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rafescvntyclubgf · 3 days ago

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𝓕𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂

🇱🇴🇸🇹 🇹🇮🇲🇪

𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚉𝚘𝚎𝚢

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞�� 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚒𝚜��’𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛; 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

cw | smut, swearing, pet names, unprotected p in v, fingering, cum tasting, oral (female receiving), heavy angst, reader gets hit by a car

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You adjust the weight of your shopping bags, looping them higher up on your arm as you step out of the bookstore. The crisp February air nips at your cheeks, but the warmth of the two coffee cups in your hands makes it bearable. You balance your phone between your shoulder and ear, voice light with amusement.

��I still don’t get why you made me leave the bookstore,” you sigh.

Rafe chuckles on the other end of the line, the sound deep and familiar. “Because we got plans, princess—you’d still be in there if I let you.”

You roll your eyes as a smile slips across your lips. “Not true. I would’ve left eventually. Maybe.”

“Mhmm… Yeah, sure.”

You stroll carefully on the busy street, walking with the flow of traffic, getting in their last-minute Valentine’s Day shopping. “You almost done with your errand, baby?” You ask, shifting your bags again.

“Mhmm… Walkin’ toward you, sweetheart.”

“I got you your favorite,” you smile as you lift his coffee slightly, watching as he smiles.

“My girl. Thank you—” You barely register the car driving through the alley before the force slams into your side. The world tilts violently as your feet lift off the ground, coffee cups slipping from her grasp. You hit the pavement hard, pain jolting through your body. Your phone skids across the sidewalk, Rafe’s voice cuts off, and everything goes dark.

Your eyes flutter open, a steady ring sounding in your ears. People gather around you, rushing to see if you're okay and what’s happened.

“Oh my God—Oh my God, baby?” You blink up at a man crouching beside you, his face pale, hands trembling as his breathing comes out fast and uneven. You groan, wincing as you push yourself up onto your elbows, feeling your pulse bang in your head.

“I—I didn’t see her, man,” the guy panics, running a hand through his hair. “I swear, she-she-she fucking came outta nowhere—”

“Blame her again, and I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” the man beside you snarls.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, his eyes returning to yours.

“Are you sure?” He asks anxiously, as his big hands hover over your body like he’s scared you’ll break. “Keep your eyes on me, alright?” The man asks gently as he strokes your cheek. His blue eyes are wide with panic, his strong jaw tight, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Who are you?”

His blood drains from his face completely as the words push through your quivering lips, stabbing him in the heart. His lips parted, but for a moment, no words came out.

“Baby, it’s me. It’s Rafe—” He whispers weakly.

Rafe? He looks down at you perplexed–a look in his worried eyes telling you his name should mean something to you. His voice is reassuring, like he’s hoping it’ll bring you a wave of clarity, but it doesn’t… It’s just a name.

“What’s happening?” You ask as you try your best to hold back tears.

“Hey, hey, easy,” he says quickly, his hand cupping your cheek, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “Just stay still, okay? The ambulance is coming.”

Your pulse thunders in your ears as you look at him—really look at him. His face twists in worry, his brows drawn together like this moment is doing nothing short of tearing him apart. But you don’t know him or how you got here…

You squeeze your eyes shut, panic creeping up in your throat, making it difficult to breathe. “I don’t understand.”

Rafe swallows hard, his grip slightly tightening. “It’s okay,” he says, though his voice wavers, trying to assure you both in one breath. “You—You… Uh,” he struggles before clearing his throat. “You hit your head on the ground. You just need a second, okay?” You weren't sure a second would matter because looking at him—this man who was holding onto you like you were his entire world—you felt nothing but empathy for a stranger. “You know me, sweetheart.”

“I don’t.”

Rafe looks away, trying to collect himself as tears pool in his eyes. “Where the hell is the ambulance, huh?” He screams, his voice breaking with sadness as he looks around. “What's taking them so long?”

Rafe’s never known fear like this… Everything that he knew to be true was gone in a moment. Your words shattered something inside him, but he refused to let go.

Rafe cups your face in his hand again, tracing his thumb over the soft skin of your cheek, trying to ground you both. “It’s okay,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re okay. You’re just hurt. You hit your head—it’s just the concussion talking. You know me. You… You know me, sweetheart,” he smiles as his lips tremble.

He needed you to remember–needed you to feel what you had always felt when you looked at him. He needed the woman you were just a few short moments before, so he did the only thing he could think of doing.

He kissed you.

Rafe’s lips press against yours–soft and gentle—a silent plea for you to remember. But then he felt it: the slight hesitation, the way you tensed up, just barely, but it was enough.

He pulled back, praying he was wrong, hoping to see a sliver of clarity in your eyes, but all he saw was confusion. Rafe’s stomach twists, his hand drifting off your cheek, resting lightly on your hand instead, suddenly feeling like it didn’t belong there either.

Sirens wail in the distance as Rafe weaves his fingers in yours, holding you tight.

“You’re gonna be okay, baby,” he assures. His eyes stay locked on yours as they lift you into the ambulance. “I’m right behind you, okay?” The paramedics close the doors before he can say anything else–the emergency vehicle streaming down the road toward the hospital.

Rafe doesn’t waste a second, turning and running toward his car, fighting through people on the street as he digs into his pocket for his keys. He lifts them to the ignition–his whole body trembling as he turns the car over, speeding in the direction you went.

He reaches for the speaker, turning down the volume, trying his best to hold in his emotions as the song you were singing on the car ride there pours out the speakers.

His chest tightens, and his gaze locks ahead as his nose fills with the sweet smell of your favorite flowers, the large bouquet resting in the passenger’s seat.

This was supposed to be a perfect night.

Now, he’s speeding through the city, his pulse hammering, trying to convince himself that everything wasn’t falling apart. That he’d get to the hospital and everything would be fine–that that moment you needed would have come and passed.

That he would have his girl back.

He replays the kiss in his mind, over and over again, refusing to blink as he stares at the road ahead, knowing that if his eyes beat shut, the tears glimmering inside will give way.

The hospital comes into view, and the second he pulls into the parking lot, he’s out of his car, feet pounding against the asphalt as he sprints toward the entrance. The waiting room is packed; the hallways are bright and sterile.

“Ma’am,” he yells as he spots a nurse. “Y/N?” He asks with urgency.

“She’s in room 214 just down the hall,” she gestures down the way with a nod. “Follow me–”

Rafe runs past her, stumbling into the room and reaching for a full breath.

He bites his cheek as he sees you already lying in the hospital bed, tucked into a crisp white sheet. The lights are drawn low; your beautiful eyes shut.

Rafe looks down at you, seeing the little bruise blooming on your cheek with a slight gash beneath it.

His eyes flick to the sink in the corner of the room. Rafe saunters over, turning on the faucet, dampening a towel before stepping to your side. He presses it against your cheek; featherlight touches as he cleans it away.

“I got you, baby,” he whispers, his voice barely audible and laced with tears. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be fine.”

Your lashes flutter open, making Rafe freeze, his beautiful eyes set on yours. You were scared, but nothing even close to how you were the first time you woke up. And even though you didn’t remember Rafe before this, you felt him.

Rafe pushes out a shaky breath as he looks down at you, brushing your hair off your face. “Hey,” he whispers.

You look at him, your lips parting, wanting desperately to say something, but nothing comes out.

Rafe gives you a soft, weak smile as he takes your hand again, brushing his thumb over the top. “You don’t have to talk. Just rest, okay? I’m not leavin’. I’ll be right here, okay?”

The room settles into a quiet rhythm—just the soft beeping of the monitors and the distant hum of hospital sounds filtering through the walls. Rafe hasn’t moved from your side.

The doctor pushes away the curtain before stepping inside, giving you both a reassuring smile. He flips through your chart, skimming your health history again. “How are you feeling?”

You exhale slowly as you look up at the doctor from your bed. “Okay. Just a little foggy; a little sore,” your voice breaks under pressure.

“You took a pretty rough hit, but your x-rays came back clear. No fractures, just bumps and bruises. That foggy feeling is coming from concussion–a mild traumatic brain injury or TBI.”

Rafe’s grip on your hands instinctively tightens. “Umm…” He asks uneasily before clearing his throat. “Is that why she can’t remember anything–”

“Yes, we’re looking at PTA or post-traumatic amnesia. Everyone handles it differently–”

“Differently?” Rafe asks. “How-How so?”

“For some patients, PTA lasts minutes—for some, months. Some things could come back in flashes, others over time. But given the nature of the injury, I’d say she has a very good chance of regaining everything.”

“You hear that, baby?” He looks down at you, his voice shattered but a little more hopeful than before. You smile and nod before looking back to the doctor.

“You just have to be patient with her; reassuring–”

“I can do that,” he answers quickly. Your heart breaks for him. At the moment, the reason he was sitting next to you is lost, but you know enough to see that he is struggling. He was scared, too. Your fingers squeeze him, giving him a small gesture of reassurance.

He looks down at you before swallowing hard, exhaling a shaky breath through a soft smile before returning to the doctor. “So, she’s gonna be okay,” he asks.

The doctor nods. “Yes. She just needs some rest, assurance, stability, and time.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

Rafe keeps his hand on your lower back, leading you from the car up to your downtown apartment. Your eyes search around, taking in everything seemingly for the first time. It was new to both of you–the two of you moving in just weeks before.

“Any of this look familiar? He asks as he helps you out of your jacket. You shake your head ‘no’. Of course, he wants you to remember things… He wants you to feel comfortable and safe, but there was some solace in knowing you didn’t remember this as well because, for the moment, the only memory lost was him.

The apartment is beautiful, warm, and inviting–a love letter of your life together so far, picture after picture, memories that you’d eventually get back.

Rafe watches you closely as you take it all in, knowing the moment the photo was taken meant nothing, hoping for you to see how much he meant to you at that moment at least.

You follow Rafe as he moves into the kitchen, grabbing a vase off the table, taking out some older flowers, and replacing them with new ones. You smile brightly, melting his heart as he replaces them with red roses instead.

“Valentine’s Day?” You ask as you walk toward him, stepping into the kitchen. He sets the flowers back before returning to your side.

Rafe wraps his arms around you, pulling you gently against his chest, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.

“Yeah, baby.”

You both take a deep, needed breath. His cologne is rich, a warm vanilla with a hint of tobacco. You rest your head on his muscular chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Tears start to well in your eyes again.

“Hey,” he whispers, his hand tracing slow, soothing circles against your back as your fingers grip the fabric of his sweater like you need something to hold onto. “We’ll figure this out together, alright? No pressure. No rush.”

The emotion building in your chest was too much. All you could offer was a slight nod against him. Rafe presses a kiss against your hair, keeping it there momentarily.

“All you need to know is that this is your house, and I’m yours. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper shakily.

“Well,” he hums as he draws back slightly, meeting your eyes. “We can still do a few things we had planned,” he murmurs, his voice warm and gentle.

“We had plans?” You ask, hopefully.

Rafe nods as his hands run down your arms, lacing his fingers in yours before walking backward, pulling you toward the kitchen. “It’s Valentine’s Day, princess. Of course, we have plans.”

Princess… Rafe sees the way you react to it–your lips part slightly in a bashful smile, that same flicker in your eyes you had the first time he called you that. “You like that, huh?” He teases.

You giggle and bite your lip, finding yourself having to look away before looking back at the beautiful man before you–the man who wanted nothing more than for you to remember that he belonged to you.

Rafe pulls out a stool at the kitchen island, draping your shoulders in a cozy blanket before passing you a glass of water.

“Water?” You pout teasingly as he places the bottle of red wine on the counter back on the wine rack. He shakes his head and laughs before heading back toward you.

“You heard what he said, pretty,” he hums as he rests his hands on the counter, leaning in closer, making your heart race.

“You’re really taking care of me,” you smile.

“Of course I am. Not to brag or anything, but that’s kinda what I do,” he hums. “I mean, you said it yourself, sweetheart. I’m the best boyfriend ever. I'm smartest, funniest, and sexiest, for sure,” he chuckles and winks.

“Anything else?” You smile.

“Mmm… Mhmm,” he mumbles. “You’ve never loved a man before me. In fact, no men existed before me,” Rafe smiles devilishly.

You roll your eyes and smile. “Whatever you say.”

Rafe reaches under the counter, grabs a pot and a pan, and sets them on top.

“Wait—do you cook?”

Rafe bursts out laughing, looking back at you like there’s a story there. “Hell no… But you do,” he adds with a grin. “And it’s so fuckin’ good.”

“Yeah?” You smile; your love for cooking’s seared in your memory, but his reaction to your cooking’s brand new.

Rafe nods enthusiastically. “Baby, you have no idea. Your pasta? Life-changing. Your chicken parm? I swear–”

You smile against the rim of your water glass before taking a sip, listening to him rant and rave. “So,” he says playfully, “since I clearly have no skills in the kitchen, you’re gonna walk me through it.”

Your eyebrow lifts in amusement as a smile curls on your lips. “You want me to teach you how to cook?”

“Mhmm… And don’t worry, I’ll do all the actual work. You just sit there and be your gorgeous, sexy, bossy self, yeah?”

“Bossy?” You laugh as you put your hand under your chin, leaning into the counter. “I boss you around?”

Rafe smiles boyishly as he looks down at the ingredients list before him. “Don’t worry, princess, I love it,” he mumbles, his words sending a rush of warmth through your body.

“I don’t remember what I was gonna make.”

“It’s the chicken thing I like,” he answers as he sets the ingredients on the counter. “You made it for me on our first date. You said it was your specialty–”

“Chicken Cordon Bleu,” you answer with a smile.

“Mhmm,” he hums with a cheeky grin. “I mentioned that I had it before in college, and I didn’t know that it was something that didn’t come wrapped in plastic and put in the microwave, and you called me disgusting.”

Your hand covers your smile, not at all surprised with yourself. “I’m sorry–”

“Don’t be,” he chuckles as he sets the last ingredient on the counter. “You looked just like you did right now when you said it, so I was more focused on that,” he smiles, looking back at you in adoration.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, baby,” he smiles. Rafe pulls out the last ingredient before looking at you, waiting for instructions.

“Alright, first, you need to start the oven.”

“Start. The. Oven,” he repeats your words slowly as he walks across the kitchen to the appliance. He puts his hands on his hips, looking at the little buttons and knobs before leaning in. He presses the start button, and the oven quickly responds with a shrill beep, making him tense up. “Shit,” he chuckles. “I made it mad.”

“Temperature first, baby,” you smile. Rafe looks over his shoulder slightly before looking back at you with a smile, wondering if he heard you right.

“Push ‘start’ again?” He asks, purposefully getting the instruction wrong, hoping you’ll repeat it.

“Temperature first, baby,” you smile, seeing how much your words affect him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rafe walks back toward you, his beautiful eyes focused on yours. As he worked, Rafe kept talking, filling the kitchen with stories, little pieces of you.

“We went to Italy?” He says. “About two months ago… It was the best trip ever. You dragged me through every little café, every hole-in-the-wall restaurant. We ate so much pasta, holy shit. That bottle of wine I put away was from that trip–delicious, baby. So damn good,” he hums as he recalls the memory himself.

The smell of the food fills the kitchen, and that familiar aroma surrounds you. “And those?” You ask, gesturing to the counter at a small, white box with a bow.

“Perugina. Also from Italy. I’ve been savin’ them for Valentine’s Day,” he smiles as he cleans off the messy counter with a rag.

You untie the chocolate box ribbon, picking one up, popping it into her mouth. Rafe scoffs, scrunching his nose as his eyebrows pinch together. “Hey, you’re not gonna be hungry for my five-star meal.”

You roll your eyes and laugh, reaching into the box to grab one for Rafe before holding it to his lips. He hesitates momentarily, his soft eyes flickering between you and the chocolate before taking it between his lips. Your finger grazes the slight stubble on his jaw, your thumb dragging ever so slightly on his plump bottom lip, making his heart stumble.

“Good?” You ask, your voice laced with sensuality.

“So good,” he hums. Rafe grabs one himself, holding it up to your mouth. You take it between your lips, wrapping them around his fingers, lingering momentarily. The energy in the room shifts from light teasing to something deeper, which you could imagine would typically end with his lips on yours. The tension between you builds, and you feel a flutter in your stomach.

“Good?” He asks.

“Delicious.”

Rafe set the plates on the dining table, resting yours in front of you before taking a seat.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, nervously awaiting your reaction. “This is amazing…” You praise, watching as the tension in his shoulders fall. “So,” You say between bites, “tell me about you.”

Rafe smiles, tilting his head as he looks back at you. “What do you wanna know?”

“Anything. I feel like I should know everything, but…” You exhale, pressing your lips together before shaking her head.

“Hey, we’ve got nothing’ but time, aight? First date convo. The basics. What do you wanna know, princess?”

You nod in agreement, looking back at him as you think about what you want to ask first. “What do you do? For work?”

Rafe’s lips twitch, a bit of pride slipping into his expression. “I’m closin’ a huge deal soon. It’s been in the works for months.”

“Oh?” You ask, intrigued. “Business guy?”

“Commercial real estate, yeah.”

Your lips draw to the side as you push a glazed carrot around your plate, trying to think of something else. “And what do I do?”

Rafe scoots a little closer and smiles, resting his forearms on the table as he looks back at you proudly. “You own a restaurant.”

“I do?” You ask happily.

“Mhmm… For about two years now, I believe. A very, very successful one,” he praises you as you look back at him in wonder.

“Wow… What kind of restaurant?”

“Upscale New American Cuisine,” Rafe answered quickly. “And I still don’t know what that means. But, it’s one of the most well-known spots in Charleston.”

Your lips part slightly, a flicker of something crossing your mind. “The Social?”

Rafe’s breath catches, his heart skipping a beat. “Yeah, baby,” he answers gently.

“I’ve been thinking about that for years–since I graduated…”

“And you pulled it off,” Rafe adds.

Rafe watches you carefully, letting you sit with that realization for a moment, “That’s where we met.”

“Tell me about it.”

Rafe smiles and nods as he takes your hand in his. “Alright, princess… Umm. You were pissed at me.”

You burst out laughing again, just like you did before. Your hand covers your mouth, half-covering your smile. “Why?” You chuckle weakly. “There’s no way.”

“I swear. You didn’t know me yet, but you hated me that first night, for a while at least.”

“Why?” You ask, scrunching your nose in disbelief with yourself, especially considering how sweet he’s treating you now. It’s hard to think of another moment when you could be pissed at him, let alone hate him.

“Because I was late for my reservation,” he admits. “Like twenty… thirty minutes, maybe? I came in with a party of twelve, and you were slammed. You had given the tables away, and I shuffled in with all those people, totally expecting the table to be ready.”

“Uh oh,” you chuckle.

“Uh oh, is right… You told me to fuck off.”

“No!” You gasp.

“I’m just fuckin’ with you,” he laughs. “Nah. You told me, very professionally, that you gave my tables away and that if I wanted to eat, I would have to wait.”

“And what did you say?” You ask as you lean in a little more.

“I turned on the charm, obviously,” he answers smugly. “Charmed your panties right off you.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Mhmm… Flirted with you shamelessly,” Rafe adds. “I told you no one has ever looked this good kickin’ me out of a restaurant. And somehow, magically, ten minutes later, you had a table for twelve in the back.”

You smile and nod, looking back at Rafe as his eyes twinkle in the candlelight, looking back at you lovingly. “Everyone left, and I decided to stay for a drink, and before I could even look around for you, the prettiest woman I have ever seen in my life sat next to me. And, the rest is history.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

Without hesitation, you curl up beside him, resting your head in his lap. Rafe takes a slow, steady breath, trying to control his emotions.

The movie plays softly in the background, but neither of you is paying attention, focusing more on each other.

Rafe tests the waters, leaning down, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead like he’s wanted to all night. The moment he pulls back, his eyes meet yours. And unlike before, when he kissed you in the street, the fear was gone.

You swallow hard, blinking up at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you.”

Rafe looks down at you, and just like before, he’s unsure what he heard you or if it’s just some sweet dream. “Yeah?” He asks weakly.

You nod; your eyes never leaving his. “I don’t—I don’t remember everything,” you admit, her voice thick with emotion. “But I feel it, Rafe. I feel you.”

Rafe’s jaw tightens as he struggles to keep himself from falling apart completely.

“I know how much you love me,” you continue, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I can see it in how you look at me and how you’ve taken care of me all night. I’m so lucky to have you.”

Rafe’s vision blurs, but he doesn’t care, letting his tears roll down his cheeks. He turns his face into your palm, kissing the inside of her wrist before whispering, “You have no idea how much I love you, princess.” He wraps his big arms around you, pulling you in for a tight hug. He buries himself in your neck, feeling a wave of relief crash over him.

When Rafe lowers you again, you shift before he can react, straddling him and wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. The sudden movement widens his eyes; a surprised chuckle leaves his lips as his large hand instinctively rests on your hips.

“Well, this is unexpected,” he teases, his voice low and laced with affection.

You smile softly, scratching your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck before you lean in, letting your lips ghost over the top of yours. Rafe’s breathing matches yours, lips brushing ever so slightly. And, just when he can’t take anymore, he leans in, pressing a deep, lingering kiss on your lips.

His breath catches in his muscular chest, his grip tightening on your body as you melt into his warm embrace. Rafe’s heart pounds at the way you kiss him–no hesitation, no caution, fully. Just like the first night, you were together.

“Is this too much?” He asks gently between kisses.

“No,” you whisper. “Not at all.” Your hands rest on his stomach, drifting higher up the cozy material of his sweater, pressing against his chest, then pressing again.

You still, pulling back slightly as you meet Rafe’s eyes, his brows furrow in confusion until he realized what he had done.

Your hand rests over your mouth, your eyes wide as you beg the silent question.

Is that what I think it is?

Rafe freezes, his heart hammering in his chest as he gives you a slight nod. “Can I see it?” You whisper.

He exhales slowly, his lips twitching into a nervous and excited smile. “I can never say ‘no’ to you, princess.”

“Okay,” you answer as your eyes shimmer with tears.

Then, in one swift motion, Rafe lifts you to your feet, standing there before dropping to one knee, pulling out the box you felt in his breast pocket.

“I’m askin’ you again. But, if I’m showing you, I’m still gonna do this right,” he whispers, his voice low and thick with love.

Tears well in both of your eyes as you stare at each other, caught in a moment that’s bigger than all of the lost memories.

Rafe swallows hard, staring up at you from his knee with the engagement ring resting in the open box in his palm.

His heart pounded so fiercely he could feel it in his throat, his hands trembling slightly—not out of fear, but because this moment, you had always been the most important thing in his life.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking. “Sweetheart, I know things are complicated right now. And if I’m being honest, yeah—a part of me is sad that you don’t remember all the beautiful memories we’ve made. Because, God, baby, there are so many,” his voice breaks as he pushes out the last few words.

“If I’m bein’ completely honest, I would have proposed to you the first night I met you.” A soft, choked laugh escapes him, and he tilts his head, looking at you with the same love he always has.

“The second you rolled those pretty little eyes at me at your restaurant, I knew you were it for me.” You lift your arm, wiping your eyes along the sleeve of your sweater.

Rafe’s expression softens, even more, his free hand reaching for yours. He rubs his thumb over her knuckles and smiles.

“I love you,” he murmurs, looking up at you like you’re the only thing in the world. “I’ve loved you through every version of us—through every moment, every fight, every laugh. And I’ll love you through this,” Rafe promises. “I’ll love you while we figure it all out, while we rebuild every memory you lost, while you fall for me again—which, by the way, is inevitable because I’m incredibly charming.”

Your cheeks burn from your smile, and your eyes shut slightly, causing the tears to tumble down your cheeks.

“So, what do you say, princess? Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you whisper without hesitation. Rafe barely lets you finish before he slips the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking slightly.

The second it’s in place, he surges to his feet, cupping your face in his hands as he kisses you deep and desperate, filled with so much love it nearly steals your breath.

“I love you,” you whisper as your fingers trace the back of his neck.

Rafe grins, pulling you back in again, whispering a breathless ‘I love you too’.

Just like before, you move on instinct, jumping into his strong arms, wrapping your legs around his trim waist as your body presses against Rafe’s, kissing him just like you have countless times before. And even if you couldn't remember all those beautiful moments just yet, your body knew him.

Rafe’s big hands grip your thighs, holding you tight. "We should go to bed,” you whisper through a soft smile.

Rafe chuckles, still breathless, his lips grazing your cheek. "You need to relax, princess."

"I am relaxed,” you murmur, nuzzling against your fiancé’s neck. "Please, baby. You said you can never say ‘no’ to me…”

He groans softly at your words, tightening his hold on you as he searches for your face.

"Okay," he whispered, voice thick and hungry. "But I'm takin’ care of you… Princess treatment. You're not doin’ shit but cummin’, alright?” He asks.

You nod, fingers threading through his hair. "I want you."

His chest ached at how you said it, like even though your memories were still scattered, you knew he was the one person who would always be there.

Rafe carries you toward the bedroom, your lips meeting again and again, slow and deep, each kiss stealing a little more of the space between you.

He works off his sweater and shirt between kisses, and you undo his belt and slacks. Your hands fall down his toned skin as your breathing grows heavier, smiling against his lips.

Rafe follows your focus, your emerald-cut diamond glistening in the low light. “I’m gonna take care of you, alright. Now… Always. Okay?” He asks.

“I know you will,” you whisper, making him smile against your lips.

Rafe carefully takes off your sweater, quickly raising his hands to caress your curves. He smiles as he takes in the red lace.

“This is new,” he whispers as his thumb brushes against the delicate material, making your nipple press against the fabric, whimpering at the subtle down.

Rafe reaches down, hooking his finger under the band of your leggings, looking up at you, silently asking for consent. You look at him and smile, giving him a slight nod. He pulls them down to your feet, kissing higher and higher.

“These are new, too,” he hums as he slips his finger under the band of your matching panties. The set is no doubt purchased for the man standing in front of you.

He reaches behind your back, kissing your shoulder as he unclasps your bra, letting it fall off your shoulders onto the floor. Rafe lifts you off your feet, and you find yourself in his arms yet again; this time, it’s skin on skin.

He sets you on the bed carefully, taking his time, looking at you underneath him. Rafe works slowly, biting the band of your red panties and pulling them down your thighs.

You can feel the chill of your wetness between your thighs as he breathes warmly against your sex. Reaching down, you rest your slight fingers on your clit as he watches, rubbing for a moment, teasing him, making him chuckle out a deep, dark laugh.

“No touching, princess,” he hums as he grabs your left hand, taking your middle and ring fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean up to the jewelry.

Goosebumps spread across your skin as he kisses your inner thighs, working closer and closer ‘til he’s kissing your clit.

You throw your head back into the pillow, thighs drawing in. Rafe grabs your knees, carefully spreading you wide, spitting on your pussy before sucking down, sliding two fingers into your soaked hole.

“So fucking wet,” he moans against your cunt, working you with his mouth just like you love, sucking, flicking, and kissing, leaving you crying out for more.

You feel yourself just seconds away from your release, but he already knows, quickening his pace, sucking down just a little more until your body comes undone. Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him close as you pulse around his thick digits.

You relax around him, dissolving into the mattress as he continues to work his fingers in and out, watching your body continue to respond to his touch.

“How was that, princess?” Rafe asks with a smile, already knowing his answer. His long fingers are a mess with your climax.

You grab his wrist, drawing his fingers between your mouth, wrapping your lips around them, gliding them in and out like you’d suck him off.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he moans, watching you close. “We gotta get you feelin’ better. You’re so good at that…”

“Come here,” you smile, wrapping your hand around his neck and leading him to your lips. You look at the space between you, watching his thick cock, leaving a slight streak of precum on your stomach as he moves closer. “Fuck, baby,” you moan needily.

Rafe wraps his fist around his dick, tapping your clit, making your body jolt with sensitivity.

“Are you okay, baby?” He mumbles against your lips. “You wanna keep goin’?” Rafe asks as he traces his swollen tip around your soaked hole, pressing himself against it.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips. “I need you, please–” And just like when he was sliding on your ring, he could barely wait until you got the rest of the words out, filling your tight cunt like he was always meant to be there.

He lets out a deep groan, feeling the way your body pulls him in—the way the shape of you fits exactly how it should. “You feel that? Pussy was made for me, baby,” he breathes as he draws out, thrusting himself back in.

Rafe rolls his body into you, reaching that perfect spot inside you. Your body tightens around him, fingers twisting into the sheets.

You reach up, grabbing his cheeks, pressing a deep kiss against his lips; Rafe, swallowing your moans and pleasured cries.

Your back arches into him–nipples brushing against his chest. His chain falls on your chest, sticking to your sweat-glistened skin, making the tears pooling on your waterline fall as you see your initials etched in gold.

“I love you, Rafe… I love you,” you whisper as he picks up the pace.

“I love you more,” he soothes as he reaches up, rubbing the tears away with his thumbs. “Come on, baby. Cum on my cock.”

You bite your lip and nod, looking up at him as your climax comes hard and fast, your body pulsing with pleasure around his thick dick as he works you through your orgasm.

“Fuckkk,” he moans, drawing out the word as he empties himself inside you, his eyes screwing shut as you purposefully clench around him, making his body shudder.

He collapses on top of you, lips finding your forehead as he kisses, lingering as he catches his breath. Rafe moves a little lower, nuzzling his face against you, his voice barely above a breath as he whispers, “I love you.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

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loafysainz · 2 days ago

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🎥 SENDING DIRTY TEXT TO MY HUSBAND AROUND BUNCH OF PEOPLE

cast: carlos sainz, lewis hamilton, lando norris, max verstappen, charles leclerc, oscar piastri, george russell × reader!

warn: 18+, smut, minor dni

hope you guys enjoy it!

carlos sainz

Carlos is sitting at the dinner table, surrounded by his family, deep in conversation with his father when his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, expecting something harmless—until he sees your message:

"I can still feel you from last night. My legs are shaking just thinking about it. Maybe you should do something about it later, mi amor."

He chokes on his drink, eyes widening as his mother pats his back, oblivious to the heat rushing to his face. His fingers tighten around his phone as he clears his throat, throwing you a sharp look from across the table. You, sitting there sweetly, sip your wine like you didn’t just set him on fire.

Carlos leans closer, voice low but urgent. "Cariño, you can’t do this to me here."

But the way his jaw clenches, the darkening of his eyes, tells you he’s already planning his revenge for later.

lewis hamilton

The music is loud, drinks flowing as Lewis chats with a few celebrities in the VIP lounge. He’s mid-sentence when his phone vibrates. Casually pulling it out, he takes a quick glance—then freezes.

"I miss having your hands all over me. Maybe we should sneak out and you can remind me how good they feel?"

His lips part slightly, tongue running over his teeth as he exhales sharply. He tilts his head back, taking a slow sip of his drink, but his grip on the glass tightens.

You’re across the room, acting innocent, but when his gaze meets yours, he smirks. Oh, you’re in trouble now.

Lewis leans against the booth, texting back, “Meet me in five. Don’t bother fixing your dress. I’ll ruin it anyway.”

lando norris

Lando is laughing, lining up his shot, when his phone dings. He doesn’t think twice before checking it—only for his eyes to nearly pop out of his skull.

"Imagine me on my knees for you right now. Bet you wouldn’t be able to focus on your little golf game, huh?"

He fumbles his club, nearly dropping it as a deep red flush spreads over his face. The guys around him notice immediately.

“Lando, you good, mate?” Max Fewtrell grins.

“Uh—yeah, yeah, just—uh, hot out here, isn’t it?”

You wink at him from the golf cart, and he shoots you a warning look, shifting awkwardly as he tries to compose himself.

Later, he grabs you by the waist, voice low and desperate. “You’re so dead when we get home.”

max verstappen

Max is in the hospitality lounge, joking with Christian and a few engineers, when he checks his phone under the table. His body stiffens immediately.

"I can still taste you on my lips. Wonder if you'd rather me use my mouth somewhere else next time."

He nearly drops his phone. His face is unreadable, but you know him too well—the slight clench of his jaw, the way he shifts in his seat.

Christian nudges him. “Something wrong?”

Max clears his throat. “No. Nothing.” But his ears are red.

You catch his eye from across the room, biting your lip playfully. He exhales through his nose, tapping out a reply:

"Hotel room. Now."

charles leclerc

Charles is lounging on the deck, drink in hand, surrounded by his friends when his phone lights up. He checks it—and immediately sits up straighter.

"I wish I were sitting on your lap right now… but not in a way that’s appropriate for this party."

His breath hitches, fingers tightening around the glass. He shifts, crossing his legs to conceal his growing problem. His brother Arthur notices.

"Charles, pourquoi tu fais cette tête?" (Why do you look like that?)

"Rien," he mumbles quickly, shoving his phone into his pocket.

You smirk, and he glares at you before texting back, “Keep playing, mon amour. See what happens when we get home.”

oscar piastri

Oscar is laughing with his engineers when he checks his phone. His face immediately changes.

"You looked so good this morning. Wish I’d had more time to be on top of you before you left."

His breath catches in his throat. He coughs, nearly choking on his drink. Andrea Stella raises a brow.

"You okay, Oscar?"

"Yep. Fine. Just—uh, spicy food."

He doesn’t dare look at you, knowing the second he does, he’s screwed. Instead, he sends a quick text back:

"You better be naked when I get back."

george russell

George is the picture of politeness, sipping his tea while his mother chats about the weather. Then his phone vibrates.

He checks it discreetly—only to nearly spit out his drink.

"Wouldn’t it be fun if I slipped under the table right now and made you lose composure in front of everyone?"

His grip on the cup tightens, and he clears his throat loudly, shifting in his seat. His mother eyes him.

"Everything alright, love?"

"Yep, just—uh—just remembered something from work."

You blink innocently at him from across the table, and he clenches his jaw before texting back:

"You are absolutely wicked. But don't worry, I’ll make you beg for mercy later."

END

you can share your thought/ideas my box always open!! 🤍

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notquitecanon · 2 days ago

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IRL Plug and Play || Poly!141 x Fem!Reader

Summary: Third part of my Search History series (based on Penelope Garcia from Criminal minds) , the dinner party. The culmination of a month of knowing the boy's browser histories. Not much of a summary, it's pretty much dirty from start to finish.

18+ NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Warning: Fem pronouns and genitals, alcohol consumption, alcohol used during sex, porn, emulating porn, group sex, unprotected sex, tagging dub con just to be on the safe side but not really if you read the other parts you get it, Oral (M & F recieiving), fingering, penetration (F receiving) , allusions to penetration (male recieving), inappropriate use of cigar ashes. Genuinely this is just me being gross about these men for almost 12,000 words, proceed with caution. Say it with me one more time- irl this would be workplace harassment and NOT sexy. However, these are fictional war criminals who ARE sexy so we’re forgiving it.

Original Idea First Prev My Masterlist

made a lil header for the first time these are the vibes of reader and 141 :) (not Penelope's psychical description just her vibes)

pssst see how they're all on their mics in the pics?? its cuz your the voice in their ears :)

When you pulled into a parking spot on John Price’s street thirty minutes early, you automatically feel squirmy and a little foolish. Foolish because you’d convinced yourself that you were reading too much into things. So much so, that, somehow, the boys seeking out your porn twin had circled back around to you feeling like the unprofessional one. Squirming because you’d found the video they’d all watched more than once (more than three times) in the last days of their assignment. Barrack’s Bunny Get’s Gang Banged!

(Of course it was a military inspired orgy video, with four men and one woman that looked almost identical to you. Because, JFC, why wouldn’t it be? Was this actress in on the torment? Was she taking requests or was this some sort of cosmic joke where the punchline was your own sexual frustration?)

Ok, how the hell were you not supposed to read into that?

You hadn’t been able to watch it all the way through yet, having to pause and take breaks to calm yourself down. The thumbnail alone of your doppelgänger with four sets of hands and… other extremities... was enough to tempt you put your car back in drive and go back home. Because you weren’t sure you could look any of them in the eyes, and also for the third time in the last hour, you were second guessing your outfit.

Because what the hell does one wear to the porn-party with their boss and superiors? (Ok, maybe you should start by stop calling it the ‘porn-party’, because outside of your own finding in their browser histories, they’d yet to mention any actual porn to you in real life, but what else were you supposed to call this?)

After leaving work, you’d spent a long time debating if you needed to change and, if so, into what, and would it be delusional to put on a matching set? Johnny did say he liked seeing something soft… And were your work clothes too stiff? Was the skirt too presumptuous after that video Kyle liked titled Easy Access ? And was it just you or did your work blouse look slightly too much like the one from the office-scene Price had bookmarked? And why the hell was this all you could think about? Strewing your clothes around your bedroom like a teenager before a party, different combinations and options littering your bed and dresser until you got frustrated with yourself and your closet. With a what the hell moment of ambivalence, you’d settled on something comfortable, but switched into a lacy bralette, lying to yourself that it was more comfortable than the one you’d worn to work, and if the lacy strap happened to coquettishly accent your shoulder when your sweater sleeve slipped down your arm? Well, if it wasn’t a Porn Party, then no one would notice, and if it was, well it’d be sure to draw some appreciative eyes.

Your car was still cranked as you sat slightly down the block from Price’s house in your casual sweater and hidden matching set, anxiously killing time by alternating between tik tok, instagram, tumblr, and oh yes, the Barracks Bunny Gets Gang Banged video that you’d been working through thirty seconds at a time because any longer had your overheating and threatening to leave a snail trail on your upholstery. So enthralled and flustered, you’d barely thought of the fact you were quietly playing porn over your car’s bluetooth system, you’d made it to the official halfway mark, and each time you’d switched out to a different app, the ‘break’ was short lived as you went back for more, one hand white knuckling your steering wheel as if this was a particularly good movie with a plot twist you just couldn’t miss.

So enthralled, that a sudden knocking on your window startled you so bad that you half-tossed-half-dropped your phone with a sound that could only be described as a ’squawk’ as you slammed the mute button to your car’s stereo. It was as you were turning towards the knocker, that you realized you could 100% catch a public indecency charge for this, and somehow were still only half relieved to find Johnny leaning slightly down so he could meet your gaze through your driver-side window. He had his raincoat on, and a lit cigarette pinched between his thumb and pointer as he looked in on you with a cheeky smile and raised brows. When you just stared up at him like a deer in headlights, mentally trying to figure out just how long he’d been there and if from that angle he could’ve seen your screen and how good was the sound proofing on your car…. As you ran those mental calculations, Johnny simply knocked again and this time added a downwards motion with his cigarette, requesting you to roll down the window.

You’d never noticed how slow your windows descended as the two of you held eye contact (awkward on your side, delighted on his), until there was no longer a pane of glass between you. The cool, damp night breeze carried the scent of tobacco and some kind of Old Spice fragrance into your little car as you looked up at the Scotsman. He seem amused, but happy to see you, "Coming?"

Your brain short circuited for a moment. Were you… cumming? You stared at him wide eyed, convinced you’d misheard him.

"What?" Was all you managed to respond with, your brain still trying to scrub filthy, lewd images from between its lobes, like a community service volunteer cleaning graffiti off subway walls. Johnny’s eyebrows only raised higher with his signature, Can’t wait to tell Ghost about this look, as he took another deep puff of his cig.

"Are ye coming inside, hen?" He clarified slowly with that shit eating grin after blowing his smoke away form you- what a gentleman, "Or are’ye planning to sit out here all night?"

"Oh, right." You mumbled, resisting the urge to scrub your hands across your face to physically redirect your thoughts. Instead, you nodded and started gathering your things, "Yeah, yeah, I’m coming inside."

"Good, Si was getting impatient." Johnny grinned, stepping back so you could open your car door after you fished your phone from the passenger floorboards and cut the engine. Si? You hadn’t head that nickname for Ghost before, hell, you still excusively called him Ghost to his face, because you’d not received permission for anything else. Simon was personal, Si… was intimate... He watched you expectantly, snapping you out of your thoughts, and when you only responded in silent confusion, he reached inside the still open vehicle and tapped the buttons, "Window, bonnie, s'raining."

Cheeks heating in mild embarrassment, you quickly cut the battery back on so you roll up the window and then get out. You’d always been a little scatter-brained, prone to being in your own little world, but this was getting excessive. Maybe all the porn really was melting your brain… With the windows up and double checking the car was off, you finally got out of the car. Johnny immediately took the plate of brownies out of your hand in the guise of gentlemanly conduct, but actually snuck one from under the plastic wrap before you could scold him.

"Why so grim? Y’look like yer marching off to war." Johnny seemed pretty pleased with his own little joke, his free arm resting in the small of your back to guide you up Price’s porch step and into the house like you might run off down the street without his guidance. You were considering it anyways.

"I don’t look grim." You shot him a look but didn’t shake off his arm, nor could you prevent the smile that was fighting at the corners of your mouth, snatching the brownies back from him before he could snag another, happy to have something to fidget with as you smoothed the plastic wrap back into place.

"No, you most definitely do not." And there was the other sergeant, Kyle, holding the door open for the two of you. Smiling as charmingly as ever, Kyle was already taking the dish out of your hands only to hand the dessert back to Johnny to carry off somewhere else. Then, he was on you, "Glad you could make it, love. Don’t listen to Soap, you look beautiful.” “Hey! Dinnae say she couldn’t be grim and beautiful.” Soap called back, already on his way deeper into the house.

"Such a shameless flirt." You scoffed just loud enough to drown out Johnny with your own teasing smile, a more usual routine amongst all the overthinking you’d been doing, as Gaz helped you out of your coat. Maybe you were imagining the sensuality, but you were not imagining how his touch lingered, and how his fingers grazed the fabric of your sweater as it was exposed. Hell, he was basically unwrapping your raincoat like it was the gift wrap on a present, "Don’t look half bad yourself, though."

All the boys looked good in their civilian clothes, hell they’d all look good in anything (or nothing… Focus. Focus.). But Kyle? In his stylish and tailored clothes? He always looked he’d walked off a J. Crew magazine cover when he wasn’t on base. His burgundy sweater looked like something you wanted to rub your cheek against, soft and warm and it fit him like a glove. Gaz grinned at your little praise, not speeding up his maddeningly slow pace of peeling off your raincoat and adjusting your hair for you afterwards, which distracted you just enough that you didn’t notice the others watching his little show. One of his lingering fingers seemed to all together abandon it’s mission, instead tracing the arced lace strap of your (meticulously chosen) lace bralette strap that had fallen off your shoulder. You watched Kyle’s finger follow the flowery lace pattern for a moment before fixing back on your shoulder with an audible snap! that made you jump a little from the sting.

This time you did see Johnny’s amused grin and slightly devious eyes as your own went wide and you let out a little yelp, snapping your eyes over your soldier at the sergeant. Gaz was quick to soothe the ouch, humming at you before you could get disgruntled while his warm palm cupped the curve of your shoulder and rubbed the slightly stinging skin softly. And if you were still reading into things (you were) you could swear it was just for him to have a reason to touch you more.

"Sorry, love, had to fix it, was bothering me." Was the only explanation offered for his actions. Once your jacket was off, Gaz hung it on the foyer hooks, it looking comically small and feminine between all four of theirs. You knew your brain was melted from all the porn when the visual immediately reminded you of the stupid video’s thumbnail picuture… the pretty, feminine actress with four huge actors surrounding her… Fortunately, Kyle tugging you further into the house pulled you out of your dirty-thought spiral.

In the kitchen, John Price was waiting, marinating a platter of steaks. You couldn’t help the amused quirk of a smile at seeing the apron tied over his civilian clothes, an unlit cigar in the chest pocket for easy access. The captain smiled first to Gaz with an approving nod, and then to you with a teasing smirk, "Thought you’d sit out in your car all night."

"I’m early." You defended yourself, cheeks now must be permanently stained into a flush with how easily they managed to fluster you. Gaz parked himself right beside you, leaning on the counter but standing so close that his shoulder was slotted slightly behind you, half his chest pressed to your back, distractingly proving your early guess that his sweater was, in fact, very soft. It took the steam out of your vehement defense, "You said, eight. It’s 7:50."

"Yeah, but you’ve been sitting out there since 7:30, love." Kyle chided. You wondered if it was the whiskey he was sipping that gave him the courage to puncuate his teasings with a slight pinch to your hip that made you squirm. His closeness kept you from slipping away as he shifted his attention to his captain, that easy going smile still on his face, "She brought brownies."

"I know. Johnny’s already had two." Price smiled, slathering another steak with marinade and massaging it into the meat with tender but deliberate ministrations of his long fingers that, for a moment, made you jealous of a dead slab of beef. His eyes caught yours staring at his hands, chuckling as he cleared his throat, "We had something else in mind for dessert. Very sweet of you though."

Something Price said made Kyle chuckle like it was some kind of inside joke, his fingers still on your hip, tracing little circles that were almost as distracting as… whatever the hell it was that Price was doing to the steaks.

"Now, go off and relax. I’m about to cut onions and we don’t want to mess up that pretty make up." Price ordered, shooing you off towards his stocked bar cart, before adding quietly enough you thought you might have hallucinated it, "Not yet, anyways."

Later, after you’d been supplied a drink and deposited on the couch with Ghost to watch what you were pretty sure was a rugby match (you were a little distracted by his warm arm draped over your shoulder, fingers tracing the same floral lace Gaz had).

"Gonna have to make some more room, love." Kyle grinned, looking down at you, holding his drink in one hand and one of your brownies in the other. You looked around yourself, already sandwhiched between the armrest of the sofa and Ghost who hadn’t closed his legs even a fraction when Johnny’d led you to the couch originally. Wasn’t much room to make room with.

"Oh, I can just-" you started, standing carefully as to not spill the drink Kyle had made for you. Before you could step away to claim the plush arm chair by the mantle (a safe distance from Simon’s thigh against yours and Kyle’s lingering touches), a strong arm wrapped around your middle and tugged you right back down. Instead of your original seat, however, it was Ghost who had pulled you side saddle into his lap, his other hand steadying the drink in yours. Gaz chuckled, taking the spot you had been sitting in, both men unbothered by your startled yelp.

Despite the fact that Simon had forecully and silently pulled you onto his lap, when you gave him a bewildered look, he seemed not to even notice the fact you were sitting on him, his amber eyes focused on the fame playing even as his finger’s kneaded distracting little circles into the plushest part of your waist, his arm still wrapped around you like you might try and escape. And when you just blinked at him, his only offering was, "Tha’s Price’s chair."

"Ye look comfy." Soap chided as he came around the corner with a beer and a lo-ball glass of some sort of whiskey, beer for himself and the (presumably) bourbon was given to Simon, both however, were offered to Simon, "Crack that for me, Si?"

You watched, wide eyed and enamored, as he lifted his mask over his nose and used his teeth to crack the bottle open before taking a long swig and then handing it back to Johnny in exchange for the whiskey. You had a front row seat to the bob of his Adam’s apple, and the way a scar split the top corner of his lip vertically (you wondered if you would feel the scar if he was kissing you, focus, damnit, focus). Soap noticed your expression and the blush in your cheeks with a twinkle in his eyes, " ’s not nice to stare, bonnie."

You stared a moment longer before forefully shaking yourself out of the stupor and taking a swig of your own drink, thankfully ice cold. The momentary pause allowed you to dip back into your usual well of sarcastic wit, offering the Scot a raised eyebrow, "You’re just jealous I’m not staring at you."

Johnny only shrugged, stretching his arms across the back of the sofa, making his broad chest only seem broader, his grin showing just enough teeth to appear wolfish as his thigh pressed into Ghost’s and therefore the round of your ass, "Aye, maybe I am."

"Ignore him, he’s been watching too much…" Simon started swirling then sipping his bourbon before tugging his mask down again afterwards. You knew the answer to his trail off and your internal body temp went up five degrees, alarm bells ringing in your brain. Johnny elbowed the taller man, so Simon only shrugged and finished lamely with, "stuff."

Porn. He’s been watching a lot of porn. You all have. I know that. You know that. We all know that. You brain chanting in time with those stupid circles he was rubbing on your hip as Johnny took the liberty of adjusting the hair off your shoulder, his voice a challenging chide, "What’s that look for, bonnie? What’d you think he was gonna say?"

Your mouth opened, and then closed, and you were saved from answering by Price coming into the living room, declaring the steaks were marinating so they had a while to just hang out. He gave Kyle a shoulder squeeze in passing, and offered you a warm smile before settling in his chair by the mantle. The chair you’d tried to escape to earlier.

For a get-together planned around watching the game, it occurred to you that not a single eye was on the TV at the moment. Instead, you realized they were all on… you. Price in his chair, smoothing his beard. Simon still had you on his lap, amber eyes carefully scrutinizing your expression as you flicked your eyes over to Gaz, who was watching you- or rather the rise and fall of your chest as he pulled your legs into his lap- with a slightly cocked head, a small smile on his lips. And finally, Johnny, who’d not stopped fidgeting with your hair and the neckline of your sweater.

Once again, you were uncharacteristically at a loss for words, squirming a bit on Simon’s lap as you tried to figure out what to say or if to say anything at all, because all that was coming to mind right now were two options. Are y’all trying to fuck me? and How’s the weather?. Both options made you want to crawl in a hole and stay there.

"You’re quiet tonight, sweet, something on your mind?" Price raised his eyebrows, still smirking, knuckles tapping against the armrest, "Something you wanted to tell the boys, right? What we talked about in my office?"

How were you supposed to broach the topic of their internet history, essentially admit to knowing about your XXX twin, while sitting on your superior's lap, having your hair played with, and your calves massaged through your leggings…

"No, no. Just… enjoying my drink." You muttered, draining the rest of the beverage before leaning over to place the empty glass on the side table, which was a mistake because it just had you practically sprawled over the three men on the couch, "What game are we supposed to be watching tonight?"

"Never mind that, hen." Johnny shrugged, clicking the TV off before tossing the remote to Price, "We’ve been into a… different form of entertainment lately."

Yeah. I know. The problem is that I know. You thought to yourself, now not even able to pretend to watch the screen, forced to focus on all the hands and eyes on you.

"Let’s stop dancing around it." Simon gruffed, resting his head against the back of the couch, his fingers trailing from your hip to the top of your thigh, "She’s not daft."

"Lieutenant Riley, always the subtle one." Gaz rolled his eyes before sliding his eyes over to Price who gave him an affirmative nod, not unlike they would do in the field, and then his eyes were back on you, "So, we know you aren’t blind, love, sure you noticed something going on here."

You weren’t sure if he was talking about what you’d dubbed the porn party or if he was just talking about the general bond between the men that went deeper than just elite squad, so you just nodded, hoping he would proceed with some more context clues… any keep rubbing his thumbs around your calf. It was not helping you focus. Kyle just grinned, his hands gently roaming up your shins to your knees and then back down, "Well, we’ve noticed something, too, love. You."

"Me?" You parroted, half sincere half forced faux shock, that sent you further back into Johnny’s chest, the Scot who was still fiddling with your hair had also pressed his nose into the crown of your hair to smell whatever products you used. "Don’t sound so surprised, bonnie." He murmured into your hair before leaning past you to Simon, planting an open-mouthed,

wet kiss against the larger man’s mask right beside your own face. Your mouth dried out despite just finishing your drink, tongue seeming too big for your mouth, eyes flicking rapidly between them and Gaz. You were beyond flustered, your stomach twisting in a both nerve wracking and enticing way. You didn’t know where to look, or if you should look, or look away. You didn’t want to look away, seeing Soap’s tongue find Simon’s mouth even through the cotton. Did they want the illusion of privacy and if so, how were you supposed to give them that when Simon was half groping you at the same time Johnny was lapping at his tongue

through the balaclava? Johnny slid his eyes to you, barely breaking from Ghost, "S’alright, hen, don’t mind you watching us. After all, s’only fair."

Your eyes widened, owlishly turning to Gaz though Simon kept you from slipping off his lap. Was that them telling you that they knew you knew? Was this some confession about finding your doppelgänger and watching enough of her content to pay off her car? He rolled his eyes at the other sergeant, his easy going smile returning when his eyes came back to you.

"They’re so impatient." He chuckled with a what can you do shrug, as if they’d simply skipped to dessert (innuendo intended) instead of started sloppily making out with you in their lap. He quit massaging at your calves, instead using his middle and pointer fingers to trace patterns (you could swear it was a mimic of the lace pattern he’d traced earlier). Your eyes flicked over to Price, who was still just watching, leaned back in his chair, jutting his chin back to Gaz as if telling you to pay attention. Sheepishly, you turned back to Kyle, "So, we’ve… discovered this person online, and she looks… so much like you. Genuinely, love, it’s uncanny. And there’s this video she made that really caught our attention-"

"She knows the one." "Aye, She’s seen it."

Both Price and Johnny answered at the same time. Price, because you’d brought up the issue to him in his office. And Johnny… had apparently been standing outside your car longer than you thought and could see your screen. Your cheeks had to be glowing by now. Kyle’s smile just grew, flashing perfect white teeth at you as he leaned in closer, "Perfect, then we can skip that explanation. But once we saw it… well, it kind of got under our skin. You’ve gotten under our skin, love."

Johnny and Simon hadn’t stopped though they had shifted and suddenly there lips were back and forth on each other, and also over your neck and shoulders as you tried fervently to keep your eyes on Gaz as he leaned closer, pulling the sleeve of your sweater off your shoulder to expose that lace strap again, "And, judging by how you’ve been acting lately, we’ve gotten under yours too."

"Yeah. Yeah. That’s one way to put it." You admitted in a released breath, eyes flicked down to Simon who’d been kissing and sucking right at the curve of your shoulder for several long seconds, like if he wasn’t already under your skin, he’d supplant himself there personally. Johnny wasn’t going under your clothes, but his hands were tracing the line of your spine, finding the waistband of your leggings, nosing into your hair so he could kiss the shell of your ear. All while Kyle just kept that pretty grin on you, somehow putting you at ease and twisting your nerves even more.

"And, truthfully, we could sit here talking about it all night, Or…" And Kyle Garrick, with that unfairly, stupidly charming smile of his, made a veritable orgy sound as commonplace and sensible as going to the pub afterwork, and you found yourself dumbly nodding along to his easy words before you anxieties, logical and/or otherwise, could convince you that group sex with your coworkers was probably not the most professional way to spend a Friday night. But, damn, the sparkle in those pretty hazel-brown eyes was doing a good job of easing any worries that charming smile had missed…

Price finally spoke up again, but stayed in his chair, "You're nodding, sweet, but we gotta hear it. Out loud. Do you want this?"

When you looked over again, John Price was looking wholly the Captain he was. If you thought he was making a point to manspread in his office earlier in the day, now… Now he was just showing off. He looked like he was posing on a throne, legs spread, elbows resting on the arms of the chair as he settled in, watching the three soldiers and you on the couch. Seemingly completely nonplussed by his subordinate employees’ heavy petting on his couch.

Your internal reflection was swift. You were already getting felt up. If going into the office was going to be awkward on Monday, it was going to be awkward regardless of whether or not you cut it off at groping. You might as well let them relieve the nagging itch in the back of your mind while you were at it. So after another dumb nod, you found your voice again, "Yes. Yes. I want it. Please."

"So polite." Johnny murmured, taking you verbal confirmation as permission to slip his hands underneath your clothes, mapping your bare skin, "And you’ll say something if it’s too much?"

"Yeah, yeah." You nodded fervently, turning your head to try and catch one of their lips, the sweater had been stifling for the past hour, but now it was itching at your feverish skin. Johnny just smiled, helping you out of the thing.

"Good girl." Simon nodded before his amber eyes lit up a bit, "Well, would you look at tha’."

His fingers dipped under the lacy band of the bralette you were wearing. Johnny had already run his hands over the fabric while Kyle just whistled lowly. Price was the one who spoke up about it, "Did you put that on just for us, sweet?"

"Just in… just in case." You nodded in a breath, leaning back into Johnny as he started rolling your leggings down, exposing the complimentary lace waistband of your panties. Another round of appreciative comments and touches, Simon’s teeth nipping at the curve of your neck again.

"Too good to us, love." Gaz shook his head, helping his fellow sergeant get your leggings all the way off and tossing them somewhere out of sight, pressing kisses to the top of your thighs, then your knees, and finally one too the inside of your ankle. " So you suspected all along. How’d you see the video?"

"Go on, sweet, fill him in." Price prompted with that stupid little smirk, the one that tugged the corners of his beard up. The one that made you want to get on your knees and do anything to earn one of those approving nods.

"I-I can see the websites y’all visit." You admitted breathlessly, watching as Kyle kissed his way back up your legs, how those eyes never broke contact with yours, "I have to clear them for security purposes. I’ve.. I’ve seen all the videos y’all’ve been sharing with each other." “

All of them. So

that’s why you’ve been so quiet, bonnie?" Johnny hummed, a smile pressed into the base of your neck, watching Simon nip at your neck, teeth digging in harder every time, making you whimper which seemed to only egg Ghost on.

"Flattered or offended?" Kyle asked, but his smile told you he already knew the answer. Because, with you sprawled over the laps of three men, if you were offended you had a funny way of showing it.

"I should’ve been." You gulped after breaking off Johnny’s lips for a moment, adding on, "Offended."

"But you’re not?" Price prompted, head cocking to the side as he fiddled with lighting his cigar.

No. For better or for worse, this roundabout workplace harassment approach had really worked on you. So you just shook your head, opening your mouth as Simon pulled his mask up and caught your lips, tongue domineering itself into your mouth almost instantly.

"So cooperative, nice change of pace." One of them hummed, but you couldn’t place it, too focussed on the fingers kneading at your inner thighs, slowly working your legs open into a spread so your knee’s were hooked over each side of Simon’s wide spread legs, which exposed the dampened gusset of the deliberately chosen panties.

"All right, deal’s a deal, Garrick," Simon all but growled into your mouth, your eyes fluttering open to see his amber eyes watching Kyle who was smirking like he’d just gotten away with something, "You get first taste. Warm ‘er up for us."

Oh. Oh. Just diving right in. Though Gaz was ever the gentleman, charming through and through.

"May I?" He asked softly, waiting with his fingers hooked in the lacy waistband as he sunk to his knees in front of you. Your breath picked up just from the sight, and it was only Simon holding you to him that kept you from leaning down and catching a kiss from Kyle as well. Since that wasn't an option, you jerked your head in a clumsy nod, punctuating with the cant of your hips towards him that just made him chuckle as your panties were discarded towards the same direction as your pants.

"Please." You whined, the tone making all of the men snap their eyes up to you, the expressions all reading make her do it again. You didn’t even have time to adjust to the cold air on your exposed bits before Gaz’s hot mouth was covering the sensitive flesh, drawing a gasp as you threw yourself back into Simon’s chest. Ghost only hooked his chin over your shoulder, lazily watching as Gaz licked a flat stripe, first dipping into your entrance, teasing a bit as deep as he could get. Your clit got a little attention from his nose bumping it, make you breathe sharp breaths with little clipped moans. But when he withdrew and traced his tongue back up, finding your clit and slipping under the hood, your attempts at demure noises were nixed by a sudden and echoing moan.

"That good? Yeah, Gaz’s pretty skilled with ‘is tongue." Johnny nodded, nuzzling at your other shoulder as he watched on too, palming himself through his jeans, "Meticulous thing he is."

"How’s she taste, sergeant?" Price asked, adjusting himself as well. Kyle surfaced for only a moment, replacing his tongue with his fingers when you whined in disappointment.

"Better than the bloody brownies, that’s for certain." He hummed, his corners of his mouth glistening, eyes flicking up to you as he rested a cheek against the inside of your thigh. You tried to be offended at the diss to your baking skills, but as Kyle dove back in, a skillful swirl and lewd slurp killed any smart comment on your tongue, or rather on his. You weren’t sure if it was even possible to actually decipher, but you were certain he was spelling barrack’s bunny over your clit with his tongue, letter by unraveling letter. All four men seemed to delight in how your breathing sped up, how your head seemed so heavy to hold up that it flopped backwards into Simon’s shoulder. Kyle tolerated your hips rolling twice, but his chivalry ended the third time, reaching up and placing Simon’s hand at your waist to hold you still for him, while his hands kept your thighs from closing around his head. The message was clear. Anything you were getting would come from him and only him. You recalled how so many of his preferred videos revolved around control, pleasure dom, a term you had had to google. All you could do was stare down between your legs and watch him devour you.

"If she tastes half as good as she looks…" Johnny trailed off, catching the corner of your mouth for a short kiss, his fingers tracing the lace pattern right over your perked nipples, at least Simon was lenient enough to let you arch your chest into the touch, "Right treat you are, hen."

Your first climax was a quick thing, a full body clench and vulgar moan clawing its way out of your throat, your thighs trembling around Kyle as he licked and slurped his way through your high, collected anything you put out for him. His movements only slowing when your body relaxed back against Ghost. He gave your pussy a comedically sweet kiss before sitting up, and it was only then that he pulled you down to him for your first real kiss from him. It was tender and sweet, with the appropriate amount of tongue, almost the kind of kiss you’d give on a really good first date, if it wasn’t for the fact you could taste your essence on him, your cum making his lips slippery against yours.

"Called dibs on that weeks ago." He grinned, breaking the kiss to watch his fingers to dip between your legs, collect some more of your wetness and pop it in his mouth, eyes closing like he was savoring a fine wine. You watched him with mouth agape and eyes half lidded, "Alright then, Tav, surprised you held yourself back this long, go on then."

Johnny’s smile was all teeth as he descended upon you, kissing any of your slick off your mouth that Kyle’d left behind like he was getting a sneak preview. Though, for someone so often ridiculed for being impatient, he was anal about this kiss. Making sure to try every angle of his mouth against yours, then repeating his tests with tongue, and then once more splitting your attention with Simon. Ghost played along for a while, letting his sergeant explore your lips and your chest before he nodded down to the floor when Kyle’d been.

"Keep yourself busy, Johnny." Was the clipped order, as he took over kissing you, one large hand splayed along your face to keep you drawn to him, as if you might try to get away. He had nothing to worry about, the whiplash of switching partners and desires had you craving attention anywhere you could find it. You were already putty on his lap with Johnny taking over Kyle’s place between you legs. While it was still overwhelmingly pleasurable, his actions were more sloppy than Kyle’s. His strategy was to barrage your nerves as opposed to Kyle’s precision attacks. It still had you whining and squirming, which was enough to short circuit your focus. Johnny didn’t seem to mind you instinctively grinding into his face, in fact it only seemed to encourage him. Simon’s job was to keep you from melting off his lap, which he did while his kisses became harder and harder, sometimes biting at your bottom lip, "Now you just taste like his shitty beer, you’ll lemme fix that, won’t you, lovie?"

When you nodded, he smiled, tugging the balaclava all the way off. You didn’t even have time to properly admire how handsome he was under the thing, didn’t have time to pepper those scars with kisses or wax poetic about how all his unconventional features played together harmoniously to make him exceedingly handsome. Before you could do any of that, he’d taken a sip of his bourbon, swallowing as he watched you watch him.

"Open." He directed, nodding when you obediently dropped your mouth open. He tipped your head back at the same time as he took a longer draw of his bourbon, holding it in his mouth for a moment before pulling your lips up to his and kissing the liquor straight onto your tongue, burning off anything and anyone else. When he’d given you every last drop, he pulled back and manually shut your mouth, "Go on and swallow for me, don’t waste it. ’s hard to get this stuff ‘round here."

Bourbon wasn’t often in your rotation for drinks, the taste smoky and sharp just like the man that had kissed it into your mouth, but one look into Simon’s eyes had you nodding again. As you forced yourself to swallow it, the burn going all the way into stomach, stoking the fires the men had started in you. After he watched your throat bob, he nodded approvingly.

"Good fuckin’ girl." He praised which made the burning sting worth it, catching your lips in another punishing kiss when you moaned from Johnny’s sloppy slurping. Simon hummed, finding that your mouth now tasted like his preferred pour, "Much better."

After kissing the taste of his bourbon off you, he pulled back for a moment just to watch you whine and grind against the sergeant between both sets of your legs. After a moment of appreciation for the garment against your skin, the bralette they’d all liked so much was roughly yanked down, the straps down your shoulders while the cups and band bunched up under your now exposed breasts. Johnny was watching from the floor, his big blue eyes crinkling and lips pulling into a smile against you, while Simon ran his hands over your bare chest, stopping to squeeze and pinch when he pleased. “Johnny-

Ghost-" You almost shrieked not sure who to call too or thank for the electric static in your nervous system, arching your chest up into his hands, and when the movement moved your hips away from Johnny, he just took your legs off Simon’s knees and hooked them over his shoulders, keeping you firmly in place, "

Shit."

"Language, sweet." Price teasingly scolded from his chair, still stroking his beard from his arm chair. Gaz and Simon just chuckled when you pouted through another throaty moan. Simon was nudging your cheek with his nose, skimming his teeth across you jawline between kisses that trailed fown your neck, sucking marks that would stay for weeks, always finding his way back to what seemed to be his favorite spot in the curve of your neck. “Should’ve seen the Sergeants when they first found that video, acting like they’d won the fuckin' lottery. Been wanting you for months but tha’ really sealed the deal, lovie, couldn’t even get through the first quarter before this one was panting and rutting. Like it was the first time they’d ever seen a dirty video. Ain’t that right, Johny?” It was the most you’d ever heard Simon talk in one go, every couple of words grunted and groaned out between kisses across any skin he could reach with you sitting back against him, breath hotly fanning along your neck as he went. And when he finished the thought, he reached down between your legs and fished the sergeant up by his mohawk, leaving both you and Johnny whine at the loss of contact. Simon just laughed coldly and gave Johnny a prompting jerk, much rougher than he’d been touching you, “You gonna answer us, Johnny?” “Aye. Aye. Knew I had to get ma’ hands on ye.” Was all he managed before diving in for another taste of you, surfacing briefly again to relay a message up to Simon, half moaned half growled,

"This cunt's like fucking silk, I’ll tell you, Lt.” Strong hands clenching into the plushest parts your thighs holding them around his face like he was

hoping he’d suffocate down there, "Ye gotta get in here, ain’t nothing like it."

"You want that, sweetheart?" Simon hummed, moving from your lips to your jaw and down your neck, "Want me in you?"

"Fuck. Yes, fuck me." You rambled which just made them chuckle at you as one of your hands when into Johnny’s mohawk and the other palmed at your breasts. Johnny moaned when you tugged at his hair, sending subtle vibrations up with his tongue that almost sent you undone again. Simon easily pushed you down his legs, still supporting you with one hand as Johnny kept going, and freeing his erection with the other. Gaz and Johnny had worked hard to warm you up, to break you in for them, but Simon’s dick threatened to break you, period. He was just as thick as John, but almost as long as Kyle, cut, veiny, with a pretty pink tip. Como se dice, how you say… hung like a fucking horse.

He must’ve seen your wide eyes, the subtle fear in your eyes that was chased away when Johnny drug his teeth over your clit with just enough pressure to make you choke on your own spit. Ghost reached down intermingling his fingers with your folds and Johnny’s tongue, "We’ll start easy. Just the tip, lovie. Johnny’ll handle the rest for now."

They did just that. He held his hand out to Johnny, letting the man on his knees spit into his palm and then rubbed it against his dick, before pulling you back against him once more. Before he even attempted any sort of penetration, he slid his erection through your folds a couple of times just to collect some more slick, "You are just like silk, Johnny was right."

He grunted into your neck with another few slippery passes before reaching down as easing the tip into you. He was thick, enough so that it stung a bit as you tried to adjust. Despite his soft voice and unusually soft eyes, Simon’s control slipped, rutting a bit before you were ready. At you uncomfortable whine, Johnny mirrored the sound in disapproval of your upset, immediately going to remedy the hurt with his tongue, servicing both you and Simon with a flat lick up Simon’s exposed length and then up to your clit to help you relax.

"Breathe for me, lovie." The Liutenant ordered, like he was trying to be gentle with you but his jaw was gritted, trying even harder not to snap his hips against yours and bully his too-big dick into your hole, "Try to relax for me."

You were panting, cheeks puffing with your breaths, not sure if Johnny’s tongue was helping or just tensing you up more, but God, it felt good and you weren’t going to be the one to tell him to stop. Not yet at least. You got another inch in, which earned a kiss to your neck.

" s’all I can take right now." You breathed, reaching back to support yourself against him.

"Better than I did on my first go, eh, LT?" Johnny grinned up before kissing up the length of Simon’s cock that wasn't inside of you, flicking his tongue over the stretched rim of your entrance that was still trying to clench around the sudden intrusion, "She’s tryin’ so hard."

By the look in his eyes, he wasn’t talking about you. The She in question was just your pussy. Simon nodded along, hissing curses into your hair.

"Alright, lovie, alright, no more for now." He gritted out, " ‘m gonna move now, just try and stay loose as you can for me."

Humming in agreement, you tried to let yourself be pliant against him, feeling his hips rock, the in and out of his movements pleasurable enough to draw out a keening moan despite the less than comfortable stretch. His lips were at your neck again as he continued his thrusts, slightly steadier, growing more confident. And then it was his teeth, nipping between sucks, though his words were still growled, "That’s it, doing so good for me, for us."

Your mistake was losing yourself in the feeling, letting your hips rock because it shattered what little control Ghost had at the moment. He sunk in another few inches, teetering between painful and pleasurable, making you cry out, nails digging into his forearms as a tear slipped down your cheek. The dig of your nails only urged him on, the nip of your teeth turning into a full bite, enough to break skin just slightly. However, the moment your cry was one of actual discomfort instead of pleasure, he withdrew completely, kissing over where he’d bitten, "Sorry, sorry, lovie, got too rough, too quick with you."

He slowly eased you off of him, nudging Johnny off as well, still kissing at the spot he’d bitten too harshly, fingers kneading comfort into your hips and then your thigh, "Y'alright? Need to stop?"

You took a breath, let the initial shock of the stretch and the bite fade away, let him swipe the rogue tear off your cheek, let your body readjust…. and then shook your head, signalling you wanted to keep going, pulling him by the back of the neck down to you again for a kiss. Johnny was still at your knees, massaging your thighs, watching Simon deepen the kiss as much as you’d let him, and then pushing a little further, his fingers flexing hard into you again making you wince just a little. Honestly, you could’ve endured that, hell with another couple of kisses, you could’ve enjoyed it. But this time, he cut himself off, pulling back with a slew of curses that’d send a sailor to confession.

"Fuck, ‘m sorry, sweetheart, I’ve never been good at taking it slow." Simon growled, jaw still clenched so hard you were afraid he’d crack a tooth., thumbs easing the irritated skin he’d clenched just slightly too hard, "You’re just too perfect, can’t keep my head on straight."

Ghost stopped to think for a moment, breathing hot and heaving against you skin, before flicking his eyes down to Soap who’d stopped massaging your thighs in favor of featherlight kisses where his stubble had chafed you. You’d seen this before, the internet called it cuteness aggression.

"Price." He called, nodding to his Captain, a signal to take over. John nodded, and after meeting your still lust glazed expression, ascertaining you were alright, seemed rather amused by the tag-in. It seemed, despite the civilian clothes and whatever intimacy was shared amongst the group, rank hierarchy was still firmly present, because when Captain Price finally rose from his arm chair, the sergeants and Lieutenant wordlessly moved out of his way, presenting you along the way for him as his belt buckle jingled being loosened and discarded.

Still, despite his evident imposition, his strength was gentle as he peeled you off his lieutenant who stood, manhandling Johnny off with him to the chair. Half dazed and panting, you were grateful for his patience as he asked with only a little teasing, "Can you stand for me, Sweet, just a little?"

And when your legs were still jelly and trembling, he just chuckled, leaking cigar smoke into your mussed hair, "That’s alright, Sweet, you just let me lay you out all pretty."

With that, you were bent over the arm of your boss’s sofa, callous hands traced slowly down your spine and then paused at your hips, massaging your flanks much as he had his cuts of steak. Price massaged his way from your hips, over and around your ass, and then worked from outwards to the inner most part of your thighs. Finally, he dragged a flat palm up your exposed sex, and when you looked over your shoulder, he was licking his tongue across that same hand, a deep rumbling growl shaking you to your core as you watched him taste not only you, but also notes of his boys, "Sweeter than fuckin’ sugar, love. Fuckin’ perfect."

You just stared at him with wide eyes, limply spread over the arm rest, hips instinctively pressing back into him to find more touch, more friction, more him. Words failed, only high pitched whines made it out. Which made Johnny, off to the side, chuckle.

"Think this is the longest I’ve ever seen her quiet." The scot chided, watching with great interest as Price took another swipe through your folds, coating his cock in whatever (whoever’s) bodily fluids he collected there.

"Maybe you should take some notes, mutt." Simon gruffed, taking a fistful of the sergeant’s Mohawk and tugging it rather harshly backwards, exposing Johnny’s throat that his teeth descended upon almost immediately. Some time between being between our legs and being in Simon’s lap, Johnny’s shirt had disappeared, his jeans still on but unbuckled and Simon was fishing his erection out.

"Ignore ‘em." Price chuckled down to you, physically redirecting your attention by giving your clit a bit of attention as he eased himself slowly in, all the way to his base, "Y’feel even better than you taste, sweet thing, y’know that?"

You didn’t know that, but you’d take the compliment, if you remembered it, or your own name by the end of… whatever this was. He gave one slow and steady thrust, almost like an experiment, one hand holding your hips in place, the other holding his cigar up to his lips.

"Dessert before dinner, how about that, lads?"

There was a moment of recall to his earlier words, "Already had something else in mind for dessert" echoed with what he just said in your fuzzy mind. You had been dessert all along, and judging by the ravenous eyes with varying degrees of satiation, the 141 intended to eat their fill, your online look-a-like was simply a taste test. A momentary taste of vindication on your tongue- you hadn’t been reading too far into things or fluffing your own ego, this was premeditated, and your matching set wasn’t presumptuous. Still, that only lasted a singular breath, the smug vindication was phsycially forced out of you with a rough snap of his hips, the first of many from the demanding, almost brutal, pace John set for himself.

"There’s a girl, you just take it for me," He grunted between thrusts, seemingly pleased with your little cries and moans, "Just like that, sweet, you’ll be taking Simon’s cock in no time."

John Price’s couch was not picked out with ‘being bent over the side’ in mind. Or perhaps, you were just a bit softer than the other’s that had had the pleasure of being bent over the arm like John had you at that moment. Taking mercy upon your ribs, or perhaps just for his own selfish purposes, Kyle slotted himself underneath your front and sat you up against his chest, throwing your arms over his shoulders. While John still had your hips over the couch arm, Gaz had pulled you chest up to his, his lips finding your lips, your cheek, jaw, and breasts as he went.

"Poor sweet thing" Kyle cooed, his perfect pearly teeth nipping at your ear while is chest steadied you against Price’s onslaught that pushed a thought our of your mind with each quick, but deep, thrust, "Didn’t know what you were walking into, did you? And now look at what a mess we made you?"

You couldn’t tell if Kyle was mocking you or praising you, kind words and little digs were both dipped in that sugary sweet tone that just made you nod up at him with wide eyes and a pouted lip. One of this thumbs reached up and swiped a mascara laden tear out from under your eye, the same thumb dipping into your mouth and holding it open in the pornographic O-shape after Price drew a vulgar moan out with a particularly deep thrust that also managed to scoot the sofa a couple of inches. Gaz didn’t even waver, just laughed a bit as he held you steady, "Mean, innit he?"

Another moan blocked the chance at a snappy reply, not that you had the current brain power to make one. The sergeant just took the chance to swallow your noises with his mouth over yours, kissing you and biting your bottom lip as he pulled away. With what little fortitude you had, you grabbed the collar of that soft sweater and hauled him right back up to your mouth. It was aggressive kissing. Tongue and teeth and nails, sloppy and dirty, your noses bumping together from the force of Price’s thrusting.

When Price adjusted your hips, it forced you onto your tip toes to maintain the angle. And while the new angle provided incentive and reward in the way of relentless pounding of that delicious spongy spot inside you, that fact only made it harder for your already shaking legs to support you.

"Hold her fast, Sergeant." Was the grunted order as he gave your ass a smack, like he was punishing you for the indiscretion of already having you legs fucked out from under your from the other men in his living room. Honestly, How dare you? Kyle took orders beautifully. The best multitasker on the squad, as he not only, held you at that perfect angle for his Captain, but also, trailed wet, hot kisses down to your chest, locking onto one of your nipples with devious precision, only sucking harder when you cried out.

" ‘m gonna cum-!" It was strangled and whined into Kyle’s shoulder still fisting the collar of his shirt while your other hand posed serious risk of shredding the upholstery.

"You gonna cum on me, sweet? Go ahead, but I’m not stopping." Price chuckled through his warning, leaning over your head and pulling Gaz in by the back of his neck for a sloppy kiss of his own.

"Go on then. Give it to him." Kule urged in that sickly sweet tone, "The captain’s working so hard back there for you, least you could do is let ‘im feel how pretty you fall apart."

Another moan, a garbled cry of both of their names mashed together when they pushed you over the edge in tandem with a well timed deep thrust and light smack to your clit from Price at the same time that Gaz tweaked both of your nipples..

"You feel that Cap? That flutter?" Gaz called, talking (literally) over your head as you sagged, twitching against him, unlatching from the hickey he was sucking into your collarbone, "That’s fuckin’ magic, that is."

"Flutter? She’s wringing me dry in there." Price groaned, his pace only slowed by the vice like grip your core had as your eyes rolled back, "Sweet’s cunt’s practically swallowing me, bloody hell, greedy thing, aren’t you?"

The only reprieve you had was Price leaning forward so his warm chest pressed to your back, his big hands circling your clit like it might encourage you loosen back up for him so he could resume his movements, "C’mon, love, you gonna answer me?"

"Yes…" You drawled, flopping your head over so you could meet his eyes over your shoulder, that signature mirthful smile twitching the corners of his beard of as he tweaked the little bundle of nerves to correct you. With a little cry, you answered once more, "Yes, sir."

"Atta girl." Price nodded approvingly as he took a long draw of his cigar his pinkie shaking off little bits of ash onto your raised posterior (which should’ve made you feel degraded, or maybe it did which is why it made your eyes flutter again), both at the answer and at the relaxing of your muscles allowing him to build his pace back up.

"Hear that, love?" Kyle’s attention returned down to you when your face dropped back down into the curve of his shoulder, "what a good pussy, taking us all so well, and she just keeps wanting more."

"More?" You croaked out through another moan, panting and trying to count the stars dotting your vision, not sure if you were requesting or parroting in disbelief. Though with a clearer mind, you wouldn’t have been so shocked. Price had barely stuttered in getting his rhythm back up to it’s pace, riding you all the way through your orgasm.

"Told you, ‘m not fucking stopping." Price growled with another smack to the round of your ass. Something between a moan and a cry crawled out of your throat, but tapping our hadn’t once occurred to you.

"You can take it, love, bet you can even give us another big finish, yeah?" Kyle encouraged. It occurred to you the Gaz had now coaxed you through two orgasms, and really hadn’t even asked for anything in return from you. And while you were sure, between the four of you, someone would throw him a bone(r), you decided to take that cross upon yourself, reaching down between him and yourself and wrapping around his dick. From what you could tell, he was on the leaner side, but he was the longest in the group, slightly curved. Which gave you plenty of room to rub and squeeze, from base to his tip where you thumbed the slit, spreading the precum back down as you followed the vein on the underside. Kyle tried to chuckle through a moan, "Bloody hell, love."

Jerking off took on a new meaning as your movements, meant to be languid and smooth, turned jerky and choppy with the force of Price’s increasing speed, his rythym stuttering as he chased his own release. Kyle leaned down using one of his free hands to roll a nipple in his fingers, catching the other in his mouth as you continued to pump him. Between the two of them, it didn’t take long to come close to the edge once more, and you didn’t even have time to be proud of bring both of them over with you in tandem as your third orgasm tore through you, leaving all three of you dazed and breathless. You were vaguely aware of Gaz’s cum on you chest, kind of feeling the warm, sticky trail it left as it leaked down your front while John gave a few more lazy strokes as he softened inside of you. Though Gaz twitched hard again just watching your eyes roll back, and when Price was finally done, he gave your thighs a gentle, almost proud squeeze, watching his spend leak out for a moment before gently collecting you upright once more. With a sweet forehead kiss that contrasted so heavily from the cigar ashes and ass slaps, he gave your cheek a little pat, "Still with me, sweet?"

"Mmmhm." You nodded, eyes only half opned as Gaz sat up behind you and sucked kisses across the back of your shoulders. You’d be wearing turtle necks for weeks. John’s attention shifted over to Simon, who you now realized had been watching the show with the darkest eyes you’d ever seen with poor Johnny taking the brunt of whatever storm Ghost had brewing. Your eyes fluttered watching the liutenant’s hand tighten around Johnny’s throat. Despite the tears on the Scot’s face, he didn’t appear to be too upset with his current predicament, in fact giving you a groan through a watery smile as Simon’s other hand tightened even more around Johnny’s leaking dick.

"Got it all out of your system, Lieutenant?" Price asked with a raised brow, both him and Gaz still keeping you upright with gently roaming hands. Simon gave both his hands another squeeze making Johnny pant.

"I’m solid." He nodded, surprisingly tender as he released Johnny, the sergeant stumbling off his lap. Simon rose behind him, both men approaching the couch. You weren’t positive what ‘it’ was or why it needed to be out of Simon’s system, but Gaz nodded and pressed one last sweet kiss to the curve of you shoulder before letting Simon slide into his place. The largest of the men simply laid down on the couch, taking up most of the three-seater, efficently pulling you backwards so you straddled his lap facing away from him.

"Nice and slow for me, lovie." Simon directed, lining himself up with your entrance after bumping your clit with his tip. Thank god for his strong hands guiding your hips down at the pace he set. Though Price had thoroughly broken you in, and you’d already partially taken Simon once, you still tensed up nervously but set your jaw with determination to do it again and get all of it from this new angle. With your back to his face, you had a front row set to the others watching hungrily. Kyle was leaning back against Price’s chest, the older man reaching around to palm the sergeant’s erection as Gaz pressed his back to Price’s front, grinding backwards. But Johnny, poor Johnny, with his cock almost purpled by Simon’s earlier teasing, rocking on his heels like he was just waiting for permission to join in, sapphire eyes bouncing between Simon’s face, your face, and the stretch of you pussy around Simon’s cock- like he couldn’t decide who was most jealous of.

Inch after deliciously painful inch, Simon helped you ease yourself down until your ass was flush with his hips. From this angle, though Simon could still rut up against you, the pace was all your decision, making it harder for him to lose control again. With your hands braced against his tree-trunk thighs. Simon gave you a minute to adjust, to pant and try to focus your eyes. The soldier underneath you grunted, fingers flexing on your waist as he adjusted himself making you whimper and almost fall forward.

"Si-" Johnny whined, his hands twitching forward like he wanted to help you, or maybe just touch you, his cock leaking down his leg. Simon’s voice was not as gentle to his sergeant, a gruff order.

"No’ yet." Before returning his attention to you, voice softening slightly, "Take your time, sweetheart, move when you want, I want you to feel good."

Giving a jerky nod, you gave an experimental wiggle that nestled him somehow even deeper. Your moan was lodged in your throat as your eyes shut, but the movement earned a deep groan and hiss from Simon. With a deep breath, you managed to move past the acclimation stage so the actual pleasure started building again, which felt like crossing the finish line of a marathon. Next, a roll of your hips that genuinely blurred out your vision, feeling so good that our body instinctively did it again to chase the feeling. And then again, and again- head falling forward and then rolling back.

"That’s it, lovie, find your rhythm." Simon tried to prain but it sounded more like a growl as his hands flexed again into the softest parts of your waist, his long fingers spanning so far that they kneaded into the plushness of your stomach, "Fuckin' hell."

"Si-" Johnny whined again, drawing the clipped nickname into two syllables, this time his twitching fingers finding purchase in the arm of the sofa you’d been bent over earlier. If you weren’t so focused on Simon’s cock rearranging your internal organs, you might’ve heard the ominous creak of the fabric under his strength. When your eyes fluttered open, they locked onto Johnny’s bright blues, darkened to a stormy hue with impatient want. His Scottish brogue thickening deeply, "Ah keened you’d be better than the lass in the fuckin’ videos, so fuckin’ sweet and pretty-"

"Alright." Simon gruffed before his voice softened down again, "Go on, sweetheart, show the mutt some love, won’t you? He won’t shut up until you do."

Even though the permission had been given to you, Johnny was immediately upon you. Much like Gaz, Johnny took up the job of supporting your upper body as Simon had your hips firmly in his grasp. With one knee pressed into the couch cushion, he hugged your chest to his, his hands groping and feel any part of you he could get his hands on like it was the first time he’d touched you or any other soft and pretty thing. Unlike Gaz, his mouth on your started out aggressive and when you would moan, he’d mirror the noises, groaning them right back onto your tongue.

"And soft. Ye sound better too." Johnny groaned when Simon suddenly rutted against your rocking, leaving you crying out and digging your nails into Johnny’s shoulders. With strong but surprisingly gentle grip, your fingers were removed from his shoulders. Johnny led one of your hands in an exploratory trail down his chest, following the path of thick, dark body hair, past his abs, until he wrapped your hand around his cock which twitched even at your slightest touch.

"So fucking soft, bonnie," he breathed, coaxing your hand into movement while kissing your other palm, before looking over to Simon, "Not a callous on her hands, Lt, dinnae even think about that."

Simon merely grunted in acknowledgement of Johnny’s discovery, seeing as his focus was an entirely different part of your anatomy. The larger man seemed content letting his sergeant be the vocal one, sometimes rewarding you with a hiss or a strangled groan. He’d given up on letting you control the pace now that you were acclimated and half bouncing against him, rutting and grinding against you in time with your own rolling and rocking as you sped up. It was only natural for your hand on Johnny’s cock to speed up as well.

"Sweetheart, why don’t you show him something even softer than your hands? He went through a lot for you, after all." He didn’t give you time to ask what that was supposed to mean, but you figured it had something to do the vicious series of bites and hickies on the man’s neck. You could tell Simon was moving because his cock was shifting angle inside of you, making you gasp. One of his large hands splayed against the small of your back, pressing you firmly forward and down. A sudden thrust as he applied pressure to your back made you go boneless, letting the men push your cheek first into Johnny’s stomach and then down to where your hand was still pumping Johnny’s cock.

"Look at that, a multitasker. ’s why she’s such a good analyst for us." Gaz chided from the sidelines like he was commentating on a sports match, watching as you were stroking Johnny, holding your cheek against him while trying to catch your breath from Simon’s thrusts. Johnny helped guide himself into your mouth. It wasn’t so much length as the girth, even thicker than Price, that stretched your jaw uncomfortably. But the way that Johnny moaned sinfully above you when your nose pressed into the dark curls at his base, the way he all but melted over you like butter, encouraged to breathe through your nose and keep going.

"Steaming Jesus, Si, I cannae last like this-" Johnny moaned, seemingly not even noticing how loud he was. Simon only laughed lowly, reaching around your thighs to dip between them, circling your clit. Your thighs were trembling, moans getting louder and less restrained, nothing about this was restrained anymore.

"That’s alright, Johnny, neither will she, will you, lovie?" He asked with another deep thrust, "feel ‘ow she’s shaking?"

You were shaking your head still with a mouthful of Johnny’s cock, because you weren’t going to last much longer, eyes rolling and fluttering, landing on the arm chair again where Gaz being treated as well, both him and John watching appreciatevly as Ghost and Soap had you in lopsided Eiffel tower. You were pulling out any trick for Johnny that you managed to remember between Simon’s thrusts, swirling tongue and bobbing heads. But what did him in was actually Simon’s doing. When Simon rolled his hips into you just right, hitting every good spot and giving your clit a swipe, your eyes crossed and you moaned, practically screaming around Johnny’s member, the vibrations and look on your face enough to finish him. His hand tightened in your hair, hips snapping, pushing your nose into his pelvis, and holding you there as he came with what some might call a battle cry. After everything Simon had put him through earlier, he was pent up, leaving him cumming. and cumming, and cumming, until you had to swat at his thigh because you couldn’t take anymore.

You swallowed what you could, taking a couple more spurts to your face and chest before Johnny crumbled onto the couch against you, kissing the taste of himself right off your tongue as Simon continued his thrusts, getting incrementally faster and harder as you proved you could handle it. The scot took over the praising and encouragement as his superior fell back into the quiet grunting and groaning against you, though you could barely make out any of the words as you approached your fourth finish. For the first time in your life you understood the phrase "fucked stupid". You were somewhat sure you were rambling gibberish accolades to the men, cries of ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ’thank you’ intermingled with moans and curses that put your over the top XXX twin’s to shame.

"C’mon, sweetheart, one more f’ me." Simon growled out, switching positions so quickly and effeciently that you didn’t even realize it until you body was pressed face down into the couch cushion, Simon still behind you, drilling into you with a pace that put mechanized machinery to shame. You weren’t even sure how you were taking it just that you were and if he stopped you might start crying, "I know you’re close, just lemme have it-"

Johnny was back on his knees in front of the couch, catching your nipple in his mouth. And you turned your head towards John and Kyle, locked in their own encounter, and then it just snapped. Your orgasm not just washing over you, but a tidal wave crashing over you and frying every nerve a long the way. For a moment your vision whited out, the only thing you were aware of was Simon’s strokes slowing and working you through it. With your body practically vibrating with overstimulation, you let your unseeing eyes roam to to the cieling fan and let your mind wander as you floated somewhere above reality for a bit, enjoying the electric feelings between each neuron firing. Every noise and sight becoming background information as overstimulation fuzzed it all out except the aftershocks and twinges in your core.

You weren’t sure how long it was before you came back to yourself, but you heard Johnny’s voice first, "C’mon, bonnie, float back down to us."

"There she is." Kyle cooed in tandem with the other sergeant while your cheek, "Lost you for a bit there. Alright?"

You were more than alright, body more sated than it’d been in years, still thrumming and twitching with the aftershocks, so you just nodded slowly, trying to focus your eyes in on one thing at a time, voice slightly slurred with nothing to do with the drinks, " ‘m alright."

"Was worried I broke you." That was Simon, who’s lap your head was in. You only offered a dopey smile and a lazily blink.

"You might’ve, but I’m ok, more than ok." You sighed with a dry laugh, turning your head so your cheek pressed to his thigh, though you noticed he’d slipped his sweats back on.

"Si’s gotta work on being gentle, we don’t make him practice enough." Johnny teased, running soothing hands along your sides. Suddenly, a cup of water with a straw was placed in front of your face, and when you looked up it was Price holding it down to you before Kyle took it and held it steady for you.

"Never see you complaining about it, McTavish." John teased right back, trading off the cup so he could smooth hair off your sweaty forehead, "Take as long as you need, sweet, y’did good for us. So good."

His praise nestled deeply, right between your ribs, making you smile softly as Kyle coaxed the straw into your mouth, letting you sip on the water as he ran a caring thumb over the apple of your cheek.

—

You must’ve dozed off, because when you woke up, you were still on the couch, but everyone else had moved around you liked you simply always been nestled amongst them. The thought made your lips curl in a dopey grin as you looked around them. Half upright and wrapped in someone’s hoodie, you were laying against Price’s chest, head tipped back into his shoulder as he worked around a plate filled for two, the atmosphere was cozy now, the electric frantic tension from earlier had morphed into something warm and intimate.

“Evening. Hungry?” His chest rumbled as he held the plate closer to your field of view. Two very juicy ribeyes, baked potatoes, green vegetable- the stereotypical macho man plate. John seemed all too proud of himself when you opened your mouth to accept a fork of perfectly cut bite-size steak, laughing when you hummed in approval, “There we go, sweet, worked up an appetite, yeah?”

“Really? Thought we already stuffed ‘er pretty good.” Kyle teased, still gently swiping warm rags over your body, wiping away any evidence that wasn’t etched or sucked semipermanently into your skin, occasionally following his ministrations with gentle kisses and soft praises, “Feel ok, love? Need anything?”

When you shook your head, gently squeezing his wrist in gratitude, he only smiled, giving you a tender kiss to the forehead before retrieving his own plate and sitting on the opposite side of Price, claiming the captain’s other shoulder for his own head.

Johnny was in the same boat as you, though whatever the hell Simon had done to him made his attention to you look like princess treatment, having obviously reigned himself in with you. Was that what Ghost was getting out of his system before coming back to you? Still, the scot didn’t seem to have many complaints after Simon sat him down between your legs on the couch, letting the sergeant lay facedown against the softest part of your stomach, where he’d nuzzled the hoodie out of the way so he could rest against your bare skin. It was then you noticed that you and Johnny were the only ones still in a state of undress which if your mind wasn’t moving at a snail’s pace, you might’ve tried to read into.

Like you, he seemed half asleep and fucked out, a couple more bites around his neck that hadn’t been there the last time he’d been touching you. Soap’s mohawk gave you something to gently fidget with as Price nudged another bite against your lips. Simon took his seat on the floor, leaned back against the base of the couch with his head tipped back against the curve of your hip. One of his arms wrapped around the leg that Johnny had dangling off the couch, massaging gentle circles into the mans calf muscle. His other other arm was propped on his knee so he could catch your wrist where it flopped down on his shoulder. He was tender as he ran his ungloved hand over yours, massaging your fingers and comparing them to his much larger hands, murmuring himself, “No callouses.”

“Told you, Si.” Johnny sighed almost dreamily into your bare stomach, leaning into your fingers in his hair. With the rest of the men doting on you and Johnny, Simon didn’t even retaliate or tease something back, just snickering quietly and fondly, offering straw topped water bottle to the sergeant.

Another bite of food was offered to you, along with water, and something struck you funny, drawing a quiet chuckle out of you as you turned your face into Price’s neck to stifle the noise. It drew the group’s eyes, clearly waiting for you to divulge. “C’mon, hen, share with the class.” Johnny prompted with grin, always down for a laugh, propping his chin up on your belly so he could look at you through the valley of your cleavage, eyes shining like you’d hung the moon.

“What’s on that pretty mind of yours?” Price rose his eyebrows, cutting another bite of meat for you.

“Nothing, it’s dumb.” You snicker a little more, earning a expectant but amiable tug to your fingers from Simon, “It’s just all a little backwards, s’all.”

“Backwards?” The liutenant parroted in that deep Manc accent, making you giggle a bit more, nodding against Price.

“I let y’all fuck me every which way from Tuesday, and you didn’t even buy me dinner first.” You mused, ironically before taking another bite of one of the best steaks you’d ever had, which could be an effect of the post-sex endorphin rush, or maybe John was just a grill master. “Our apologies, sweet thing.” John rolled his eyes playfully, his apology deeply sarcastic as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

“In our defense, dinner and a very nice bottle of wine were on the agenda before, but some people,” Gaz’s eyes flicked over to Johnny and Simon who didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. Simon was stone faced as usual, still playing with and kissing at your fingers while Johnny just smiled into your belly, “got impatient.”

“Hey, the first time Simon fucked me all I got was the drink mix and wet nap from his MRE.” Johnny whined which only made you laugh harder.

“Y’didn’t ask for anything else.” Simon shrugged tilting his head to press an uncharacteristically romantic kiss to the curve of the Scot’s knee. “ ’sides, I got your mouth on her didn’t I? think I made up for it.” And before you could question if Simon was really the one to orchestrate all of this, Price quieted you with a bite of potato while Gaz leaned over to distract you with his lips on your shoulder, “Don’t worry about it, love.”

And for the first time since you’d seen their search histories, you weren’t worried about much of anything other than when this might happen again.

____

me, who doesn’t ever really write smut: yes i will enjoy writing a fivesome with at least ten hands, five mouths, ten arms, and four penises to keep up with.

Y’all should see the notesapp where I had to like draw out stick figures to see if what I was writing was anatomically possible. I feel like this has gotten me on some kind of watchlist.

Taglist in Comments because there were too many of y'all!! Thanks to anyone who has commented, liked, and reblogged! Whenever I'm feeling uninspired, I just scroll through y'alls comments and they make me smile so so much!!!

#call of duty modern warfare x reader #codmw x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #141 x reader #cod mwii x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #poly!141 x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #johnny mctavish x reader #Johnny mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader

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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 2 days ago

Text

part one

“so how was your first day?” robin asks steve as he slides onto the barstool next to her and chrissy.

“it actually wasn’t that bad,” steve shrugs before taking a long pull from the freshly opened bottle the bartender slides his way.

“it wasn’t that bad?” chrissy asks, incredulous. “so he didn’t make you go to the erewhon all the way across town? the one he goes to because selena gomez was seen there once?”

“that’s why he made me go there?”

“yeah, he really likes that one movie she’s in.”

steve thinks for a moment. “the dead don’t die?”

“no, the one with the dancing,” chrissy snorts.

steve makes a face and then shrugs again. “i made him his breakfast, i drove him around, i organized his tshirt closet… pretty standard stuff for an assistant.”

“you organized his tshirt closet? what the fuck does that even mean?” robin asks, laughing.

“exactly what it sounds like,” steve grins at her. “anyway, really, it wasn’t that bad. sure, he’s insufferable but not anything i couldn’t handle. don’t worry about it.”

“well, thanks for doing this,” chrissy says. “vickie handled it for a while, but i guess once you’ve been fired twelve times in the course of six months, you have to draw a boundary with the thirteenth.”

“it’s really not a big deal, it’s not like i’m doing it for free,” steve responds. “the money is more than worth it.”

“still, i know how he can be. but he’s really not so bad. once he’s… comfortable.” chrissy frowns.

“whatever,” steve shrugs for a third time. “i’m just here for the cash.” he winks and gives her a reassuring smile.

~*~

the next morning, steve pulls up to eddie’s huge beverly hills mansion bright and early, just as he had yesterday. he punches in the gate code, waves to the security guy on duty, and makes his way inside to the kitchen.

eddie storms in while steve is halfway through cooking another omelette, this time with tomatoes and onions and freshly grated cheddar cheese.

“i don’t care, wheeler, i’m not making a fucking appearance and i’m definitely not doing it with him,” eddie snarls into the phone pressed to his face. he hasn’t seemed to notice that steve’s in his house again.

eddie waits for whoever it is on the phone to speak before he says, “well maybe i don’t want to fix it. maybe this is it,” and then hangs up the phone. he lets out a frustrated little scream before he turns to leave the kitchen, finally noticing steve by the stove. “you’re back,” he says, voice monotone.

“i’m back,” steve smiles, sliding the plate full of food across the large island toward him. eddie looks down at it like he’s surprised. “eat,” steve tells him.

“another sweater vest?” eddie sneers instead of picking up his fork.

“i like them,” steve shrugs, still smiling.

eddie rolls his eyes. “whatever,” he mutters and then picks up the plate and retreats from the kitchen.

~*~

eddie is deeply annoyed by how good steve’s omelettes are. he practically licks the plate clean when he’s finished, which only serves to make his bad mood worse.

“can i take your plate?” steve asks from the doorway of the living room.

“jesus christ, man, wear a fucking bell,” eddie grumbles before holding out the plate, forcing steve to walk across the room to the couch and take it from him.

“i’ll remember to announce myself from now on,” steve replies. “chrissy just called; you have another meeting with the pr team this afternoon. we’ll leave here in about an hour.”

eddie doesn’t respond and steve goes quietly back to the kitchen.

~*~

eddie tries to confuse steve with the directions to nancy’s office again, mostly just to annoy him since the car has a built in gps. steve ignores eddie, leaving him to play on his phone in the back seat. the windows are tinted dark, just how eddie likes it & it lulls him into a false sense of security to where he’s almost relaxed by the time they get to nancy’s office.

the meeting is a fucking drag. it’s just a rehashing of the morning’s phone call and eddie had already made himself perfectly clear. he’s not willing to fix anything. nancy and chrissy try to double-team him, begging him to think about the tour & the album roll-out & the rest of the band. the entertainment blogs are running wild with the rumors circulating about the other night and now they’re digging up shit that he wishes would stay buried.

“absolutely fucking not,” eddie spits out. “i refuse to be fucking cordial with that moron.”

“fine,” nancy says finally. “i guess we’re done here then.” she gets up from the head of the conference room table and leaves through the big glass doors and the rest of her team takes that as their cue to leave, too.

chrissy levels him with a look, waiting until the last intern has left the room before speaking.

“eddie, i know you’re pissed right now. trust me, i would be too,” she says, using that tone eddie always hates—the one that makes it sound like she’s trying to placate a rabid dog. “but the label has invested a lot of money into you and they need you to put in some work right now. take a minute, take a breath, and then we’ll talk again. but we need to respond; we can figure out what that looks like. i’ll talk to nance… maybe we don’t need a joint appearance. maybe you can just make a statement.”

eddie knows there are a ton of people relying on this tour & this upcoming album. he knows the band doesn’t deserve the hit from this. but what is there to even say? he’s just so fucking angry about it.

“fine. i’ll make an appearance. but i won’t, under any circumstances, be seen with him,” eddie tells her firmly. he slides his sunglasses back onto his face before pushing himself out of his chair and making his way over to the door. “just tell me when and where. and make sure nancy doesn’t make me sound like a fucking idiot.”

“great,” chrissy smiles so bright she looks like a teenager again. “i’ll talk to nancy. we’ll figure it out.”

any reassurance eddie feels is washed away by a renewed sense of annoyance when he sees steve waiting for him in the lobby, still wearing his pastel yellow sweater vest, drinking a purple smoothie from a straw and scrolling on his phone. he’s laughing at something on the screen and the sunlight comes through the huge front windows just right, making him glow golden, and eddie just feels something inside him twist unpleasantly.

steve looks up then to see eddie coming, but eddie breezes past him to the sidewalk. steve jumps up to follow, handing the valet their ticket. when the car finally pulls up, eddie says, “no liquids in the car,” before sliding into the back seat.

he sees steve shrug before smiling at the valet and handing him his half empty smoothie to dispose of and a tip.

the car ride home is silent. eddie practically leaps from the car before it’s even come to a stop when they pull into the driveway. there are packages on the table in the foyer, likely brought in by the security guy at the gate. “grab those,” eddie tells steve with a wave of his hand.

steve follows eddie into the kitchen, arms laden with paper bags and boxes. most of it, eddie knows, is free product and merch, stuff he never uses and mostly stuff he doesn’t even want. steve places the packages on the counter and watches as eddie sifts through them, clearly looking for something.

“do you want lunch?” steve asks. eddie ignores him, finally finding the package he’d ordered earlier today. he flings it across the kitchen island toward steve on the other side.

steve catches the package in his hands and arches an eyebrow.

“open it,” eddie tells him, nodding at paper wrapping. he opens the fridge to pull out a bottle of water and takes a long sip as he watches steve’s fingers tear at the brown paper.

once the package is open, steve huffs out a laugh, barely a breath, before holding up a bright pink cat collar with a tiny bell attached. he shakes it in the air, making the bell tinkle. the collar clearly will not fit him.

“fuck you, man,” steve says, still smiling.

“fuck you, too,” eddie says.

and then he leaves the kitchen.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #steddie blurb #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie drabble #pre steddie #rockstar eddie munson #personal assistant steve harrington #part two

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 days ago

Note

(Answer this after watching Chapter 4)

I NEED an X Reader where Reader comforts Doey after he's first frozen, or maybe one where Reader literally smacks some sense into Doey after the Safe Haven blows up(and we need the refugees to escape PLEASE-)

"Oh, it's you! Is the Doctor...?"

"No. Not yet. I'm working on it." You shook your head, looking apologetically at the doughy toy that had recently become one of your allies.

Even though you were just halfway through your trip through "No Man's Land", you're relieved that you didn't have to worry about Yarnaby following you around. You could have certainly used Doey's help beforehand, but he did save you from Pianosaurus at a critical moment where you thought it was truly the end for you.

Besides that, you were used to dealing with things on your own.

You sent Huggy into a pitfall, killed Mommy Long Legs, and set Catnap and Yarnaby ablaze without really anyone's assistance.

Killing the Doctor, on the other hand, was going to be a very different challenge. He wasn't some Bigger Body with flaws you could exploit--he was cruel, calculating, and wanted to prey on your fear and reasons for coming back to this factory.

Not to mention the Prototype, who was working with the mastermind behind the experiments for reasons still unclear to you. But the "why" wasn't important to you right now--letting this place burn down is what mattered most.

Doey was rather opposed to the idea of setting explosives in the foundation, although after everything you've seen (and knowing him and Poppy have probably seen things ten times worse), you were on board with the plan.

Because what was the alternative?

Letting all these toys starve and cannibalize each other? Waiting for some other poor soul like yourself to come here and die? Allowing the Prototype to have his way?

Absolutely not.

First things first..you had to find the omni hand for your grabpack, knowing it would give you greater access to the facility's systems. Apparently the Doctor had it under lock and key, meaning you had to take him out of commission before you could reach it.

At some point in your mission, you came across Doey again, who was inspecting a pipe. You felt a little bad for disappointing him when you said the Doctor wasn't dead yet, although he must have known it was going to take you some time.

But who could blame him? Him and the others have waited years and years for an opportunity like this. For someone like you to come along and save them.

He couldn't be at fault for being so eager.

"I figured as much." He sighed, smiling at you as he turned away from the pipe. "I've been here gathering parts for the generator."

"Really? Where's all the.....oh." You stopped yourself upon seeing him holding his stomach and giggling. "Right."

"Yup! LOTS of--ah!"

Without any warning, the pipe burst open with loud hiss and began spraying a cloud of cold gas directly onto him. Upon contact with his body, he became frozen solid.

You stood there in shock for a moment, before remembering that dough didn't mix well with the cold, and you panicked as you looked for a way to stop the flow of gas.

Then you looked up to see a switch, using one of your grabpack hands to turn the handle. Fortunately that seemed to do the trick, as the cloud dissipated almost instantly, allowing Doey to thaw out rather fast.

Despite your quick actions, he seemed thoroughly shaken, his eyes wide and his yellow arm stretched out, dragging it behind him as he quickly huddled into the nearest corner of the rooms.

"Hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, HURTS!!!" He cried out, his arm morphing back into its usual shape as he tries taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

You frowned slightly and approached him, ignoring the opening doors for the moment. "Doey, are you okay?"

"N-No. He's made it impossible for me to get around here!" He snapped at you. "Traps like this are everywhere!"

His voice sounded different--with a lot more aggression to it, and so you kept your distance, feeling yourself growing tense.

You had to remember that no matter how innocent or kind these toys appeared to be...they were traumatized and obviously not of sound mind. They could turn on you at the drop of a hat.

Either that, or they're simply animals with unpredictable behaviors.

But you knew Doey wasn't some animal. He was an ally, someone you had learned to trust.

Your gut says that you seriously shouldn't, considering how trusting Mommy almost got you eaten alive, and trusting Poppy led to her redirecting the train and dragging you further into this mess.

But once you saw things from her point of view, you've come to realize that this wasn't something you could just walk away from.

How could you go on with life knowing all of this was happening beneath your feet? Especially now that she believes you were the only person who could help everyone who's suffered here--or at least whoever's left.

She put a lot of faith in you, and you couldn't let her down.

Although she definitely wanted you to hurry, you had to at least take the time to make sure Doey was okay after that trap was set off.

"It's the cold that hurts....th-the big mean Doctor knows that.." He sniffled, now sounding on the verge of tears as he hugged himself.

"And that's why I'm gonna stop him." You promised. "I'm gonna find whatever's left of that prick and destroy him. Once and for all."

"...I-I know. You can go on ahead. I'll..I'll be okay...I'll be okay..."

Despite what he says, you knew he very much wasn't okay just yet.

Then you had an idea.

"I know you will be. But first..."

The clay creature looked at you, seeing you open your arms up, the grabpack's mechanisms down at your sides. "Can I get a hug for the road, big guy?"

Doey sniffled again, at first hesitant to respond, but seeing your sweet attitude and the hope written on your face brought a smile back to his own features.

He nodded and hugged you tightly, squishing you against him and lifting you off the ground a few feet.

The smells of clay and dough were overwhelming, but they're a lot better than the other...ghastly scents you've somehow grown desensitized to.

"Of course you can, buddy!" He laughed. "You'll need it!" After a few moments, he set you down and checked to make sure he didn't leave any residue on you or your grabpack. "Thank you. That...made me feel a lot better."

"I'm glad. I feel better, too." You chuckled, adjusting the straps before making your way further into No Man's Land, praying that you'd make it to the Doctor's hideout and back to the Safe Haven alive.

They were all counting on you.

You couldn't fail.

Not after everything you've been through.

#clanask #poppy playtime x reader #ppt x reader #poppy playtime ch 4 #doey the doughman #doey the doughman x reader #platonic #hurt/comfort

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dyingswanpavlova · 3 days ago

Text

"Your girl" - Part 13 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: If you don't make up soon, things will either escalate or stay that way forever. Which one would be worse?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/gore/death, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities, loss of identity, mentions of pregnancy, threatening, mentions and threats of suicide and self-harm, (rough) oral sex, penetration, breeding kink, degradation kink, not beta-read, if I've missed any warnings or tags please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

It started off small.

The tension in his jaw. The clench of his fists. The way he lingered in rooms he had no reason to be in, as if expecting you to finally give in.

But you didn’t. And then his evil twin took over again. Just like that.

Your books went missing. From one day to the other, you woke up and when you stepped into the warmly-lit living room, you immediately realized it. The shelf was empty. He didn’t leave you a single one.

That same night, when you made your way back to your room in order to cry and weep yourself to sleep, you realized something else was missing. Your blanket had disappeared. The radiator was turned off. And when you tried to turn it back on, it stayed cold.

Eventually, the meal portions became smaller. For each meal, the plate stayed the same size, but it got emptier. In the end, it was hardly enough to feel full. Just enough to pick at it and feel incredibly sad.

And why?

Because he wanted a reaction. A word, a glance, a single sign that you were still there. That nothing had changed, that you still belonged to him. But for once in your life, you were being stubborn, far too stubborn. The moment you realized he would punish you anyway, even if you did things the right way (you didn’t try to escape), you gave up. You gave him up. Gave up whatever it was between you two. Because there was one thing you wanted even more than him.

An apology.

Not your freedom. Not even your goddamn hair.

You wanted an apology.

You knew how incredibly stupid it was to assume he would ever break the façade of cold and ruthlessness, even if it was for you. And after all, he had done his best, hadn’t he? In his eyes, sure. He had.

He hadn’t apologized with words, of course. That was sheer impossible. But you saw it in his actions. The soft touches, the lingering glances. The hesitation in his grip. And the softness in his eyes.

The way he stood in the doorway of your room, night after night, watching and waiting. Brooding. Hoping, maybe.

At first, he tried to play along and approach the situation nicely. You’d wake up and find something sweet on your nightstand. A book even. Back when you told him what your favorite book was, he went and bought it. A hardcover book and what was even worse, an old one. Original cover, worn out pages. It smelled like an old bookstore. It smelled familiar. Like the only home you knew. Words. Phrases. Imaginary worlds.

The moment your eyes registered the title, you felt a sinking feeling in your chest.

Wuthering Heights.

You loved it especially, because, during the course of your twisted childhood, it allowed you some closure. It made your terrible home of Yorkshire feel like more of a home. The thought of Catherine Earnshaw running around the moors, Heathcliff yearning for her, their combined pain and their longing – it turned the battleground of your childhood into something beautiful, something romantic. Like your tragedy wasn’t the only that took place there. It was the birth of something beautifully sad.

At some point, you had told him about it. The meaning the book held to you and how you loved old book stores. Second hand pages and the smell of words.

Of course he remembered it. He was always considerate like that. And back in the day, when you found that beautiful book on your nightstand, covered in dark blue and the title in an innocent white, you almost broke the spell. You almost found yourself running back to him, forgiving him, being his girl.

How could you not? It was obvious that he felt something for you, wasn’t it? Even if he would have rather died than ever admitted to that.

But you stayed strong, for that one time in your life. You stayed true to yourself and the promise not to give in first. Let him feel that he hurt you. Let him feel that he broke your heart, just after he brought you back to life.

You stayed stern. Ignored him during every meal, even though you felt his gaze on you.

The blister stayed firmly in place as well. After you had woken up that one morning and found it on your nightstand, you first reaction had been to feel fear of course. You had almost forgotten about that. You still didn’t know what had occupied your mind to make you do that. What devil had possessed you to stop taking the pill?

He had been so loving at times, so gentle. Maybe it was that. You had felt too safe in his embrace. You didn’t want to ever leave it. And after all, he left you the choice of taking it, right? So, you stopped. Four days you took it and after endless, heated arguments with yourself in your head, you stopped.

Try and live for once.

Maybe something good will come of this, after all.

But then he locked you away. Cut your hair. He didn’t believe you. And suddenly, everything was different. He didn’t speak first. And, God, you wouldn’t be the first to speak, either. If he took every inch of your hair, if he took every last bit of you. You wouldn’t give in. Not you. Not this time.

Of course you missed him. Dearly. You spent your days longing and your nights yearning.

Catherine and Heathcliff.

But you had managed a lifetime without a gentle caress before. Why would you budge now, just because you knew it now?

Eventually he got impatient. And he took the books. The blanket, the food. The warmth. He took your comfort and all the love you felt for him. You felt the loss of his touch, of his love, like a physical reaction in your body. Something was missing. And despite your anger and your resentment, despite the disappointment and the sadness you felt, there was a part of you that wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him, rest your head on his lap and have him read to in this painfully soft voice of his, that made you feel like you were home.

You knew he didn’t do it as a punishment. He wanted a reaction. A cry, a yell, an angry word, a fight even. Everything was better than this silence.

The silence was a living, breathing thing, that took up all the space in the apartment and pressed down onto your chest, hard enough to suffocate you. And to your immense satisfaction, he seemed to feel the same way. Until, finally, he snapped.

You sat hunched over your ridiculously tiny amount of rice and a small broccoli rose. Your stomach grumbled loudly and you knew this wasn’t going to help. But you sat in silence nonetheless and tried to savor every bite.

He stood at the counter and stared down at it, his hands gripping the edge tightly. And eventually, the silence broke.

You heard the crash before you saw it – his plate, shattered against the kitchen wall. You flinched and cowered, digging your nails into your palms painfully. But you still didn’t look at him. Until his voice cut through the silence in a low growl.

“Enough.”

It was enough to make you glance up, slowly and almost carefully. It was the first time that you looked at him in weeks. You had played this game for weeks. And now it was him who lost it.

“Say something.”

You were tempted to. But you stayed strong.

You took in his appearance, the way he looked like he hadn’t slept in a while. His eyes were bloodshot and his charming smile formed into a scowl. You suddenly realized, despite it all, you felt bad for him. You didn’t want him to suffer.

Behind that whole horrible mask, there was something human inside him. Someone who felt pain and who had been through a lot. Someone who had been betrayed and hurt, by the person who was supposed to protect him.

Just like you.

Someone who cared about you, in his own twisted way.

And yet you stayed stubborn.

“Say something!” He growled again and took a step closer to you. He was angry, you could tell as much, but he was also frustrated. Behind the fury in his eyes, there was also a hint of desperation. More than a hint, a whole lot, actually. Despite the growl which was tinged in anger, you heard the softness of a plea between his words.

You opened your mouth and closed it again. Then you slowly unclenched your fists and looked down at the plate in front of you. He would never apologize. Because to do so, he would have to admit that he did something wrong. And he was far too proud for that. He was too full of himself. Also, he preferred getting angry for no reason. Apologizing wasn’t really his cup of tea.

You stayed silent and it tore at his soul. And hurting him hurt you.

When you still didn’t answer, he huffed in frustration and took another step closer. His stance was menacing and threatening. Even though you hadn’t felt the pain he could inflict on you in a few weeks now, your body remembered. It was hard to forget how the humiliation seeped into your bones like a cold, how his fist felt, whenever it connected with your body. The sound of the countless slaps to your cheek, which were echoing through the halls. The sound of your quiet despair.

He gritted his teeth and you knew, you were about to get reminded of it. Somehow you didn’t even expect it. It was almost like he had forgotten how touching you worked. After all, it had been a while. His movements seemed somewhat uncalculated. He reached out his hand above his head, but before he could land the first blow, he froze at the sound of your voice.

“I want to leave.”

Your voice was soft and gentle, small and timid, yet determined. It was such a contrast to his own anger. When he heard it, he stopped immediately. A part of him seemed relieved, like he hadn’t expected you to ever speak again. He seemed to savor the sound of your voice in his head. But by the time his brain registered your words, he frowned and slowly lowered his hand.

“What?”

You nodded and slowly looked up at him again. “I want to go. I want you to let me go. I want to go home.”

He scoffed. “This is your home.”

You shook your head. “I want to leave.” You said in the same, soft voice.

His frown deepened. “There’s no such thing. You knew the deal, when you accepted it. You belong to me. You’re not going anywhere.”

You took in the way he didn’t even look angry. Just frustrated and so very confused.

“I knew the deal. But I don’t want to stay.” You took a deep breath. “I don’t feel safe with you.”

Something flashed in his eyes, something that was equally dark as it was hurt. He hadn’t expected that. He had expected you to fight him or give in eventually, not for you to demand him to let you go. What a silly thing to hope for, right? But it was the only thing you could do.

“You don’t feel safe with me?” He all but spat out. He was disguising his pain very well behind a stony mask of anger and disgust. But you had known him for quite some time now and you slowly grew to lean the different masks and what he hid behind them.

“No, I don’t.” You said quietly. “I did everything right and I still got punished.”

He scoffed. “You tried to leave!”

“No, I didn’t!”

He gritted his teeth and eyed you up and down in a way that left you unsure how to feel.

“Yes, you did.” He spat out. “I had to kill that old bastard, because of what you did.”

His words made you flinch. “You had to?” The disbelief in your voice quickly turned back into anger. He couldn’t mean this. “You looked pretty content doing it!”

“What do you want to hear?” He hissed. “That I made a mistake? I didn’t. You made a mistake.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself down, but failed miserably. “I had the chance to leave. I even considered it. But I decided against it and I know that you know that!”

He clenched and unclenched his fists the whole time and you suddenly realized how lucky you were, that he hadn’t fully snapped yet. You were sure, by the end of the day you’d end up either dead or with some bone in your body broken. But so far, he did really well in his attempts to stay calm.

It was a dead end. He wouldn’t give in and the only way you could go back to oblivious co-existence was, if you gave in. But you still stood your ground and you realized just how good it felt.

“I saw you there. You stood right in front of the door. You looked at him and spoke to him, instead of- Instead of calling me and-“

That was the moment you realized something. Something that felt like a bucket of ice water on your head. Your heart squeezed tightly in your chest and the sinking, painful feeling of disappointment left you nearly breathless.

“You knew that I didn’t try to leave.”

The words were barely audible. You might as well have thought them in your head, but no. He heard you. You could tell by the way he stiffened and couldn’t meet your eyes.

“Oh my God!”

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous!” He growled and suddenly he looked very determined. But his eyes told another story. “You tried to leave!”

“Oh my God!” You jumped up and glared at him with every ounce of anger you could find in yourself. “Why the Hell did you cut my hair then?!”

He pointed his index finger at you. “Because you deceived me.”

You ignored his words, too caught up in a haze of disbelief and fury. “Why did you ignore me all this time?” You nearly asked yourself that. “And the fucking pill?! What business did you have placing it there, while I was asleep? You knew I didn’t do anything wrong! That’s why you hesitated! That’s why you were suddenly so nice to me!”

“Shut your fucking mouth or I will shut it for you!”

“What did you punish me for then?!” You felt angry tears sting your eyes as you took a step closer to him. The part of you that longed for him still did. You hadn’t felt him so close to you in weeks. The warmth of his skin, the faint smell of his cologne surrounded you like a warm hug.

“You nearly killed me!” You snapped at him, very unlike yourself. Your sense of self-preservation was suddenly near-dead. All you wanted was for him to answer your question. “Why?!”

His expression was the same mix of frustration and anger. But his anger became more and more apparent. You knew he wouldn’t need much more and he would explode. Would he break your nose? Would he squash your kidney? Or would he finally finish what he started that day and choke you to death?

“One more word.” He hissed as he towered over you, ready to strike.

He hadn’t hit you yet. He wasn’t even yelling. He was just…

Was he just…

“Oh my God.” Your voice was barely audible, just a small whisper, hardly to be heard under the sound of his heavy breathing. “Oh my God, you didn’t punish me, because I tried to leave.”

He frowned and shook his head. “What are you fantasizing about now? What are you cooking up in your-“

“You did it, because of what I said to you.”

The second you realized it was the same second your anger suddenly vanished. You were obviously still angry. Mostly so, because he ignored you for so long, without really ignoring you. But you weren’t furious anymore. You were more…curious. Disappointed. And sad.

But the second you said it, you saw a brief flash of something in his eyes. You couldn’t quite tell what it was. You had seen that in him once or twice. But it always left as quickly as it came. And suddenly you were certain.

“You punished me, because of what I said to you.” You said firmly.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He scoffed. “Stop being an idiot. Stop acting like anything you could say to me would ever be enough to influence my actions. You’re nothing! I told you that! You’re-“

“Then let me go.”

He stopped and regarded you with a frown. But he was slightly calmer now, all the while you sounded almost panicked.

If he did all these vile things to you, when you were no more than a stranger to him…

What would he do to you, if you were more than that?

If he was comfortable around you?

And why on earth were you allowing it?

It was like someone suddenly pulled up a curtain in the fog that was your brain and you realized, something was wrong.

You had had no chance to escape your mother. After all, you had been no more than a child and she was your mother. Nowhere to flee and no one to rescue you. You spent your life begging and pleading and hoping to find a way to finally break free.

But this.

This.

You were letting it happen. It was you.

You were allowing this. You knew what he was doing to you and you still let him. You let him touch and kiss you and even take you.

Your first time had been with the same man, who slapped the living hell out of you. Who punched your gut and left you tied to the bed, your bladder ready to explode in pain and humiliation. The man who called you vile names. The man who committed heinous crimes on you. On your body and mind.

What were you doing?

What, for God’s sake, were you doing?

Your eyes widened impossibly and you backed away against the counter.

“I don’t want this.” You gasped out. “I don’t want any of this. I want to go home. Let me go home.”

His frown deepened. You suddenly realized, you had no idea who he was.

“Why are you suddenly…”

You saw yourself. Years from now. Tied to a bed, your body bruised and battered. Maybe there was a child on the way. Maybe you already had one. Or three. Or seven. Who could tell? Maybe you’d make a perfect baby machine. He wouldn’t let you go to the hospital to have your poor, little bastard children. No, he’d make you bear them alone, with no one to assist you but him.

And the children?

God, the children.

What would they have to go through? What kind of miserable life was right there, waiting for them to endure it? You were sure, your mother would probably look like a saint compared to him.

Years and years and years. No one ever got to go out. All they would know would be this place. They wouldn’t ever understand that there was a whole world outside, for them to explore. With kindness, with love. In a way where people’s motivation was positivity rather than fear. Where peace ruled and love didn’t equal pain.

You couldn’t do this, you suddenly realized.

You just couldn’t.

It didn’t take you longer than two seconds to reach for the block. He had stopped being careful around you approximately by the time you allowed him to use you as he pleased.

You forgot the way his lips felt on yours, the second your fingers curled around the handle of the knife.

His eyes shot open and he rushed forward, ready to beat you to it. He wouldn’t let you stab him, no matter how careful he was.

Silly man.

That wasn’t your intention.

You took a step to the side, your back pressed against the wall and raised your hand. The cold metal felt uncomfortable against your neck. The feeling was unwanted and unwelcome, but if it was indeed your only out, oh God, you would take it.

He froze in his tracks and his eyes widened to a nearly ridiculous degree. He stared at you like you were an alien and slowly held up his hands in a gesture that came close to surrender.

“What are you doing?” He asked in a soft voice. “Give me the knife.”

Your eyes were equally as wide as you stared up at him, the blade tightly pressed against your jugular.

It was funny, really. You remembered at least one time when it was him who did the exact same thing to you. But back then, he didn’t look as horrified. Instead, his brows were furrowed and his eyes half-lidded in pleasure. But now, he looked straight-up terrified.

“Let me go.” You whispered. “I want to go.”

“Darling.” He whispered back and took the tiniest step closer. When you pressed the blade even harder against your skin, he immediately stopped and raised his hands a bit.

“Okay.” He whispered. “Okay. I get it. You’re angry. I understand that. But-“

„I’m not angry!” You felt tears running down your cheeks. You had been here far too long.

“Okay. Whatever it is that you are, please listen to me. Give me the knife.”

“Why do you care?” You hissed. “After all, it was you who almost killed me!”

He took a slow breath and nodded. “I know. But I didn’t, did I?”

“No.” You gritted out. “And why not? What stopped you? What did I say to you, that made you stop?”

He frowned. He was getting impatient, you could tell. “Set the fucking knife down, do you hear me? You don’t make the rules around here.”

But you weren’t trying to get the upper hand. You weren’t even trying to prove any point. Not anymore. All that you wanted was some clarity.

What was going on inside your head?

You choked out a sob and with a shaky hand, pressed the blade harder against your skin, hard enough to draw blood.

“No!” He rushed forward, ready to yank the knife away and shake you back to your senses.

You huffed furiously and took another step away from him, shooting a glare his way.

“Let me go.” You demanded firmly.

“I can’t!” You didn’t expect the way his voice suddenly cracked. It happened so fast and was so unlike him, that your brain hardly registered it.

His gaze was fixed on the small droplet of blood that was trickling down your throat, but you hardly felt the pain. Your chest heaved rapidly and you took a deep, slow breath.

You had to get your answers. You had to get out. Or you had to die. It was the only outcome.

“I…”

You looked at him, your expression trying to gauge what he was thinking. Was he getting angry? Impatient? Was he having violent thoughts? Was he more than ready to make you pay for this?

But his expression was soft. Almost pleading. And you suddenly realized, it was not a trick.

“Please.” He said so quietly that you nearly missed it. “Just stop.”

Please?

Your breath caught in your throat, when you heard the desperation in his soft voice. His bloodshot eyes were so wide and terrified, it was unlike anything you had ever seen in him. He looked so helpless that you nearly pitied him. This wasn’t the same man. It couldn’t be. What had changed?

The only thing that could be heard were your breaths mingling in the cramped space of the kitchen. He kept stalking closer and closer, until your chest nearly touched his. And this time, you didn’t back away. He didn’t seem like a threat for once. He seemed…broken.

“You’re right.” He suddenly whispered. You felt his breath tickle your skin and everything else seemed to fade away. Nothing mattered anymore. Your body longed for him. Yearned for him.

“You’re right. I knew you didn’t try to leave. I always knew.” He whispered and reached out a hand. It hovered above yours, you felt its warmth even through the air. Just a few inches and he’d get you. But you didn’t care about the knife. All you cared about was his hand, gently wrapping around your own. The moment his palm brushed over the back of your hand, you were done for.

You were weak.

The curtain fell back into place.

And the fog, it was heavier than ever.

He held your hand with such gentleness and care, that you hardly even understood what he was doing, until he did it. What he was saying.

To what he just admitted.

“When I saw you standing there…That man right there, ready to take you away.” He swallowed and shook his head, all the while his fingers gently moved yours out of place and he finally wrapped them around the handle of the knife. “It didn’t matter to me if you tried to leave or not. All that I saw was that…You were nearly gone.” He breathed.

The knife fell to the floor with a loud thud. He then kicked it away until it bumped against the opposite wall.

“All that I saw were you. Gone. And God, I…God, I…” His voice was barely more than a breath. And his lips were so close to your own, that you could almost taste them.

His brows furrowed and he used the same hand to gently cup your cheek in his hand.

“You can’t leave me. I can’t let you go. I can’t lose…” He stopped himself.

It took you weeks, tears and anger to realize. He wasn’t angry.

He was afraid.

“Why not?” You whispered breathlessly.

He bit his lip. “Stop this.” He hissed. “I know what you’re trying to do here.”

You slowly shook your head, your gaze fixed on his eyes. “Why not?” You whispered again. You leaned even closer and now it was you who initiated the contact. The moment you felt his body pressed against yours, you were done for. You had spent so many hours craving and dying to feel him again, asking yourself why, what did I do wrong? And now he was here and he was so desperate and God, you were, too.

You never actually wanted to leave anyway, did you? It was just your way of provoking a reaction.

That was what you told yourself.

“Tell me why not.”

He opened his mouth and hid his feelings behind a deep frown. He was obviously still very deep in the game of denial. And you weren’t going to be the one to pressure him. After all, he had his own things going on. You didn’t understand them, but you knew they were there. So, instead of waiting for his answer, you tilted your head up and brushed your lips over his. The touch was barely there, it was so soft and subtle that your body hardly recognized it as a kiss. But when you kissed, he made the most desperate sound you had ever heard. His eyelids fluttered and he dipped his head forward. Craving.

He was your Heathcliff.

He was your desire, your love and your tragedy.

He was all the bad there was in the world, when you live in a world full of darkness. But within the dark, he was also the light that painted the apricot walls of the halls you found yourself in into a warm white. Into all the good in the world. Into a world of warmth.

Warm. Good. Perfect.

A soft shiver ran down your spine when you felt him press against you, desperate for more. But you wouldn’t, you couldn’t, give it to him. Not yet. Despite the way your body craved his touch, you found yourself pulling back ever so slightly.

A strangled sound grumbled in his chest, like he was moments away from having his way with you, any way you could imagine.

But to your great surprise, he didn’t. He didn’t force anything on you, despite his frustration. His need was so apparent, you felt it in the way he breathed and you saw it in the way his eyes bore into yours. But he held himself back.

All for you.

“I didn’t try to leave.” You whispered. It was the one thing that was still between you, quiet and brooding, but oh-so obvious. He had hurt you. He had hurt you far worse than he had so far. Not because of the hair you lost, not because of the way he almost strangled the life out of you.

You had expected these.

But what you didn’t expect was for him to ignore you and make you feel like you did something wrong, when you didn’t.

“I know.” He said after a while. He sighed deeply and gently pressed his palms against your hips, holding you in a tight, near-bruising grip. His fingers dug into your flesh with an intensity that quickly reminded you of how much he needed you. It wasn’t like you were deliberately trying to tease him. You just needed…

“Forgive me.”

Your head jerked up and you stared at him speechlessly.

“You…You’re saying…”

“It was my fault.” He said very quietly. “And I’m sorry.”

Your heart nearly burst in your chest as you stared up at him. You couldn’t tell how sincere he was being. But then again, would he really say that, if he didn’t mean?

Would he say that at all? To anyone else? Ever?

You inhaled shakily and parted your lips in order to make any sound, but there was nothing. Your head was empty. All that there was, was him.

He leaned forward and pressed you against the wall behind you with the weight of his body against yours. His head dipped forward and his lips grazed your earlobe as he spoke.

“Can you forgive me, my sweet girl?” He whispered.

Your eyelids instinctively fluttered shut, when his breath tickled the sensitive skin of your ear. A hard shiver shook your body and you bit your lip to keep yourself from making any more sinful sounds.

“I…Yes.” You whispered back. “Yes, of course.”

He hummed softly and slowly ran his hand along your back, up your shoulders, until his fingertips carefully ran up the side of your neck. He felt the drop of blood on your skin and released a low growl.

“No one gets to hurt you”, he gritted out, “no one, but me. The rule applies to you, too.”

Your eyes stayed shut and you inhaled softly, when his fingertips slowly ran along the small wound. You had almost forgotten about that.

“I don’t know, if I should punish you for misbehaving…or take good care of you, because my darling girl is hurt.”

Your chest heaved rapidly and it only ever got worse, when his hand slowly wandered down along your chest. His hand was flatly pressed against it, like he was feeling your heartbeat. Which seemed to be exactly what he was doing.

“Your heart is racing.” He whispered. “Are you nervous?”

You nodded breathlessly. It had been a while since he last touched you. You had lived in the memory, of course. A few times even more so than you dared to admit. You weren’t normally an overly sexual person (or at least you thought so.) But the nights without him got harder and colder, so that you caught yourself a few times, with your mind on him and your hand wandering down your body.

Pathetic, you thought. But you couldn’t help yourself.

“I missed you.” You whispered, before you could stop yourself.

Of course you expected a satisfied smirk or even that he made fun of you in some way. But instead of being condescending, he hummed softly and breathed another kiss against your lips.

“Show me how much.”

You bit your lip in thoughtful hesitation. A part of you was nearly there, ready to ask How?

But another part of you, a part that you only ever had gotten to know after you met him…That part wanted to be daring.

And wicked.

And even fucking naughty.

You took a shaky breath and leaned in, meeting his lips halfway. This time, he didn’t give you the opportunity to back out. His mouth dominated yours in a deep, desperate kiss. His tongue forced your mouth open and began exploring the warmth of it, meeting yours in a wicked dance.

The moan that reached your ears was enough to make your legs go weak and the fabric of your underwear grow damp.

Slowly and tentatively you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Closer.

Your leg around his waist.

Closer.

You felt the bulge in his pants press and rub against your heat in a way that made you moan in return. God, you were hungry. Hungry for him.

He bit your lip almost hard enough to draw blood and when a pained whimper left your lips, his arousal only seemed to grow and he responded with a low growl.

He pulled his head back and regarded you with a long, intense look.

“I missed you being fucking naughty for me. Look at me.” His hand shot out and he slapped your cheek, before you even realized it. You didn’t even have the time to be surprised about it, because an involuntary moan came over your lips in response.

“Good girl. Be a good girl for daddy.” He breathed. “Open that pretty mouth for me.”

You obeyed without question, parting your lips to allow two of his fingers entrance. Your eyes were half-lidded and desperate as you stared up at him, while he rubbed his fingers over your tongue.

“Suck on them, baby. Show me how much you missed me.”

Your lips closed around them and you began teasing him with your tongue, sucking on his fingers lightly. His eyes immediately darkened and you were sure you felt the hardness between his legs throb.

“My good girl.” He murmured. His free hand wandered down your body, until he cupped one of your breasts and squeezed it lightly. He hummed in response and tore at your dress with impossible strength. It didn’t take long for the material to give in. You ignored the slight pain the friction brought you, because a moment later, he pulled back and ran his tongue along your now exposed breast and sucked on the peak, causing you to arch your back and moan.

“Oh God.” You breathed. “Oh God, please.”

“Beg me.”

“I’m begging you. Please. I need you.”

“Good girl.”

He hummed again and gently nibbled on your skin, before his lips wandered up and found the uninjured side of your neck. Instinctively, you tilted your head to the side to give him better access and he made good use of it, because he kissed every inch of your neck and lightly bit down it. When he did, you moaned again. And you also moaned when he bit down on your earlobe, hard enough to hurt.

You were a puddle under his touch, ready to melt, mindless. He did the thinking for you.

“Touch me.” He breathed.

You didn’t need to be told twice. In a fit of courage, you began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers were shaking, but you managed to undress him fairly quick. The sight was enough to make you go into a frenzy. You leaned in and brushed your lips along his neck and down his bare chest. Every sound he made, motivated you further. Your tongue glided along his flawless skin and flicked against his stomach, making him arch his back in return.

“My naughty girl.” He murmured. “Did you miss me that bad?”

You nodded absentmindedly, licking a path up his toned torso.

“Look at me.”

You froze, before you quickly pulled back your head and looked up at him with wide eyes. He sounded so stern and determined, like he had just detected some kind of flaw in you, a mistake you made.

Please, you thought to yourself, however you want to punish me, please don’t go back to ignoring me.

He didn’t. Instead he gently ran his thumb along your lower lip and murmured: “How do you want me?”

Your face instantly flushed as you were pulled back into the abyss of your desire. “I…”

“If you don’t choose, I will.”

“Taste you”, you gasped out half a second later, “I want to taste you.”

His eyes darkened even more and he looked at you with a mixture of untamable desire and something akin to pride.

“On your knees.” He growled.

You were on your knees, before you realized it. He undid his belt with nimble fingers and you felt the leather wrap around your wrists. You didn’t protest. If anything, it turned you on even more. He wasn’t being rough about. Not tonight. It was almost like he was trying to decipher if this was what you wanted. After all, it had been a complicated few weeks. He had mistreated you. But you forgave him. And now, now he was trying to be the good guy. At least this once, he wanted to make sure he wasn’t being too rough.

When you didn’t protest and only ever licked your lips in response, he exhaled a soft growl and slowly undid his pants. You watched him with a keen eye and parted lips. You had imagined and remembered the way he looked, the way he felt. But it was nothing compared to the reality of it.

His slacks landed by his ankles and you were greeted by the sight of his hardened length, throbbing and needy for your touch.

“Open wide.”

You parted your lips and stuck out your tongue, while the fire in your body only ever became bigger, hotter and far harder to put out, until it was near impossible.

He took a step closer and you felt him press against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut and you inhaled sharply. Just a second later you felt him rub his tip along your tongue, causing him to groan. And you moaned in response.

It was very unlike yourself to be so wicked and let go of any inhibitions like that. But in that moment, you were so terribly desperate, you would have done anything for him. And you wanted him, needed him. Badly.

So, when he began to move and slowly push forward into your mouth, you let him guide your movements, but you acted just the same. He pushed forward, but you pulled back just enough to spit down at his length. He moaned in response and he moaned even louder, when you began to coat him in your saliva, right before you took him back into the warm, soft and wet embrace of your mouth.

His fingers tangled in your hair and he held your head in place, as he began to thrust forward and use your mouth to his own pleasure. His pace quickly became punishing. He was impatient, you could tell. He was desperate, just as desperate as you were.

Had he touched himself and thought about you? God, the thought drove you mad. And suddenly, you felt even more wicked.

You strained against his bruising grip and pulled your head back. For a moment, he hesitated, but then he allowed you, a frustrated groan on his lips.

“Did you touch yourself?” You breathed. “Did you think about me?”

His eyes widened briefly, but then they got surrounded by darkness again. “You stopped to ask me that fucking obvious question?”

“Say it.” You whispered. “Please, I want to hear it.”

“Every night.” He gritted out. “I touched myself every night, thinking about. The only way I could ever cum was when I imagined that I aimed for your face. Your lips. Your tight, little- Fuck!”

You didn’t give him time to finish his thoughts, because you resumed the movement and took him back between your lips, teasing and flicking, licking and sucking on his throbbing member, until the way his eyes rolled back nearly became audible.

You could hardly breathe and he kept his hard grip on the back of your head, while he used your mouth and breathed out sweet words and curses.

“My beautiful…beautiful girl…My cumslut…My whore…My dirty, little…My brainless…Ah, fuck…”

The way he throbbed inside your mouth was enough for you. You were dripping wet and you needed him. With a soft plop, you pulled your head back, which earned a hard look from him.

“Fuck me.” You gasped out breathlessly, your voice horse from the way he had just ravaged your throat. “Please, fuck me. I need you.”

He growled in response and immediately reached down to undo his belt from your wrists. A short moment later, he yanked you up to your feet and pushed you against the wall.

“How?” He growled.

“How what?” You croaked out.

“How do you want me to fuck you? Decide or I will!”

You opened your mouth.

“Too late.”

He picked you up as though you weighed nothing, making you gasp out in surprise. And then he carried you in a direction that made no fucking sense.

The balcony.

You never thought about the balcony, because after all, it wasn’t real in your book. You didn’t get to open the door or try and breathe real air, so why bother to act like it was real?

But he carried you that same way and before you knew it, he pressed something against the sensor by the side of it – a chip? Was it a chip? A card? – and the door opened.

You nearly cried. Oh no, you did cry.

He carried you outside and suddenly you felt the cold air hit your skin. The same air you had missed out on for weeks. Was it months? At least eight weeks. Two months.

It was dark and cold outside, but the city ahead was shining in countless different colors and lights. You had almost forgotten where you were, which country this was. It was so very different from the sight you had grown up to see from your window every night. The cold fog, the storms, the moors. This was different. Another world.

You were different.

You were his girl.

He pressed you against the railing and you choked out a sob. Real air. You breathed real air.

He pressed himself against you from behind, his lips grazing your ear. “How is this?” He breathed.

You swallowed thickly and tried to come up with a response, but it was impossible. You were so high up in the sky and yet you felt like everything was right. Like you were hovering above the sidewalks, the busy streets, the cobblestones.

“Thank you.” You breathed out. “Thank you.”

You heard the way he smiled. “Don’t thank me yet.”

He yanked your dress up, until it pooled around your hips. For a moment you had forgotten how badly you wanted him, but when he pressed a finger against your soaked panties, you remembered it again. You inhaled sharply. You would have closed your eyes under the sensation, but you had to keep them open. You didn’t know when or if you would get to see the real world again, so you wanted to savor every moment. The cars, the bicycles, the life down there.

“Make space for daddy.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you held onto the railing tightly, while you slowly spread your legs further for him. He ripped your panties apart, the sound echoing through the dark of the night.

You felt him press the tip against your entrance, slick and ready, to needy to go slow.

“Oh, baby, look at me.”

You didn’t hesitate to look over your shoulder and meet his gaze. He looked more desperate than you had ever seen him before. And when he finally pushed forward and claimed you as his once again, you had to choke back another sob. Of relief, of need, of desire.

And love.

It felt like the first time again, because it had been so long. He pushed forward slowly, taking his time to fill your body with his. A strangled sound came from your throat and he joined you in that. His head fell forward until he managed to press his forehead against yours.

“My darling, my love.” He breathed out.

My love.

This time, he didn’t take it back. He didn’t even seem to realize. And you didn’t feel the need to pretend not to have heard.

“You’re so tight.” He groaned out and captured your lips in another kiss. He began to slowly quicken the pace, pulling back, just enough so that he got to thrust into you again with renewed strength and ferocity. You moaned with every thrust he gave and you moaned louder, when you felt his fingers press against your clit and rub it.

I love you. God, the words were on the tip of your tongue. I love you.

But you stayed quiet between your moans and gasps, only being interrupted by his groans and grunts.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He repeated. “I want to fuck you all night.”

His pace became punishing yet again and he bent you over the railing. Your head fell forward and you arched your hips against him, seeking more.

He hit every right spot and his fingers against your skin were enough to make you writhe. You moaned breathlessly, the sound mingling with his grunts of pleasure. A few particularly hard thrusts were all it needed from him, to send you over the edge. You nearly screamed out your release when it hit you. It felt so warm against the cold of the night, his warmth seeping into your skin and bones, his hardness sending you into oblivion. Your walls clenched around him, making him go insane. It was all he needed to go over the edge with you. He came with a low growl, filling you with his seed, while your body practically milked his orgasm out of him. He gave another hard thrust and fucked his own release back inside you, causing you to gasp out in a mixture of relief and overstimulation. It felt heavenly and you didn’t want him to ever stop.

Once the both of you slowly came back down from your high and you stopped gasping for air, he tangled his fingers in your hair and gently pulled your head back. He rested his chin on your shoulder and breathed against your ear. Your eyes slowly fluttered open and you looked at the scene in front of you again.

You wanted this. For the rest of your life.

Him. Only him. And the rest would follow.

“I’ll stay like this for a little while longer.” He whispered. “I know that you like it.”

You slowly closed your eyes, your face flushing in a mixture of shame and embarrassment. He smiled slightly.

“You still get flustered. God, you’re sweet.”

He sounded so…normal. So gentle, so sweet, so teasing, like a normal partner would, like a lover would.

You leaned back against him, savoring the feeling of his warmth and his scent, which surrounded you like a warm blanket.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” You whispered. He hummed and buried his face in your neck.

“What a silly question, my sweet girl. I’m far from done with you.”

__________________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q @luvr4miya

Author's note: Hey, sweet people! I'm sorry the chapter took me so long this time! IMPORTANT: A great part of it was inspired by sweet @hayakamis-blog

First of all, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! 🎉🎁🤍 I said it already, but I'll keep saying it, hehe

She wrote a lovely text which inspired a whole lot of this chapter and I'll link it here, so you can see for yourself, which you totally should!

The second thing is, I'm HELLA tired, so I'm not sure if I've proof-read it correctly...Also, my eyes are closing already, so I'll just finish the upload and hopefully answer all your lovely messages by tomorrow!

I'm sorry if it sometimes takes a while for me to respond. My depression has been rather cruel on me lately, so I sometimes find myself struggling to get things done. But you still motivate me sooo much and I really love you for that. It's a great light in the middle of darkness. So, that was enough of that for now. I love you all to the moon and back! Yours eternally,

Lana 🤍

654 notes · View notes

norikuna · 1 day ago

Text

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE ! ★ gojo satoru

prologue ⋆ ★ your boyfriend, gojo satoru, told you that he was gonna' stay behind in japan, he had to go to work and all — he's a high school teacher, you see. so what's he doing sneaking behind the red carpet, looking all suspiciously rumpled and mussed? oh hell no.

pairing ⋆ ★ gojo satoru x reader genre tags & warnings ⋆ ★ afab!reader, jujutsu canon, celebrity!reader, misunderstandings and mild angst, reader doesn't know about jujutsu, makeup séx, máting préss, cérvix kissing, brééding kink :D

word count ⋆ ★ 5.7k! a/n ⋆ ★ because i've always wanted gojo to be on the red carpet...yasss watched the grammys <3 smth silly, short and sweet i whipped up 😁

THE HOTTEST STAR OF THE YEAR RUSHES FROM RED CARPET, WHY? STAY TUNED FOR MORE.

saint laurent heels beat staccato taps into the worn brick, graff crystals dangling from your adorned wrist as you shove your brightly lit phone into your boyfriend's face, "what the hell, satoru?" the offending headline glaring right back at him from your screen.

gojo, for his part, just shoves his hands into his navy slacks, rolling his shoulders back in that deliciously snug ice-blue cotton dress shirt, sleeves pushed up to reveal thick forearms dusted with pale hair. you curse how your gaze dips, resolve cracking, and glossy lips pursed.

strange, how he he looks nothing short of absolutely roughed up, soft fabric crumpled, and sunglasses tilted askew. white hair mussed as though someone took to running their hands through snowy locks, huh.

"hi, baby. happy to see me?"

oh, he's trying to be charming. cute. gojo's grinning, lips parting over sharp teeth, acting as though he totally hadn't been lurking behind rows of insistent paparazzi practically hurdling themselves around the red carpet stairs.

and despite better judgement and little regard for desperate tabloids springing up, you'd pushed past security, past cries of your name, to chase after your boyfriend, who had just texted you an hour ago at most. about how work was going so great.

"you better have a really, really good explanation for this."

to his credit, gojo has the decent sense to look mildly ashamed. pale blue eyes narrow beneath tinted lenses, and he's faintly chewing on the inside of his cheek, "d'you want the long version or the short version? because you gotta' believe me, baby, hear me out –"

something's buzzing, faintly pulsing to the beat of not like us, it's gojo's phone. and he's fumbling through the deep pockets of his slacks. you furiously snap your eyes away from how well they fit, that's so not the point right now, ugh!

"your side chick, hmm?"

gojo looks vaguely offended, rolling his eyes skywards as he unlocks his phone, "hey, we got some attitude today, pretty. why's that?"

you cross your arms over oscar de la renta, sheer panels stitched to mimic stained glass, bless your stylist, truly. "we got some attitude 'cause my boyfriend told me he was busy with work, and had to teach class. dropped me off at the airport, even."

gojo sighs, teeth kissing his tongue as he clicks, "i am working, believe me. and — oh."

you crunch your heel into the gravel, loose stones that line this back passage behind the carpet and the theatre, "what's oh? 'toru?"

"promise not to get mad?" gojo's murmuring, tilting his dim phone screen around. it's a screenshot of a headline, barely a minute old. the photo? you, here, right now. wagging a stern finger at gojo, who's throwing his hands up in disbelief.

STAR FLEES RED CARPET TO RENDEZVOUS WITH MYSTERY MAN? BOYFRIEND, OR SOMETHING MORE?

the tagline follows, some blithe words about how you're prioritising a man in the shadows, over a shining career? over a golden gramophone clutched in your hand, lights sparkling your name on stage. you hiss at the ridiculous amount of shares and comments already, "oh, come on."

"we're so screwed, baby," gojo sighs, rubbing his temple, swiping away at a quick notification from stoic lookin' blonde who doesn't even crack a smile in his profile photo, kento? huh, you've never met a kento.

you sigh, feeling the headache oncoming at the mere thought of your manager furiously scouring the theatre for you, "we?"

gojo scowls, shoving his phone away, "hey, i have people to answer to as well. last thing i need is a public image."

what an odd sentiment, you privately wonder. gojo is wealthy, stupidly so. you're certain of that. something about old money, his family stretches back generations on some beautiful estate. but he's a high school teacher. you've seen him grade quizzes, seen blurry photos of students in dark jackets and neatly pressed uniforms. a private school on the outskirts of tokyo, sure, but public image?

"since when do high school teachers care about their pr?"

gojo flexes his hands, and your eyes drop. slender fingers that you know like the back of your own hand, fingers you've traced absentmindedly when he's sprawled across your couch, fingers that have curled into the dip of your waist in the quiet hours of the night. long, pale, too elegant for someone as brash as him, tensing now as though he's bracing for impact. he's hesitating, weird, because gojo satoru never hesitates.

well, maybe once. the first time he asked you out, flushed and nigh tripping over himself, looking so damn adorable that you had stomped your loubitons, and said 'yes' just so you could kiss him.

"i need to tell you something, baby."

something cold slides down your spine, and it has nothing to do with the evening chill. the air shifts, thickens, pressing against your skin in a way that makes your pulse gallop. you swallow, tongue suddenly heavy in your mouth at how gojo looks unsettled.

that's what gets you. he's never like this. not even that one time months ago when you caught him unwrapping white bandages from his eyes, headache, he had muttered, fingers gripping some torn, stained bundle of purple and green silk. he had crashed out on your cosmos couch minutes later, surly and morose for the days that followed.

your mind races. his family, it has to be his family. the old-money, aristocratic gojo family, the family that he's never introduced you too. they probably think actresses and pop stars are meant to be ogled at from afar, hardly worthy material to bring home to the estate. your stomach churns, for is that why he showed up here, rumpled and tense, instead of waiting until you got home? is this it, ending things?

your heart's hammering, and you hate this, hate it so bad. how how much you want to cling to him, to stop whatever he's about to say from slipping past his candy-pink lips.

"i'm a sorcerer."

there's a sharp, stabbing pain right behind your eyes.

and you're blinking, slowly, mind whirring. then you laugh, loud. sharp, and far too high-pitched, "god, this is why i love you. you're funny, 'toru. i can't believe you actually had me worried and shit, like –"

"i'm being serious, baby." and that's the thing, isn't it? he seems so, like he believes every word coming out of his mouth. his hands, big and warm, close around yours, and there's something in the way that he clasps you, as though he's pleading, and it makes you freeze.

"swear i would never string you along in something like this," gojo murmurs, "i know it's a lot, but seriously, you can ask me anything. anything, and i'll try to answer. and i wasn't ever sure how i was gonna' tell you, but promise i was waiting for the right time and –"

your boyfriend, bless his beautiful face and questionable judgement, and golden heart, has lost his goddamn mind.

your fingers tighten around his, feeling the scrape of faint callouses and scars, "okay, c'mon. now this is getting a little weird."

"you don't believe me?" and gojo looks, god, he looks devastated. long, white lashes fluttering against icy eyes, earnest in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"babe, you said sorcerer right? like...magic? big pointy hats, and all that shit?"

gojo just nods, a faint flush colouring his cheeks, "jujutsu sorcerer. it's real, like, y'know shoko? remember when we met her at that bar downtown, we went to school together. she can back me up, or –, or, i can take you to the school, or introduce you to –"

"okay, okay!" you pull your hands away, feeling your breath hitch as your pulse pounds in your ears, "satoru, stop. seriously. i don't know what you're trying to do here, but it's really startin' to freak me out."

gojo's jaw tightens, the beautiful and haunting lines of his face hardening. something raw, and something sharp flickers through his eyes, "you think i'm fuckin' with you?" there's something brittle in the low control of his tone, "you think i'd joke about this?

you throw your hands up, bejewelled bvlgari sliding down your digits, "yes, satoru! you joke about everything, sometimes." your heart is erratic now, bile sitting in the back of your throat, "what the fuck are you even sayin', like, magic? that you really want me to believe that you're a wizard?"

"not a wizard, sorcerer."

"oh, my bad," you bite out, lips snapping around disbelieving words, "that just makes so much more sense."

gojo's eyes flare, and he's pressing a thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his defined nose, as though he can feel another one of his migraines creeping up, "god, can you just, — can you just listen to me for once?"

"listen to you?" you laugh, but it's far more of a disbelieving scoff, "listen to yourself, please. satoru, we're halfway across the world right now. i could put my career, my entire future, on hold because i really do love you. and now you're telling me that you — what? fight demons in your free time?"

"curses," gojo mutters, rolling big, blue eyes, as though it makes much of a difference to you.

"oh my god."

gojo's looking at you as though he doesn't even recognise you, like he expected something different, as though you're the one making this hard. his throat is bobbing, adam's apple shifting, and you can see his hands pinch at his sides, "knew you wouldn't believe me," he's muttering, shaking his head of tousled, white hair, "this was jus' stupid, no wonder i never tried this whole time."

"they why do it now?" you throw the words at him, suddenly furious and hurting, because you don't understand why he's pulling this on you, now. "why? like, go on, show me something, then, 'toru! or otherwise this is some insane, insane shit, i can't even – i don't know what you want me to do."

gojo's mouth opens, and then closes. his shoulders droop just slightly, and for a moment, just a brief and flickering moment, he looks far more tired than his twenty-eight years. but a split second passes, and he's exhaling, just stepping back.

"forget it," gojo snaps, voice clipped, "this was a mistake. i got real shit to do, talk to y'afterwards." he's turning, stalking off and pulling his sunglasses away from his face (he rarely does that), as though you're the one that's let him down.

what the fuck? the tell-tale click of a camera rings your ears, followed by a bright flash. great. you need a drink, stat.

you shouldn't do this. you know you shouldn't do this. and yet, here you are, gripping at gojo's sleek phone, left with you when he disappeared to fuck knows where.

your fingers twitch around the case, like you should just chuck it across the hotel suite and be done with this whole thing. but you don't, you just sit there. the silence pressing in too thick, your manager's tired voice still rattling in your skull.

yes. you have a boyfriend. yes, he showed up tonight. yes, you still love him, even if he's lost his marbles.

you keep that last part to yourself, thumb hesitating over your own phone, resisting the urge to doom scroll your way into some clarity. as though your snark reddit thread is going to have some answers for this mess.

the oscar de la renta is long gone, carefully pried off and zipped away into a smooth, dark bag — leaving you in a slinky ysl number, straight from their summer runway, drumming your fingers along the bejewelled hem as diamonds still glint at your ears. and gojo? nowhere to be found.

you exhale sharply, rolling his phone between your palms before pressing the screen to life. you shouldn't, you never do this. in two years, you've never once felt the need to snoop, nor pry, to check if he was lyin' about anything, because he never gave you a reason to.

but here you are, thumbing in the passcode anyway. it's your birthday, fuck. of course it is. you're staring at the unlocked screen, suddenly still, what the hell are you even looking for? if this was some elaborate joke, some ruse, what would you find? some notes app plan to send you spiralling? but it was the way that gojo satoru had looked, as though he had truly been hurt, and it hadn't seem false at all.

your thumb hesitates, tapping onto the messages. skimming past familiar names, shoko (right, yep), that kento, and something from an okkotsu with a smiling emoticon next to it. your stomach churns at the intrusion, but your curiosity (and desire to break free of the doghouse) presses harder. you press at a read bubble.

yaga we think it's a special grade. could possess a domain. gojo exorcised it. 👍

you're peering at the timestamp, thirty mere minutes before you had torn away from the red carpet, demanding to know why the hell he looked as though he lost the fight with an angry gnome, as though he'd wrestled a ghost in the back alley.

your mouth goes bone dry, 'exorcised.' this clearly isn't a joke, it's far too intricate, too deeply woven into gojo's life for it to be some elaborate prank. you feel vaguely ill, swiping through emails, some from a guy named ijichi, reports full of the kind of gory details you'd expect from a crime documentary. terms like domain expansion, cursed energy and a special grade blur together as you flip onto your side, heels still dangling off the bed, skirt hem riding up.

then, by pure accident, you tap into his camera roll. oh, there's so much of you. soft candid shots, like you laughing into a martini. you, asleep in the passenger seat of his car, caught mid-bite into a croissant that time he took you to paris. a dumb, fond smile tugs at your sparkling lips despite yourself, but then you swipe and —

a video. you press play, praying to the heavens above that there's no mortal punishment for being a nosy ass.

gojo, in that sleek, grey suit that you so adore. he seems to be at some restaurant, on a cruise ship, perhaps? demolishing a banana split with the kind of enthusiasm that most men reserve for their wedding night.

next to him, a pale and dark-haired boy is watching in resigned horror, while the bleary, unfocused lens swivels to a group of more, unfamiliar teenagers. they're all dressed in some form of black-tie wear, rambling about completed missions and gojo-sensei.

sensei, you frown, feeling a thick lump in your throat. they must be his students, the ones from his classes, and the way they're talking to him, laughing and giggling? he's so, so loved. fuck, what had you been missing?

the camera lingers on a girl with a sharp sway of auburn hair, propped with her elbows on the table, in a frilly black dress. there's a pink-haired kid nudging her as she snaps her fingers, something glinting on the table.

nails, like those you'd see at some hardware store. nails that move, without her even touching them once. your stomach twists, and you rewind. once. twice. ten times. watching, staring, trying to catch at how the metal swivels without even brushed against.

sorcery. gojo had said to your face, and you had scoffed. tch', you snap the phone shut and shove it on the soft sheets, something ugly clawing at your throat. nausea, guilt. some form of shame, and exasperation with the man you love for not telling you this earlier.

you fiddle with the diamond hanging from your ear, forlornly glancing at the heavy door, for you want gojo. to say that you're sorry, to say that you're furious he didn't explain this better, to say that you love him, that you want him to be alright, that you need him, that you want —

slam!

the door swings open, no keycard, and no knock. and you near damn jump out of your skin, a rush of heat and cold spiking through you all at once. crawling over your bare arms, legs still glossed and smoothed underneath your little dress.

gojo. gojo, standing there, looking undone. ruffled, and heaving as he drinks the sight of you in. those ever-present sunglasses, those tinted shades that he so favours are gone. and when his eyes flick up to you, you suck in a breath so sharp that it scrapes at your throat.

they glow, electric blue, almost too vibrant to be real, like something pulled straight out of a vivid imagination.

"satoru," you manage, voice pattering away at how his head snaps up at the sound of your voice, catching the way his lips part, something frayed and desperate twisting his expression. the fine cotton of his shirt is streaked with red, and there's a smear of that same crimson shade reaching up his left cheek, stretching up to his ear. like a painter who got impatient with a brush.

"baby," gojo exhales, voice thick, as though he's been holding this in all night, moving towards you, steady, "i shoulda' told you, told you more. need you to believe me, but –"

you press a manicured finger against his lips, "i believe you. satoru, i really do. i'm so sorry, i had no idea and — wait, whose blood is this?"

gojo shudders under your touch, just the slightest tremour, eyes blown wide, "not who," lashes fluttering lower, leaning against you, "what. and it doesn't matter much now."

your boyfriend's searching your face, looking for something, something more intimate, desparate in your expression. his brows pulled together, and mouth parting into a soft oh! when he sees a mirror reflection of his own want.

and then, he's kissing you, and you're kissing him. whining desperately into the press of his lips, suddenly hot for the urge to pull your legs right against that thick bulge that jostles at your thigh. to lean more into the wandering hands that tug at the hem of season ysl.

you're gasping, not protesting as thick hands pull at your thighs. laying you flat against the bed, the finest suite that this hotel has to offer. away from prying eyes, and nosy reporters hoping to catch the who's who of your bedmates. or rather, the singular love of your life.

gojo's chuckling at your expression, "don't worry, baby. won't ruin yer' pretty dress," lips curled into a slow smile, burning a determined path down the arch of your neck, past the low dip of your neckline over your breasts, "want me, baby? wan' this?"

"so bad," you murmur, just giggling as gojo groans, pulling you up so you're splayed out for him, balanced across his thighs. the very tip of your heels digging into his back as you cross your legs to pull him closer, "m'boyfriend's so hot."

gojo whines into your chest, laving blossoming bruises over the skin that you know will give the makeup artists a field day, and it's obvious how needy he is. thick curve of his bulge pressing right up against your core, rutting his hips for some friction as he showers you in attention, worshipping your form. lips coming back to press into yours, laving at your mouth.

"hah, 'toru!" you yelp, adjusting the silky, beaded neckline, "easy on the d-dress. fuck, can't explain that to my s-stylist when you –" you're mewling, your words getting lost in the heat of gojo's panting mouth.

"what'dya take me for, baby?" gojo hums, slick strands clinging to his dewy lips, running broad hands over your waist, "but i gotta' show my girl," and here, he's patting lower over your hips, "some lovin', and some care, heh."

gojo truly fears he may be obsessed with you, just as much as the rest of the world is. but he, well, he's the only one who gets to see you like this, the flesh of your thighs splayed out underneath the hem that's ridden up of that gorgeous number you've got on. throwing your head back for him, just him.

he's sighing, prettily, tapping at your cheek with loving fingers, "can fuck ya' here, right? gonna' do it so good, show y'some other things you've been missin' out on."

you tilt your head, "you already fuck me that good, 'toru." feeling him groan, racking his bulge up against you once more, "never made me miss out on a, hah, a d-damn thing."

gojo looks ravenous, eyes still wide, white lashes framing the pools of vibrant, electric blue, "told ya' about jujutsu, didn't i?" pressing a filthy kiss to your lips once more, "well, heh, just you wait. can use it for plentyyy other things, baby."

your dress is being pushed up, the soft fabric giving little resistance as gojo presses the rough pads of his fingers into your hips. haute couture giving way for gojo to touch as much of you as he can.

"baby," he's whining, jaw slack as he slides a finger over the crevice of your thighs, "prettiest fuckin' thing i've ever seen. love you so bad, it hurts. it really, really does." and how could you not love him back, gojo who's peering at you with dilated, adoring eyes?

"just gonna, yeah, put ya' down there. don't gotta' do much, just lay there, pretty." gojo's pressing you down slowly, gently. further into the mattress, as he slots himself right at the apex of your thighs. slapping at your fingers when you reach for the straps of your heels, "don't," he whines, petulant, "it looks hot. might hafta' get you another pair," bestowing another sweet kiss upon your waiting, swollen lips when you scoff.

"satoru," you purr, carding your polished nails over the man's scalp, threading your fingers through soft, white strands. relishing in how his throat bobs, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling, "said you had some jujutsu, that's the word, right? something to show me? well?"

whatever paper thin resolve had been holding gojo satoru cracks, snapping away as gojo's eyes harden, hand pulling at the bands of your thin, sheer panties. ones clearly meant to flirt, and tease.

the lace waistband gives way with a gutting, sopping tear. and gojo's grinning, wide so sharp canines poke out from underneath cherry lips, rolling the ball of torn fabric up and tucking them away into his pockets, snickering as though he's won his prize, "s-soaked, already?"

you fight the furious blush that colours your cheeks when gojo whistles, low and impressed, laying himself flat on his stomach so your heels are swinging over his shoulders, resting against his back, as he takes in the brazen sight of your swollen folds throbbing, "pretty pussy's always so wet for me, heh." watching clear slick gather from your mound to your entrance, sliding his index finger along your slit, "wanna' taste you, baby."

you know there's little else on this earth that brings as much pleasure as gojo's eager mouth, the way he becomes truly ravenous when he's in between your legs — thighs hooked over his frame. how he always knows the right spots to press his mouth to, where to flatten his tongue against your slick. but now? right now, you want him in you. mouth lolling at the idea of his thick inches stuffin' you so, so full.

gojo latches onto your silence, resting his soft head of white hair against your thigh, batting long lashes up at you from underneath his lidded gaze, "or does my pretty girl want somethin' else, mhm?" the corners of his soft, pink lips quirking upwards in the ghost of a knowing smile.

it's hard to form a decent response when his slender middle finger is teasing over your glimmering slit, making you keen at the slick pop! of your arousal ringing in your ears, "s-satoru! think you, hahh, know what i want, please."

you're not above begging, certainly not when gojo's grinning, as pleased as the cat who got the cream. looming up to unbuckle his fine, leather belt, and hissing when his own hand provides just enough fiction to make his ears blush a hot, deep crimson.

you never, ever grow tired of this sight. the pale flush on gojo's neck trailing down, down further past sinous muscle and soft flesh. past the curl of white hairs on his groin, and to the long, thick curve of his cock that already looks as though it's throbbing.

"wait a sec', baby," gojo breathes, two gentle fingers pushing past your dripping folds to gather some of the translucent slick pooling onto the sheets beneath you. the wet smack! of his hand pumping your arousal over his cock like some lubricant, and the way he's releasing a sharp, serpentine sound at how filthy it all is.

he's teasing you, and it makes you groan. makes you writhe on the bed, desperately hoping that he has some form of mercy on you, bucking your cunt against his rounded, leaking tip that's sliding through your folds, "gonna' show ya' exactly how i hit bullseye each time, baby."

there's that luminous blue light, pulsing from gojo's irises (that you swear have reformed into feral, little hearts). it's a shade of blue so intense, it seems as though he's been carved from the sky itself.

"f-fuck," you whine, feeling the first inch of his thick shaft nudging past your swollen, aching folds, "hngh, 'toru, fuck, 's big." whimpering from the sheer pleasure as gojo chuckles, his warm palms resting on your thighs to swing your legs over his shoulders once more. pressing down into the meanest mating press that you can imagine.

glorious, hot inches rummaging past your gummy walls, exploring every crevice as you're certain his weeping tip must already be kissing that sensitive spot at your cervix, "babe, satoru, fillin' me so good already."

the nasty, acute angle at which he's got you folded is something out of your most lustful dreams, ones where gojo's panting just like he is now, already babbling, "always s'perfect for me, perfect fit, love you baby," that low rumble in gojo's chest quivering as he litters droopy kisses over your cheek, your neck and down your collarbone.

that purr falling from gojo's glossy lips getting louder with each surefire hit that he delivers against your sweet, rough spot, and had you been in a more coherent state, you would have been marvelling at how instantly your boyfriend had managed to hit the bullseye he promised, and you hear him faintly laugh, "called six eyes, baby. gonna' show you allll the ways i can use it, heh."

not able to stop the whimper when you feel the sticky smack of skin against your ass, slamming into you over and over again, "y'got two eyes, though?"

a damn near sob when he begins rolling his hips so sluttily, so he can truly swab at you with the most pleasurable sensation, laughing so pretty with a faint dimple creasing the corner of his mouth, "tch', so much to teach ya', baby. don't worry, we'll cover everything."

"hah, 'toru, satoru, babe," you squeal, the very tips of your manicured nails placing little perfect pricks onto the nape of gojo's flushed neck, "fuckin' me so damn' good." and you know how much your boyfriend likes to be praised, for he's flushing even more, whining as you lock your ankles in the air.

and the pace that he keeps up is nothing short of inhuman, tacking his groin against your sloppy clit until there's tears of relief pooling on your lashes. and it's not like you've ever been left dissatisfied with gojo satoru around, for from the very first night, he's been an expert at leaving you bleary eyed, and hazy with little cupid arrows dancing around your head.

but to be aware of all this, well, it's something different. there's that raw, searing blue gaze that you've never caught before, sending waves of raw pleasure down your spine.

each raspy groan drawn out of gojo is punctuated with the thick slap of his cock against your inner walls, that filthy mess of his pre and your arousal puddling beneath your hips and thighs so, so deliciously.

as though he's committing every inch of you to memory, his girthy shaft bullying fat inches, battering your guts with the most tingly, mind-numbing kisses ever, and he seems to be sipping at your lips, downing his favourite taste (or second favourite, he may claim with a cheeky grin). kissing at your neck, beneath the weight of diamonds that glitter at your flushed ears.

you're trying to shift under the weight pushing you down, parting your thighs to create more space so you can gasp, "h-here, 'toru, please. 'm so close, wanna' cum with you."

and how could gojo satoru not want to propose to you right then and there? visions running through his head, all of you. you, his wife, his love, and the idea of, fuck, little bundles with his white hair cradled in your arms. visions that he's heard you talk about fondly before. already dreaming of that opulent diamond band he saw in that window store front of some luxury flagship store.

and gojo doesn't even realise he's getting caught up in that lovesick haze. nimble fingers rolling over the hood of your throbbing clit, tight circles being traced over the sensitive bud. and how he relishes the sound of your wanton moans falling against his ear, you have to finish, he needs to see it.

six eyes kicking up into overdrive as he angles his aching cock just so, that ghostly, cobalt light finding the exact spot in your pretty, perfect cunt to make you whine and squeal, and gojo feels as though he may have just seen the pearly gates when you quiver, shaking in his hold as you release crashes down on you. you, you, you. falling apart so prettily for him, lashes fluttering shut as you squeeze your eyes, and there's that gorgeous glow that he so loves to admire.

"hah, ah, 'toru!" you dig into his back, feeling up the open dress shirt still hanging from him, "s-sensitive, babe. so, s-soo good, mmph!" moaning at the feeling of gojo bursting, filling you with thick ropes of pearly release, throbbing right at your very core. laughing fondly as he kisses you through his own release, gasping and groaning into your mouth, "baby, fuck, baby, love you sooo much." clearly reluctant to even pull out of you, but enamoured by the sight of viscous, creamy cum leaking of you, practically adoring the filthy sight.

"tsk', i got sloppy with my aim, pretty," gojo hisses, "didn't put it all in ya', wanna try again?"

you're tucked against gojo's chest, cheek pressed to that expensive cologne that always lingers on him. spicy, clean, with that faint undercurrent of something sweet. his hand is in your hair, raking through it, and he's laughing, laughing as he smooths down your dress, all so fond and unbothered as you scowl.

for you know that tomorrow, everyone's gonna' be demanding answers as to why that brand new little ysl looks as though you crawled through a hedge backwards. black silk all wrinkled, straps coming loose at your shoulders.

speaking of answers...

"satoru?" you murmur, lacing your fingers with his, and gojo just hums in acknowledge, slow and lazy as you sigh, "do you have a kid?"

your boyfriend's freezing, and you feel him stiffen beneath you as he pulls back to stare at you, "what — like a kid kid? like a mini-me?" pink, kiss-stung lips parted as he's blinking, as though he's missing to whatever you've caught on.

"yeah," you mumble, suddenly feeling a lil' silly about it, "i was just, y'know, looking at your phone. swear i wasn't being nosy on purpose, just wanted to see all that sorcerer shit you were talkin' about. and i think i saw something, like a legal doc' with a kid under your name." tapping your chin in thought, "ugh, what was it again? megumi?"

gojo's features shift, that flicker of 'oh shit' that makes you backtrack, "i don't mind, by the way," you blurt, hands up, "not mad or anythin', just, like, wanted to know. since you were tellin' me everything about you, and if you have like a secret child, or two –"

a beat, and then gojo laughs. you can feel the vibrations of the deep rumbles in his chest, that ridiculous cackle that makes your ribs shake against his chest. thick arms locking you tighter against him as he grins, "oh, baby," he's purring, "it's a long story. see, i met this fella' once, toji zenin, this was wayy back when i was in school, and he killed me –"

"what the fuck?"

"i have a lotta' stories like this, don't worry. i'll tell ya' whatever you wanna' know, hah."

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