” he greeted, walking up and placing a gentle hand on your waist, leaning in to kiss the exact same spot Chris had, the thought of that making your ears burn. “You okay?” He asks sweetly, thumb brushing over your skin under the sweater.

You look up at him and nod, forcing a smile. “Let’s go.” You tell him, and you spent the rest of the day reeling over Chris’s touch.

After that you’d mostly stayed away, unless you could run straight into Matt’s room to hide out there for the night, only seeing Chris a couple of times in passing. The few seconds that your gaze would meet, though, would still make your head spin. You felt like a little kid tasting candy for the first time and scheming to find a way to have it again. A bad little kid.

Today you were perched up in Matt’s bed, coloring in one of their coloring books happily, listening to music that quietly filled his room from his speakers while he sat at his desk, typing away at his phone. It was a comfortable silence between you two, not feeling the need to talk all the time. That’s what was so lovely about Matt is you both were more than happy to just be in each other’s presence, talking or not. There were plenty of times where you two had spent hours together without saying a word, just content with being close.

A quick thirty minutes had passed of you just humming along to music and coloring when Matt stood up, walking over to you to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I’m going out,” he tells you, smiling down at where you sat.

You pause your coloring and look up, confusion etched in your face. “Where?” You ask, watching him walk away to grab a jacket. “A meeting,” he answers.

You furrow your eyebrows a bit more. He didn’t say he had a meeting, you think to yourself.

You stand and follow him out of his bedroom, bare feet pattering softly on the kitchen floor. “A meeting? For what?” You ask, looking to see Chris sitting on the couch, practically melting into it. He didn’t look like he was ready for a meeting, so why would Matt be going?

Chris looks confused, too, setting his phone in his lap to watch your interaction silently.

“For my stuff I’m working on,” Matt replies, slipping his shoes on. “I won’t be gone long, couple hours.” He looks between you and Chris when he says this and your heart rate picks up a couple of beats per minute.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve come over after,” you huff slightly, sad that you’d be cooped up in Matt’s room alone.

“You’ve never had any problem being here by yourself before,” Matt points out. “Just.. keep yourself busy.”

You sigh and step up to Matt, placing a kiss on his lips. “Alright, I guess. Drive safe.”

Matt smiles and nods. “I will.”

Then he pauses. His eyes dart from yours to the pair watching intently behind you, then lock back on yours again. “You two have fun,” he says clearly before turning around and walking out the front door.

You’re staring at the door for what feels like a full minute before you slowly turn on your heels and face Chris who looks just as shocked. “What did he just say?” You ask incredulously, like your ears must’ve deceived you. Except he spoke with such clarity that there’s no way you misunderstood.

Chris swallows thickly, visibly, before he shakes his head gently. “I… I don’t know.” He answers. For the first time in his life, Chris is stunned into silence and motionlessness. It’s odd.

“He didn’t mean…” You trail off, not even wanting to say it in out loud.

Chris clears his throat and adjusts on the couch, clearly uncomfortable. “Ask him.” He says plainly.

“What?” You shoot back.

Chris shrugs his shoulders, staring straight at you. “Or don’t ask and we fuck anyway.”

You’re shocked at his directness, almost choking on your spit at his words. “Chris!”

He laughs and leans even farther back into the couch if that was even possible. “What? You don’t wanna fuck?”

You groan and walk to the couch, sitting on the complete opposite side. “Can you just… be quiet?”

Chris hums and obliges but he keeps his eyes on you and you feel them burning into the side of your face like a laser, making you whip your head around after a few moments to look at him. “Stop looking at me, too.” You grumble. Despite your words, you feel your skin starting to get hot, anticipation creeping up your legs.

Chris smirks over at you. “Do you want me to be quiet or stop looking at you?”

“Both, preferably,” is what you reply. You’re trying to think of what to do here, trying to decipher Matt’s words but it feels impossible. What else could he have meant by that?

It goes against Chris’s nature to be quiet, so you’re not surprised when he opens his mouth again. “We are completely alone in this house for hours and you want to sit there and pretend we’re not itching to get our hands on each other again?”

You groan, dropping your head forward and burying your face in your hands, trying to somehow rub your eyes hard enough to rid your mind of the thoughts you were having.

“He probably just meant a general… have fun,” you say, pulling your hands away from your eyes. You’re shocked when you open them again and see Chris standing in front of you now, leaning down to place his hands on the back of the couch on either side of you, locking you in place.

“Okay…” he starts, leaning his face closer to yours, eyes flitting down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “So let’s have fun.”

You can’t pull your eyes away from Chris’s, feeling like time has stopped. He’s hovering above you, waiting patiently for you to make the next move. You feel like you’re drunk, unable to think straight with the feeling of his breath faintly on your face. He’s quite literally intoxicating.

“You’re a terrible influence,” you whisper.

Chris lets a devilish smirk bloom on his face before he closes the distance, pressing his lips firmly on yours like he’s starving for a taste of you.

You instantly melt into the kiss, feeling all of the tension building over the last weeks finally dissipating as your hands find their way to his hair, holding the back of his head close.

Keeping his lips on yours, Chris lowers himself on the couch next to you, hands traveling down to land on your waist, applying a bit of pressure to indicate where he wanted you to go. You listened, moving your body to sit atop his thighs.

“I missed you,” Chris breathes against your lips, moving his hands around to grip your ass, fingers digging in harshly to knead at your skin. “Missed your body. Can’t wait to have you all to myself.”

You whine softly, hips dropping fully to rest on top of him, his excitement already prevalent underneath you. “You’re so annoying,” you huff, pulling at the hair on the back of his head, causing his chin to tilt up at you. “You couldn’t just leave me alone? Gotta tease me every time I see you? How the fuck am I supposed to ever have a normal relationship again?”

Chris laughs that stupid fucking sexy laugh, tongue peeking out to drag over his top row of teeth as he peered at you through lust filled eyes. “I can’t just leave you alone,” he replies. “Not when you taste so good.”

He sits up and slides his hands up your back, leaning his face into your neck to press his lips against your skin, eliciting a soft groan from you.

There was no point in backing down now, you guys were clearly longing for each other in a way that couldn’t be satisfied with anybody else, and you’re almost positive you were given the go ahead to do what you needed to do, so you finally decide to let your guard down and submit to your desires, relaxing into the feeling of Chris pressed up against you, overwhelming your senses.

“Just this one time,” you tell him, pulling back to look at him once more. He meets your gaze and nods, agreeing instantly.

“Sure,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just this one time. I’ll never try to fuck you again.”

You know he’s lying just from the tone of voice he’s using, but you can’t find it in you to care right now. You roll your eyes at him before slipping off of his lap, ignoring his protests as you kneel on the floor in front of him. It didn’t take long for Chris to understand what you were doing, his eyes filling with hunger as he watches you sink to your knees, peering up at him through your lashes. “You were so good to me last time,” you coo, running your hands over the tops of his thighs. “Wanna return the favor.”

Chris’s throat damn near closes up at the sight of you, feeling like he just got kicked in the chest. All he’s able to do is nod his head as he tucks his fingers in the waistband of his pants, pulling them along with his black briefs down and past his knees where you help him take them off, slipping them past his ankles so his bottom half is completely bare.

He scoots forward on the couch for you and you can’t help but smile, eyes trailing from Chris’s face down to what you were missing so badly. He was already fully hard, dick waiting for your touch and you couldn’t hold back any longer, reaching up to wrap your hand around him, feeling like a weight lifted off of you when you finally got your hands on him again. “Happy to have me all to yourself?” You ask him in a sweet voice, looking back up at him as you hover your face above his dick, pursing your lips to let a long string of saliva drip from your mouth, landing on his tip where you used the palm of your hand to spread it, causing a small hiss to leave his throat.

“You have no idea,” Chris tells you, chest heaving with deep breaths as he tried to ground himself. “Fuck, I need you.”

You smile and lower your head down, lips right above where he needed you the most. “You have me,” you reply before finally wrapping your lips around him, moaning softly at the taste of his precum touching your tongue that swirled through his slit.

Chris hisses through his teeth and drops his head back on the couch, fingers gripping into the couch next to him, clearly trying to hold himself back in some capacity. “Fuck…” he groans, hips rolling unintentionally.

You can sense his restraint and bring your free hand up to grab his dominant hand, placing it on the back of your head where you knew he wanted it, feeling him instantly thread his fingers through your hair, nails scratching along your scalp for a second. He still wasn’t letting himself go, though, and this was the exact opposite reason you wanted Chris so bad in the first place.

You take him down farther, swallowing with his tip in the back of your throat, letting a groan rumble through your throat. He let out a choked moan, damn near a whimper at the feeling, fingers tightening in your hair. He was still holding himself back, though, so you pinched his hip lightly to get his attention, looking up at him through your lashes when he picks his head up and looks down at you, eyes glassy. “What?” He rasps.

Your gaze darkens, almost glaring at him while your lips slide up and off of his dick, rubbing them together quickly. “Why you being so gentle, hm?”

Chris chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Sorry, trying to enjoy it,” he comments. You smile, knowing he really was enjoying it. “Want me to fuck your face, hm? God, you’re so fucking needy.”

You bring your lips back down and take in as much of him as you can on your own, which is only about half, before your body physically stops you. He lets his other hand come up on your head, both hands holding you firmly in place now as he starts to grind his hips up into your mouth. It’s slow, the way he’s pushing you past your limits, but the way he’s holding your head still causes tears to form in your eyes, the tip of your nose touching his stomach every time he thrusts up.

His gaze stays down on you now, pupils blown as he sees the tears starting to spill over, the visual setting a fire deep in his stomach. “You look so fucking good like this, getting used like the slut you are, hm? Exactly what you’re made for, to take my dick like this.” He delivers another thrust, this one harsher than the previous ones, causing you to gag so hard your eyes clench shut, hands bracing yourself on each of his hips. He grips your hair and pulls you off, smirking at the loud gasp of air you suck in, admiring the thick string of saliva that connected your lips and his dick. “Wanted me to be rough and now you can’t even handle it?”

You bring a hand up to your face and wipe your mouth with the back of it, sniffling a bit. “I can handle it,” you croak out. “Please, I can handle it.”

Chris brings one of his thumbs under your eye, wiping a thick tear away. “Mm, I know you can. Can take everything I give you, right, princess?”

You nod and lean back down, flattening your tongue on the bottom of his length, licking a long stripe up before taking him in as far as you could, watching his face contort as you sunk down. “You look so pretty like this,” he praised breathily, moving a fallen strand of hair out of your face. He couldn’t help but admire you, his heart racing in his chest as he watched you pleasuring him. It was a sight he’d dreamt of for months.

You only want to please him more at his words so you bring your hands down and tuck them under your thighs, pressed between your calves so you couldn’t push yourself off of him anymore, giving him free reign to use you as much as he wants. He notices this and curses under his breath, applying pressure on the back of your head again to push you down, meeting you with his hips halfway as he rolls up into your mouth, throwing his head back in pleasure. “Fuck, angel, you take me so well,” he grunts, picking up his pace as he holds you in place, the sounds of your mouth slurping around his cock sending him into a frenzy. He knew you were struggling, tears running down your cheeks against your will as he used your throat, stomach tense as his orgasm creeped its way out. “You’re gonna make me cum, princess. Want me to pull out?” He brings his eyes back down to look at you and sees you shaking your head as much as you can, indicating that you want him to finish in your mouth. He sighs and continues, hips getting sloppy and grip on your hair tightening.

He cums hard and you take everything he gives you, letting the warm semen drip down your throat, some of it spilling from your lips as he fucked your mouth through his orgasm, the base of his dick sloppy with spit and cum.

Once he’s drained, he pulls your head off of him and looks at your fucked out face, taking it all in. You had black tears tracking through your foundation, eyelashes sticking together from the wetness, and so much saliva and other fluids around your mouth it was dripping down the front of your throat, glistening on your skin. You breathe heavily and smile shyly up at him, pulling your hands out from under your thighs. “Good?” You ask him.

Chris can’t help but laugh, shaking his head in amusement. “Yeah,” he replies. “Was fucking good.”

You smile and pull your shirt over your head, using it to wipe your face and neck. “Can you cum again?” You question, raising an eyebrow up at Chris.

He returns the expression like you’re crazy, reaching down to pull you onto his lap where you settle on the tops of his thighs. “I’m a fucking grown up, I can cum again.” He snarks, slipping his hands inside your shorts and underwear, pushing them as low as he can with you sitting on him.

You giggle at his response, eyes crinkling as you laugh. “Some guys get bored after one,” you shrug. “You’d be kinda silly to get tired of me, though.”

Chris smirks and nods, glad you’re aware of how much of a prize you are. “You’re right. I’d pass out from nutting too much if you let me.” He jokes.

You laugh, feeling giddy at his words. No one has ever been so… obsessed with you before. “You’re funny,” You smile down at him, playing with his hair for a moment. The air becomes thick between you both all of a sudden, with you staring down at Chris and him feeling the effects of his post orgasm haze, his chest tightening at the sight of you. Your smile fades as you look down at his slightly parted lips, breath catching in your throat. You tear your gaze away and look back into his eyes. “You gonna fuck me or what?” You ask quietly, licking your lips slowly.

Chris smirks and stands up, taking you with him, his strength catching you off guard. You wrap your arms around his neck tightly as you squeal, not being able to do anything as he carries you around the couch, dropping your body onto the kitchen table a little more aggressively than he meant to, but you didn’t mind, both ignoring the crack that sounded through the room from the force. “You really are greedy, you know that?” Chris tells you, pushing you onto your back before he pulls your shorts and panties down your legs, leaving you fully exposed for him to have his way with you.

“For you, yeah,” you reply, biting your bottom lip and smiling down at him.

“Fuck,” Chris groans, pushing your legs up and running his fingers over your clit, making you whine. “You’re going to be the fucking death of me.”

You’re propped up on your elbows as he touches you, feeling anything but vulnerable as he stares down at your soaked pussy, wanting nothing more than to feel him on you, inside you, anything he’d give you. “Please,” you whimper, not even knowing what you’re asking for.

Chris doesn’t even feel like being an asshole like he normally was, he just gives in, bending over so he can latch his mouth onto your core, making you cry out and drop your head back on your shoulders. “Holy fuck, Chris,” you rasp out. “Missed you so fucking bad.”

Chris moans against your skin, dragging both of his hands along the undersides of your thighs until they stopped at the backs of your knees, holding them up to keep you spread open for him. He was eating you out like his life depended on it, sloppy and loud, the sound of his tongue on you filling the otherwise quiet room. You dropped your elbows out from underneath you, no longer able to hold yourself up, dragging your hands above your head and tucking your face into your bicep, moaning loudly into your skin.

He sucks your clit between his lips, letting his tongue drag over it before he pulls away, eliciting a whine from you. You turn your head back to look at him, seeing him already waiting for eye contact. “Hold,” he demands, shoving your legs down as an indicator. You obey, reaching forward to hold your own legs back for him to free up his hands that he immediately moved down, slipping his two middle fingers inside you easily. Your head dropped back down onto the table at the feeling, groaning loudly.

His mouth comes back down to work with his fingers, free hand just rubbing any part of your skin he could touch. “Chris,” you sigh, hips grinding down into him. “Not gonna last like this.”

Chris hums, fingers curling inside you expertly. “Good,” he mumbles against you, slipping a third finger inside you, stretching you even more.

Your back arches off the table, jaw slack as he moves inside you, unable to control the sounds slipping past your lips anymore. He knows exactly how to make you fall apart and it’s addicting the way he touches you, always leaving you craving more. You knew in this moment that you’d never be able to get him out of your mind and you’d always come crawling back, no matter how wrong.

“Chris!” You cry out in warning, thighs trembling as he used his fingers and tongue to coax your first orgasm out of you, soaking in the way your voice sounded as you came. He pulled his lips away and kisses up your thigh, fingers coming to a halt inside of you but not pulling out. He looks up at your face as he kisses your skin, left hand rubbing your hip gently.

“You okay?” He asks, picking his head up to look down at you. You open your eyes and turn your face to meet his eyes, a small laugh bubbling out of you.

“You kidding?” You ask, letting go of your legs and letting them fall back onto the table. Your cheeks were red and there was a slight sheen of sweat covering them, your chest heaving softly as you stared up at Chris who laughed down at you, slipping his fingers out of you and resting his hands on your hips, pulling you to the edge of the table.

“Still want me to fuck you?” He asks, grabbing the base of his dick and pressing the tip against your clit, inching his hips forward to drag it through your folds.

Your legs twitch, sensitive from your orgasm, a small whimper leaving your lips. “Yes,” you tell him, voice laced with desire. “So bad.”

Chris smiles, pleased with your answer, before he pulls back and presses himself into your waiting entrance, watching his cock disappear inside you with his mouth slightly open, sighing out a breath of relief when he bottoms out.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut. Your body melts into his as he presses his hips flush against yours, feeling like a part of you is finally whole again. “Missed this, Chris. Needed you so bad.”

He’s standing up straight as he looks down to where your bodies connect, his hands reaching down to grab your legs and pull them up to rest your calves on his shoulders. He pulls out and starts a steady rhythm, thrusting into you deeply with every move. “You’re fucked, you know that?” He sneers, eyes moving up to look at your face that was twisted up in pleasure. “I’m gonna fucking ruin you for anybody besides me, even your fucking boyfriend.”

You crack your eyes open to look up at him, the eye contact sending shivers down your spine. “That’s your brother you’re talking about,” you quip back.

Chris laughs and shakes his head. “I don’t care who it is. Who fucks you better?” He asks, picking up pace, feeling spurred on by the mewls that tumbled from your mouth. “Tell me. Who fucks you better, me or Matt? Answer me or I’ll stop.”

You’re letting out small moans every time he bottoms out deep inside you, shaking your head at his question. You couldn’t answer that, it felt more wrong than the sex if that was even possible. It felt filthy to admit the truth out loud. You both knew the answer, but Chris wanted to hear it, wanted to hear you admit it. “I can’t,” you rasp.

Chris stays true to his word, fully stopping his movements buried inside of you. “Fine,” he shrugs. “Guess you don’t want it as bad as you say you do.”

You’re scrambling, trying to reach your hands down towards him. “No, Chris, please don’t stop,” you murmur, desperate to get him to start up again.

Chris leans down in between your legs and places a hand at the back of your neck, pulling you up until you’re leaning on your elbows again, his face right in front of yours. “Tell me, then,” he growls lowly. “Who fucks you better?”

You stare into his eyes, conflicted. But ultimately, your desires overpower your moral compass and you swallow thickly before you answer him.

“You.”

He grins, eyes dark as he watches you speak. “I what?”

You huff at him pushing you further. “You know.”

Chris shakes his head. “No, I don’t. What do I do?”

You move your hips, trying to create some friction between you two again. “You fuck me better…” you hesitate, feeling awful for saying this. Chris smirks, awaiting your answer. “You fuck me better than Matt.”

Chris hums, letting go of you roughly before standing up straight again, resuming his rough pace inside you. “Say it again,” he grumbles.

You lay back onto your back again and bring your hand down to your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. “You fuck me so good, Chris,” you cry out. “So much better than anybody else.”

Chris digs his fingers into your thighs, using them to pull your body into his. “Whose pussy is this, hm?”

Your eyes are screwed shut as the back of your head digs into the table, back arching off of the wood while you play with yourself, body trembling. “Y-yours,” you gasped. “All fucking yours.”

“Can I cum inside you? Wanna fill you up,” Chris groans, voice shaking from the moans bubbling out of him.

You’re nodding at his question, unable to reply as you feel your orgasm crashing over you, neck straining as you struggle to breathe through it. Chris isn’t far behind, fucking you both through your orgasms, his load spilling out of you as his dick pumped a few more times, his length coated in a filthy array of your bodily fluids. The sounds of him moaning is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard, the feeling of knowing you’ve made such an intense man like him fall apart sending aftershocks through your body.

You’re both gasping for breath, your body limp against the table while Chris presses his face into your ankle, kissing the bone gently. “Fuck,” he exhales, looking down to watch you recover. “Is it bad that I never want to fuck anyone ever again?”

You laugh, eyes still closed as you imagine the stupid look on his face, one that shows he’s joking but he still looks cocky and proud. “Yeah, pretty bad,” you answer him, finally peeling your eyes open. “Wouldn’t really work, either.”

Chris pouts and leans over your body, still buried inside you contently, until his nose is brushing over yours. “No? Why not?”

You scoff and lean your chin forward, letting your lips ghost over his. “Because… it’s just not realistic.”

Chris closes the distance and presses your lips together, a new feeling blooming through you at the intimacy shared. He pulls away quick, though, as to not let it linger. “Wish I got to you first,” he mutters, so softly you almost miss it. His words make your head spin, not knowing if you heard him correctly, but then he continues. “Would fuck you so good all the time you wouldn’t have to fuck someone else. I’d treat you so fucking well you’d never even think about leaving me. You’d be so fucking good at being my girl.”

Your next exhale is shaky as you comprehend what he’s saying, though no words come out and he’s met with only silence.

“Sorry,” he sighed, kissing your cheek before standing up again, pulling out of you. “That’s just my post nut brain speaking, don’t listen to me.”

You lay there for a moment before sitting up, grabbing his bicep as he’s about to walk away, tugging him back between your legs. Once he settles back and your faces are close together again, you shake your head at him in disbelief. “You are such a younger sibling, you know that? Always want what your big brothers have.”

Chris smiles, glad you weren’t mad at what he had confessed. He drags his tongue over his upper teeth slowly before he leans in to your ear, lips brushing over your lobe, whispering softly.

“And I always get what I want.”

-

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbrat @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @chrisslollipop @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @pvssychicken @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @afilmbykay @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @r0s3luvr @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @sturnburbs @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @victoryouactuallydidthis @seluky10 @annsx03 @ouchywow @pasteldreams @stvrnzcherries

[arachine]

something about non-traditional family dynamics with gojo just speaks to me…

includes :: co-parent!gojo, rich boy!gojo, mentions of pregnancy + leaky nips hehe

note :: this is just pure brainrot, started thinking about him in class today and i needed to get this out of my brain!

link to part two + link to part three

i’d like to think that after he knocks you up in college, the two of you take it upon yourselves to get married because, “‘it’s the right thing to do.’” and so, for a few years, you do the whole marriage thing—the family thing.

no longer were you the twenty-something-year-old who partied hard every weekend, and studied until the break of dawn every school night.

no, now you were the twenty-something-year-old who fixed bottles at odd hours in the night, whose nipples leaked through all her favorite tops, who had a husband that paid a mortgage and kissed her goodbye before he went off to work for the company passed down to him.

and after some time, things finally start to fall into place—your little family.

the baby gets bigger. you go through the terrible twos, of course, and the teenage-threes, but once she hits five, it’s suddenly pie in the sky—and god, it feels like you can finally start to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

so, you and gojo have one more. one more girl that’s precious, and smart, and quick-tongued, and every bit of her dad as she is you.

things are touch and go for awhile, but for the most part it’s...easy, smooth. that is, until married life starts to feel like a task, and your husband starts to feel like your roommate instead of your companion.

conversations becomes brief, the bed becomes colder, morning kisses are exchanged for nods of acknowledgement, and you can’t even remember the last time either of you desired each other…

one day though, the two of you come to a mutual decision to separate. you spend the night talking, and talking, and talking. you talk about things. memories—before and after. you even talk about your mis-comings, and if things could’ve gone differently had either of you did ‘this, this, and that’.

when you tell the girls, you’re half expecting them to be upset, but all they can think about is how, “‘they’ll get twice the amount of gifts during holidays’” — at least, according to your oldest who heard that from a kid in her class with separated parents.

a few years pass after your separation and now the both of you have come to a place where you can just be...friends. it was weird, at first—dropping your kids off to their 'other home'. walking them up to the grandiose sky-rise apartment building that's always bustling with people who've got places to be, and working class people to probably torture—but that's neither here, nor there.

gojo's waiting in the lobby. he's leaned up against the side of the elevator, dressed down in all black athleisure, and he's sporting that damn cheesy grin that you find yourself missing lately.

"hey girls," he greets, lowering down to his haunches and opening his arms for hugs, "oof—big hugs, almost knocked me over! missed me that much, huh?"

while the three of them get their hugs out of the way, you stand there idly watching, rocking back and forth on the balls of your heels.

"hey," he finally acknowledges you, "how was the drive? they got everything they need?"

"it was fine, and yep! they insisted on packing their own bags like big girls but i checked them," you say, before whispering, "and then repacked them."

he laughs at that, and then grabs their suitcases.

"but yeah, i should get going before traffic hits. if you need anything, let me know, and if you need anything," you drop down to your knees, "mommy's only a call away, okay?"

the two of them nod, "okay, mommy!"

"good...now come on, hugs and kisses!" you pull them in, getting enough kisses for two-weeks time. eventually, you pull away—albit, reluctantly, and wave your goodbyes.

the three of them watch you walk away, and when you're finally out of ear-shot, gojo utters a 'miss that'.

"miss what, daddy?"

"uh-huh," he clears his throat, "daddy didn't say anything..."

"liar, you miss mommy. don't you?" the youngest grins, all cheeky and knowing. gojo rolls his eyes—not out of annoyance, but because of how much they reminded him of himself. much like he, nothing ever got past those two...and he doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. right now, though? it's gonna be a good thing because he needs to know if-

"does mommy have a new boyfriend?"

"why?" the oldest answers, squinting her eyes in suspicion.

"jeez kid, just answer the question."

she ponders for a second, then extends her hand out, opening and closing it in a fast manner. gojo pouts, then takes out his wallet to put a five dollar bill on it.

she doesn't budge.

"oh, c'mon! i'm your father!" he pouts, but acquiesces and pulls out another five, "fine, you little brat."

with a smile on her face, she stuffs the bills in her front pocket and nods her head.

"wha-really?" he gasps, "is he better looking than me? how old is he? is he younger than daddy? is he richer than daddy? what's he do for work?"

ignoring his questions, she only extends her hand out again.

"i'm not giving you any more money, so we can settle this with some ice cream or nothing."

she ponders for a second time before nodding. "ice cream works for me."

"you little...c'mon get on the elevator."

20 floors in and the questions never stop coming.

[pseudowho]

Fright Night! Multi-Fic

The local fair has a Halloween fright night! Actors and zombies and terror, oh my! You drag your boyfriend to it...how does that go for you?

Gojo, Geto, Toji, Higuruma and Ino

18+, NSFW/suggestive in parts

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Gojo: Goes in smiling. Obnoxious laughter the whole way, and it only worsens when you're screaming at every single actor. As you cringe away from a dead-eyed bride, Gojo tickles your ribs until you squirm.

"Awww, baby, you scared? You're scared, right?"

As if in answer to his question, and received with heaps of cackles, you screech when some hideous creature with no teeth and bloodstained rags lunges at you from the dark.

"Satoru-- hold my hand--"

"--ahhh, yeah, okay...c'mere."

He pulls you in, and you scuttle to keep up with his long-legged stride. Still, the horrors continue and so does his mockery.

His teasing is relentless. Your fear is gradually replaced by indignant prickling anger. You take your chance, when it comes.

"You go in first," you beg Satoru, outside a horrifying old room full of dolls, "please, Satoru, check it out first before I go--"

He huffs as if actually bothered, but his shit-eating grin gives him away as he ambles inside. "Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a twi--"

You promptly shove the door closed with a bang! and yank a chair beneath the doorknob. You've heard rumours about this room; you are not disappointed. Satoru's voice sounds wary. The doorknob rattles just once, and you bite your lip with a smile.

"--hey...hey, babe, the...the dolls are moving."

Nervous laughter from the room. You try to hide the laughter in your voice.

"Oh yeah? You okay?"

"--OH, FU-- yeah, I'm fine. You know me, I'm the stronge--"

Satoru's voice cuts off with a profoundly girly screech, and the doorknob rattles violently while you twist with silent hilarity, tears streaming down your cheeks as you choke out.

"Ohhhh, nooo, Satoru, the door's stuck!"

More screeches, bangs and horrifying eerie noises, but you're too busy pressed forwards on your knees, laughing and laughing to the confused looks of passers-by.

"The dolls aren't dolls! THE DOLLS AREN'T DOLLS! BABE! LET ME OUT!"

A guy leans down to you, pointing at the door.

"Hey, uh...can we go in?"

You wipe tears of mirth from your eyes, bursting into laughter as you hear Satoru scream again.

"No...no, sorry buddy. This one's gonna be taken for a while, I think."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Geto: Total con-artist. Though he croons to you, cloudsoft and soothing through your horror, he's the puppet master. The horror engineer. The king of manipulation.

Every time another actor leaps out to set fear aflame in your veins, Suguru only pretends to be surprised; he isn't. He's already led you around this maze three times, anticipating the flow of the actors, and bleeding you for maximum terror.

He doesn't want to admit how his cock twitches against his thigh every time you break down into a whimpering mess; but, he can't deny that he's getting off on this.

"Shhhh, shhh shhh shhh," he soothes, one arm holding you to his side while his lips and nose ghost the shell of your ear, "shhh, baby, it's okay...it's all just pretend. I'm here. I've got you."

You look confused, your memory tangled by fear; "I...I could swear we've been this way already, Suguru--"

"Trust me. I know the way. These mazes are all samey. You're just getting mixed up, silly. Come on."

He has distracted you again, of course. He walks forwards, looking back to you with a smile. You frown, looking down at Suguru's two empty hands...and wondering whose hand you are holding.

The scream you scream, as Suguru seamlessly replaces himself with a white-eyed, rotten-fleshed actor, sends a dribble of pre-cum down his thigh.

He's just waiting until he can get you home, switch off all the lights, and continue the scare trail straight into bed.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Toji: Utterly unbothered, and smirks his way around. Some of the actors approach, take one look at him, and then turn tail to scare someone else. Anyone else.

But halfway round, he gets bored, and disappears. You're left, abandoned; alone. Toji wants to get in on the action.

You're surrounded by screams, and silence, and dry ice in the dark, and you turn on the spot, spinning, frantic, your heart pounding, your tongue dry, sweat dripping down the small of your back--

Until the sound of metal on metal. Something scraping along a wall. Footsteps heavier than your own heartbeat. And, the one small light source you have is blocked, as a monster of a man in a boiler suit, mask and axe fills the doorway.

The whimper that leaves you is audible; "...Toji?" As if you could be so lucky.

Silence. His heavy, laboured breathing. The footsteps begin towards you, slowly at first...before he runs.

You run, too, shrieking like a banshee, too loud for you to hear the occasional laugh beneath the monstrous man's roars. You find yourself chased down to a dead end, your back and palms flat against the wall, chest heaving, and he approaches slowly, watching you behind his mask.

The blade of the (very blunt) axe strokes down, down, down the centre line of your torso to stop just over your sex, and you whimper, mortified by the trickle of arousal that creeps through you.

"T-Toji--" You whisper to yourself, "T-Toji, where the fuck--please please please help me--oh my god ohmygod ohmygod--"

A shiver seems to go through the man, who leans down and whispers, in a voice so familiar that your jaw drops.

"Like bein' chased, huh? What about bein' caught? You like bein' caught?"

Judging by the way his boiler suit tents, Toji likes it, at least.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Higuruma: Has not got the mental wherewithal for this, today. Perhaps another day, but not today. And it infuriates him, when his colourful imagination and adrenaline threaten to overtake his inherent logic that this is all just make-believe.

"For fuck's sa-- pull yourself together, Hiromi," he groans as another horrifying creature-person scuttles past in a contortionist twist. You're carried on his back, squealing and kicking into him, while he huffs at you with beleaguered fondness.

Every time something makes him jump, a noise of bewildered shock bursts out, and he growls at himself, running his hand back through his hair and pressing his forehead against a nearby wall.

A few actors, however, take one look at him and treat him as part of the furniture. Hiromi frowns.

"Some of them think I look scared enough, apparently."

You mumbled into his neck. "Scary enough, I think you mean. Look--"

You gently turn his face to a flaking full length mirror. Hiromi drinks himself in; still in a dishevelled suit and tie, sweatstains, coffee drip on his white shirt, and dark circles that surely have to be make-up.

Suddenly, it clicks.

"Ahhh," Hiromi breathes putting you down to your screeching indignation; he doesn't notice as you press yourself to the wall, instead rubbing his face and clothes on a discarded 'bloody' rag.

By the time he's finished, stepping slowly over to you, chin tilted down and looking down at you with beetle-black eyes, you feel a shiver running through you. He's...frightening. Clearly some awful spectral businessman, covered in blood and dirt and horror.

"You...wow. Yeah, Hiromi, you look...great."

Hiromi shrugs you onto his back with a satisfied little chuckle, and the rest of your scare trail is relatively unhindered. Passers-by skirt round him with a wary gaze, and the sinister little smile on his face only adds to the effect.

You stroke one finger down his chest, sultry and whispering.

"Hey, Hiro...stay like this, later, for...activities."

"You are utterly twisted, my love. I absolutely can."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Ino: Just as scared as you. Absolute chocolate teapot. You'd have done better taking a puppy with you, probably, because the actors approach Ino thinking he can take it, and he absolutely can't.

If Takuma could have jumped into your arms, a la Scooby Doo, he would have. Alas, he simply pulls his balaclava down in groaning terror. When other visitors then scream at him, too, thinking he's part of the crew, he raises his balaclava back up with a suppressed sob.

"Baby-- I can't take it-- I'm too weak-- my heart--"

"Takuma, I--" You shriek, too, when some ghastly woman in a bloodstained nightdress appears. She runs for you both, and you and Takuma sprint away, hand-in-hand, half-laughing, and half-crying.

By the time you round a corner, slamming the door to trap yourselves in a dark room, you and Ino hold each other, panting in the gloom. You feel a familiar hard press against your belly, and look up at Takuma with utter disbelief. He blushes, his lower lip drawing up and looking aside with a grumble.

"--are you excited, Takuma--"

"--aww, shit, babe, you know he don't make any sense--"

His words cut off with a strangled moan as you grip him through his pants, and, biting your lip, lower to your knees. Takuma's jaw drops, his cock twitching up as it's released. You whisper up at him in the dark.

"...emotional support blow-job?"

"F-fuck yeah, emotional support blow-job, I can be your hero after that--"

A few people come to investigate the ghostly little moans coming from your room, but Ino blocks the door with one trembling, jittering foot until the moans crescendo.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

sin, sin, sin.

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, semi public sex, catholic church setting, confessional, rafe kind of pretending to be a priest (itll make sense quickly), religious trauma, if youre religious and easily offended probably skip this one

rafe knows little about his mother, but the one thing he does know is that she was a devout catholic. maybe it's stories ward told him, or the fact that his strongest memory of her was her funeral, held in the same catholic church he's currently pushing the grand wooden doors to enter.

it's his last chance as he looks into the candlelit hall. to turn around and go back into the darkness of the night, let the inky blackness swallow him whole.

rafe feels a pang in his chest. good old catholic guilt his mother passed down to him. rafe lets out a curse before he steps foot into the church, wishing he got his father's fake christianity instead, going to church on holidays and only using the religion when it suits you.

rafe looks away from the altar, the cross hanging above it, and to the confession booth to the side of the pews. his feet carry them there with the false confidence he's always been able to paste on as a front.

rafe looks at the door and then swallows thickly. guilt, guilt, guilt. he's not sure anything could help, yet he opens the handle and steps inside.

the creaky door slams shut behind him as rafe sits and faces forward towards the screen, just opaque enough to make out a figure on the other side in the low light.

rafe realizes then that he doesn't know the words. 

“forgive me father, for i have sinned.” a voice from the other side suddenly rings out, a soft, feminine voice. rafe suddenly is aware of his mistake. “it has been two days since my last confession.”

rafe knows he should interrupt you, stop you from continuing on, but something in him stirs him to stay, his interest peaking.

“ive slept with another man. i know you're tired of hearing it, father. i just can't help myself. i can't seem to wait, it's like something takes over me. father, i feel as if i am possessed by some sexual demon.” 

you scoff and rafe can see your body crumple on the other side, becoming an even smaller shape.

“tell me what happened.” rafe says.

“i-i had a date. a nice catholic man, or at least who i thought was a nice catholic man. he took me to dinner, and then i thanked him by getting on my knees immediately after.”

“keep going…” there's something about your voice that stirs rafe, has his hand gravitating to his crotch, there's a sexual prowess in your voice mixed with the guilt and innocence, like you're describing the deeds of some other woman entirely.

“he didn't even initiate it. i did. i pulled him into my apartment when he was dropping me back home. can you believe that? he was being a gentleman bringing me back to my doorstep and i just had to be a total hussy.”

rafe presses his hand down against his growing cock, imagining himself as that so called catholic gentleman.

“i unzipped his pants and tugged them down. he wasn't even hard. i played with him over his underwear, kissed his length and sucked on it and everything.”

rafes hands follow your description as he leans back against the wooden wall, tugging down his zipper and closing his eyes to picture it even better, some anonymous bold woman.

“i then pulled his underwear down. right there in the front hallway. when i saw him… i knew i was going to sleep with him next.”

you pause for long enough that rafe realizes he needs to speak. he hopes his voice doesn't come out strained. “then you slept with him?”

“yes. didn't even make it to the bedroom, he took me against the dining room table. how am i ever expected to settle down and have my own children and a loving family when all i really want is that high.”

“how does the high make you feel?”

“it comes right before the orgasm, really.” your voice drops in octave, and rafe wonders if your pussy is getting wet reimagining the scene. “when he's inside of me, pounding hard, and i know he's about to lose it too.”

rafe pushes his underwear down and tugs his cock out, not kid himself any longer that he's not extremely turned on and cannot leave the confessional with his pants tented.

“we're moaning in sync, not worrying about the neighbors in that moment. im clenching around him and he's-” you hesitate for a moment, and rafe swears he hears a sensual exhale, as if you may be touching yourself on the other side of the booth. “he's stretching me out. i love the pulsing of right when he's about to cum-”

rafe lets out a moan as he strokes before he realizes and sits up suddenly, but his reaction is too delayed as you're out of your booth and opening the door to his.

“you perv! father-” you come face to face with a handsome young man instead of the elderly priest you expected. “you're not the father.”

your eyes then travel down to his cock and that devious part of you taking over again.

“it-it was an accident.” rafe says quickly, trying to explain why he's in the priests side of the confessional when you step inside and close the door behind you.

“i have another sin to confess.” you pull the skirt of your dress up, revealing that you're wearing nothing beneath, your glimmering wet pussy directly in front of rafes face. he could so easily lean forward and taste you.

“ive always wanted to fuck in the confessional.”

rafe grabs your hips and tugs you down. he doesn't even know your name. he doesn't need to as his lips smash against yours, wildly making out.

you reach down between your bodies, grasping rafes hard cock and giving it a few strokes before you line yourself up.

you hesitate for just a moment before sinking down as rafe moans into your mouth, hoping that his mother isn't up in heaven looking down at him desecrating this holy place with you.

you gasp and pull away from the kiss as you adjust, your pussy being stretched just the way you described liking it.

“fuck.” rafe hisses out.

“shouldn't curse in a place of worship.” you smirk at him, cutting off whatever reply he had as you begin to move, bouncing up and down.

rafe grabs your hips, helping you move. his hands are strong as they disappear beneath your dress, needing to feel your bare skin.

“so good.” you whimper, pressing your forehead against rafes, breathing heavily as the temperature in the small booth rises.

“fuck, your pussy-” rafe grunts out as his hips begin to snap up into your tight heat. 

“you ever had a good catholic girl like this?” there's a hint of playfulness in your voice that rafe is shocked you can manage with your labored breathing.

“from your confession, im not sure you're all that good.” rafe says, moving his hand to rub his thumb over your clit, mostly just to see the reaction on your face as you moan out.

hes thankful for the late hour as he doesn't move his mouth forward to silence yours, letting your beautiful symphony of pleasure escape through the confessional walls and fill the church.

“this high.” you arch your back, eyes rolling back in your head as your fingers tighten on rafes shoulders. 

he knows exactly what you're speaking of. that moment when you're both on the apex, his cock swelling inside you while his thumb rubs against your clit, doing anything he can to elicit a reaction out of you, to increase your pleasure even more.

“cum for me.” rafe commands in a shockingly even voice, even surprising himself as your body stills and then shakes, crumpling forward into rafes strong arms as your pussy clenches around rafes cock, and it's all he needs to release himself, thrusting upwards and spilling inside of your cunt.

you're both breathing heavily as you come down from your high, wrapped up in each others bodies and your own intersecting pleasure before you have to pull away, realization setting in.

“oh my god.” you giggle. “we just fucked in the church.”

“shit.” rafe laughs as well. this is certainly not what he meant to do when entering into the church, yet his soul still feels lighter as he looks at your smile.

“god,” you look up at the ceiling, as if you're talking to him directly. “im so sorry. im going to hell.”

“i guess ill see you there.” rafe chuckles before he's interrupted by a gasp as you pull off of him.

rafe is quick to get himself back together, very aware of the fact that you're still bare under your dress, his cum no doubt dropping down your thigh.

you push open the door to the tiny booth and take a breath of cool air before rafe is quick to follow you out.

“i thought i heard a noise.”

you both freeze as you look up to see the nun walking from across the aisle.

“do you need the priest? he's already retired for the night.”

“no, sister.” you respond, a soft, innocent smile gracing your features as you grasp rafes hand and pull him to continue towards the exit. “see you at service sunday.”

you both let out a laugh as you push open the large wooden doors and flee from any more questions.

“can i at least get your name?” rafe asks as you enter into the night, way lit by moonlight.

“no.” you smile back at him. “but i will have another confession to make. tomorrow. same time.”

[hananoami]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ZAYNE~ 🎂 My wish for you is to come home. Good luck to those who are summoning !

[daphwritesworld]

#23 A. Russo— all to you. 

content: face sitting(A receiving), thigh riding (r receiving), scissoring, lots of kissing lol, fingering (r receiving), kinda public sex(only for a short flashback), lovey-dovey type shit, top!Alessia, bottom!reader

warnings: bathroom sex in a flashback, Alessia humping your face should get its own warning so there you go, hitting your knee like an idiot, talks of marriage, Alessia in a "kiss the cook" apron lol

synopsis: After spending two months away in The States with your family– you’re finally flying back home to England. To your Alessia.

word count: 4.6k

!! MINORS DNI!! 18+ CONTENT

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♥♠♥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sunrise bleeding in through the cracked blinds is what you notice first. The little beams of light interrupt the first real night of sleep you’ve gotten in the past two months. You’ve been away visiting your family. Two months usually wouldn’t have been that bad…if you were in the same time zone. keyword: ‘if.’

Going back to the States wasn’t bad— you love it back home. Being so close to your family, old friends, old stomping grounds, the completely different scenery, and the nostalgic restaurants all hold a special place in your heart. You’d of course enjoyed yourself on the trip, but nothing can compare to the longing of wanting to be back in Alessia’s arms. The days spent away were counted down in matching pocket calendars– one for you and the other for your girlfriend. Little notes of encouragement, inside jokes, and love poured out onto each date you’d be separated. You both decided to write them for each other and switch at the airport before you boarded your flight, promising not to look until the next day to check a box off. 

The day you came back to her finally arrived yesterday. She’d waited at the airport with her family, a cheesy sign with your name written on it and balloons attached. As soon as they saw you it was screams and hollers. Alessia moving so fast you felt her before you even had time to lift your head to their greeting. You let out a small yelp as she hoisted you into the air, her arms wrapping around your waist to keep you secured against her. Your hands cupped her cheeks and you leaned down to place a soft kiss on her lips, pulling away after a couple of seconds— much to your girlfriend’s dismay. She pouts at you before trying to chase after your lips again, this time being met with your hand and a whispered shout, “Alessia Russo, I am not letting you shove your tongue down my throat with your family 15 feet away!”

She rolled her eyes at that, setting your feet back on the ground before latching her arms back around you. Pulling you closer to her as a small smile broke out across her lips, “Oh, but you’ll let me finger you in the bathroom at Christmas, is that it?” 

Your cheeks heat up instantly at the mention of the memory. Alessia had invited you over for Christmas with her family three years ago (when you two were “just friends”). You’d been left all alone in England since your flight was canceled due to bad weather, nowhere else but your empty apartment to go. And she couldn’t let such a pretty girl stay alone on such a joyful holiday, so she called her mom and made sure there was a plate set at the table long before she’d even convinced you to come that night. You’d both been dancing around each other for months: flirting, nicknames, and basically eye fucking at practice, but so so oblivious to the other’s intentions. But two glasses of Advocaat and some hanging mistletoe is all it takes for her to get you in the bathroom of her childhood home. One hand covered your mouth as the other fucked three fingers into your pussy, while the sounds of Christmas music and living room chatter drowned out to the both of you in your own world.

Before you can reprimand her with more than a soft whack to the shoulder, her brothers are running over to wrap you in a hug and telling their sister to stop “hogging the favorite.” her parents wrapped you up in a hug, too. Telling you how miserable and grumpy Alessia had been since you’d left.

“I-I was not!”

 You just smiled at the sounds of her siblings and her arguing as you all walked your way out. So happy to finally be back where you belong. Your real home– right here with your Alessia. You felt her hand slip into yours as you approached the doors. You said your goodbyes and promised to visit soon before she was leading you off to the car. The entire ride home was spent telling her all about your months spent back in The States. The phone calls when one of you would stay up late or wake up super early just to speak for an hour or less didn’t do enough justice. Her hand rested on your thigh the entire way, rubbing circles and little patterns into your skin as you spoke. She could listen to you all day, just happy to finally hear your voice in person and not through a speaker or her headphones. They could never pick up the true essence of your laugh or the crinkle in your nose when you do. 

Now in the comfort of your own bed, your hands search out across the sheets on instinct— a frown gracing your features as you feel the cold bed beneath your fingertips. You crack your eyes open, blinking a few times as they adjust to the daylight. You stretch your arms out as you sit up, the cold breeze through the house lighting goosebumps across your skin. You shiver as you hop off the bed, reaching down for Alessia’s oversized shirt that was thrown to the floor the previous night. The memories come flooding back in flashes as you slip it over your head. Your freshly hardened nipples sensitive to the material as it brushes against them. 

You barely had time to get through the front door before she had you pressed up against it. The way her lips were glued to your sweet spots, her hands gripping every part of you they touched, and how you two stumbled up the stairs because you wouldn’t pull away from making out on the way to your bedroom. The candles lit around the space, the pink and white rose petals sprinkled across the duvet, and the way she kissed her way down your whole body as she tore your panties off with a loud rip. She never was very patient...especially when it comes to your pussy.  

You flash back to the present as the smell of bacon hints in your nose. Your feet move and your stomach rumbles as you quietly make your way downstairs. Seeing Alessia in her “kiss the cook” apron, making a tray of food for you. It almost has you sneaking back up into bed so she could surprise you, but the growling monster in your stomach wins as you slowly come up behind her, wrapping your arms around the taller girl. 

“no no no! I was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed,” she whines with a pout on her lips as she turns around to face you. Her hands resting on your hips as yours go to wrap around her neck, pulling her down for a morning kiss.

“There, that fixed your face!” you say as you pat her cheek before stealing a piece of bacon from behind her on the counter. 

“I’m serious, Amore mio! I wanted to treat you today after being away for so long.” 

“You still can though, Baby,” you say as she sits you up on the counter beside her as she cooks. “Don’t gotta get your knickers in a twist,” the awful British accent leaves your lips with a giggle as you swing your foot to hit her on the butt. 

She puts her spatula down to bring her fingertips to your sides, tickling you relentlessly as you squirm around laughing loudly. The tears welling up in your eyes a clear sign of not being able to escape her assault, “Okay! Okay! St-Stop! I’m sorry, Less– I’m sorry!” 

She pulls you into her chest, arms wrapping around your middle and stepping between your knees. The big smile on her face never falters as she just rests her forehead against yours, taking this intimate moment in and soaking it up for all it’s worth. Her eyes are scanning across your face, and you wish in times like these you could read her pretty mind. Just wanting a glimpse into what’s behind those crystal blue eyes that enchant you every time they gaze into yours. 

“How’d you manage to get even more gorgeous whilst away?” It’s barely above a whisper when she says it, her hands coming up to lightly trace over your face. Her fingers run across your cheeks, lips, and jaw. It’s all too much for you at the moment, so overwhelmed with love for her. So you lean forward and place your lips on hers, and it takes both of your breaths away. It’s different than the ones you shared last night. There’s no urgency in your movements and no harshness behind them. Her tongue slides into your mouth when you gasp from the way she lightly nips at your bottom lip, still moving at a slow pace. The smell of burning food breaks you back into reality a bit, trying to pull away as she chases your lips closely.

“The food, Alessia,” you manage to get the words out between kisses, never fully able to get her lips off of yours completely.

She groans out into your mouth before backing away, turning off the stove eye, and moving the pan to rest on a cold one. She doesn’t even say anything before she brings a hand behind your neck to pull your mouth back onto hers. The fire in your belly is roaring, begging for her touch and to touch her. 

“Mmm, upstairs,” It’s not a question when you say it. She supports your middle with her arms before hoisting you off the counter, your legs wrapping around her waist on instinct as she carries you to your destination. 

When she reaches the bed there’s no throwing you down, and clawing your clothes off. She’s connecting your lips as she slowly lays you down on the sheets, following your body with her own. A hand comes up to caress the back of your neck as she deepens the kiss. Your knees spread for her body to align with yours like a puzzle piece, fitting together perfectly and in rhythm with one another. The hand behind your neck starts slipping around front, keeping a loose hold on your neck as she pulls back just enough so you can both breathe for a second. 

“Please fuck me, Baby,” it comes out airy and breathless as your chest rises and falls rapidly. 

“No.” 

You feel like your world’s crashing down. No? Did she tell you…No? Like as in N-O.. no?

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” she says it while holding your face in her hands. You think she’s being cruel, punishing you for a stupid joke accent, or the fact you woke up early and spoiled her surprise for you. Pulling you back into a mind-reeling kiss, and desperately searching for a reason she’d tease you and wind you up like this just to leave you high and dry. 

“I’m gonna make love to you,” your eyes snap up to her. Mind quieting and drowning out all your worries and complaints. Your breath hitches as she says it and you swear your heart swells up twice its size. “Let me show you how much I missed you, Amore mio.” 

You’re nodding your head as a quiet moan rolls off your tongue at her words, connecting your lips once again as her hands start rubbing up your sides. They slip under your (really her) shirt draped over you, the only thing separating her from your naked body. Goosebumps rise behind in the path of her hands, your skin feeling electric from her touch. She moves down your body as she gets up on her knees, untying her apron and throwing it somewhere into the room. She’s lifting your shirt as she peels it off your body. Her lips leave kisses in the journey up as your flesh is being revealed. She nips a little harder on your soft spots, leaving behind love bites in her wake. Little reminders of where she’d been and how her love poured out of her and onto your skin. When the shirt is being brought over your head and blocking your view, she brings one of your nipples into her mouth. Your hands go to the back of her head to bring her closer to your chest, arching into her mouth. The pleasure only multiplies when she laughs around your bud, pulling back as you whine out from the feeling. 

“Move your hands for a second, Love. Lemme get this off you,” there are kisses left on your boobs as she says it. Taking your hands into hers as she places them beside your head, and leans down slowly to almost connect your lips. But she just hovers over them for a second, breathing in the same air as each other. She pulls back with a smirk when you try to push yourself up, and then she slips the shirt over your head, throwing it back to its home on the floor of your bedroom. 

Her lips are on your collarbone as she slips a knee between your legs, resting against your naked pussy. Wet kisses are tracing back down to your other nipple this time. The warmth of her mouth around it is intoxicating, your tits extra sensitive since they’d been neglected for so long. She looks up at your face once she notices your body has a mind of its own, grinding up against her thigh as sinful sounds flow from your mouth. Another laugh rips through her, and to both of your surprise, it sends you into an orgasm. Not a super hard or intense one, but still enough to have your eyes closing and your legs trying to close around hers. 

Alessia looks down and groans loudly at the sight. Your creamy cunt making a mess on her sweatpants, some white cum streaking the grey fabric along with the giant wet stain taking up a majority of her thigh. 

She’s entranced by the sight, jumping when she feels your hands on her neck. You’re pulling her into a searing kiss as her hand comes up to play with your messy pussy. “No, Less. Wanna make you feel good, too. Please baby,” you break the kiss as your hand stops hers. 

“How do you want me then?” 

“Wanna taste you, please.” 

So she hops off the bed and strips herself naked, but you don’t expect her to push you back down as she climbs up onto your body. Usually, she’d just guide your head with a hand in your hair against her cunt, but not today. Oh no. Today she’s resting her knees beside your head as she massages your scalp for a second. 

“Ready, Love?” 

“Hurry up and sit on my fucking face!”

She laughs out a cackle a that, a true hearty laugh. Then she’s sinking down onto your awaiting mouth, resting her weight down onto your face. You swear you could die right now between her legs, and they’d find you with a smile on your face. The taste of her sets off a primal moan to take over you, your eyes rolling back as she grinds down onto your tongue. Alessia always makes the prettiest noises while getting fucked, you could spend hours pleasuring her body and you’d cum just from the sounds she makes alone. Her hands find your hair as yours find her thighs, both squeezing and holding on for dear life as she speeds up her movements. The beds starting to squeak, reminiscent of how she knocked the headboard into the wall last night and left a small indention. 

Your hands move up from her thighs to her tits, rolling her nipples between your fingers as her clit starts humping repeatedly into your nose. Every one of your senses is overwhelmed with just “Alessia” as you take your tongue and start fucking her with it, drunk off the idea of getting her to cum like this. The view is breathtaking above you; Alessia with her head thrown back, back arching as your hands work magic on her chest, and her toned stomach flexing with every roll of her hips above you. 

It’s then when you moan again into her pussy that she’s cumming in your mouth, letting the nastiest words roll off her tongue, “La mia piccola troia, swallow it all! Take what I give you Carino mio.”

Wanting to please her, you make sure to suck up every drop that comes out of her. Your tongue slips out of her to clean up, an extra flick to her clit as you finish. She’s pulling away after that, flopping onto the bed beside you trying to catch her breath. One arm pulls you onto her chest, placing a kiss on your hairline as she rubs your bare back. “You did so good for me, Love. Made me feel so fucking good. Better than anyone ever has  .”

​​

You lift your head at that, a blush on your cheeks from her words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Baby,” It’s let out with a smile gracing her lips and a twinkle in her eye. She’s throwing her head to the side with a loud sigh after a moment, “Fuck you’re so pretty! I can never get enough of you, you know”

You sit up at this, straddling her lap as you swing a leg over her. Taking both of her hands into yours as you interlock them, and bringing them up for a tender kiss to her knuckles. “You’re prettier, Lessie. A worldwide splendida ragazza.” you were praying you didn’t butcher the pronunciation, having spent those two months away studying Italian every night. 

You see tears welling up in her eyes and you instantly frown, opening your mouth to apologize for upsetting her. “I’m sorry, Less. I thought I could learn it-” but you’re cut off by her soft lips on yours. All the emotions and pent-up frustrations from missing each other poured into this one shared kiss. 

“Ti amo, Amore mio bellissimos.” She says it right against your lips, a few of her tears running down between your lips. The saltiness only adds to the passion of the lip lock. “Ti amo tanto,” you reply to her. As you’re lifting one of her legs and slipping one of yours beneath it, you drop your cunt against hers. Both of you let out a moan at the sudden contact. Alessia’s hands find your hips as she starts guiding your movements, controlling your body because she knows it better than you do. Your fingers couldn’t make you cum while you were away, nothing could. Because she has ruined you for anybody else, your pleasure is only loyal to her now. “Look at us, Amore mio. Look how messy we make each other. How much we love and miss each other.”

You look between you, the way both of your thighs are covered in slick. Your puffy clits bump together with every roll of your hips. You feel too far away from her, even though you’re so close. So your hands reach out and pull her closer, lips finding one another again. They’re red, swollen, and sore at this point, but neither of you cares. Too lost in each other to even register the slight pain. 

Your legs start getting tired as your orgasm approaches, slowing down as the pain of that at least catches up with you. Alessia notices and pulls away from your lips, “Wrap your arms around me, Love.” And you do it without question, no idea why she wants you to, but trusting her completely anyway. 

Within seconds you’re squealing as she flips you two over on the mattress, blonde hair cascading down to frame her face perfectly. You swear with the sunlight shining in she looks like a proper angel, a halo surrounding her head in the morning daze. Her hands lift and situate your body exactly how she wants it. She’s got her hips slamming back into yours in no time, the sound of skin slapping and the words of praise passing between the two of you fills up the room. Your arms are around her neck pulling her down to be chest to chest with you, just wanting her to suffocate you honestly. If you could crawl into her skin you would, but alas this is the closest you’ll ever get. You swear you can feel your hearts beat in synch like this, the thumping of your them so loud in your chests it’s making your body tingle. Her hands find your hips, rubbing circles into them as a way to ground you. Her lips leave kisses up the side of your neck, stopping to nip at your jaw. 

“Cum for me, Love.” her lips trail down to your ear, letting out a groan as she tugs on your earlobe with her teeth, “La moglie futura mia.”

Finally understanding the term of endearment is what does it for you. You’d heard her call you that a million times and never thought of it, having slipped your mind with all the other nicknames she gives you. Your legs start shaking and your grip on her neck tightens, making sure she stays pressed against you the whole time. “My Future Wife,” replays in your head over and over as the pleasure from your orgasm wrecks through your body. Screams of “Te Amo!” “I love you” and “Less” all come out mixed as the wires in your brain start crossing the two languages and the girl who speaks them.

You can’t stop the butterflies from exploding in your tummy as you realize she said that to you for the first time at her family’s Christmas all those years ago. That’s how she’d introduced you to them as they welcomed you both in the door, a big grin on her face. “This is, (y/n). La moglie future mia.” Now all the hugs and promises to return each year as you two were leaving make a little more sense.

She doesn’t stop her hips, chasing her own high as she feels it approaching. “Come on,” she rubs her hands on your forearms gently, “Let me see your pretty face when I cum, Darlin.” You whine a little at the thought of her pulling away, but nonetheless let her guide your arms away. She reconnects your hands together and lays them above you, eyes focusing on the way your mouths open and panting for her. The sweat dripping down your brow and all the small details in your face show off the way she’s making you feel. All of it’s rolling in her stomach, the pit of fire growing by the second. 

“Cum for me,” it’s breathless as you say it, her eyes instantly finding yours. “La moglie futura mia,” it’s a sentiment that you’re only now able to return. The weight of the words and the fact you spoke them back to her is overwhelming. Her hips stutter into yours, and her eyes shut as she crashes her lips back down onto yours. Moaning into your mouth as her orgasm washes over her, rolling in waves as she slows her pace to a stop. 

For a while you’re both just lying there, her head on your chest and your fingers playing in her hair. The sounds of you both trying to regain a normal breathing pattern is slowly trying to lull you to sleep. So at peace in the comfortable silence and the safety of having Alessia in your arms– exactly where she should be. She lifts her head up, trailing some kisses down before resting her chin on your stomach. “Can I bring your tray of food to you in bed now?” 

It’s all really a blur till then for you. Your body is so so tired, your eyes getting heavier as the minutes tick by. You’re almost fully asleep by the time she comes back, only responding to her in grunts and hums. She chuckles at you as she moves your body to sit up against the headboard, propping a pillow behind you for extra comfort.

 “Alright, at least eat your toast or drink some juice. Your body needs some energy after that,” It’s soft when she says it. Her lips press feather-light kisses to your face as your eyes start to crack open. She’s got that damn apron on again and you shake your head at that, a laugh bubbling out of your lips. Your Alessia– butt naked except for her “Kiss The Cook” apron wrapped around her body. The tray placed over your legs takes your attention next. Despite being sleepy you are super hungry, even more than when you first ventured downstairs to steal a piece of bacon. You shake your head in agreement before reaching towards your plate, but your fingers hit something velvety on the edge of the tray stopping you. You focus your eyes a bit, squinting till the sun adjusts for your sight, and that’s when you see it. The small blue box is set right before your plate. Your heart rate picks up and you look over at Alessia with a confused look on your face. 

“Open it, Caro.” She says it with so much endearment you can’t help but smile. 

When you open it up it’s a beautiful ring. A gold band adorned with the gemstone of your birth month. Your eyes widen at the gesture, tears filling them before you turn to face your girlfriend. She’s wiping them away with her fingers, reaching down to take your hands into hers.

“Marry me, (y/n). It doesn’t have to be now, in a year, or even five. Just promise me that you’ll be la mogile futura mia.”

“Of course, I’ll marry you, Less!” You’re gasping and jumping up– right before your knees hit the tray you forgot about and you’re letting out a cry of pain from the commotion. Your hands come up to hide your face, a blush deepening as embarrassment sets in. “Shit! That seriously fucking hurt!” 

You’re only met with a laugh and her hands pulling yours away from your face. You look back at her when you feel the ring being slipped onto your finger, her eyes never leaving yours as she does so. “Looks like you’re inheriting the Russo family clumsiness already, Love.” 

She takes a second to move the tray of food off of the bed before returning. Her lips come down, kissing your knees where they’d been hurt as she rubs soothing shapes into your calves. Once she’s satisfied with her work she moves back up and throws her body on top of yours, wrapping your limbs around each other as the reality starts to set in: You’re engaged to be married. 

“I can’t believe we’re gonna be a family, Less!” it’s a whispered shout– the excitement doubling as you bring your hand towards your face to get another look at your ring. But before you can tell her how beautiful the ring is, she’s cupping your face and pulling it closer to hers. Her eyes render you speechless, looking into yours like the galaxy is hidden inside them. “We’ve been a family for a while now, Vita mia. I’m only just now growing the nerve to make it official.”

[rememberwren]

A Girl (Not Mine) || 1

Ghost is a little obsessed with Soap and a lot obsessed with Soap's girlfriend--you.

About this: ghoap/fem!reader, suspension of disbelief regarding anything military related is actually necessary for enjoyment, canon-typical trauma for Simon, intrusive thoughts, slut shaming, voyeurism, fingering, accidentally seeing nudes not meant for you, poor writing unless you squint, try squinting. 4k

-

“I’m so glad I got a girl to think of, 

Even though she isn’t mine.”

-

The first time Johnny mentions you, the 141 is fresh from a month-long leave.

Ghost has a love-hate relationship with time spent off duty. He’d like to enjoy it—to do fuck all, to hike through Clayton Vale twice in a day if it suits him, to drink tea for every meal. But all leave does is remind him of the glaring emptiness in his life, the one he usually fills with violence. So he spent the month climbing up the walls and crawling out of his skin, waiting to be called back like a dog brought to heel. 

Here was his comeuppance for craving something to fucking do instead of relaxing the way Price had told him to do. Now they were on their way to San Lorenzo in Ecuador dealing with Ghost’s least favorite flavor of criminal: drug cartels. 

It’s too close to Mexico. Too close to that which he would forget gladly if it didn’t come with the loss of so many valuable skill sets. He’s crawling out of his skin for a whole new reason, watching the water fly by beneath them, deep in memories. 

Ghost takes all those feelings, fears, remembrances and swallows them whole. Lets them sink to a sour, dark place in his belly. He sits tense on the helo, still except for the rise and fall of his chest, his rifle a familiar weight across his knees. Sometimes he has to shut his eyes, swallowing against the rising nausea. 

He only has half an ear on Garrick and Johnny’s conversation beside him, but it is all he needs to follow along. 

“—lass of my own now,” Johnny is saying around a laugh, his accent thick enough to chafe at Ghost’s skin in a way he doesn’t want to examine, one that leaves him feeling raw but not necessarily hurt. “So no more picking up the barflies back in Hereford.”

“She making an honest man out of you, Tav?” 

“Aye, you could say that.” Johnny sounds proud of the fact. It all is so far from anything Simon has experienced in his life that he feels no distant stirring of empathy, not even a muted sense of familiarity in the words. Honest men do not exist. 

Not to mention, Simon’s never had a woman (willingly) and he never will. 

“You love her?” Garrick asks, earnestly interested to hear the answer. Ghost couldn’t care less.

“Aye. There’s something special about her.” 

“What, she’s cool with anal?”

Johnny crows with laughter, and now Ghost does feel something: annoyance, cloying, creeping up his spine like a spider in a web headed for the wiggling maggot of his brain. 

“Will you two ever shut up?” he snaps. “Not a moment’s fucking peace since we boarded.”

“Sorry LT,” Johnny says, sounding genuinely apologetic. Ghost cuts his eyes toward the other man, assessing for honesty. Johnny’s face is too expressive: brows lifted, eyes wide and earnest, mouth tipped into a tiny grimace, like the thought of irritating Ghost gives him real pain. Between the two of them, Ghost can’t help but think that it’s Johnny who needs a mask if he wants to survive in the world. 

Ghost doesn’t have the energy for this. He goes back to watching the scenery pass by. They are over trees now: thick lush jungle, the scent of which he associates with pain—plenty of which was his own. Plenty of which he caused to others. 

“What about you, LT?” Johnny asks, calling out over the sound of the helicopter blades. “Do you have a woman back home?”

Ghost lets his head turn, slow and dangerous. Johnny’s audacity never fails to surprise him. “What do you think, Johnny?”

“Honestly?” 

“Go on, then.”

“You look like if yeh’ve got a woman, she’s probably locked in yer basement.” 

(right where she’d belong.)

Garrick slaps Johnny’s thigh, his face mottled with panic. He hisses under his breath, something like, There are faster ways to die, Tav! Less painful ways, too, Ghost thinks. He fixes Johnny with a dead stare. The silence stretches, growing long and thin and dangerous, like the blade of a knife, until Johnny looks away. 

“Think less about my private life, Sergeant,” he warns him. 

“Not often you tell me to think less, LT.” 

Ghost just grunts, finished with the conversation, returning his unseeing eyes to the trees and slipping back into his own memories. 

-

That should be—well, not the end of it. He expects Johnny to become insufferable about it; that’s just the other man’s way. Still, Ghost had never expected to see you. 

He’s doing paperwork in the rec room, too stifled by the tiny, enclosed space of his office to remain there. Paperwork and debriefing are always his least favorite parts of an op. Give him a gun with which to kill and he will gladly kill; give him a pen with which to write and he spends half the time thinking about burying it in his own eye. Garrick and Johnny are there nearby fucking around on their phones having finished with their easy portion of the work ages ago. 

A phone is what Johnny thrusts beneath Ghost’s nose. It takes all of his mental fortitude not to flinch away from the unexpected action (or, more likely, not to rip Johnny’s arm off and beat him half to death with it). His eyes flicker down to the screen on instinct and—there you are. 

You have one eye squinted shut, your hand up to create a visor against the overbearing sun. The picture shows you from the bust upwards, and Simon sees it for approximately one full second before he grips Johnny’s wrist in a brutal hold and forces the hand and the phone away. 

It’s already too late. He’s committed you to memory. The way your hair sits, its color in the blistering sun. The curve of your lips (fuckable, he thinks against his will) as you give Johnny behind the camera an exasperated smile. The arch of your nose (images now—fingers pinching noses shut, forcing mouths further down his cock just to watch them choke and struggle)—

“Get that out of my face,” he grits out through his teeth. His thoughts won’t stop, not now that the floodgates have been opened, and it makes him feel like a dog backed into a corner, frightened-violence rising up in the back of his throat like bile. 

—the smooth line of your throat (and his hands around it, choking the light from your eyes just to fuck you when you’re soft and pliable and he doesn’t have to listen to you crying and begging)—shut UP!—

“It’s just my girl, sir,” Johnny laughs, his own eyes flickering back down to your image on the phone, like they are drawn to you. Like it is hard to look away. Ghost doesn’t have that problem—he has some  discipline left. “And it’s not as if she’s naked.” 

Ghost grips the pen in his hand so tightly that the plastic shell cracks. He’s barely keeping it together, sick and afraid and horrified and angry that Johnny has done this to him—has done this to his own girl—

His voice is rough when he croaks out: “What makes you think I care to see her, Sergeant?” 

“‘S it wrong to share the most important person in my life with the other most important people in my life?” Johnny says, eyes too guileless to be taken seriously. 

“Share less,” he snaps. 

“Been saying that to me an awful lot lately, sir.” 

“A good Sergeant would take my words to heart.” 

“A good lieutenant would know a futile lesson when it’s biting him in the arse.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow. “Careful, Johnny. As much as I hate paperwork, I’d write you up—gladly.” 

Johnny gapes. “What for?”

Ghost grins without mirth, mask stretching around his features. Even grinning cruelly like this, his face feels unused to any expression that is adjacent to happiness. He swears darkly: “I’ll find a reason.”

It would send anyone else running. Even Garrick looks fearful, though fascinated: the same look a man wears when he’s watching a car crash in progress. But if sense were dynamite, Johnny wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose. Instead, he just flops down on the couch close enough to flutter the pages in Ghost’s lap. Close enough for their knees to brush. 

“Jesus, you’re a tadger today,” Johnny says quietly, boot knocking against Ghost’s, a touch he feels all the way up his leg. “Shove off some of that paperwork on us. What’s the use of being a lieutenant if you can’t lord it over your sergeants?”

“I’m sorry, us?” Garrick asks. 

“I don’t shirk my responsibilities, Johnny,” Ghost says coldly, gathering his papers. His elbow brushes against Johnny’s ribs, the firm, burning warmth of the other man’s body. He jerks away. He’ll take the stifling seclusion of his office, that makeshift coffin, before he subjects himself to any more of this. “You’d do well to follow my example.”

-

Ghost resolutely does not think of you. Not during quiet lazy moments on base, not during the frustration of training recruits, especially not during the eerie calm of missions. You do not cross his mind. 

His dreams are another thing altogether. 

There are the dreams where he hurts and the dreams where he is hurting, and he doesn’t know which are worse. He only knows that they are made worse by your strange presence: your body bent and being broken in by others; you, bent and being broken in by him. He wakes in cold sweats, jaw aching from gritting his teeth in his sleep. 

He hates himself for this last place where he cannot execute control: his subconscious. 

-

“Mail?” Johnny asks cheerfully at the sight of Garrick seated on the bench outside the DFAC, a stack of papers and letters laying on his lap. 

Johnny is sweaty, gray t-shirt clinging to his toned body as he (for once) keeps a companionable silence at Ghost’s side. They have been training recruits all day—work which Ghost considers far beneath his pay grade, but which he can’t refuse when ops are so slow to arrive and when he is so eager (desperate) to keep busy. Ghost lets himself sit heavily on the bench a safe distance away from Garrick, sweat cooling on his own body. 

He’s not ready to be alone yet. 

He’s allowed to do that. To want company. Of all the people on base, Garrick and Johnny (and Price) might be the most tolerable of the lot of them. During the rare moments when the pitiful piece of humanity left inside him craves companionship, this is the least painful method to mainline it. 

He ignores the lack of letters for him. There is no mail for Ghost—there never is. 

Garrick passes Johnny no less than four envelopes. Johnny’s soft smile as he flips through them speaks volumes. Ghost can guess who they’re from: his mother likely, who writes as often as she can. One of his various sisters, surely. Take your pick.  Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Johnny flip through the letters and settle on one in particular, thicker than the others, tearing it open and tugging the letter out. 

The pictures slip from the folded piece of paper and fall to the ground. 

Johnny dives to grab them, but all it does is bring Garrick’s attention to them more. Even Ghost’s interest is piqued, his dark eyes giving up pretending to watch the recruits limp back to their barracks to shower before dinner and following Johnny’s hasty movements instead, watching the hot flush that crawls up the back of his Sergeant’s neck. 

“What are those?” Garrick asks. 

“No’ a thing.” 

Garrick lights up. He practically tosses his letter to the side. “She sent you pictures?” 

“Possibly,” Johnny says smuggly, the images—old fashioned Polaroids, a nice touch—pressed to his chest. His eyes narrow at the expression on Garrick’s face. “Don’t even think about it, Gaz—!”

Garrick pounces. The two begin grappling, both of their faces split into wide grins. Johnny can only defend himself with one arm, his other protectively clutching the photographs to his bosom. They take each other to the ground and Ghost watches, half interested and half irritated, wondering who will win. 

The pictures go flying—and fate’s invisible bitch of a hand causes them to land at Ghost’s feet. Garrick and Johnny freeze.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, the same way he knows that he’s going to. Ignoring their renewed struggles on the ground as they fight to untangle themselves and stand, he leans down and reaches for the photographs.

The white of the Polaroid’s edges contrast nicely with his dark gloves as he gathers the pictures together like a deck of scattered cards. 

“LT—“

They’re relatively tame. Perhaps you knew the high risk of sending them. In one you are kneeling on a bed amongst a sea of mussed, white sheets, wearing nothing but a t-shirt that you have tugged down between your parted thighs to offer yourself some modesty. It is painful to flip to the next one, but pain calls to Ghost, lures him in. In another you’re wearing some strappy lingerie but still covered artfully by the sheets, both hands covering your eyes, a grin on your face like you are mid laugh. Did Johnny take these photos of you himself? Did a stranger? A friend? Another shows your side profile, back arched, topless, every inch of you curved and poised. 

You’re (a filthy little slut) so fucking pretty. 

“Give ‘em back, LT, please,” Johnny asks gently, like he expects Ghost to tear them to shreds. Or confiscate them. 

Ghost drops the photographs to the bench, wishing he could scrub the images of you from his mind. He shouldn’t have picked them up in the first place. It’s adding fuel to the fire of his broken brain, and he knows that he will pay for it dearly. 

Johnny is talking. “—shy, she’d just die to know you saw.”

“She’ll only know if you tell her, Johnny,” Ghost reminds him. His mouth feels numb, his brain the quiet granted by white noise, a conglomerate of screams. 

Johnny frowns. “Suppose so. You alright?” 

“Since Ghost saw—“ 

“No, Gaz.” 

Ghost watches the two of them enter the building. 

His hand burns, where he has palmed the picture of you topless. He stands and slips the Polaroid into his back pocket. It’s on the tip of his tongue to call out for Johnny and give him the picture back—he could find some excuse, and Johnny would believe him, he knows it—but he doesn’t. He makes for his room, feeling sick with himself. He isn’t hungry. Not for food. 

-

Ghost is compromised. 

The thought replays in his mind over and over again as he drives to Price’s house in Solihull. You and Johnny have crawled beneath his skin and infected him, dug your way into his DNA and are affecting everything from his decision making capabilities to his dreams. He knows that going anywhere where you both will be is a mistake, but it’s one he can’t seem to help hurdling himself toward at high speed. 

Nothing will happen, he tells himself, knuckles white against the steering wheel. He only does what he allows himself to do—no more. The others will be there at least, Garrick and Price and Johnny himself. Physical barriers between him and you. Human meat shields, if necessary. Ghost wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on you. (But who would stop him if he tried? Who could?) You are safe, he tells himself. 

He is the last to arrive, dragging his feet up the concrete steps to the two story brick historical home that Price owns. He lets himself in the way that Price told him to and can tell by the eerie silence of the house that everyone is already outside enjoying the well-landscaped yard. Already he sees the evidence of you: a purse (go through it) laid neatly on the dining room table. He sets his keys beside it but does not touch it. 

Ghost doesn’t bother trying to delay the inevitable. Every part of him wants to run, but that’s all he’s ever wanted his whole life. He’s used to it by now, used to being forced to walk toward the thing which terrified him. He squares his shoulders and slides open the patio door, slipping back out into the muggy heat of the afternoon, face mask in place, hood up.  

The landscaping is one of the best features of Price’s house. The privacy fence is tall and appealing to Ghost’s seclusive nature, the lawn neatly clipped. There is a hedgerow running along the southern edge of the fence that is meticulously maintained. Flower beds lined with bricks rest along the house full of geraniums and phlox. The patio is smooth stone with an inlaid fire pit that would be crackling if the weather were any milder. An iron-wrought table sits nearby surrounded by chairs, and seated there are Garrick, Johnny, and Price. 

You are over by the flowers, kneeling in the soft grass, picking phlox just a few shades darker than the sundress you’re wearing, the one that skims your soft thighs. Ghost’s eyes roam over you and away all before your head even turns at the sound of the door opening. 

“LT,” Johnny calls, lighting up. “You made it!” 

“Didn’t think you’d show, Lieutenant,” Garrick says with a smile. 

“As if he’s got something better to be doing than spending time with us,” Johnny crows. 

“Jesus, will you two leave the man alone? Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already regretting coming,” Price says. Ghost inclines his head, grateful for the backup. 

He hears your approach, the soft sound of your flats against the patio stone. You are small (weak) compared to him, craning your head up to look in his eyes. He hates the dark part of his brain that calls you easy prey as he watches you twist the phlox stems between anxious fingers. 

“You must be Simon—” Johnny shakes his head a little, subtle, visible only out of the corner of Ghost’s eye. “—ah—Ghost? I mean—” 

“I don’t care what you call me,” he admits.

“Ghost,” you settle where it is nice and safe. “It’s nice to meet you. John talks about you all the time.”

“Likewise,” Ghost says flatly, hoping you will not mistake it for a compliment. 

Garrick snorts. “Never shuts up about you is more likely.”

There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, so you sit on Johnny’s lap, legs crossed demurely, skirt riding up around your upper thighs. He wonders about the softness of your skin, wonders if his calloused touch would hurt you or if you’re used to Johnny’s by now. He could make it hurt. The thought doesn’t come with any zing of pleasure, just the cold apathy of fact. Has Johnny ever tried that? Has he ever—

Ghost’s gloved hand clenches into a fist, curling around the iron armrest of the chair. He takes a measured breath and holds it until his lungs ache. Those thoughts aren’t his own. They come from the dark part that Roba seeded inside him, that part with creeping vines too deep to root out. That part with thorns. 

He could hurt you, the same way he could hurt anyone, he tells himself. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to. 

He does only what he allows himself to do. No more. No less. 

You and Johnny stand, heading into the house to retrieve a round of drinks for everyone. Ghost watches Johnny’s hand dip low on your back to the curve of your ass as he guides you through the open door, shutting it behind you. 

“Are you alright, Simon?” Price asks around a cigar. “I know meeting new people isn’t exactly in your repertoire.”

“Don’t mother me.”

“Don’t have to be your mother to care about you.”

“Garrick—get lost,” Ghost barks. 

The iron chair legs screech against the stone of the patio as Garrick stands hastily. “Had the same thought, sir. Hedges look lovely this time of year.”

When Garrick is properly out of earshot, pretending to find amusement in the neat hedgerows along the fence line, Ghost says: “I shouldn’t have come. I’m… I— can’t be left alone with her.” 

“With—? Soap’s gal?”

Ghost grits his teeth in shame and nods. 

“Do you know her?” 

Ghost shakes his head in the negative, but it’s not necessarily true. He knows a thousand women just like her, soft and unexpecting. The betrayal always cuts deeper than his cock could reach (estoy preso, somos lo mismo, por favor).

He stands, chair legs dragging against the stone. “This was a mistake. I need to leave.” 

“If you say so,” says Price, knowing better than to argue. “Go around the side. You won’t even have to see them.” 

“My keys are inside. I’ll be quick.” 

“Take care of yourself, Simon,” says Price, his eyes dark and lips downturned as he watches Ghost stalk to the patio door and slip inside. 

-

He braces himself to see you and Johnny in the kitchen, but when the door slides open near-silent, neither of you are anywhere to be seen. Like a fool, he considers himself lucky. Quiet as his namesake, Ghost goes to the table and picks up his keys, palming them. 

That’s when he hears it. The unmistakable muted slap of flesh on flesh. 

(Go look.)

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but that is his modus operandi these days: failing himself, doing what he isn’t meant to, seeing what is not for his eyes. His feet carry him silently to the door, which is cracked open just wide enough for him to see through into the room. It is a guest bedroom judging by the bland decor, the queen sized bed. Johnny has you sprawled on it, your sundress hitched up around your waist, his fingers buried to the final knuckle inside your cunt. Ghost can hear the way it squelches from all the way outside the door, knows that you must be dripping down Johnny’s wrist. 

“Keep quiet, love,” Johnny pants, one hand over your mouth (he’s not doing it right) to muffle the whines and groans trying to slip past your lips. “Needy little thing, aren’t yeh? Squirming in my lap, making my cock hard right there in front of my Captain, in front of my Lieutenant—“

You whine something back, but it is lost into his palm. 

“Don’t have time to get my cock in you,” Johnny sighs, twisting his fingers inside you, hooking them to press against that tender spot past your pubic bone that has your knees knocking together. He shifts his palm down to grip your neck, your panting breaths filling the room. “But you can bet this dress is coming off as soon as we’re home, do y’hear me?”

“Yessir,” you whisper, and it has Ghost’s cock throbbing. 

This is not for him. He thinks about Johnny’s words from months ago: that you are shy. There’s no chance you would ever want to be seen like this by him. Reaching out, he grips the doorknob and quietly tugs the door closed, til the sound of Johnny’s palm slapping against your clit is muffled behind the wood. 

He takes his keys and is gone before you ever know he was there. 

-

Johnny texts him later that night: 

Why’d you leave early, you numpty? We wanted more time with you. 

Ghost doesn’t respond. He’s too busy spiraling in his own flat, losing control every few minutes and slipping back into that place of pain and blood and dirt. 

An hour later, Johnny ends up adding, My girl wants me to say she was glad she got to meet you. Only Jesus knows why! Ghost definitely doesn’t respond to that. But he doesn’t delete the messages either.