#seeing the rings on their fingers really just makes me all giddy inside

[fizzytoo]

our hearts are meant to be together 💍

adrien and rua decide on a small, intimate wedding just before adrien’s parents have to fly back home.

+ goofy smoochies

[eddiesxangel]

So High School | E.M x Reader

TJ's 2K Request Celebration

@ilovewomen0099 Request: So High School - Taylor Swift. I hope it’s what you wanted 🩷

Cw: tooth rotting FLUFF, making out, date night, allusions to smut.

wc: 1.2k

And in a blink of a crinkling eye

I'm sinking, our fingers entwined

Cheeks pink in the twinkling lights

“Babe, look!” Eddie points to the rickety wooden Ferris Wheel that didn’t look all that trustworthy.

“I don’t know about that one?” You hold back.

“Why? Are you scared? He taunts you as he pulls you in closer.

You’re in the middle of the fairgrounds, but you don’t care; the other people can walk around you.

“No.” You counter back, but it’s not very convincing.

“Don’t worry I’ll protect you.” He catches you off guard by peppering your face with so many kisses you’ve lost count.

Nothing made you feel as light and airy as Eddie had. Nobody could ever compare. You know he is in it for you, even if you’ve just started dating, you can feel it; he’s the one.

“Come in, scaredy cat,” he grins before pulling you to the line.

Eddie admired the twinkling lights that reflected off your skin as you gripped onto him for dear life. Somehow, he convinced you to come up with him.

“I might loose circulation in this arm but it was worth it.”

You snort in response at his lame joke. “Tell me how this is worth it.”

“Because you look so beautiful.” He tucks a piece of hair caught in the wind behind your ear, and you swear your heart skips a beat. Suddenly, you feel like you're sixteen and back in high school. Any time Eddie looks at you, you act like a schoolgirl all over again.

Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me

Walking together, fingers not daring to let go of one another’s, even if Eddie’s chunky rings were digging into your skin.

“You know the first time I saw you I ran and hid.” Eddie admits sheepishly.

“What?” you giggle, confused by the admission.

“God, I don’t know why I’m telling you this; you just bring it out in me, baby.”

“Please tell me” you give him the good old puppy eye look that you’ve figured out that he can’t resist.

“Ok, um-well, Dustin and I were getting coffee before Hellfire because, you know, we need our energy, and you were in line ahead of us. I didn't see you at first, but when you turned to your friend- I think you were with Tara? I'm not sure I wasn't really focused on her because when I saw you...you made my heart skip a beat, I swear. I didn't know how to approach you, so I told Dustin to order my coffee and hid in the bathroom." He rambled.

"Eddie-"

"Dustin busted my balls the whole night about it, too."

"So you saw me before?"

"Yes, and I let you slip away so you could imagine how grateful I was when I saw you again that night we met." Eddie wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, never wanting to let you go. He couldn't believe what his life would have been like if he had lost you in the crowd at Steve's party that night.

You felt an infectious sense of giddiness, reminiscent of a schoolgirl, every time you were with Eddie. Even though you knew it was the honeymoon phase, you cherished every single moment spent with him.

"Well, I first saw you at Steve's part and knew I had to have you. Your bad boy metal thing really got me going," you giggle.

"All a part of the brand, baby"

Are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?

It's just a game, but really

I'm bettin' on all three for us two

As you were walking to the fairgrounds, you stumbled upon the Fortune teller's tent. Eddie gives you a knowing look, but you pull him along anyway.

"If you made me get on that Ferris Wheel, we are so doing this."

Before Eddie could argue how much of a scam this would be, you tugged his jacket sleeve and pulled him into the red and white striped tent.

The inside of the tent was a mesmerizing sight. Colourful fabrics and intricately designed rugs adorned the space, creating a warm and mystical atmosphere. Glittering crystals hung from the ceiling, catching the light and casting prismatic reflections across the interior. In the center of the tent, a small circular table stood, its surface adorned with intricate carvings and holding a clear crystal ball that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly glow. Seated at the table was an elderly woman with long, faded red hair that cascaded down her back. She was dressed in a dark green robe that seemed to blend with the surroundings, and her nails were painted black and extended six inches, adding an air of all-knowing.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" she sheepishly grinned.

"Hello, this is my boyfriend, Eddie, and I'm Y/N."

"Shouldn't she know that?" Eddie scoffed under his breath.

"Welcome, non-believer and his lovely girlfrined."

"See, she knows!" You nudge his side with your elbow.

"Babe, are you kidding me?"

You ignore him, plop him down, and sit in his lap, seeing only one chair.

"What is it you seek?" She quirks a brow.

"Nothing specific; tell us what you see for us.

"Baby, I don't think that's a good idea?"

"Hush." You shush him, and Eddie holds his tongue. He loved when you took charge, but this was a bit much even for Eddie.

You turn to the wise-looking woman across from you and watch as she examines you before taking out the tarot cards. She shuffled messily and flipped over three onto the table. You looked intently as you saw the lover's car, the three cups and the empress.

"What's the verdict? She going to marry, kiss or kill me?" Eddie jokes, and you playfully smack his chest.

"I see all good things here; you have a strong relationship with a potent feminine energy. Your friends support this union as do your family."

"Does that say lovers? Am I getting banged tonight?" Eddie whispers in your ear.

"Not if you keep it up." ou wiggle your ass into his crotch only to tease him more.y

"I feel confident in this power dynamic; you can keep him in his place while submitting when needed."

"She submits alright." Eddie snorts, and your eyes go wide with mortification.

"Edward!" you cry.

"Exactly my point. That will be thirty-five dollars."

Get my car door, isn't that sweet?

Then pull me to the backseat

No one's ever had me, not like you.

"M'lady," Eddie's oh-so-grandiose display of chivalry didn't go unnoticed as he swung open the back of the van door so you could put your giant plushie he won you in the back.

"Thank you, kind Sir." you present curtsy and reach into the van to place your giant teddy bear on the floor.

Eddie brushes past you, popping himself into the van before pulling you in after him. Quickly, he shuts the door and sits you both in the back bench seat pulling you into a needy kiss.

"Waited to do that all damn night." his hands find your ass cheeks as you're sat in his lap.

"We made out on that death trap you call a ride," you mumble into his mouth, and Eddie sees this as an opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue enters your mouth, and you sense the urgency in which he needs you.

"Okay, big boy, let's take this party home."

"What, you don't want to fuck me in the parking lot like a couple of hory kids?"

"Please, that's so high school."

Tagging some of my swiftie mooties : @andvys @taintedcigs @ghost-proofbaby @ceriseheaven

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Spinoff: Elysian

Pairing: Doctor/Mafia!Kim Seokjin x Intern!Reader 

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: if this ain't the most unserious hiatus ever XD

Masterlist, Part IV of __

“If you know in one glimpse it’s legendary…what we thought was for all time was momentary…”

You tilted your head to the side as you watched the young man mumbled the lyrics to a song, his head resting on his forearm on the table. He was holding the glass of soju on his other. His voice had a certain melodic tone in it, and you were certain that he could be a singer had he wanted to. But now, he was a man that was too drunk to sit straight.

“Still alive killing time at the cemetery. Never quite buried…”

You blinked from your seat across him before turning to the doctor beside you who was busy grilling meat. Kim Seokjin appeared to not be bothered by how his brother was acting, only flashing you a smile when he saw you looking at him. He added another one on the pile of grilled meat he kept on placing on your plate. Meanwhile, Jungkook’s was almost gone and Seokjin still prioritized your plate over his.

You leaned closer, your voice barely a whisper amidst the din of the restaurant. "Is he going to be okay?" you asked, your gaze never leaving Jungkook's slouched form as he continued to sing. The noise inside the tented restaurant made it harder for him to hear you. It was like he wasn’t thinking too hard for the first time since you came barging in his life as he leaned down his head to hear you, his ear almost touching your lips from his proximity.

This seemed right, he thought, to be near you. It was like he was finally following his urges, letting his control slip for just a little for you.

And for the second time that night, your heart beat so loud it was a miracle that he couldn’t hear it, or that you didn’t go into cardiac arrest.

“Hmm?”

You cleared your throat before repeating your question. “He’s singing Taylor Swift’s new song. The album only came out this morning and it seems like he already memorized it…Is he okay?”

Seokjin looked up to watch his brokenhearted brother who was now unstealthily stealing meat from your plate, unaware of both your eyes on him. “Talking rings and talking cradles………I wish I could unrecall-“

Jungkook sniffed before eating the meat. It would have been hilarious to watch the tears falling from his eyes as he chewed, except that he looked like a child that was abandoned by the way his lips were pouted. The tattoos and the lip piercing did nothing to make him less endearing. You thought he was really just a charming person. But now he was just sad, as though he lost something he could never get back.

“-how we almost had it all.”

And then cue the endless tears.

Seokjin sighed, his eyes trained on the younger man he claimed to have raised on his own since he was thirteen. It was rare to see him cry. He always toughed it out, always had this innate need to prove himself to his older brothers despite the repeated assurance they gave him that they were tough so he wouldn’t need to. But he was stubborn. And in turn, he became a hardened man, a no-nonsense CEO and a violent leader of the underworld.

Well, until he married her. Suddenly, the sun seemed to have finally shone on his world. Seokjin could remember how happy and giddy Jungkook looked when he put the ring on her finger. He could remember how excited he was to come home to her everyday, even going as far as telling them how wonderful she was, or that cute thing she did for him, or how her cooking was the best he ever had.

Spoiler alert, though, she was the worst cook. She didn’t know that there was a distinct difference between a sugar and a salt, and no, just because they looked the same didn’t mean that they tasted the same.

See what love did to Jeon Jungkook, the pickiest person when it came to food?

Well, until she left.

“It’s not his birthday today,” Seokjin finally answered. “And eat. You’re far too thin.”

“Excuse me! I’m not!”

“Uhuh,” he said as he rolled his eyes. “Are you even eating three times a day?”

“Wh- well. N-no! Who has the time?” you sputtered, cheeks warming up from the attention you were getting from him.

He raised his brows at that before pointedly looking at your plate, making a mental note to ensure that your schedule from now on wouldn’t be so tight that you forgot to eat. Or better yet, he would personally visit the head of your department to berate him for not ensuring your well-being!

“And what do you mean that it’s not his birthday?”

 “It’s his wedding anniversary today.”

Huh? Your eyes automatically went to his ring finger, only to find a tattoo that you didn’t notice before. It was a name. You thought that he must have been so in love to have permanently etched his wife’s name on his skin. However, another question popped in your mind.

“Then why is he here instead of with her?”

“She left her more than a year ago. He doesn’t know where she is right now.”

Your heart went out to the young man. He seemed to be so heartbroken evident from his tears and the sadness in his doe eyes. He was too young to be this sad, you thought. Seokjin’s eyes were on you as you looked at Jungkook. You were so soft, he thought. You wore your emotions on your sleeves, genuine concern etched on your face and he couldn’t help but marvel at your capacity for compassion despite only meeting him today.

“That’s so sad. No wonder he’s crying his heart out,” you mumbled, reaching out to pat the younger man’s broad back in display of silent support. “I don’t know how anyone can carry it.”

He nodded, “I don’t think I’ll ever have to know.”

You blinked owlishly at his statement. And when you turned to him, his eyes were dark. He was now looking at the glass of soju, twirling the liquid contents slowly.

“Why?” you asked what you shouldn’t have.

He smirked before drinking. His movements were languid before turning his dark and cold eyes to you. “Because, sunshine, I don’t think I have it in me to allow my wife to leave me.”

That should have been your first warning.

And to Kim Seokjin, that was his first warning to himself.

---

He didn’t avoid you. No.

But for the following week, he was distant. He smiled at you when he saw you, but other than that, he did not engage. He greeted you when you greeted him, but other than that, he claimed to have an urgent appointment every time.

See, one step forward was two steps backward when it came to him, you thought. And perhaps, it was for the better. Had this progressed beyond a harmless crush, you would have been hurt. You would only bring him down with you. So for the next days, you threw yourself at work, saying yes to whatever assistance your colleagues needed, even going as far as offering your help to their research.

What? It was an overtime which equated to overtime pay!

That was what you reasoned to yourself, and nope, it was not because you were avoiding excess time to think about that handsome doctor.

Perhaps, what deviated in your work was the amount of free meals the department was getting. It even came to the point was when you didn’t go out of the office for lunch, the department head himself went in and demanded you to eat. You were confused as you followed him out and wondered why he looked a bit terrified. Other than that, you week was calm.

This was good, you convinced yourself as you waited in line for your turn to order, less time with him meant that whatever crush you had for him would die a natural death. You certainly weren’t hurt that your last interaction meant nothing to him when he claimed to have wanted you there with him. You nodded to yourself as you thought that Seokjin looked like a walking heartbreak just waiting to happen.

“Come on, just admit you like her! Why else would you reallocate the budget to cater the food for their department?!”

Seokjin rolled his eyes at his Doctor Seong-min and his obnoxious voice. The two doctors decided to step out for the afternoon to grab a decent coffee. He shifted impatiently in line, silently willing the people ahead him to order faster so he could physically separate himself from his colleague and escape the conversation. He had yet to forgive him for almost getting the coffee his sunshine got for him.

Wait, what?!

His?

See, this was why he needed coffee!

“I heard our branch in the far province desperately needs a resident surgeon. Maybe you want to transfer there?” he asked quietly, the tone of threat not even hidden as he smiled at the man. The mention of transferring to a far-flung province was a thinly veiled threat, one that Seong-min knew Seokjin was all too capable of carrying out if pushed far enough.

“Damn, dude. Chill. If you don’t like her, just say so. I’m just 307% sure that you do-“

“We can’t have doctors that are bad at math! What do you mean 307%?!-“

“Oh, is it 400% now?” he blinked innocently at the man who was berating him, his voice increasing and his ears reddening from his emotions. It was fun to see him like this, Seong-min noted. He was always calm and collected even in the face of emergencies. Seokjin seemed to always know what to do in every situation, and now, one mention of your name and he became like this.

With a forced smile, Seokjin turned to face Seong-min, his voice low and tinged with frustration. "I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered, though the denial rang hollow even to his own ears.

Seong-min merely chuckled, unfazed by Seokjin's attempt at deflection. "Come on, Jin. It's written all over your face," he teased, leaning in closer as if sharing a secret. "You can't fool me.”

He glared at him and Seong-min felt a shiver down his spine as though he was facing a dangerous person and not the peace-loving and hardworking doctor he knew since they were in university. “Fine! I just asked because my friend saw Doctor Y/N and asked me to set her up with him! I was just being a good friend to you-“

What?

See, the mention of another man was what finally pushed him to the very edge and he could feel the fragile sanity of his breaking. However, what he didn’t expect from his genius brain was stupidity.

“Seong-min, are you even using your brain? Why would I, the perfect and genius Doctor Kim Seokjin, ever like someone as bland as her? I have taste. And she could never reach my taste in women. She’s not the same stature as me. She’s so far below me that it’s embarrassing to even insinuate that I feel something for her. Besides, I only entertain her because she’s funny-“

Seong-min’s eyes went in front as the line moved, and it was because of you.

With the steaming cup of hot coffee in your hand, you turned to them. You didn’t say anything. You just watched as Seokjin continued his tirade, completely unaware of your presence, adding lashes to your heart and ego.

God, you were so embarrassed. How could you have thought that he was anything but a rich man who looked down at people beneath him? How could he hurt you where it hurts?

“Honestly, the least she could do is to move faraway from me. She’s nothing-“

It was only when Seong-min pushed his shoulder that he finally noticed you and your tear-filled eyes. He blinked repeatedly as though he was just starting to understand of your presence here, that you were not just a figment of his worst nightmare came to life.

He called for you.

He knew he did.

But instead, you stalked away from him as you tried to salvage whatever was left of your dignity.

“Seriously, Seokjin, you’re an idiot,” Seong-min said, shaking his head in disdain. Seokjin had no choice but to agree.

He was the biggest idiot.

[goldengalore]

Intimacy

An anxious!reader fic.

Summary: Y/N hasn’t been intimate with someone in a long time, which makes her nervous about having sex with Harry for the first time.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: anxiety, smut (featuring soft dom!harry, fingering, thigh riding, oral - m receiving)

A/N: This is one last idea (for now) that I had for the anxious!reader universe. Lots of smut, but it’s very soft and sweet and full of love :)

***

His hands. Y/N can’t stop staring at his hands.

There are a lot of things she finds attractive about Harry. Too many. It’s actually maddening how one person can have so many attractive qualities. Lately, her brain has decided to fixate on his hands. They’re pretty and elegant, strong and masculine.

His long fingers are often decorated with an ornate collection of rings. Sometimes his nails are painted with vibrant colours; other times, they’re unpainted but still clean and neatly trimmed. She can often see the veins that travel up the backs of his hands into his toned arms. He moisturizes them well too, so they rarely look dry.

Y/N would be lying if she said her obsession with Harry’s hands is completely innocent and merely about aesthetics, that she hasn’t imagined how those fingers would feel in her mouth or between her legs and orgasmed to the thought of that while lying alone in bed at night.

It doesn’t help that he’s a highly affectionate person, finding any excuse to place his hands on her whenever she’s within reach. Even now, as they lounge on his couch, he pulls her legs into his lap and begins massaging them. She’s wearing a knee-length dress today, leaving her lower legs exposed. His hands don’t move up past her knees, but that doesn’t stop her imagination from running wild anyway.

“Y/N?” His smooth, commanding voice—another annoyingly attractive feature of his—pulls her from her thoughts.

“Hmm?” Her eyes flick up to his emerald ones staring back at her. She realizes with embarrassment that she hasn’t listened to a thing he’s said in the past minute or so.

“What were you staring at?” He glances down in his lap, where her gaze was just a few seconds ago.

“Oh, just your hands.”

His brows furrow slightly as he starts inspecting his hands, turning his palms up, then down. “Why? Something wrong with them?”

“No! No, they’re just… nice. Nice hands. That’s all. Sorry, what, um, what were you saying?”

A teasing smirk forms on his lips. “Nice hands, huh? Never heard that one before.”

She rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising to her cheeks. “Please. I’m sure you’ve heard that a million times.”

“Mmm, not really.”

She narrows her eyes at him, not believing him for a second. His smirk broadens.

“Anyway,” he says, resting his hands back on her legs, “I was just saying that I really missed you last week.”

Now she feels even worse about zoning out on him. He’s been out of town this past week for work. They reunited just this morning after his flight landed back in LA.

“I missed you too, H.”

“This week made me realize something.”

Her heart skips a beat. “What?”

“Made me realize how much I hate being away from you. I know our friendship started over Zoom meetings and phone calls and whatnot since I was on tour, but…” He shrugs. “After spending time with you in person these past couple months, I can’t imagine being away from you for weeks or months at a time. I think I’d go mad.”

His confession feels like being swaddled in a warm blanket. While he was away, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about him. His fluffy hair and dimpled smile, his kind eyes and boyish laugh, even his cute nose consumed her thoughts from the moment she woke up in the morning to the moment she fell asleep at night. She found herself cursing the slow passage of time frequently throughout the week. To hear that her feelings were reciprocated makes her giddy inside.

When she takes a while to respond, he says, “I hope that wasn’t too intense. It’s just been on my mind lately and I had to say it.”

“No, I feel the same way.” I think I’m in love with you, she says in her head but struggles to speak aloud. She has never been the first to say those words in a relationship.

He smiles, relieved. “Okay, good.” He holds her gaze for a few seconds, then shifts closer, her legs still strewn across his lap. His hand comes up to cradle her jaw as he leans in for a kiss, sucking her top lip into his mouth.

She scoots even closer, practically sitting in his lap now. The movement causes her dress to ride up. Harry rests his other hand on her bare thigh, squeezing it lightly. Her heart quickens. His hand inches along her inner thigh, hiking her dress up even further. Suddenly, her whole body tenses up and she shrinks away from his touch.

“Sorry, I—I can’t,” she stammers, quickly removing her legs from his lap and tugging her dress back down.

She sneaks a glance at his face and detects some hurt there. It lasts for a split second, but her brain registers it anyway. She feels awful. This is the second time he has tried to get intimate with her beyond just kissing. The first was the night before he was supposed to fly out of the city. They were cuddling in his bed. She was giving him all the signs that she wanted to take things further—letting her hands roam all over his body, grinding her hips against him—but as soon as he started returning her touches, she pulled away.

It’s frustrating because she fantasizes about it all the time, yet when it finally starts to happen, she freezes up. It’s like her mind and body are on completely different pages.

“I’m sorry, H,” she repeats.

“It’s all right.” He gives her a reassuring smile. “You’re not ready for that. I understand.”

“But I am ready. I just…” She looks up at the ceiling as if the answers to her puzzling emotions will be there. “Ugh! I don’t know.”

A long silence stretches between them, though it probably feels longer in her head than it is in reality.

“I should go,” she finally says, rising to her feet, but he grabs her hand before she can go anywhere.

“Already? We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“But I made things awkward!”

“No, you didn’t. Stop that.”

She was trying to avoid his gaze, but he tugs on her hand to make her look at him.

“We’ve been apart for a whole week. You think I’m letting you run off that easily?” He frowns a bit. “Wait, that sounded creepier than I’d intended.”

She giggles, feeling somewhat lighter. “Okay, fine. I’ll stay.”

They order sushi for dinner and crack open a bottle of wine. The awkwardness she felt earlier fades as Harry starts telling her about a deep conversation he shared with the five-year-old girl sitting next to him on his flight. Y/N is glad she decided to stay because if she had gone home to spend the night by herself, her overthinking mind would have eaten her alive.

After dinner, they transfer back over to the couch with their wineglasses in hand. They sit cross-legged, facing each other. The wine has helped her loosen up some more, granting her the courage to explain why she’s been so reluctant to get intimate with him.

“I’m not a virgin,” she tells him. “I know it probably seems that way because of how I act every time we try to do anything sexual, but I’m not. Not that there’s anything wrong with being one, obviously. I just thought you should know.”

He nods. “Okay.”

Although he doesn’t press any further, his eyes are curious and attentive in a way that makes her want to spill everything, just lay out all her secrets and fears and insecurities in a big, messy pile in front of him.

“I’m not a virgin, but I haven’t had sex in years,” she explains. “And I’ve always had to have a few drinks before doing it. I tried doing it sober once, and it was a total disaster. I was on the verge of a panic attack the whole time, and the guy didn’t know what to do. I just told him to keep going, so he did until he finished and—”

“Lovie, that’s not okay,” he interjects, brows pinching together in concern. “He should’ve stopped when he realized you were having a panic attack.”

“Well, to be fair, I told him to keep going. It was totally consensual.”

“Still. He should’ve at least stopped to make sure you were all right. Seems like basic human decency to me.”

“I guess....” She shrugs, knowing that he’s right but not wanting to think about it much longer. “Anyway, after he finished, he told me that having sex with me was like fucking a scared baby deer.” She forces a laugh, though the memory still makes her cringe inside. “Needless to say, I was mortified and never saw him again. And that’s the only time I’ve had sex while sober.”

“And all the times you weren’t sober, did you at least enjoy it?”

She hesitates. “Um, define enjoy.”

He appears even more concerned now. “If you’re having to ask that question, I’m afraid the answer is no. If you enjoyed it, you would know.”

“Well, I just asked because if by ‘enjoy,’ you mean ‘did I orgasm during it,’ then it’s a no. But my anxiety was a lot more under control, so I guess that could be considered a form of enjoyment… Right?”

Rather than answering her question, he asks, “You’ve never orgasmed during sex?”

She shakes her head. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but her cheeks still feel like they’re on fire.

“Have you ever had an orgasm?”

“Oh, plenty. When I’m alone, that is.”

“I see.” He rubs his jaw and looks away, sinking deep into thought. She can’t read the expression on his face.

“So, now you know how bad I am at sex,” she jokes to fill the silence.

He looks at her with a raised brow. “I don’t know about that. If anything, it’s the guys you’ve been with who were bad at sex if they couldn’t even make you come once.”

“Oh no, they were all very experienced.” Y/N doesn’t know why she’s defending these men, as if they would do the same for her. Perhaps it’s because she’s spent her whole life thinking she was the problem and this is the first time someone has suggested a different perspective to the one she’s become so accustomed to.

“Experience doesn’t always equate to being good at something.”

“I guess not.” She bites her lip and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I do want to try again… with you. I just don’t know how to stay calm without having a few drinks in my system.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to work on that.”

His use of the word “we” doesn’t go unnoticed by her. We, as in this is our problem, not just yours. We, as in we’ll figure this out together, you don’t have to do it alone. She feels a surge of something in her chest, and the only term she can think of to describe it is love.

“I’m calm right now,” she says with sudden realization, placing her wineglass on the table so quickly that it almost topples over. “So, technically, we could try again—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “We’re not having sex for the first time while you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk drunk though. Just a bit tipsy. I think we could still—”

“Y/N, it’s not happening,” he states firmly. “Other guys might have been okay with that sort of thing, but I’m not, okay?”

Her shoulders slump. She looks down in her lap. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just want you to know that I want it as much as you do.”

“I know. Hey”—he tilts up her chin—“we’ll get there. There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

He has no idea how much of a relief it is to hear those words. Her biggest fear this whole time has been him losing interest in her because she can’t seem to get over her anxiety around sex. It’s happened before. Guys often expect her anxiety to disappear after the first time. When it doesn’t, they take it as a blow to their ego and react by making her feel like a freak for being anxious at all. The humiliation leads to even worse anxiety the next time she gets intimate with someone. It’s a vicious cycle.

She doesn’t want to get her hopes up or anything, but maybe that cycle finally ends with Harry.

***

When it comes to Y/N, Harry just doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself. Even before they met in person, he would dream of the day he could finally have her in his arms, how perfectly their bodies would mold together, how electrifying that first contact would be. For months, he’s been dying to touch and feel and kiss every inch of her, but after hearing about her sexual history, it’s no surprise why she’s so hesitant to take that step with him.

Taking things slow is not a problem for Harry. If anything, he feels lucky to be the one who gets to show her how fun and exciting and stress-relieving sex can be when the people involved actually care about each other’s pleasure.

It’s been a few days since that initial conversation. They’ve had several more discussions about it since then, and he thinks they’re ready to try something now.

He stares at Y/N lying on his bed, looking cute and cozy in his forest green Pleasing crewneck. Her lips are swollen from all their making out, her neck and collarbone littered with red spots where he licked and sucked on her skin like an ice cream cone.

“Question for you,” he says, leaning his head on his palm. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

“Hmm… A couple days ago?”

“Would you feel comfortable doing that in front of me?”

Her eyes widen. “Y—you want to watch me touch myself?”

“Only if you’re okay with it.” Her reaction already indicates that she’s not.

“Oh, I… I don’t think I am,” she admits, confirming his thoughts. “I mean, I don’t even like being watched while I cross the street. It’s like I forget how to walk.”

“Okay, different question. How would you feel about getting in a bath with me?”

She thinks about it. “I’d be okay with that.”

He runs them a bath lightly scented with a lavender oil he bought recently, while Y/N leans against the doorway and watches. Once he begins to undress, she follows suit. Starting with his crewneck, she removes her clothes at an extremely slow pace, as if she’s on the verge of changing her mind at any moment. He finishes undressing before she does and pretends not to notice her eyes bulging at the sight of his dick. Instead, he leans over to the tub to test the temperature of the water.

“I’ll get in first,” he says. “Then you can sit between my legs. Sound good?”

She swallows. “Yup.”

He steps into the tub and submerges everything but his head and upper chest into the water. His back rests against one side, his long legs outstretched in front of him.

In the meantime, Y/N finishes undressing. He forces himself not to stare, knowing that it’ll only make her more nervous. She moves quickly now, striding over to the tub and climbing in on wobbly legs. He holds out his hand for support.

“Careful,” he says.

She sits down between his legs with her back facing him. There’s still a lot of space between them.

“Just lean back against me,” he tells her.

She hesitates for a moment, then leans back until she’s flush against his torso.

He smiles. “There you go.”

“Okay, what now?”

“Nothing. Let’s just sit for a minute.”

They enjoy the next few minutes in companionable silence. The warm water seems to dissolve all the tension in her body, which is exactly why he suggested this idea in the first place. Her shoulders relax. She sinks deeper into him.

After a while, he says, “I’m going to try something. If you don’t like what I’m doing or you want me to stop, I need you to tell me. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. My ego can handle it. Okay?”

She responds with a tiny nod.

“I need you to answer me verbally, lovie,” he says softly in her ear. “Just so I can be sure we’re on the same page.”

“Yes. Got it. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Don’t have to apologize.”

“Sorry,” she says again, automatically. “Fuck! Sorr— Shit! Why do I keep—” She starts to sit up, but he places a hand in the middle of her chest, gently pulling her back against him. He can feel her heart galloping like a racehorse.

“Y/N, relax. You’re okay. You’re doing great. Just breathe.”

She inhales a deep, shaky breath, then releases it.

“That’s good. Keep doing that.”

Her heartrate gradually decreases with each breath she takes. Once she appears to have calmed down, he moves his hand from the centre of her chest to one of her breasts, cupping it tenderly in his palm. His other hand comes to rest on her belly before making its descent between her legs. She squirms a little once the pads of his fingers make contact with her clit.

“Are we okay?” he asks.

“Y—yeah.” She takes another deliberate breath.

He rubs her clit in small, tight circles and kneads her breast at the same time. Her hands rest at her sides on top of his thighs. As he pinches her nipple, twisting and pulling it lightly, her fingers dig into his thighs and his cock twitches between their bodies. He wonders if she felt it. His middle finger prods around her slit now and slips inside without resistance. He pumps it in and out a few times before adding a second one, using his thumb to rub her clit.

Y/N is completely silent, but the slick substance coating her pussy and the subtle rocking of her hips is confirmation enough that she’s enjoying this. He peeks at her face to find her eyes closed and her bottom lip pulled between her teeth like she’s afraid of accidentally making a sound.

That is another thing they’ll need to work on. Harry likes being vocal during sex and equally enjoys when his lovers are vocal too. He doesn’t want Y/N to hold anything back around him. But they can work on that another day.

“Does this feel good?” he asks.

She nods, then remembers what he said earlier and answers out loud, “Feels good, yes. Really good.”

Satisfied by her response, he presses a third finger inside and pushes all three of them deep into her with every thrust, turning her into a squirming, quivering mess in his arms. Her back arches off his torso as she comes, the smallest whimper slipping through her self-restraint. He gradually lessens the stimulation on her clit, then removes his fingers completely. She lets her head roll back against his shoulder.

“Wow,” she sighs. “I’ve never… That’s never happened with someone before.”

“Wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“No, it was great. Um… thank you?”

He chuckles. “My pleasure.”

Suddenly, she sits up and looks over her shoulder at him. “So… your turn now?”

He waves his hand, splashing some of the water with it. “Don’t worry about that.”

She frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs casually, trying to act cool as if he can’t feel his dick throbbing furiously under the water right now.

He could take her up on the offer, but he wants to focus on her today. Y/N is too nice to admit it, but he has deduced from their recent conversations that her previous partners were too greedy in the bedroom, exploiting her selfless nature for their own benefit. It’s quite unfortunate. Someone like her deserves to be spoiled, not exploited. At least now that she’s with him, he can make sure she gets the treatment she deserves.

After they’ve cleaned up and stepped out of the tub, he grabs one of the towels off the counter and starts handing it to her, then stops.

“Can I dry you off?” he asks.

She seems surprised but not opposed to the idea. “Sure.”

“Okay, just one moment.” He quickly pats himself dry, then grabs the other towel and walks over to her.

Timid eyes gaze up at him. They fall shut as he raises the towel to her face and dabs away all the little water droplets. Next, he moves down to her neck, shoulders, chest, and so on… After he’s done with her upper body, he sinks down to his knees on the mat and works on her lower half, taking his sweet time and humming softly to himself. He glances up to find her smiling at him.

Once her entire body is dry, he leans forward and plants a kiss to her belly before standing up with the towel thrown over his shoulder. Y/N’s eyes follow him as if in a trance.

“All good?”

She just blinks at him.

“Y/N?”

“I’m in love with you.” The words rush out of her like a whoosh of air that had been trapped in a sealed container. “God, it feels weird saying it out loud. It’s been in my head for so long and I didn’t want to say it because that makes it feel more… real.”

“Why’s that a bad thing?”

She doesn’t reply.

“Because you think I don’t feel the same way?”

“Do you?” She winces slightly as if she’s bracing herself for possible rejection, as if the answer to that question could be anything but “absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent yes.”

“Of course I do, Y/N. I thought I’d made that pretty obvious.”

“You should know by now that nothing is obvious with me.”

It’s true. Even when they were just friends and Harry began dropping hints that he wanted to be more than that, they pretty much all went over her head. Y/N is a smart woman; she just happens to be totally oblivious when it comes to love and romance, which he finds deeply endearing about her.

“Well, take this as your confirmation that I am, in fact, very much in love with you,” he states, taking her face in his hands and giving her a big, sloppy smooch on the lips, which she accepts with a laugh.

***

“That’s it, lovie. Keep going. You’re doing amazing.”

Y/N rocks back and forth on Harry’s thigh, her cunt positioned directly over his tiger tattoo. His thick, firm quads provide the perfect amount of friction against her needy clit.

A week ago, the idea of riding his thigh while he watched her would have made her extremely self-conscious. But since then, they’ve spent each night exploring each other’s bodies. He has given her several more orgasms with his fingers and mouth, while she has given him some with her hand. They’ve masturbated in front of each other. One night, he gave her a full-body massage that turned her on so much that he hardly even had to touch her clit to make her come.

She doesn’t mind being watched anymore. Not by Harry, at least. His gaze is never judgemental or critical. She doesn’t need to fret over saying or doing the wrong thing and ruining the moment. This has made her fall even more head over heels for him.

“Look so pretty getting yourself off on my thigh like this,” he says, toying with her breasts.

A moan starts to leave her mouth until she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth to trap it in. Harry reaches up and drags her lip back down with his thumb.

“Let me hear you,” he says. “Wanna hear how good this makes you feel.” He grips her chin between his thumb and index finger, keeping her mouth open.

She’s close now, the heat of her orgasm building in her core. Her hips grind faster against him. He lifts up his thigh to heighten the pressure on her clit. The tight knot in her lower abdomen unravels, and she comes with a loud moan, soaking his thigh with her juices.

“You make the sweetest sounds when you come,” he says, releasing her chin.

She pecks him on the lips and, before she’s even recovered from her orgasm, gets on her knees between his legs.

He frowns. “What are you doing?”

She looks at him like it should be obvious. “Returning the favour?” As she begins to reach for his cock, he grabs her wrist.

“Nope,” he says. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you have to pay me back for every orgasm. Sex doesn’t have to be so transactional, you know?” The smirk on his face conveys that he’s joking, but that doesn’t stop Y/N from having the sudden, embarrassing realization that perhaps she does treat sex like it’s transactional and just wasn’t aware of it until now.

“I—I know that,” she fibs a little. “I just want to make you feel good.” That part, at least, is not a lie.

Harry has been spoiling her heavily this past week, which has been delightful. She can tell he’s making every effort to gain her trust in the fact that he doesn’t expect anything in return for how incredible he makes her feel. But Y/N likes making him feel good too. She likes the way he hisses and shudders when she finds his most sensitive spots. She likes watching his usual composure crumble simply from her touch. She lives for it.

“Please?” she adds to her request, giving him her best doe eyes.

“Okay,” he says. “If you really want to.”

“I do.”

He lets go of her wrist, allowing her to reach for his stiff cock again. Nerves make her hands tremble, as she remembers how long it’s been since she gave someone a blowjob. She wants it to be perfect, but realistically, she’ll probably be a bit rusty.

She strokes him in her hand and runs her tongue along the underside of his shaft until, finally, she feels ready to take him in her mouth. Her lips wrap around his tip and slowly move down his length, tongue gliding against him. She considers deep-throating, then decides against it because it’s been way too long since she’s done it and she needs time to work up to it again. Any insecurity she felt about that disappears the moment she glances up at Harry. His eyes are closed and jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

Emboldened by the look of absolute ecstasy on his face, she bobs her head up and down his shaft and massages his balls with her hand. She moans around him, and he releases a low groan at the sensation it produces. Then she lets his entire length slip from her mouth, teasing him by flicking her tongue over his tip and leaving little kisses along his shaft until his fingers are weaving through her hair in desperation.

“Didn’t know you could be such a tease,” he says with a breathy laugh.

She grins innocently, then takes him into her mouth again, determined to suck him to completion this time. His hand feels good in her hair. She imagines him holding her head in place while he fucks her mouth. She never thought she would be into that sort of thing until now.

“I’m gonna come soon, Y/N,” he warns her as he gets close.

She doesn’t pull away. He thinks she didn’t hear him, so he repeats himself. She makes eye contact to convey that she heard him, that she wants him to come in her mouth, which he does moments later. She relishes the taste of it, swallowing every last drop. As she draws back and wipes her mouth clean, he stares at her in amazement.

“You’re really fucking good at that,” he tells her.

“Thanks! I had this boyfriend in college who only wanted blowjobs all the time since that didn’t involve having to make me come, which was basically impossible for him. He was kind of demanding, but he taught me how to give a damn good blowjob.”

Harry grimaces. “You know, the more I learn about your previous partners, the more I want to hit them over the head with something.”

She laughs. “I think I make them seem meaner than they were.”

“No, I think you make them seem nicer than they were.” He pats his thigh. “Get up here.”

She stands up and sits on his thigh with her legs dangling between his this time. His arm wraps around her back.

Locking his eyes on hers, he says, “You are worth so much more than being some guy’s blowjob dispenser, all right?”

“I know, I know,” she says. “I was just young and naive back then, but I know better now.”

“Good. Don’t ever let any man or woman treat you that way. Okay?”

His eyes are so full of care and concern for her that she thinks she might just cry.

“Okay,” she replies.

***

Harry loves writing about the initial euphoria that comes with falling in love. It’s intoxicating and exhilarating and all-consuming. Many of his most successful songs were inspired by this peculiar feeling. It’s no wonder that he keeps heading into the studio lately to harness all this creative energy and inject it into his music.

Today, Tom, Tyler, and Mitch are all in the studio with him. Mitch is riffing on his guitar while Harry adlibs over it when Jeff pokes his head into the room.

“H, Y/N’s here to see you,” he says.

Harry raises his brows. “She is?” She didn’t tell him that she’d be visiting the studio today.

“Yeah, she’s waiting out front.”

“Is she all right? Did she say why she’s here?”

Jeff shrugs. “No clue. She seemed fine.”

Y/N always seems “fine.” She’s quite skilled at pretending everything is okay when it’s not, which can be rather concerning. Harry tells the guys he’ll be back, then heads to the front of the studio where he finds his girlfriend staring at a wall decorated from top to bottom with framed album covers of legendary musicians.

“Hi, darling,” he says as he approaches.

She turns to him, eyes illuminating as soon as they meet his. “Hi! Sorry, I told Jeff not to go get you, but he did anyway.” She gives him an apologetic smile. “I hope you weren’t in the middle of something. I swear if you were writing your next Grammy-winning single and I just ruined your flow, I’ll be so mad at myself.”

“Stop it. You haven’t ruined anything.” He steps closer, taking her hands. “Now tell me what brought you here. Are you okay?”

He studies her as she replies, “Yes, I’m fine. I’m not here for any particular reason. I just…” She hesitates. “I needed to see you.” As soon as she says it, her eyes squeeze shut. “Fuck, that sounds so needy.”

“That’s okay. We all get needy sometimes. Do you want to sit in the studio with me?”

She bites her lip, giving it some thought before shaking her head.

“Okay.” He brings her hands between their bodies, swinging them apart and together again. “Then tell me what you need.”

“I—I need…” She glances down in the general direction of his crotch.

A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. “You need…?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t make me say it.”

He tilts his head to side, feigning innocence. “Say what?”

“Baby…”

He wanted to make her say it, but the pleading look in her eyes makes him cave. “You need my cock, is that it?”

“Shhh! Not so loud!” Her head spins around to make sure no one heard them.

He laughs. “There’s no one around, lovie.”

“Still!” She sighs and presses her hands against her flaming cheeks. “It’s not fair. You’ve been teasing me with it this whole week, and it’s all I can think about. Couldn’t even focus on my art today because I kept thinking about how…”—she drops her voice to a barely audible whisper—“how you would feel inside me.”

It’s been exactly a week since Y/N first hinted that she’s ready to go all the way with him. Harry was the one who wanted to put it off a little longer. He predicted that if he made her wait long enough, her hunger for it would overpower any anxiety that might crop up during the act.

Smiling, he brings his hand up to her cheek, her skin hot against his cool palm. “Aw, I know, sweetheart. You know the only reason I’ve been teasing is to make sure you’re ready for it.”

“I know. And I’m ready now. I really am.”

“Okay, but we can’t exactly do it here, you know that?”

“Why not? Isn’t there a bathroom in here somewhere?” She pushes up on her toes to look over his shoulder down the hallway where he came from.

“We’re not fucking in the studio bathroom, Y/N.”

She groans and lifts her hands up to his chest, scrunching his shirt between her fingers. “But I can’t wait any longer!”

“Yes, you can.” He wraps his hands around her wrists. “You’re going to be a good girl for me and wait until I pick you up from your flat tonight.”

She pouts and concedes, “Fine.”

He kisses her pout and gives her a hug that lasts for several minutes because she doesn’t want to let go and he never lets go until she does, so they’re in a standoff for who’s going to let go first until finally, Y/N releases him.

After that, the rest of the day moves at a snail-like pace. Harry can hardly focus; he’s too distracted by the thought of what’s to come tonight. Every lyric he comes up with sounds too raunchy to put in an actual song. Even his friends jokingly speculate about why he’s acting so strange—especially Tom, who just loves to make him squirm.

That evening, he has to make a conscious effort not to speed all the way to Y/N’s flat. The plan was to pick her up, take her back to his place, and maybe eat dinner before having their fun, but he thinks he’ll have to skip most of those steps.

Y/N buzzes him into her building. She’s on the second floor, so he doesn’t even bother with the elevator and takes the stairs two at a time. As soon as she lets him in, his mouth is on hers. She kisses him right back, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing up against him. They make their way to her bedroom and remove all their clothes, ending up on the bed with him on top of her.

“Naughty girl,” he says between kisses to her neck. “Came all the way to the studio because you were needy for my cock, hm?”

She covers her face with her hands. “H, don’t tease! I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

He gently pulls her hands away from her face. “Don’t be embarrassed. Do you have any idea how sexy it is that you want me that badly? Got me all hot and bothered at the studio. Could barely keep myself together for the rest of the day.”

A mischievous little grin makes its way onto her face. “Really?”

“Yes, really. That’s the effect you have on me.” His hand drifts down between her legs to find that she’s already drenched, so he grabs his cock and runs the tip up and down her slit. When he looks back up at her face, there’s a hint of apprehension that wasn’t there before. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just remembered that I haven’t had something so, uh”—she swallows, glancing down at his cock—“big inside me in a while.”

“Do you want to be on top? That way, you can go at your own pace.”

“What if my pace is too slow and you can’t come?”

“What if I come two seconds after I’m inside you? Would you still love me?”

“Of course!”

“There’s your answer then.”

She squints at him, her lips curving up. “Well played.”

They switch positions so that she’s on top of him, straddling his hips while he leans back against the headboard. She carefully guides his cock up to her entrance, inserting the tip before lowering herself onto him. Her tight walls stretch and expand to accommodate him. She winces from the discomfort. He massages her hips, reminding her to take her time.

It takes her several attempts to get him all the way in, but once he’s there, the feeling is indescribable. He curses under his breath, closing his eyes briefly.

“Is that okay?” she asks.

“Perfect,” he responds in a strained voice. “It’s perfect.”

She seems reassured by his response and starts moving her hips in slow circles, getting used to having him inside her. Then she lifts up and sinks all the way down again. Soon enough, she’s riding him at a steady pace, her hands on his shoulders, her breasts swaying gorgeously in his face, beckoning him to place his hands over them. He has pictured this moment so many times, he can’t believe that it’s finally happening.

He starts thrusting up into her, meeting her halfway. As his thrusts become sharper, her jaw drops open.

“Harry—”

The sound of his name slipping out of her mouth like that, all salacious and full of yearning, is a drug he can see himself getting addicted to.

“Please,” she whines.

He slows down, worried that he might have been too rough. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just— Please don’t stop. It feels so good.”

“Feels good, huh? Someone finally fucking you like you deserve?”

She nods, her eyes rolling back as he resumes the movement of his hips.

“This is what it’s supposed to feel like,” he tells her. “Remember this.”

“Oh, I will.” She barely finishes her sentence before he pounds into her again.

He feels himself about to crest and reaches down to rub her clit. A final medley of moans and grunts leave their mouths as they come. Her pussy spasms around his pulsing length. As the waves of pleasure subside, her body goes completely slack in his arms, worn out from the intensity of the experience they just shared. She rests her head against his shoulder, basking in the afterglow while he brushes his fingers through her hair.

Her soft voice breaks through the silence. “I didn’t know it could feel this good. I’ve been missing out.”

“We’ve got plenty of time to catch you up. Don’t you worry.” He kisses the side of her head, earning a contented sigh from her.

***

Thank you for reading! For more anxious!reader and other fics, check out my MASTERLIST

[ruh--roh-raggy]

Home Sweet Home (William Afton x Wife! Reader) - Pt. 1

Hello hello! So, I'm fully insane about this man rn. I can't help it. The brain rot has taken over my life and here we are lol. I wanted to write something that really focuses on the domestic fluff side of Reader's life with William, of course there will be some smut thrown in there too because I simply can't help myself 😂😂 Reader and William have just bought their first house together. This story follows their week long escapade of unpacking, making their home perfect, and going down memory lane. Lots of super cute stuff, chapters containing smut will be updated with proper warnings. If you enjoy this story and would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know!

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, MDNI, 18+ CONTENT AHEAD, smut marked with divider, age gap (reader in 30's William in 40's/50's), some swearing, face sitting, cockwarming, size kink, a singular (1) spank to readers ass, slightly dom! William, praise, Will just wants to give his wife some tender TLC after a long day of lugging boxes around (if I missed any please let me know!

You can find my Masterlist here!

Word Count: 3,538

Part 2

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“I want to paint the living room green, I think it would look nice with our couch.” William drove down the road, a soft smile on his face as he listened to you ramble on about all of your plans for their new house. Business at the pizzeria had skyrocketed, which meant that he could finally give his pretty little wife the front porch, white picket fence house of her dreams. You should be pulling in about a half hour before the moving truck is scheduled to arrive, allowing the two of you time to empty out his trunk. You stood at his side with a giddy smile on your face, William thumbing through his key ring to find the new shiny gold addition to his collection. He slides the key into the lock, chuckling at your excited squeals as he pushes the door open. He grabs you by the wrist, stopping you from running inside ahead of him.

“Isn’t there some old wives tale about carrying your wife over the threshold of a house?” He mumbles out the vague details he could remember. You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck with a giggle.

“It’s for good luck. Why? Do you want to carry me inside?” You smile coyly up at him.

“Well I’m not going to be the one bringing bad luck into our house.” He proclaims proudly, jabbing a finger into his chest. You let out a shriek as he scoops you up in his strong arms. You press a kiss to his scruffy cheek as you pass through the door. “Well, Mrs. Afton, welcome home.” He smiles down at you.

You spun around the empty living room floor, broom in hand as you did a quick sweep before the furniture got brought in. “Oh, Will, I'm so happy. Our own house.” You beam up at him. Your husband breathes out a chuckle, sweeping you up in his arms as he places a kiss to your forehead. Both of your attention was drawn to the windows as the moving truck rumbled into the driveway.

“Don't lift anything too heavy.” He orders with a firm point of his finger. “I hired movers so you don't have to struggle, if I see you doing too much you're going to be in big trouble later bunny.” You roll your eyes, wrapping your arms around him as you place a kiss to his chest.

“I promise I won't work too hard.” You fidget with the hem of his shirt. “I just want everything to be perfect.” You sigh with a slight shrug of your shoulders.

“I promise it will be, we have the whole week to get everything exactly how you want it.” He smiles, his thumb rubbing languidly across your waist. You excitedly threw open the front door, directing the movers inside before clamoring out to the truck yourself. William trailed after you, keeping a close eye on your excited figure. Your husband loved how passionate you were about everything you did, but you also had a tendency to overwork yourself. He sighs as he sees you struggling with a box, gently taking it from your hands and propping it against his hip. He glances around the trailer. “Here.” He nudges a box with his foot, one he had made a subtle marking on to signify it was one he packed light enough for you to easily carry. “Take that one, we’ll go put these in the bedroom.” He hops down from the back of the truck, taking your box from you and wrapping his hands around your waist to lower you safely to the ground. You practically skipped up the porch steps, scooting past the movers as you raced up to the master bedroom. Your mattress sat in the middle of the room. The white, sheetless bed was a stark contrast to the nearly black hardwood.

“We’ll need to go get a bed frame.” You sigh, setting down the box before collapsing on the mattress. William groans as he lays down by your side.

“I’m sure we’re going to have to get a lot of things.” He chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to him. “We’ll take care of everything, doll, don’t worry.” You spent the rest of the afternoon sliding furniture around downstairs while the movers brought in the rest of the boxes. The sun had already set by the time everything was brought in. You collapsed onto the couch with a tired groan, finally kicking your shoes off as you sank into the worn leather of the cushions. William sits beside you, lifting your feet only to drop them back in his lap. You let out a pleased hum as you feel his strong hands knead into your aching muscles. “Day one is officially over.” The two of you exchange a sleepy high five. A soft smile spreads across your lips as you take a moment to look at your husband. His gold, wire framed aviators sitting low on his nose, his large calloused hands massaging your feet with the utmost care and delicacy. You were William’s entire world.

“Honey,” he perks up at your soft voice, calling out to him, “how about I throw something together for dinner so we can get to bed.”

“I don’t think we have any groceries bunny.” He rebuttals with a chuckle. “Are you up for a drive? We could go pick up some pizza.”

“But it’s so cold.” You pout.

“I’ll go grab you one of my coats, sweet girl.” He cups your cheek, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he passes by you. You let out a soft hum as you buried your face into the soft fabric of your husband's coat, the comforting smell of his spicy, musky cologne, machine oil, and cigarettes filling your nose. He had an arm wrapped around your shoulder, allowing you to cuddle into his side as he drove up twisting back roads. The radio crackled softly, whatever song was playing was barely audible over the car's loud blower. You rested your hand on his thigh, William glancing down quickly, the sight of your wedding ring glinting in the soft light bringing a smile to his lips. He loved the fact that you were all his, his pretty wife, his little bunny. He loved how sweet and delicate you were. He had been hardened by years of working in his workshop and other strenuous jobs he had throughout his life, he barely registered this evening was brisk let alone cold. But he definitely wouldn't complain about you cuddling into his side for warmth, how your cheeks and the tip of your nose dusted pink from the chilly night air, how your fingers trembled as you tucked them under his thigh. He shuddered softly as you pressed your lips to his neck, the buzzing, yellow light from the pizza shop's sign illuminating the cab as you and your husband exchanged a look filled with need.

“Hurry back.” You shoot him a coy smile as he stumbles from the car.

The smell of warm crust and greasy pepperoni filled the car, the pizza nicely heating your lap. William’s arm draped over your shoulder, you allowed the rumbling car ride to rock you into his side. Your eyelids grow heavy as you try to keep yourself awake, a sleepy smile crawling across your features as you pull into the driveway. You sighed as you looked around at the mess of moving boxes, your dining table tucked away into a corner that would be too much work to get to. “Why don’t you go sit on the couch doll, I’ll be right back.” William’s hand quickly slips into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze as he passes by. You flop back into the cushions, letting the pizza box rest next to you. Even with the short amount of time you’ve spent in the house you could tell how different it was from your old apartment. You and William had moved to the middle of the woods in Hurricane, your nearest neighbor at least ten minutes down the road. There were no sounds of your neighbors talking quietly through the walls, no footsteps of the dog that lived upstairs. The house was completely silent, outside completely pitch black. You jumped as William’s feet started to thud down the stairs. He pushes into the living room with a groan, dragging your mattress behind him. He drops the bed in the middle of the floor with a dull thump, twisting side to side in order to stretch out his back. “I’ll go grab some pillows and blankets.” He smiles at you.

“It’s just like our honeymoon.” You laugh as he pulls you up from the couch. He tilts your chin up with his finger, capturing your lips with his.

“Oh, trust me,” he starts in a sultry tone, “I wish I could spend this entire week in bed with you.” You dropped down onto the mattress, a soft sigh falling from your lips as he massages your shoulders. You smile at him as you watch him disappear upstairs, returning a few minutes later with a box full of your bedding and some pillows. Deciding you weren’t up for the challenge you left the sheets in the box. You piled your comforter and a few throw blankets onto the bed, you crawled in before your husband joined you with the pizza. You two sit side by side, your head falling to rest against his shoulder.

“It’s no Freddy’s.” You grumble at your lackluster pizza. William chuckles in response to your pouting.

“How about we swing by and see Henry tomorrow, I’m sure I can sneak you a piece.” He winks with a lopsided grin.

“That sounds perfect.” The two of you chat quietly as you eat your dinner. Your new house feels too big for just the two of you. You laid on your back, staring at the exposed wood ceiling, you blinked a few times to adjust to the all consuming darkness after William had turned off the light. You felt the blankets shift as he crawled into bed next to you. His silhouette outlined by the soft, pale light of the moon that streamed through the window.

“We should get a dog.” He suddenly whispers, making you giggle. “I don’t want you to get scared all by yourself.” He teases.

“Maybe that’ll get you out of that workshop earlier.” He playfully rolls his eyes as he wraps an arm around your waist.

“You know, there’s nothing stopping you from coming to visit me.” He argues with a slight shrug.

“Except that everytime I do I end up sprawled naked on your workbench.” You smirk at him, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the soft material of his tshirt.

“Occupational hazard.” He responds quickly. You both laugh as you cuddle into his chest. He cards his fingers through your hair, his lingering gaze studying your features. “You’re so beautiful, bunny.” Your eyes flutter shut as his lips brush over yours.

His hand paws at your thigh, dragging your leg over his waist as he crushes you against him. You cup his face, deepening the kiss, his beard tickling your palm as you melt into him. Your legs lock around his waist as he rolls on top of you. His large, calloused hands wrap around your sides, pushing your hoodie up and over your head in one swift motion before his lips connect with yours again. You shivered slightly as the cold night air hit your naked body. He practically purrs at the sight of you, his lips hovering over your neck. Your fingers slid into his hair, a small squeal escaping your lips as he bit down hard on your sensitive skin. You bite your lip, letting out a soft hum as he pushes his hips into you, his already growing bulge noticeable through your thin shorts. “You couldn’t keep your eyes off me today, could you rabbit?” He smirks against your skin. You practically drooled over the sight earlier. William had a box resting on each shoulder, his skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat. He paused as he caught sight of you leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest as your eyes raked over him. He smirked, knowing that playful glint in your eye. He smiled as he noticed your cheeks reddening from your position laying below him. He hooks his fingers into the band of your shorts, placing featherlike kisses down your stomach as he eases them down your legs. You moan softly as you feel him nip at the skin of the inside of your thighs. Your back arches off the bed as he brushes his thumb over your sensitive clit, a broken moan leaving your lips. With how busy you had both been due to the move it had been a while since the two of you had been intimate. Your skin was already on fire from the small touch alone, William smirked as he watched your reaction closely. Your hands fisted in the blankets as he tossed your legs over his shoulders, his hot breath bouncing off your already soaked core. His arms slip around your hips, holding you firmly in place as he dove into hungrily lap at your folds. You moan out his name, already attempting to squirm away from his assault. He growls, dragging you closer to him. His fingers dig into your thighs with a bruising force, sure to leave marks behind. Your fingers tangle in his hair as his tongue swirls around your clit through your lace panties. He ate you out like a man starved, your soft gasps and quiet moans echoing in the empty room. You whined, tugging on his hair. “What’s the matter bunny?” He pushes your panties out of the way with his fingers, his skin growing slick with your arousal.

“I need you.” You whined, looking down at him with pleading, teary eyes. William gives in immediately with a soft chuckle, never one to deny you what you wanted. He tugs down your panties, placing soft kisses to your legs as he removes your final article of clothing at an agonizingly slow pace. He slides an arm under your back, pulling you on top of him as he collapses into the mattress. Your hands landed on either side of his head as you lost your balance, you blushed as you realized you were sitting on his broad, strong chest. He brushes your hair behind your ear before both of his hands wrap around your thighs.

“Come sit, bunny.” He coos, your face burning at his casual command. William absolutely loved whenever you sat on his face. However, he was well aware he would have to warm you up to the idea whenever he suggested it. You were always worried you were too heavy, you hadn't shaved, or you hadn't showered, and your husband always reassured you that none of those things were going to pose any problems for him. His beard tickled the inside of your thighs as you hovered over his eager mouth. His hands squeezed at your hips, groaning as your soft skin squished between his fingers. You cry out as he pushes you down onto him, his tongue lapping at your clit before he shoves his way in between your folds.

“Oh, fuck! Will!” You moan, your hips moving on their own. You let out a soft sob everytime his nose bumps against your clit. He growls, pressing hard into your hips as you try to wiggle away, his assault on your already sensitive cunt threatening to push you over the edge mere minutes after he starts. “Baby, it's too much.” Your voice shook as you tried to plead with him, years slipping from your damp eyes onto your cheeks as the coil of pleasure in your core wound tighter. William’s eyes were hazy as they met yours, his face smothered in your thighs as he greedily sucked your clit into his mouth. You tug his hair, making you groan against him. “I'm gonna cum.” It was all too much for you to handle, your body losing its rhythm as your climax threatened to rip through you. William let out an affirmative hum below you, knowing you were close by the slowing of your movements. He decides it's time for him to take over, determined to make you cum on his tongue. His fingers dig into the curve of your ass as he gradually increases the pace of your hips. You yelped as one of his hands suddenly connects with your skin, the mixture of pleasure and slight pain causing your soaked cunt to throb. Broken moans and whines rumbled effortlessly from your mouth, the fine tuned roaming of his hands paired with his expert tongue knowing just how you wanted to be touched to fall apart in his hands. William never got tired of making you finish. The way you would fall absolutely silent and still for a moment, mouth hanging open as no sound dared escape, your body taking time to catch up to the immense pleasure you were feeling. Now was no different. William felt his cock twitch at the sight of your eyes rolling back in your head, that brief moment of absolute silence making his ears ring before you screamed his name. He forced your hips to keep moving, never allowing your pace to slow as he felt your thighs shaking against his cheeks. You practically collapsed as he finally pulled his mouth off of you, a firm hand on your lower back keeping you upright as you shakily moved yourself back onto his chest. William reaches up to caress your cheek, wiping away tears that streaked down your skin. Your eyes felt heavy, you struggled to keep them open and on your husband as you came down from your high.

“Do you want to lay down?” He asks in a soft tone. You nod, collapsing into the mattress with a happy sigh. You hear the soft shuffling of William getting undressed before he gets under the blankets with a groan. You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he moved closer, his fingers ghosting over your waist before your pulled back against him. You can't help but giggle slightly as you feel his erection pressed firmly against your back.

“You want some help with that?” You press yourself into him, his breath catching in his throat at the contact as he tries to stifle a growl.

“You can't even keep your eyes open bunny.” He chuckles, you smile as you feel it rumble in his chest. You let out a dismissive sound, giving him a slight shrug. “How about we compromise?” You glance over your shoulder at him, curiously raising an eyebrow. Your eyes slide shut, letting out a soft hum as you feel his rough hands roaming over your skin. His fingers dip in between your thighs, gently coaxing them apart. You gasp as you feel his member prod at your entrance. “I could always fill you up before we go to bed.” He offers with a smirk, your face instantly flushing at the thought of cuddling up with your husband, trying not to squirm too much as he impaled you on his thick cock. You give him a nervous yet excited nod, the sight of you looking at him so sweetly as you chewed on your lip making it hard for him to not flip you over and pound you into the mattress. William assisted you holding your legs open, one massive paw wrapped around your thigh to allow him room to attempt to fit inside of you. You gripped tightly onto the sheets as he slowly began to push inside, the stretch from making it barely past his tip intense due to the lack of prep. “That's it sweetheart, just relax.” He purrs in your ear, pressing his lips to your shoulder. Another roll of his hips makes you whimper, feeling him slip slightly deeper into your fluttering cunt.

“Fuck, ‘s too big, ‘s not going to fit.” Your words slut as you tried to focus enough to speak. His pace was agonizing, you could feel every inch of him and every thick vein sliding over your velvety walls. You let out a shuddering breath as he finally bottoms out in you, the tip of his cock pressed snugly against your cervix. You felt like you would break in half at the smallest wrong move, even your slight shifting as you cuddled up with William had the edges of your vision going fuzzy.

“Such a good bunny, taking all of me so well.” His lips trail over your neck, you feel him smirk as you clench around him, repeatedly kissing and teasing what he knew was a rather sensitive spot of skin.

Your fingers intertwined with his, his strong arms wrapped protectively around as you're held flush to his chest.

“I love you.” You say quietly, feeling sleep trying it's hardest to pull you under. He gives your hand a soft squeeze.

“And I love you, sweet girl.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tag List: @yellowbunnydreams @zoey5252 @redflowery @loudchaosking (I think that's everyone, if I missed you or you would like to be added please let me know!)

[fluentmoviequoter]

Love (Both of) You

Requested Here!

PART 2: Love (Both of) You More

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x pregnant!fem!reader

Summary: After telling your husband you're pregnant, he kicks you out. Going to your best friend Luca's house, you find an unexpected source of comfort in Deacon Kay.

Warnings: reader is pregnant and suffers from hyperemesis gravidarum (severe nausea, vomiting, and dizziness), reader's ex-husband is a terrible person. Deacon and Luca are the perfect protective duo. lots of hurt/comfort, slight angst, fluff

Word Count: 4.6k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

✯✯ 4 Months Ago ✯✯

“Are you sure?” Luca asks, displeased with the last answer.

“Yes, Luca,” you answer quietly. “He’s… he’s a good guy.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s the right guy for you. You can do so much better than him and you know that.”

“If I could do better, then why haven’t I?” you ask with a sad smile, your eyes dropping to the engagement ring on your finger.

“He made you sign a pre-nup. This isn’t love,” Luca whispers, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“And I don’t want to be alone again.”

Luca sighs, pulling you into a proper hug as you wrap your arms around him and press your face against his shoulder.

“I could always set you up with someone.”

“Like Street?” you tease.

“We’re looking for someone better, remember?” Luca plays along.

You take a shaky breath and step back. “It’ll be okay. The pre-nup is just- just a precaution.”

“Or a fallout plan because he knows he needs one.”

“Why are you trying to talk me out of this?”

“Because I don’t think he loves you. And I know it sounds terrible but you’re my best friend and I don’t want to see this guy hurt you.”

You nod, biting your bottom lip as you think.

“I already said yes. I’m doing this.”

“Okay,” Luca says, smiling as he nods. “I really hope I’m wrong.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

✯✯ Present Day ✯✯

Waking up, your first thought is, Luca was right.

It’s been one of the few things on your mind since your wedding three months ago. Your husband was never overly kind or caring, but he was charming enough to convince you he could give you what you wanted and deserved. But that was just an act. After the first week, he asked you to move into a guest room, stating that he didn’t like having your things mixed in with his in his own house. Then his little comments built up from there, ranging from how you dressed or washed the dishes, each digging a little deeper than the last.

As you wonder what would happen if you just laid in bed all day, ignoring the person you vowed your life to, your body betrays you. Running out of bed as fast as you can, you barely reach the bathroom before you get sick. It’s the second day in a row, and as you lean your head against the cool tile in the bathroom, you calculate dates in your head. It could be PMS, or it could be the beginning of something else.

Rummaging through your small bag in the guest bathroom vanity, you pull a pregnancy test out. You bought a few after getting married, hoping to start a family with the man you thought you could love.

✯✯✯✯✯

You smile as you walk inside. The sun is setting, and the picture hidden in your back pocket makes you feel weightless and giddy despite the constant nausea you’ve had the past two days.

“Hi,” you greet, wrapping your arms around your husband’s shoulders as he sits at the table.

He squirms beneath you until you step back. “Do you mind? I’m in the middle of something, and I don’t expect dinner anytime soon.”

Your smile drops momentarily, and then you remember your news.

“I have something to tell you.”

Turning toward you, he crosses his arms. “Well you’ve certainly distracted me already, so go ahead.”

You take a deep breath before saying, “I’m pregnant.”

Saying it aloud makes it feel more real, and your cheeks seem to squish higher as your smile grows. Expecting a hug or a hand on your stomach, you hadn’t considered any alternatives.

“You’re kidding,” he huffs.

“No,” you say quietly, pulling your hands over your stomach. “I took a test and went to the OB to get checked.”

He stands, shaking his head with a clenched jaw. “That’s not going to work for me.”

Furrowing your brows, you don’t have time to respond before he takes an angry step toward you.

“What about me and all of my plans for life? I can’t do what I need to do with a pregnant wife and a kid running around my feet.”

“I-“

“You didn’t do anything apparently!”

 He raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose before walking around you. Tears gather in your eyes as you watch him retreat down the hall, and you stand motionless, unable to fight them or wipe them away.

When he returns with a smile, you think an apology may accompany it.

“Thank God for pre-nups,” he says happily. “Get out.”

“What?” you ask, your voice breaking.

“You heard me. It’s my house. I’ll call my lawyer in the morning and get the divorce pushed through as fast as possible.”

“You’re divorcing me because you got me pregnant?” you ask, tears streaming down your face.

“I don’t want kids,” he answers. “You need to leave.”

You open and close your mouth, failing to speak before he sets a hand on your shoulder and turns you toward the door.

“Don’t touch me,” you snap, twisting your shoulder out of his grip. “This is low, even for you.”

“I’m not the one who ruined everything,” he seethes.

“No, you’re the one who tried to control it until you couldn’t anymore.”

Walking backward as you argue, you nearly trip over the step onto the porch, stumbling as he slams the door in your face. Taking shallow breaths against the panic building in your chest, you turn and walk toward the driveway, unsure where to go or who you can call.

The door opens, and he yells your name before slamming it again. One of your bags has been tossed onto the sidewalk, and you gather it in your arms before approaching your car.

There’s only one person in the world that you want to see right now, and he’s the one who warned you against doing this.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Nah, man, it’s all about the QB’s wrist,” Luca says, imitating the football highlight on the screen.

“So that miraculous catch had nothing to do with it?” Deacon asks with a smile.

“Not a thing.”

Someone knocks on the door, and the two small raps are barely heard over the television. Luca stands, pointing at Deacon and telling him not to be a sore loser when he comes back, and the quarterback proves he’s the MVP. Deacon shakes his head and makes no such promise.

As soon as he opens the door, Luca’s smile falls.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your tears haven’t slowed since they started, and standing on Luca’s doorstep, you can feel your chest tightening at the panic you feel. Distraught and with nowhere else to go, you hope that Luca is home and willing to help despite his efforts to warn you away from your now ex.

He opens the door with a bright smile that disappears immediately upon seeing your tear-soaked face and short breaths.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize breathlessly as a new set of sobs rack your body.

Luca pulls you into his arms, wrapping one around your waist as the other cradles your head against his shoulder. Being best friends, you’ve hugged Luca before, but this hug is different.

He pulls you inside, closes the door behind you, and says something over your shoulder. Assuming Street is home, you tuck your head closer to Luca and hope he can hold you together.

“Hey, talk to me,” Luca says quietly, ducking his head to speak in your ear.

You pull back, taking a shaky breath and harshly wiping your face. Luca gently knocks your hands away, using softer touches to clear the tears from your cheeks. He smiles sadly at you when you look up.

“He kicked me out,” you admit. “He told me that he’d send divorce papers in the morning and threw a bag of my stuff out behind me.”

“Did he touch you?” Luca demands.

“He put his hand on my shoulder, but not really,” you promise. “I shouldn’t have-“

“Hey, don’t do that,” Luca interjects.

“What?”

“Don’t try to blame yourself, this wasn’t your fault.”

You nod, prepared to tell him it is, but he interrupts you, telling you he will get you some water.

“This is my buddy, Deacon,” Luca says, pointing to a handsome man on the couch. He tells Deacon your name before steering you to sit beside him.

“Sorry for overhearing,” Deacon says kindly. “But Luca is right, based on that conversation, it seems like your ex is entirely to blame.”

You sniff, a sad smile present as you say, “At least partially.”

 Deacon tilts his head, a question in his eyes – they catch your attention, big, brown, and caring. 

“He kicked me out because I told him I was pregnant,” you admit, pulling a pillow into your lap. “Apparently he wasn’t ready for that. Said I would be in the way of him and his plans, and the baby would too.”

Deacon lays a hand over yours, a look you can’t quite place on his face. It’s not sorrow or pity, but something kind in his eyes. You smile at him, giving him your attention instead of the pillow.

“How far along are you? If you don’t mind me asking,” Deacon asks.

“You’re pregnant?” Luca asks incredulously, returning from the kitchen with three glasses of water. He sets them on the table before sitting beside you. “You didn’t tell me!”

“I just found out today,” you explain. “That’s why he kicked me out.”

“Child,” Luca mutters angrily.

Deacon smiles and gives you a look that says he agrees.

“The doctor said I was about six weeks.” You remove the ultrasound from your back pocket, a small crease across the top corner from the eventful evening. “I’d been nauseous for a few weeks, but the morning sickness started so I took a test.”

“Congratulations,” Deacon says, squeezing your hand where it lays beneath his.

“You know I’m here to help you with anything you need right?” Luca asks. “You and your baby always have a place here.”

You nod, whispering your thanks. “I don’t want to put you out for too long, though.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Deacon’s hand over yours provides an extra level of comfort you haven’t felt in a very long time, and when you look over at him, his eyes are kinder than your ex ever was.

✯✯✯✯✯

“I thought girls made lists of baby names in like middle school,” Luca says, passing you a bowl of your favorite snack.

You shrug. “Well, the name depends on if it’s a boy or girl, but I just don’t really have any ideas right now.”

“You’re a mom now, you’ll find the right name when the time is right,” Deacon tells you, sitting on your other side.

You find yourself in this position often since moving into Street’s room while he is out of town on a training trip. Luca and Deacon seem to arrange themselves around you like guards, protecting you from everything they can.

“When’s your next check-up?” Deacon asks.

“Tomorrow.”

“And you’ll-“

“Keep both of you updated, yes I will,” you finish, smiling as you lean toward him slightly.

“How are you holding up?” Luca asks, hoping you’re as happy about the finalized divorce now as you were when the paper was dropped off.

“I feel better now than I ever did with him,” you admit. “It’s hard not knowing what I’ll do next, but it’s better this way. You were right all along, Luca.”

Luca sighs, shaking his head even as he smiles. “I hate that I was right. And I’d never use that against you.”

“I know. But maybe I’ll take your advice to heart next time.”

“You won’t,” Deacon and Luca say together.

Your jaw drops as you look at Deacon.

“You don’t even know me.”

“Not yet,” he replies, winking at you.

You turn away quickly, but you feel him move as he laughs beside you. Deacon cares for you, and each time he learns something new about you, he falls deeper into his need to be by you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Based on your symptoms, the severe nausea and vomiting and the dizziness, I feel confident in saying you’re suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum,” your doctor says, looking at your paperwork. “But this isn’t unusual or overly dangerous, so rest assured. I recommend staying hydrated, eating nutritious foods, and eating enough of them. And I know you’re in a unique position here but try to limit stress as much as possible. Your baby is healthy and we’re going to keep it that way.”

You thank your doctor, then receive a paper of tips and tricks, and recommend nutrients before leaving. Deacon invited you to his house for dinner while Luca attends a dinner with some friends. You’re nervous, so you knock rather than walking right in as you do at Luca’s house.

“Hey,” Deacon says, smiling as he leads you inside. “You can just walk in, you know.”

You nod, fiddling with your fingers as you follow Deacon through his house and to the kitchen. Sitting on a stool at the island, you engage in easy conversation with Deacon while he finishes preparing the food. 

“How’d your appointment go? What’d the doctor say?” he asks as he returns from setting the table.

“I’m perfectly healthy,” you lie, a small closed-lip smile accompanying your words.

Deacon’s eyes narrow, but he nods and gestures toward the table. You stand and instantly grow dizzy, keeping one hand on the seat behind you as you close your eyes and waver.

Deacon’s hands grip your biceps, gently tilting you forward to rest against him. After a moment, you blink against his chest and stand up. Deacon’s hands hover beside you as he watches you worriedly.

“What did they really say?” he demands, his voice gentle but firm.

“They think I have hyperemesis gravidarum; so I get really nauseous and dizzy,” you answer quietly, wishing Deacon was still holding you.

“Any recommendations of what to do?”

You nod as you answer, “I have a list of nutrients and foods I should consume, and I’m supposed to reduce stress and take it slow.”

“We can do that.”

Shaking your head, you drop your eyes away from Deacon. “I don’t know how. I don’t have a home and I’m divorced, there’s no one to support me,” you ramble.

“That’s not true,” Deacon says, raising your chin with his hand. “No, you don’t have your own house right now, but you also don’t need to be alone. And you have plenty of people supporting you: Luca and I are here for you, 24/7.”

“But you shouldn’t have to be.”

“We want to,” Deacon promises, looking intently into your eyes. “I want to be right beside you for this, so will you please let me?”

You lean toward him, relishing in the warmth of his skin against yours. “Yes. I- I do need to find somewhere to go before Street comes back, though. I doubt he wants to share his room with a pregnant lady.”

Deacon chuckles, swiping his thumb below your bottom lip. “You’ll always have a place here. Just say the word.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Every move you make is watched, and you wouldn’t change it for the world. Luca has always been a good friend and protective, and those characteristics multiply each day of your pregnancy. Similarly, Deacon has grown very close to you and seems just as protective as Luca, if not more prepared to force you to slow down or eat something.

Yes, they hover and crowd you, but you like being near them. Deacon’s consistent care, comfort, and protectiveness prove that not all men are bad. Your ex was the wrong person for you, but Deacon has been at your side since the night you left him.

Whenever you feel sick or weak, even if you simply don’t feel like doing something for yourself, Deacon is right beside you, ready and willing to do all that and more.

Though your emotions are still a wreck, and a part of you constantly wonders why you aren’t good enough, the memories of your ex are slowly being replaced with images of Deacon and Luca laughing with you, comforting you, and arguing over whether you’re having a boy or girl.

“Have you eaten today?” Deacon asks as he walks in the front door.

“Several times,” you answer, sitting up from your relaxed position on the couch. “Thank you for leaving so much food, you didn’t have to do that.”

Deacon has given the look enough times that you understand his sideways glance as meaning, “I want to.”

“Are you going out with Luca tonight? He texted that the team is doing something.”

Deacon shakes his head, and you feel terrible for keeping him away from his friends.

“Please go. I don’t want you to think that because I’m staying with you that you can’t do anything.”

“It’s not that. I just know you don’t always feel great, so I want to make sure I’m close. You’ve never made me feel like I have to do anything.”

“Then you should go out tonight.”

Your words slow toward the end of your sentence, your head spinning as you grip the couch cushion to ground yourself. The dizziness comes and goes, much less reliable than the nausea, which is relentless.

Deacon wipes his hands on a kitchen towel before kneeling before you. He holds your wrists, rubbing comforting circles over your pulse point.

“Take some deep breaths,” he reminds you gently.

You nod, trying to focus on Deacon’s face, and sit upright. 

“Thank you.”

“Of course. I’ll get you some water.”

“And then go to dinner with your friends?”

Deacon sighs, waiting to reply until he returns to your side, hovering as you sip the water.

“Why don’t you just come with me? I don’t like the idea of leaving you with those dizzy spells,” he suggests.

“I’ll be okay.” Deacon isn’t wavering, so you add, “And I’ll text you updates. Call you if anything changes.”

“Regular updates,” Deacon amends. “And if I call, you have to answer.”

You smile at his worry, his concern often reading as demanding.

“I promise.”

Deacon purses his lips before nodding, asking if you need anything before walking down the hall to change. As he walks out the door, you wonder what it would be like to go somewhere with him, enjoy a night out under his arm, and talk to him about anything. You’ve never had that before, not even with your ex.

Deacon spends his drive wondering how to convince you that you’re not a burden, that he cares about you and wants you by his side. More than your health, he has feelings for you that he can’t quite explain, and his heart and mind only calm when you’re at his side.

As he parks at the restaurant, receiving the first update from you, he smiles and decides he needs to tell you.

“Deac! I thought you weren’t coming,” Street calls, waving him over to the table.

Luca looks over his shoulder, searching for you. Deacon gives a small nod, an answer that you’re fine. You don’t leave their minds through the night, and Luca quickly notices how often and how regularly Deacon checks his phone.

He smiles, wishing he’d thought to introduce you sooner.

✯✯✯✯✯

In Deacon’s house, sitting alone in a dark room, your emotions and hormones get the best of you. Since the divorce papers came, you’ve been convinced you are unworthy of the type of love you crave, destined to be alone forever. Tears begin falling as your mind races, and your nausea worsens with the emotional storm within you.

Deacon is smiling as he walks in, a to-go container from your favorite restaurant in his hand. The living room is dark and empty, but there’s a faint glow of light under the door that he’s come to refer to as yours. He sets the food in the kitchen and walks toward you like he’s being pulled in by a magnet.

After knocking quietly, Deacon hears a quick sniff and opens the door without hesitation. He searches the room, his eyes softening when he sees you. Curled in on yourself and crying, Deacon wordlessly approaches the bed and pulls you into his arms. His warm embrace and his hand rubbing up and down your spine make everything seem better, and it’s far too easy to be vulnerable with him.

“Why am I not good enough?” you whisper against his chest.

“You are,” he answers firmly. “He was a child who didn’t know what he was losing. But that doesn’t have anything to do with your worth.”

At the sound of Deacon’s voice, you feel movement in your stomach and lean back, bringing your hand to your bump as you feel another kick – the first of many, you hope. Your eyes widen as Deacon tilts his head, wondering why you pulled away. Gently, you pull Deacon’s hand to your stomach, and he feels it too.

“Hey, little guy,” he says with a smile, spreading his hand over more of your growing stomach.

“Guy?” you repeat.

Deacon nods, rubbing his thumb over your shirt.

“Why did you stay?” you ask. “The first night, when I came to ask Luca for help.”

Deacon’s eyes raise to yours as he answers, “I know when something is worth it. And you’re pretty irresistible.”

You smile, ducking your pleased look away from Deacon. “I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning. Would you maybe be able to come with me? I just don’t want to be alone.”

“Absolutely. I’ll go wherever you want me.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The following morning, Deacon lets you hold his hand and play with his fingers from your spot in the passenger seat and the waiting room. When the doctor comes into the room, asking about you and your symptoms, Deacon offers to give you privacy, but you cling to his hand before he can step away.

“Please stay.”

Deacon nods, his hand squeezing yours as he returns to his spot beside the exam table. Watching the screen during the ultrasound, Deacon smiles at the sight of your baby and the healthy heartbeat echoing in the room.

“You two have a very lucky, healthy baby,” the ultrasound tech announces.

Neither you nor Deacon corrects her.

“Keep that stress low and do as little as you can,” your doctor reminds you. “I’m not putting you on bedrest but if the nausea or dizziness worsen, I will.”

“She’ll be calm and comfortable, doc,” Deacon replies, and you believe him.

✯✯✯✯✯

With no good way to thank Deacon and Luca for everything they have done for you, you decide to surprise them at work in the middle of a long day. Carrying a few pizzas from Luca’s favorite spot, you walk into the station with a visitor’s badge adhered to your shirt.

Luca sees you first, jogging toward you and drawing Deacon’s attention. When Deacon sees you walking and carrying things, he comes to your other side.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Luca frets as he takes the pizza from you.

“I just wanted to do something nice. You’ve both done so much for me,” you explain.

Deacon’s hand wraps around your arm as he leads you toward a comfortable chair.

“You don’t have to thank us,” he tells you.

“I missed you.”

Deacon can’t argue with your kind words or soft smile, so he shakes his head and helps you sit before kneeling beside you.

“Thanks for the pizza,” Deacon says.

“Go eat some. I’ll go home as soon as I find the willpower to get up.”

Deacon chuckles, brushing his fingers over your cheekbone.

“Who is that?” Tan asks, watching Luca return to your side.

“Luca’s best friend,” Street answers. “Her ex-husband kicked her out when she got pregnant, and Luca and Deacon haven’t left her side since.”

“How do you know that?” Hondo inquires.

“I live with Luca; I see her all the time.”

Luca removes himself from your side, retrieving the pizza and delivering it to the rest of the team.

“Okay, so she’s Luca’s best friend, but why is Deacon so close to her?” Tan points out.

At Luca’s look, both Hondo and Tan realize. Deacon is protective, caring, loyal, and radiates comfort; he’s everything you need given your situation.

“Heard anything else about the dad?” Street whispers to Luca.

Luca’s jaw tightens before he says, “He stopped calling. Apparently he finally got the idea.”

“Are you ever going to tell her about how many times he tried to contact her?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“You’re a good friend, Luca.”

Street claps Luca’s shoulder before walking away. When you tap Luca’s shoulder to ask for a hug, he forgets the anger brought up by the idea of someone intentionally hurting you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Can you help me with something?” you ask, standing in the doorway of Deacon’s small home office.

“Anything,” he answers, beckoning you inside.

He pulls a chair beside him, taking your hands as you lower yourself into it.

“I want to find my own place. But, if it’s okay, I’d like to be close to you.”

Deacon nods before clarifying, “I’ll help, but you’re staying with me until after the baby is born.”

“You’ve already done more than enough.”

Deacon’s hand finds its place on your bump, a touch you’ve grown familiar with as his other hand cups your chin.

“You are braver and stronger and more worthy of being loved than you will ever understand. Let me do this for you.”

Your smile grows as you look up at Deacon, your baby kicking excitedly against his hand.

“He likes you,” you mutter, unconsciously accepting Deacon’s idea that it’s a boy. “Almost as much as I love you.”

Deacon’s eyes widen beautifully as he smiles, ducking his head toward yours. You meet him in the middle, kissing him slowly with love and gratitude. You laugh against your lips when it feels like someone is doing backflips in your belly.

“We’ve got a lot to thank this little guy for,” Deacon says, dropping both hands to your stomach.

“And if it’s a girl?”

“I’ll spoil her like I spoil you… if you’ll let me.”

“I’m never letting you go, Deacon Kay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

✯✯✯✯✯

Bonus:

After Deacon and Luca accompany you to tour a small house near Deacon's place, you realize that they need more than pizza for all they’ve done for you. While they’re at work, you busy yourself in Deacon’s kitchen, making a dinner you think they will both enjoy and cleaning as you go.

“This doesn’t look like low stress and minimal activity,” Deacon chides as the door closes behind you.

You hum, keeping your back to him. Deacon approaches behind you, his warmth pressing against your back as his hands slip over your waist and settle below your bump. With his chin on your shoulder, Deacon lowers his voice, asking how your day was and what you’re doing.

Before you can answer, Deacon straightens up, using his hands to lift your stomach, easing the load on your back and hips. Sighing, you lean back against him and take a few deep breaths, enjoying the lightness and temporary relief.

“Thank you. And I’m making you and Luca dinner,” you breathe out.

“Ready?” Deacon mutters, waiting for your nod before slowly lowering his hands.

“I love you,” you say, turning toward Deacon.

“Luca has a food truck, yet you feel the need to cook for him. He doesn’t sound like a very good friend,” Deacon jokes.

“You’re not a very good friend either.”

Deacon’s brows furrow and you lower your voice to add, “Because we were never just friends, were we?”

You wish you could hug Deacon as closely as you want to, and he seems to know. Turning you to the side, Deacon hugs you from a non-traditional angle, holding you as close as possible.

“I love you,” he responds, kissing your head. “Both of you.”

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 21. daddy toji

chapter tags/warnings: **can be read as a stand-alone!** daddy toji, in every sense of the word. toji also calls himself daddy. unprotected sex. creampies. megumi is down the hall! masturbation. exhibitionism. toji likes that it’s his cousin’s wife that he’s fucking. infidelity/adultery. possessiveness. sexual frustration. degradation. praising. pet names (‘princess’ and ‘sweetheart’). manipulative undertones. family drama. strong language.

word count: 3.6k

notes: tattooed dr. fushiguro can only be a gentleman for so long when it's his little cousin's wifey around. likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

“Why don’t you give daddy a show?”

Nothing could make you feel more exposed than this very moment on Toji Fushiguro’s bathroom counter—your bosom heaving from irregular breaths, your arms holding up your body, and your legs spreading across the granite surface so that you could offer up a good view. So that you could put your naked self on display. 

Just for him. Just for your sex therapist.

Just for Dr. Fushiguro.

You gulped while pressing your back against the cold ceramic walls, hoping for some relief from your impending humiliation. “E-Excuse me?” 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Toji crooned, and the pet name had your heart skipping a beat. Lazily, he dragged a lone finger from your stomach to your center, prodding right at your soaking entrance despite your efforts to shrink away. “Don’t be shy. I’m just your therapist. Let me see what you’ve learned.” 

With much endearment, he watched you writhe. Being in the spotlight scared you, but he knew you would hate to disappoint. 

At the very least, you should demonstrate some appreciation. 

“Like what?” you asked, voice barely above a squeak.

“Well,” and amusement riddled his grin, “show daddy what he had taught you, baby.”

And goodness did all this daddy talk really turn you on. Toji could see how your figure tensed at the words, how you clenched around nothing from sheer need. (Did you think he would not notice?)

“Please,” you sighed, poorly hiding how your breath hitched. “Please don’t call yourself that.”

“Call myself what?”

Obviously a rhetorical question, yet Toji loved the bafflement on your ditzy face nevertheless.

“You know…‘daddy,’” you murmured, uncomfortable to the point you were staring at the floor as you spoke. “Because as someone who loves my dad, and hearing this from someone who actually is a dad, I find the name…disturbing.”

Disturbing but also hot, and Toji could tell. 

“Don’t lie, princess. You like when I call myself that,” he chuckled. Pinching at your waist, he chortled in that same giddy manner whenever he felt particularly amused. “So, who’s going to be daddy’s obedient little girl?”

He noticed that you were doing that thing again whenever you were a little nervous: pursing your lips into a quivering pout and twisting at the meaningless rings on your fourth digit. Too loyal for your own good. Maybe that was what Naoya really loved about you, enough to keep you as his cute little trophy wife. 

Swallowing loudly, in the end, you responded, “Me.”

Using one uneven breath to center yourself, your hands steadily grazed over your hips and your thighs before your dear fingers rested above your clit. Nothing could beat the embarrassment from how you flinched at your own contact. 

Here went nothing. 

Timidly, you drew your middlemost fingers through your folds and circled the digits around your entrance. The opening was warm, sensitive, and utterly soaked. The slick that had slipped past those puffy lips allowed you to push one, and then two fingers inside as your back arched gently at the stimulation. 

A dull pleasure started to thrum in your body especially as you brought your ample juices back in using slow, deliberate motions.

To much frustration, your dainty digits couldn’t quite stroke that special spot within you with much expertise. Why wasn’t Toji helping? You wanted him to help. But, if you didn’t think too hard, you could lose yourself in the sensuality of your ministrations and imagine Toji’s fingers curling inside you instead. His fingers were larger and thicker and longer, after all. 

While Toji’s true emotions had always been as mystifying as the man himself, never had that troubled you more than now. Those steely green eyes had been staring at you for what felt like hours now. 

Did he like what he saw? Did he want more?

The people pleaser within you was just looking for a reaction—any reaction—to validate the hard and honest work you were putting in. 

“Good kitty,” he complimented suddenly, as though he had been reading you like an open book all along. He did not realize since when, but he had begun stroking his cock through his pants. 

How could he not? You had been listening so well, and his free hand reached down to rub tight circles at your puffy clit. 

“Toji!” you shrieked immediately, body caving in. 

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he commanded, dipping his index and middle fingers in as well, his thumb still drawing tight movements at your precious button.

His fingers slid against yours, aided by the thick coat of arousal that lubricated the movements, and his dick twitched from excitement, a situation exacerbated when he relished in the way you angled your hips to accommodate all four fingers plunging into your sopping cunt.

“Don’t stop working on yourself.” 

“I won’t,” you struggled to whimper. 

“This is nice, isn’t it? When someone else is touching you, too.” His statement was softened by the same tone he liked to use when playing that ‘friendly neighborhood sex therapist’ role. “Your fingers are delicate, but they can’t reach all the places mine can, can they?” 

“No, they can’t,” you breathed out in helpless agreement, shaking pathetically at the combined ministrations. “Everything feels better when you are the one finger fucking me.”

Toji hummed deeply in satisfaction. “I know, princess.” 

He lowered his head to press his lips into your jaw, but the subtle softness in his searing kisses convinced you to tilt your head gently and bring your unoccupied hand up to run up his hard triceps and dig into the jet-black ink peeking from his sleeves. 

In response, Toji sank his teeth into your skin every so often, eliciting your squeals. 

Painful. Yes, this was painful.

But more than painful, the gush that flooded your veins was fucking phenomenal.

“What’s wrong?” Toji asked innocently, biting harder as your nails pressed visible crescent marks into his tattoos. “I only want to taste you,” and he soothed the sore spots by licking the assaulted areas, just to repeat the process on another target.

Pussy feeling empty but needy, you shifted on the countertop in order to grind desperately against your therapist’s clothed crotch.

“Please,” you mewled, now begging for Toji’s attention rather than cowering away. “Please fuck me.”

Funny.

Just an hour ago, you were bawling about your loser husband. Naoya Zenin this. Naoya Zenin that. Well, duh. Of course, his baby cousin was an asshole partner. 

Now, here you were, pleading for Toji Fushiguro’s cock?

Toji rewarded your change of heart with a deep kiss pressed on your lips, a gesture that you passionately reciprocated. Even as he devoured your mouth like a starved man, your tongue fought like a maniac into his mouth, satisfied sighs slipping from your lips to his. 

Only when there was an unexpected slam coming from Megumi’s door did you two pull away, faces only centimeters apart and connected by an almost translucent string of saliva. 

Toji panted, watching your chest rise and fall from similarly irregular breathing. 

If nothing else stopped him, he would be falling onto his knees right now from how dazed you appeared: face flushed, lips parted, and lids heavy. 

But both he and you had one concern in mind right now. 

Megumi. 

Given the sound earlier, Toji awaited footsteps from the younger Fushiguro. 

Was he grabbing a midnight snack from the kitchen downstairs? Was he planning to pace the halls to alleviate stress?

Or worse yet, was he heading to the bathroom?

If his son really did walk into this scene, discovering what his father was doing to his sweet and pretty guest several doors away, Toji would be speechless because the idea was purely mortifying. 

Also a little sexy.

But anyway.

“I’m sure he just closed and locked his door for the evening,” Toji deduced when the boy’s footsteps never came. 

Immediately, your shoulders slumped with ensuing relief.  

“Thank goodness,” you sighed, still tense and high-strung. “We don’t want Megumi to hear us,” you pointed out, completely oblivious to how loud you had been when merely kissing. “Let’s wait for him to sleep first. I don’t want us to get caught.” 

The way you cared this much was adorable. 

“Why would we have to wait, though?” Toji pointed out, and his tongue swiped over his scar. “I can be quiet. But the real question is: can you be quiet?” 

At first, you were stunned and silent.

But after a long while, you gulped and your neck bobbed noticeably. "Yeah. I…can be quiet, too.” 

“Good girl," and at that, Toji flashed a quick and lascivious grin. “Then, why don’t we test that out?”

Not waiting for your reply, he grabbed the collar of his white shirt and dragged the top off his shoulders.

His movements were slow, just so he could catch your marveling reaction as he revealed his bare torso, but the fabric had been too fitting and tight for his body anyway. 

As soon as he pulled his shirt over his head and off his body, your eyes locked on his body to admire his brawny and toned physique. But more stunningly was how Toji Fushiguro was a mural of tattoos, intricate artworks that had been carefully selected and embedded into his torso—stylized letters, entwined violets, and hyper-realistic scenery. What demanded the most attention, though, was a prominent phoenix that covered his right chest, emerging victorious from a plume of smoke and ashes, its feathers spanning into his shoulder and back. 

Easily, you were enchanted. You didn't have a chance to view his tattoos before. But Toji himself had always been enchanting.

“Come closer,” the man commanded, tone low and gravelly. He dragged his waistband down until his hardened dick sprang free with great force. His cock was swollen and red and violently angry, precum beading at the tip after he had long neglected himself from his release. "I’ve missed you."

You shifted forward on the countertop.

“Then do anything to me.”

Just to test you, he experimented a little, pinching your nipples with the knuckles of his fingers and smiling like a mad dog when you squeaked. "Anything?" 

"Yes," you breathed out, nodding and back arching into his touch. 

Obviously, you were too lost in arousal to comprehend the power placed into your tattooed therapist's hands, and Toji silently wished that Naoya Zenin could hear his wife begging for someone else like this. 

He patted your cheek and cooed. 

So silly, so cock drunk, so desperate.

That was what you were, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. 

You reached between your legs to grab at his dick, lining the tip up to your entrance as Toji groaned from the contact.

"How are you so wet for me?” he hissed, gritting his teeth hard. 

“Please, please, come on—” After a long bout of negligence, you had become incredibly whiny and desperate, seeking attention and affection like never before. “I’m too turned on. Just…please ruin me.”

Toji had been close to bursting already, but an intense flash stifled him when your words registered as music to his ears, his large hands helping you swipe his dick between your folds slowly. Teasing them both.

He had been well lubricated from the precum that slipped from the head, his massive cock so hard from the anticipation that awaited such that he could feel electricity buzzing at his fingertips. All because he couldn't handle himself when you begged for him like this. Yet, Toji resolved to fuck you with everything he had—for as long as he could, anyway—and slipped himself gradually into your warm and moist heat. 

Shudders.

All that filled the room were shudders.

Toji’s eyes darkened as he pressed through the tight resistance, your muscles squeezing around his length. He had to will every fiber within him to not lose himself. He was this close to falling apart, unraveling. Because holy shit, were you fucking tight. 

Beneath him, you suppressed a whimper. 

“Damn,” you sputtered, abandoning any remaining hesitation and clenching around him. Compared to his pathetic cousin, your therapist was not small by any means. "You feel so good inside of me, Toji."

Ah, hell.

He needed to get you to relax. He could barely move and, if your walls squeezed him any harder, he might just be hurled over the edge and cum all over your thighs, staining your freshly showered body. 

“Oh,” he managed to hum in contentment, closing his eyes momentarily so that he could shut down all other senses except for one. His arms wobbled a little, his hands digging hard into your sides as his hips moved slowly—very, very slowly—out before going back in again. 

At the languid thrusts, your head fell back and your hips lifted upon instinct, one hand pressed against the counter for stability as the other skimmed over his tattoos. He's so hot. You're so hot. He makes you feel so hot.

Toji growled again when your fingers brushed against the inked phoenix's wings, gliding over his pectoral muscle. He loved being touched like this and only wanted you to examine him more, rewarding you with movements wholly deep and stimulating.

As moans flowed freely from your mouth, Toji would tell you to shut up. After all, Megumi dwelled only a few doors away and must not be forgotten. But how could Toji bring himself to hush the sweet sounds that you sang?

“Yes, just like that,” you whined at some point, fingers clawing into his chest. “Fuck. Fuck, Toji.”

He raised a disapproving brow. “Just Toji?”

“Fuck, daddy.”

And Toji lost his fucking mind.

Since when did you talk like this? Pretty princess with a potty mouth. Who would’ve thought? It was sexy. So goddamn sexy. 

"You’re incredible,” he found himself saying. 

Toji had never been harder than he was at this moment, his cock like a fucking titanium rod as his listless movements degraded into an onslaught, throbbing and twitching as he replayed your dirty words in his head. 

He felt extraordinarily horny, aroused, and invigorated. 

Meanwhile, you looked like a fucking fairy—his fucking fairy, to be clear: features glowing golden under the ambient lights, pupils dilated and blown out wide, skin glistening from both water and sweat. 

Long ago, Toji figured that you had given up in your attempts to get away from him, the sole struggle from your body being how your walls involuntarily twitched and tensed amidst the storm of pleasure and pain he had brewing within your core. 

If only Toji had more hands. That way, he could simultaneously pull at your hair, wrap his fingers around your neck, and swat at your bouncing tits.

In a moment like this, he hated having to choose and grabbed your legs in the end, moving them from the counter to his shoulders. Toji could now go even deeper, and boy, did this new angle  have you seeing stars. 

“Oh, goodness,” you blubbered, coughing and drooling and panting. “Oh, that feels so good.”

“I know,” Toji said arrogantly.

Lucky for you, he was a mature man who could hold his load. Other boys didn’t know shit. If they were in his current position, they would have busted their nuts long ago, too impulsive and easily excited to exert much self-control. 

Toji, on the other hand, knew how to dig his fat cock into your cervix over and over, brushing that one special spot within you along the way. To make you scream. To keep you addicted. To take his cousin’s wife at his mercy.

The room filled with sounds that resulted from skin contacting skin—squelches and wet smacks—and you were left loud and messy, feeling so good that you could not think straight. 

“Shit, you’re so good to me. Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he grunted, hand pulling back before connecting with the meat of your ass with one loud  slap. 

You cried out, fighting back tears that welled from the pain. “That… hurts!”

“But my kitten loves being roughened up, no?” he taunted, licking at his scar again as he observed you: love bites littered over your neck, nipples perked into pebbles, skin marked and slightly bruised.

“I,” several huffs in between, “I can’t take this for much longer. I’m so close. I think I’m going to—”

“Only if you tell me who owns you.”

His words made you whine, and the therapist took great pleasure in the way you contorted. The demand had taken you by surprise because Toji had never denied you the right to your pleasure before. In fact, he had always been the type to coax you to cum, telling you to cream all over him instead.

Tonight, however, he wanted to set things straight. For a while, he had been thinking that he ought to buy you a collar just so you would remember who you actually belonged to—who really taught you what sex feels like—and heat tore through his skin again from the fantasy. 

Admittedly, Toji was a tad bit possessive. 

But he needed to drill into your head that you were not Sukuna’s or Choso’s or Geto’s. 

And most certainly, not  Naoya Zenin’s. 

“Well?” He was fully aware of what was happening and taking true delight in your futile struggle, knowing exactly what you needed but wanting you to obey him first. Snaking an arm around your body, he pressed his lips to the shell of your ear and purred, “Who knows how to fuck you right?”

“Toji Fushiguro does,” you chanted, lacing your fingers with his, your body in sheer pain from need. “Guys my age could never.”

Which was exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Then cum for me, baby.”

So, you did.

His permission sent you vaulting over the edge, your whole body spasming as your orgasm ripped through.

Your lips parted. Your cheeks hollowed. Your arms wavered.

Despite everything, you continued begging for his cock harder, faster, just like that. At some point, the hand once tangled with your therapist’s now slotted into your mouth to muffle any exclamations of pleasure as the waves continued to ripple fiercely through your body. Throwing your head back against the wall, you could dully feel your teeth puncture the skin between your thumb and pointer finger. Yet, that didn’t bother you, didn’t even hurt, and only served to add to your masochistic satisfaction as your cunt fluttered and clenched around him. 

“What a good girl.”

Toji was remorseless as he continued his abuse, the tendons of his hands and arms flexing from the effort needed to keep your lower body still, the tattoos on his wrists appearing pitch black under the glimmer of your juices. The wetness that spilled from you was so abundant, dripping down onto the floor. With any luck, once this was all over, you would have left a mess such that Toji would be forced to assign Megumi to bathroom cleaning duty in the morning.

"I'm gonna cum inside you, baby," was what he managed to say just as his gut suddenly tensed. He couldn't even control it. Without further warning, thick ropes of semen shot from him and into your womb. He grunted loudly, lurid fantasies dissipating as his mind went blank from his climax, his own groan hardly recognizable from how guttural his voice had become.

“Give me all your cum, daddy,” you wailed as you came again, pussy tightening impossibly on his cock and practically massaging every single drop out of him.

Toji was not done, he didn’t want to be done. 

Despite his blurred vision and terse jaw, Toji wanted to give you every ounce that he was worth. He gritted his teeth as he fucked up into you, pace irregular and sloppy. He made sure to push every possible milliliter of his seed deep into your stomach, the rest of his load spilling against his balls. 

His cock was far too sensitive and overstimulated, but he felt  so goddamn good that he wanted to keep going and going until he was completely spent with nothing more to give.

“Fuck,” he choked, on the brink of tears. 

Toji had to take a moment to recover fully, keeping his eyes closed while his chest heaved from the sheer exertion of his orgasm. His breathing was deep, wet, and haggard, and he was blistering hot even without clothes on. His slicked-back hair was soaked with sweat and hung limply in front of his flushed face. As he slumped over, he sensed a new pain in his shoulder, and he guessed that he must have strained something without noticing. Cum inevitably dribbled from your hole as he pulled out, splattering on the floor and mixing with your juices earlier.

He strode toward the bathroom closet, grabbing additional towels.

After wrapping them around you and himself, Toji brought you close to his frame and directed you into his bedroom diagonally across the hall. The rest of the night was quiet, especially since you both were consumed by exhaustion and post-coital haze. You rolled onto his canopied bed without sound, Toji lying next to you and pulling you snugly against his chest. After ensuring that you were okay, he kissed the sweet temple by your forehead and the bruises on your collar, smiling softly when you hummed in response. 

He could hardly recall the last time he had felt so warm and so content, wanting nothing more than to cling onto this moment for as long as he could. In the back of his head, his conscience scolded him harshly. He still owed you plenty of explanations. For how he had been hiding his family, his relationships, and his original motive in using you to help him get back at his enemies. 

Yet, as he pushed aside these intrusive thoughts and murmured to you ‘Goodnight,’ one thing became clear:

Toji Fushiguro was far too selfish to let you go.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: This is my first time writing smut that comprehensively includes Toji’s POV. While we have always gotten Y/N's POV in sex, I wanted to include Toji's perspective so that we could get into his psyche a little since he's battling his own demons as well.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @hinativity @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @piqer @nobody289x @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @vvestwoodrose @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @obitohno @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @blackdragoncigarette @puffaloxx @shoisae @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[shoukiko]

How the TF2 Mercs would react to you wanting to paint their nails <3

a/n: I hope you guys will appreciate this, TF2 holds a special place in my heart, I've loved it for years so doing this makes me all giddy inside. If you have ay requests, please message me! I do CoD and TF2!! Enjoy! <3

Scout

Would be like "I ain't into that type of things, Toots."

After some convincing would let you paint his thumb and only his thumb.

Perhaps he sees you all happy while doing it and says it's okay for just *one more* finger.

Square nails, I don't make the rules.

Which then turns into his whole hand.

Shows it off to the team because YOU were the one who did it and they should be jealous.

"TAKE A FUCKIN GANDER YA BUNCH OF PANSIES"

Would pick off the nail polish as a habit during briefings or when he's not paying attention.

Feels bad coming back to you with his awful manicure.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud, at least you get to hold my hand." Dick

Medic

Would love to have you paint his nails, but he thinks it would cause issues during his procedures

Ya know, cuz he doesn't wear gloves....for whatever reason

"Please.... :(" "Oh... Meine Taube.. How can I ever say no to you?"

100% Short round nails. Maybe not slender/skinny fingers, but they're def on the thinner side.

Ends up forcing himself to wear gloves just so they won't get ruined.

He thinks your careful and skilled hands are very attractive and "intriguing" as you paint them.

He's weird like that, You love it.

He loves you....maybe too much....He'd probably cut your hands off if you said yes.

He's the type to ask lol

Spy

No

No again

Stop asking

He wears gloves anyways, why do you want to so bad?

He doesn't have time for these silly games!!!!

"Mon canard, Please. This is too immature for me" "So you're saying you don't love me?" *Smug look*

You win

He has very nice nails by the way. Perfect nails, perfect slender hands.

He doesn't really say much, but you can tell from his eyes he enjoys such an intimate moment.

He tells noone and shows noone, but he likes to be in his room jsut looking at them, thinking of you.

Would do yours if you asked....nicely

Pyro

I mean this is obviously a yes.

The gloves are off before you finish your sentence.

Scarred hands, maybe missing a nail on a finger, but that's okay.

Picks the colors, they want pink. Lotta pink.

Get's excited when you bring up stickers.

Rocks a pink and purple manicure with a flower sticker on their missing nail.

Becomes a weekly thing, your little spa day. :)

Heavy

Skeptical, but why not? Couldn't hurt.

Lot of surface area, dudes hands are bigger than your face.

He finds it amusing that your hands are so small compared to his.

He's letting you paint his nails, but he'd like some dark colors.

Maybe not black, more like blue or maybe red occasionally/

"One sticker?" "No sticker, thank you" "Okay one sticker" "...Okay, for you"

Sniper

"If it'll make ya happy, doll."

Falls asleep as you paint them.

Rough hands, tan lines from his gloves, he has dirty finger nails :Gross:

You throw in some....cleaning... just cuz you care.

I love this man so much, but oh my god I just know he's musty.

You give him plain black nails, one white nail on his ring fingers

You don't do his thumb, you notice the big bruise under his nail, idk what those are called.

I looked it up it's called Garand Thumb (It's so canon)

You fight with him because you wanna know of it's like a hematoma or not (Gross I know, but I'd do it)

Engineer

Well it's not something he'd find himself doing on his own, would probably think it's silly until he met you.

"As long as I don't look all frou frou after, I'm fine with anything Darlin' "

AAAA TALK TO ME LIKE THAT

Thick fingies, like fat hands a bit, slightly rough because of how much he works. Only slightly because he still wears gloves.

I like to think his hands are covered in oil/dirt most of the time, He does wash them, but he's just always workin on something.

Would wash them before you paint them though. Lovely little you can't be getting your perfect hands dirty.

He wants yellow, give him yellow nails. Like sunshine yellow, like his hat.

He thinks it's "Just lovely lookin' "

Demoman

You don't ask, you just paint them while he's passed out drunk.

You give him rainbow nails, Glitter top coat. You're so mean

Surprisingly soft hands, Big and thick, very soft. My goodness you're even jealous by how nice they are.

He even has the perfect nails for painting. What doesnt this man have?

Oh wait

He's PISSED when he wakes up.

Probably calls it gay (But like....worse)

Sees you sad because of how he reacted.

Slumps in his chair, "They're 'right...."

Grows to like them (more like live with them)

Maybe in like 2 weeks to see hims again, they're still painted, just a bit withered away.

He loves em

Soldier

"DO I LOOK LIKE SOME SORT OF PANSY TO YOU, MAGGOT???"

You offer to do them in the colors of the American flag

He accepts obviously

You do it standing up cause he is just...there. Stiff as a board.

Wide nails, Rough knuckles, calluses.

When you're done he salutes you.

"Well done, Maggot. Now I won't have to kill you." Sure buddy

I hope you guys liked it!!

[ficsbb]

Mirror

》 Pairing: John Wick x MascFem!Reader

》 Warnings: pet names like pretty girl and love

》 Word Count: 814

Note: This is for anon who had the prompt, "John Wick or John Constantine x tomboy or masculine!fem reader..." I'll be writing one for Constantine because I really want to expand on this, so we'll see! Thank you, and enjoy!

You look in the mirror, second guessing your clothes before heading out with John. As much as your confidence is high, especially with someone as wonderful as John by your side, you still wonder if it's enough on days like these. Should you wear the glamorous dresses? The shiny earrings that sparkle and glitter when they catch the light? Should you show off your body more in tight-fitting clothes? Would he like it better?

“Hey, love, the car is here.” You jump slightly, hoping he doesn't see it in your eyes, the overthinking and the worrying swimming in them.

“Uh- yes, yep,” you turn from the mirror and face him in the doorway, “I'm ready. Wait, you're not driving?” He smiles and walks toward you, lightly caressing your necklace when he reaches you. The warmth of his fingers is distracting, and suddenly, the room starts to feel much warmer than before. You stare at the veins on his hands and watch how they dance almost, putting you in a trance.

“Not tonight, no. I want to focus completely on you.” John lifts your chin so your eyes meet his. “Every moment of tonight is just for us. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.” You whisper, breathless.

“Good,” he smiles wide and backs up, seemingly taking you all in, “Exquisite. The slacks are tailored just right.” He winks at you, giddy, and a small bit of shyness creeps up on you.

“You really think so?” John cocks his head to the side, curious.

“You don't like it?”

“No- I- I love it, actually. I just-” You turn back to the mirror. “Is it too…masculine? Would you prefer something more feminine?”

You hear him take a deep breath as he presses himself behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle. It almost feels like your body takes a sigh of relief at the action.

“What I prefer, my love, is for you to feel comfortable and beautiful in whatever you decide to wear.” John's voice is low, deep, and the puffs of air from his mouth tickles the nape of your neck.

“Although I will say,” his fingers travel to the middle of your chest where the buttons of the blouse are open, revealing a thin three layered gold necklace, “the sight of you like this, does something to me. You look powerful. Do you see that?”

His hand slowly makes its way up to your neck, and it catches your attention. Every move he makes catches your attention fully. You lock eyes with him through the mirror and then catch your own right after. Your lips parted, chest slowly rising and falling with John's hand lightly caressing your pulse point.

“Do you see what I see?” He plants a kiss on your temple. "Do you?"

You nod. Even without makeup, you can see how he sees you. The both of you in this dimly lit room, looking at each other in the mirror. His suit matching yours and the gold band on his hand, glinting as he adjusts your necklace slightly. You take that hand and kiss the top of the ring. The metal is cold against your lips. Slowly starting to come back into yourself, you nod assuredly again.

“Come, let's go. I want to show you off tonight.” He twirls you around, and it makes a giggle bubble out of you. John kisses you in the middle of it, and it makes you laugh even more. He turns toward the door with your hand in his, leading you to the hall.

“Thank you, Mr. Wick.”

You watch him stop abruptly, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. For just a tiny second, you marvel at how broad his back looks in the dark navy suit he's wearing. The room is quiet, the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears as the tension between you thickens. John turns his head to the left, speckled beard almost shining with the golden glow of the room lights overhead.

“Say it again.” The warmth spreads inside you as quick as lightening strikes. You let go of his hand and wrap your arms around his middle this time, one hand reaching beneath his coat to feel the slow and steady beat of his heart. After a beat, they start to sync.

“Thank you, Mr. Wick.”

“Oh, pretty girl, maybe we should stay in tonight?” You press your face into his back, taking in his scent. It's grounding and intoxicating, and you swear you could stay like this forever. Your hand slowly makes its way to his stomach, then his belt buckle, and just before you can go any lower, you smile and pull back. His groan brings you satisfaction.

“I'll see you in the car, John.” You attempt to walk ahead, but his hand on the back of your neck is swift and steady and his voice rough,

“The driver can wait.”

♡♡♡♡

[brabblesblog]

A little hope.

Set between chapters 10 and 11 of Whither has thy beloved gone? Astarion muses on the first time Ban smiled at him again since his ascension whilst watching her get her portrait painted.

Read on AO3. For @snowfolly, @marimosalad, and @iizuumi, incredible, kind artists who have been so kind to gift their art to me. I love you all!

Ban, by @iizuumi

Ban, by @snowfolly

Astarion snaps his fingers and a servant appears. He quickly rattles off instructions. A cup of her favorite tea, laced with some animal blood, warmed just the way she wanted it. Her favorite tailor is summoned.

He follows her to their old room, and deep inside he is giddy, an emotion he hasn’t felt in a long time.

She sits on her old desk, running her hands over the filigree. She has missed her comforts here. Her table where she worked. Their bed - the mattress a perfect softness and the sheets always immaculate until they methodically ruin it every night. She turns to Astarion, and seeing his grin, can’t help but smile back.

For a moment, all is well.

Whither is thy beloved gone?

Chapter 6

Astarion stands behind the artist they’ve commissioned, fingers idly scratching his chin as he watches the painting taking shape on the canvas. A good likeness, he thinks - it doesn’t exactly capture Ban, and he doubts any painting ever really can - but it is a decent attempt.

She smiles, and his own lips quirk up in response. She’s always looked better smiling, as rare a thing as it is nowadays, although they’ve been making some headway on that front.

I mean, she does smile, Astarion muses. Just not at -

The thought dies when he meets her eyes and sees hers locked onto his; hers are crinkled with amusement, and he feels his chest swell.

“Missed a button,” Ban says, nodding at him.

It takes a moment to register her words. His mind is back to when she had first smiled at him again - a genuine, honest-to-goodness smile, and not one of those manufactured ones she’s aimed at him since his ascension.

How she had sat at her desk, running her hands all over it. How she had looked around their room as if seeing it for the first time, and how she had turned to him and returned his grin with one of her own.

He’ll always remember that, he thinks. He’ll always have that to remind him that there is hope.

“Astarion.”

Her voice snaps him out of it, and he shifts awkwardly, hands moving to clasp behind his back as he straightens up.

“Yes, my love?”

“Your button. I’m not going to dinner in the upper city with your shirt askew like that,” she mutters.

“Or, you know, I could just unbutton everything and not go out at all,” Astarion counters. The laugh that rings out from her lips makes his heart flutter.

Ban shakes her head at him. “Maybe. Depends how nice you’ll be the rest of the day.”

“Darling,” he drawls. “I’ll be positively angelic.”

The painter clears his throat, annoyed that his subject is moving around too much. Astarion immediately shifts his attention towards him, eyes instantly glaring. Try doing that again.

Just as quickly he turns back to Ban, the hardness melting away as if it was never there at all. She’s back to holding the pose for the painter, and Astarion satisfies himself with observing the work.

There is still a long way to go, a distance he isn’t even sure he can traverse, but at least there is that.

A little hope.

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @ battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind@pursuitseternal@youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @pursuitseternal@girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann

[urlocalwhumper]

my girl and @sowhumpshaped's boy interacting bc yippee yahoo yay (yes that anon was me. again. i should really sign my anons lmfao)

also this is like a weird mix of my pet verse and theirs, tried to keep things consistent but i have adhd memory so do not count on it!! 🫡

anyways,

rayan couldn't believe it. not only had he finally, after years of attempts, been approved for his pet owner's license, but he was also heading to the shelter - not as a volunteer this time, but to finally, finally pick out a pet of his very own.

to say he was excited was an understatement, truly, but he also felt a little bad as he approached the building. he'd been so busy recently, he hadn't been in for volunteer work for a solid two weeks. he supposed it was all worth it now, though.

he only felt more and more excited, almost giddy, as he was brought back towards the kennels. no more pining and yearning, when he left this building, it'd be with his very own pet right by his side.

he already recognized most of the faces he passed, but he still bothered to go kennel-by-kennel anyways. this was possibly the most important decision he'd ever make, and he was going to take it very seriously.

there was one he didn't recognize, though. all the way in the back, curled up as small as possible on its bed, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, was a pet he'd never seen before. he couldn't even really make out any distinctive features, with the way it was hiding its face in its arms. it was blonde, he could at least say that, with floppy little dog ears of a matching color, but he couldn't pick out much else.

"when did this one get in?" he asked, frowning in sympathy. one of the other volunteers - who he admittedly didn't know very well - glanced at the pet in question and sighed.

"last week, i think." they said. "real nasty case. she was confiscated from her last owner after heavy suspicions of abuse, the pet hospital sent her here once she didn't need constant medical attention anymore."

they clicked their tongue derisively. "i don't know how someone could do that to their pet." they sighed again. "either way, she's very skittish. doesn't bite, though. not even if you corner her."

so it's a girl. rayan thought distantly, blinking silently as he processed that load of information.

"that's- that's horrible!" he spluttered, once his brain finally caught up with him. he glanced back at the kennel. the pet inside had raised her head a little bit, and he could make out one shining green eye looking warily at him. "what- what happened?"

the volunteer spun their ring of keys around their finger, before selecting one and unlocking the gate to the kennel. "see for yourself."

electing not to comment on that weirdly ominous answer, he obliged and stepped inside the kennel. almost immediately, the pet inside shrunk back, like she could somehow manage to retreat even further into the far corner of the space.

rayan frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in worry. he didn't want to scare her anymore - the poor thing had probably already been scared enough for several lifetimes. so, with a soft grunt, he got down and sat on the kennel floor, a good six feet away from her.

"hi." he said, giving his best encouraging smile. "i'm rayan. i'm not going to hurt you." he kept his tone as soft and soothing as he possibly could. he eyed the tag on her collar, too far away to actually read it. "could i know your name too?"

she just stared at him for a few moments, sizing him up with her one visible eye, before slowly, cautiously rising to her hands and knees and taking a single step out of her bed.

and the moment she turned to fully face him, he immediately understood what the other volunteer meant by see for yourself.

only one of her eyes had been visible because the other was completely missing. almost the entire left side of her face, only ending less than an inch above her mouth, was made up of the rough scar tissue left by severe burns. where her left eye would have been, there was simply a shallow divot.

it took everything in him not to visibly recoil, because he knew it'd be interpreted the wrong way. the poor thing would probably think he was disgusted by her, when in reality, he was nearly floored by the depths of the cruelty she'd had to endure. even her tail, which was tucked firmly between her legs at the moment, had an odd bend to it, like it had been broken and healed crooked.

as she got closer to him, he could see just how terribly she was trembling, the way her ribs were clearly visible against her flesh. her single eye held so much fear, and her ears were pinned back against her skull, yet she continued to approach anyways.

until finally, she sat down in front of him, hunched and small and afraid. he wanted so badly to just reach out and comfort her, but he knew that escalating that quickly would likely scare her more.

slowly, so she could still keep a close eye on his movements and back away if she felt threatened, he reached for her collar. black leather - heavy duty, but impersonal. "NANA" was engraved on the front of the tag in bold, capital letters. The back was bare.

"nana." he repeated. her gaze immediately snapped from his hand back to his face. "is that your name?"

after a few hesitant seconds, she gave a single nod.

he smiled. "it's nice to meet you, nana." he said. "would it be okay if i pet you?"

she looked almost incredulous that he was asking, but nodded again anyways.

the moment his hand started to card through her hair, it was like her demeanor did a complete 180. she all but melted into the touch, leaning heavily into his hand as he scratched behind her ears. he could even see her tail starting to wag out of the corner of his eye.

poor thing. he thought sadly. is this really all it takes?

"you were just scared, weren't you?" he said. "scared i was gonna hurt you..." he couldn't even entertain the thought. "well, everything's okay. i'm not gonna hurt you, see?"

to his shock, she stepped closer again, and curled up in his lap, looking up at him with and eye full of pleas for more pets. he couldn't help but laugh to himself as he obliged.

"so," the volunteer from earlier said, nearly sending rayan jumping out of his skin - he'd forgotten they were there! "think you've found a keeper?" they gave him a knowing smile.

he looked down at the pet curled up in his lap, feeling the joy of finally achieving his dream once again.

he beamed as brightly as he could. "i- yeah! i think i did!"

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part seventeen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

a bright spot, and some not so bright ones.

a/n: THE LONGEST PART YET. I crammed a lot in here honestly, and some of it probably pretty canon-divergent BUT we got two eps left and I still have a lot of unanswered questions which means we are RIFFING and I am MAKING SHIT UP OKAY but this is pretty much an au at this point sooooooo it is what it is

word count: 8.5k (I KNOW)

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, canon typical violence/injuries, blood, treatment of injuries, some pretty heavy violence, family fights, tHERE IS FLUFF ON THE WAY I PROMISE YOU OKAY (a bit in the next part, a looooooot in a few parts coming up)

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new chapters/works!✨

You just stare at him.

For a moment, Joel’s gut fills with dread. Oh fuck, is he fucking this up even harder? He just spelled out every terrible thing he’s done to stay alive since the outbreak, has that changed things? You had your fair share of horrible things to share, but…Shit, how can he f—

Your eyes narrow slightly, and you slide towards him, inching further toward the edge of the mattress. You wrap both hands around his forearm, the ring held between you, your eyes darting between it and Joel’s face. “Ask me again.”

Heat rises in Joel’s face and he drops his head for a moment before he feels your fingers under his chin, lifting. “What’re you—”

“Ask me again,” you repeat, chewing your lip, an excited flare in your eyes, “so I know I’m not dreaming.”

Joel swallows, throat bobbing, and licks his lips before, “Marry me, Liv.”

Your gaze roams his face for a moment, silver tears lining your lashes. “Yes.”

As soon as he slides the ring onto your finger, you lunge for him, throwing your arms around his neck, the pair of you sprawling backwards on the floor. He grunts as he lands on his back, and you flinch, grabbing for his head. “Shit, Joel, are you okay?”

“M’fine,” he chuckles, laughing under his breath as you start peppering kisses all over his face. It’s nice, to see you like this, a different version of the Liv he’s come to know now, but with that spark, that excitement, that same girl he romanced in the aisles of a hardware store so long ago. You’re giddy, giggling into his mouth when he kisses you, twines his fingers in your hair.

You don’t move from the floor, and Joel hums when you fit yourself against him — like you haven’t been doing it all night. You lift your hand, wiggling your fingers, bending your thumb to rub it over the band. “Where’d you find it?”

“The jewelry store,” Joel replies, lifting his jaw until his mouth is pressed to your forehead. “The day you…” He trails off, chewing the inside of his cheek. It goes without saying, he realizes. The day you got bit. “Thought about giving it to you that night, but it didn’t feel right. And then when we got back…”

“My ex shot you in the head,” you finish, and immediately burst into laughter. Joel can’t help but laugh along, spurred more so by the lightness in your tone, the smile on your face. “There’s something funny in there, I think.”

“Poetic justice,” Joel says, but then his brow crinkles. “Or is it irony? I can’t remember.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you mumble, rolling up onto your elbow, lifting yourself slightly above him. You hold your hand up again, bring it closer for inspection. “It really is beautiful, Joel. I love it.”

Joel hums, trailing his fingers across your back. “I’m glad, baby.” You press your lips together, the giddiness fading slightly, and Joel can see it in your eyes, the way the wheels in your head are turning. “I know it’s not the same, no more big white dresses and all that, but I just—”

“I don’t care,” you declare, cutting him off. Your hand falls onto his chest, crawls up until his jaw is set in your palm, and you turn his face to yours. “It’s always been you, Joel. No question. I don’t need the big white dress.” You let out a little noise, half scoff, half laugh. “If things were…normal, I’d drag your ass to Vegas this very instant.”

“Well, I dunno above Vegas,” he replies, turning his face to kiss at your fingertips, “but there’s the FEDRA office down by the front gate and Tess brought back a bottle of Johnnie Walker from her last run.”

“Sounds like a wedding to me!”

+

In a shocking fucking twist, it doesn’t go as planned.

It’s two weeks later. You’re halfway home from the front gate office, marriage license tucked in Joel’s pocket, your ring tucked into your shirt. You wore it on your finger for the first day after Joel proposed, but it earned you a few looks walking through the QZ, so you were quick to find a chain in the piles of jewellery you’ve collected, stringing it around your neck for safer keeping.

Joel’s got his arm slung around your neck, mumbling to you about how he still hasn’t been able to find a replacement bed frame for your place, but that he saw some cinderblocks on the lower levels of the building across the street, and thinks he can make something temporary with that, that he thinks the box spring should be enough support. You’re listening, nodding along, your fingers laced with his, almost feeling drunk on the thought that he’s your husband now. Officially. Signed on the dotted line and everything. Mrs. Miller, nice to meet you.

You’re going back to your place. Both Tommy and Tess were thrilled for you both — and you didn’t miss Tommy’s sidelong glance at Tess — and agreed to dinner and drinking after you and Joel went to sign the papers. Truly the best way to celebrate anything in the QZ.

You are listening to what Joel’s saying, having moved on from your broken bed frame to the space beneath your wardrobe, how he thinks he can piece out the floorboards so you can stash stuff at home and still keep it hidden. You are listening, but you’re also distracted, glad that he’s directing you home, cuz your eyes are stuck on his ridiculously handsome. You’ve never seen his hair this long — though the space above his right ear is still much shorter — but it’s wavy, flipping out around his ears, curling against the back of his neck.

How is it possible that Joel Miller has managed to get better looking as the fucking world has ended?

“Baby, what’re you lookin’ at?” he asks, his brow raising slightly.

You go to answer, lips parted to tell him exactly what you’re looking at, when the sound of gunfire makes you jump. Instantly, Joel is pushing you against the nearest building, using his body to shield you. The ground beneath you shakes as a FEDRA truck parked at the next intersection explodes, flames curling towards the sky, debris raining down. Joel pulls you into a crouch, shuffles you back until you can slip into an alleyway.

You’re both in fight mode, instantly. Of course, you don’t have any weapons handy; the bat is stowed beneath the floorboards in the apartment, the guns are all in the cache, except for Joel’s revolver, which is tucked alongside your bat. Joel presses you against the brick, one hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“You okay?”

“M’fine,” you reply, gripping his wrist, peering back up the alley. Worry is twisting your gut. “What the fuck was that?”

“Dunno,” Joel replies, shaking his head. His brow is furrowed, the crease between deeper than usual, and you want nothing more than to smooth it flat, make him relaxed. Fuck this fucking—

“FREE BOSTON, MOTHERFUCKERS!”

The ground shakes again, screams echoing from the mouth of the alley and you…

You freeze. Your throat seizes, stomach dropping into your toes, and suddenly, it’s 2003 all over again. You’re stuck in that godforsaken bookstore, being yanked out of sleep by the sound, the ground beneath your feet rumbling, people screaming and Infected howling and it won’t stop, it won’t stop, make it stop, why won’t it—

“Liv,” Joel calls, his voice louder than your thoughts, and you’re pulled out of it, almost. The ground shakes again, someone shouts, gunfire echoes, and you whimper. “Baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m right here. I’m gonna get you home, all right? You’re okay.”

He crushes you to his chest, his arms a tight band around your torso. You’re gripping the front of his shirt like a lifeline, and your breaths are coming so fast you’re instantly lightheaded, your vision blurring at the edges. There’s more gunfire, and you let go of his shirt only to clap your hands over your ears, burying your face in his chest.

More shouting, and Joel’s grip on you tightens. It takes you a moment to realize he’s shouting too, and you can just make it out. “What the fuck is a Firefly?”

Confusion takes over the panic, and you peel your face from his chest just enough to glance down the alley. McCoy is standing there, gun brandished, a hard expression as he looks between you and Joel. Beyond the alley, another bomb explodes, another truck, and you all flinch, Joel shielding you further.

“I’m taking you both in,” McCoy shouts, and Joel releases you only to push you behind him. “I have to.”

“The hell you are,” he spits, an arm held out to the side. “I need to take her home.”

“C’mon, Joel,” McCoy replies, shaking his head. “You know I have to—”

“You don’t have to fuckin’ do anything,” Joel shouts, and you grip the back of his shirt. “You really think we’re stupid enough to hang around if we planted that shit?”

Somewhere, you find your voice. “Who are the Fireflies?”

The soldier’s brow goes hard, and he lowers the gun. The knot in your stomach unravels slightly. “You really don’t know?”

“Does it sound like we know, McCoy?” you retort, stepping closer to Joel, still keeping yourself behind him. “We’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. Clearly.”

“Who are the Fireflies?” Joel repeats, and you can hear more soldiers shouting in the street, the explosions apparently over. You curl your fingers tighter in the fabric of Joel’s shirt.

McCoy steps towards you, glancing over his shoulder as he does. “It’s a rebel group, we think. No one really knows who’s running it, where they’re based, but we know this is them. Someone caught wind of it, and well, it’s—”

“Just let us go, McCoy,” you call, shuffling a step back, taking Joel with you. “You know we’re not part of this.”

He sighs, letting his gun drop, waving at you both. “Just get the fuck out of here, will you?”

You tug on Joel’s shirt, and he falls into step with you, the both of you turning down the alley, Joel with his arm around your shoulders again. You’re in a good spot; near enough to one of your shortcuts through the city to get home without crossing any patrol paths. You feel like a spooked cat the entire way, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end, your spine tingling with every step.

It’s not until you’re back in the apartment that your body relaxes slightly, but your heart is still racing, sinking into a kitchen chair the moment it’s within reach, pushing your face into your hands. Joel locks the door, crosses to the window, peers past the curtain.

“Fuckin’ car bombs in the QZ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You gotta be kiddin’ me. Like the fuckin’ infection isn’t enough to deal with, now we gotta worry about getting blown to shit in the middle of the—”

“Joel, stop it,” you blurt, hands pressed against your eyes. “Please, just…just stop.”

“Baby,” he calls, his tone changing, softening, and a moment later you hear the chair beside yours squeak across the floor, a warm palm on your leg. “It’s okay. Talk to me. What happened back there? You…you shut down, Liv.”

You swallow hard, your heartbeat in your throat, and slowly lower your hands. “It’s one thing, talking about what happened back then. When it all first…happened. Dean, the bombings, the hiding, Nick. But…feeling it again, feeling like I was right back there, like no time had passed, like I was still…” 

You trail off, voice cracking on the words, and Joel reaches for you. You let him, let him gather you into his lap, hold you in his arms, bury your face in his neck, inhaling deeply. He rubs slow circles across your shoulders, up and down your spine, over and over until you can feel your heart slowing to a normal rate, your breathing no longer shallow, the wetness in your eyes receding.

After a while, he slides his hand up and into your hair, tugs light until you lift your face to look at him. “I want you to listen to me,” Joel says, his voice soft, his tone gentle. “We go nowhere without each other, you understand? I won’t let anything happen to you, Fireflies or Infected or FEDRA. No one’s taking you from me, not now, not ever. You hear me?”

You nod. “I hear you.”

Joel brushes the hair from your face, a tiny grin tugging at his lips as he cups your cheek in his palm, thumb swiping over the curve. “I love you,” he pauses, grins wider, “Mrs. Miller.”

The knot in your gut disappears completely, replaced with a rush of happiness that almost knocks you over. You can’t stop yourself from grinning into his kiss, melting into him as you go.

+

In the weeks following the Firefly attack, you’re reluctant to leave the apartment, but Joel doesn’t blame you. He doesn’t push, goes with you to the food bank just to get you outside, lets you tag along with him to do odd jobs around the building. Tommy asks, but Joel brushes his brother off, telling him you’ve had a hard time finding QZ jobs that appeal. 

After a particularly long day, one that has him blowing his hair out of his face all day, he comes home in a mood. You had followed him earlier in the day, but headed down a few hours before, claiming that you wanted to play housewife and have dinner waiting when he got home. You could barely get the sentence out without choking on giggles, and Joel had kissed you soundly and pushed you in the direction of the stairs. The moment he’s through the door, he’s grumbling at you that he’s gonna shave his fucking head, pushing unruly curls off his forehead.

“You will do no such thing, Joel Miller,” you chide, locking the door after him, directing him to one of the kitchen chairs. “Sit. I’ll fix it.”

You fetch a pair of scissors from the bathroom, metal-handled ones he’s never seen before, but you don’t start cutting straight away. You stand behind him, and drag your fingers through his hair. He doesn’t know the last time he let it get this long; probably sometime back when he was a teenager, when every rockstar had long hair and he still had dreams of something not construction-related.

Joel sinks into your touch, your nails raking along his scalp. He lets his head tip back, resting against your stomach, and you laugh quietly, moving one hand along his jaw, scratching through his beard. Fuck, it feels nice, and he can’t stop the moan that slips out, one arm bending back to keep you where you’re standing. “Keep doin’ that.”

He blinks up at you, and you smirk, pulling your hand back up to his scalp, dragging your nails through his hair again. “Can’t do this if you shave your head.”

Joel grunts. “It’s too fuckin’ long,” he tells you, and you hum, cupping the back of his head and lifting it straight again. “Keeps gettin’ in my eyes and shit.”

“Stay still,” you order, tilting his head slightly, leaning down to kiss his scar. “I’ll fix it.”

He loathes the loss of your hands as you pick up the scissors. You’re slow with it, methodical, pieces of his hair falling to the floor around the chair. You pause a few times to flick it off his shoulders. When you get around his head to the left side, he flinches at the suddenly much louder sound of the scissors, and you grip his shoulder.

“Joel?”

He’s been meaning to tell you. Really. He realizes this is turning into his M.O., to keep things to himself, to keep you out of the loop. And it’s not fair; you’re his wife now. He knows he has to tell you. He promised to keep you safe, and with this…how can he do that? How can he feel confident in his ability to keep his promises to you?

Joel opens his mouth to say it, to tell you what’s going on with him, but you beat him to the punch.

“I wanna go on a run.”

Everything in him stalls, the words on the tip of his tongue sliding back down his throat. “What?”

“I need to get out of the QZ, Joel. Even just a short one. Other side of the city, not where we…” You trail off. He catches your meaning. “We take Tess with us, or Tommy. Doesn’t really matter, I just…” You pause, pulling a lock of his hair between your fingers, snipping the end. “I need to do this, Joel. And you said it, we go nowhere without each other. I won’t go without you, but I need to.”

He’s silent, for a long moment. You don’t say anything more, continuing his haircut. Finally, you put the scissors down on the table, coming to step in front of him, leaning against the edge of the table. You reach up to brush his hair across his forehead, inspecting your handiwork. “How’s it look?”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “Handsome as ever.”

He reaches for your hand, tugging it between his own. “Liv, there’s somethin’…somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to tell you.”

Joel can see the dip in your expression. He can almost hear your heart sink, and his gut twists with guilt as you lean back an inch, bracing yourself. “What is it?”

“Ever since that night, with Cowan,” he starts, finding himself struggling with the words. “Since he shot me, I—” He grunts, scrubs his hand over his face, staring down at your linked hands. “My hearing’s been off, in my right ear. Like it’s full of cotton or somethin’. I can’t…if we go out there again, Liv, I don’t know if I can,” he shakes his head, “if I can keep you safe.” He forces himself to look up at you. “I couldn’t keep you safe the last time we were out there, and after the Fireflies, I promised. I won’t let anything happen to you. I can’t. But out there, I’m—”

“Oh, Joel,” you nearly sigh, pulling your hand from his grip to cup his face in your hands. Your thumbs swipe his cheeks, and he lets himself sink into your touch, inhaling as you push your fingers through his hair again, mussing it into place. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I thought it would go away, eventually. That it was just a temporary thing, y’know? But it’s not, and I…” He shakes his head again. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Why are you apologizing?” you ask, sliding forward until you’re almost in his lap. “This isn’t your fault. It’s Nick’s.” He sees the hardness forming in your eyes. “Or…I guess it’s my fault, in a way.”

“No,” Joel says instantly, his hands finding your hips, squeezing. “You didn’t cause this.” Your head drops forward, and he kisses your forehead. “Feels like every time I turn around, there’s something else to fight off. I just want you safe, baby.”

Your hands slide through his hair, down the back of his neck, kneading at the meat of his shoulders. “And who keeps you safe, huh? That’s my job, isn’t it?” He nods, eyes falling from your face to your collar, where the chain around your neck is visible, the chain holding the ring he gave you. “If the Fireflies get bad, if we have to leave Boston, then we need to be prepared. And sitting around here doing nothing isn’t gonna help with that. So, we go for a run. We go to the radio room and see who we can contact, arrange something. We’ll ask Tommy to come; I love Tess but your brother’s a better shot by a landslide. And I guard your right side, no matter what.” You lean in and kiss his temple. “We’re a team, Joel. Always.”

He nods, tries to ignore the unease that twists his gut. “Always.”

+

“We still need to celebrate, y’know,” Tommy says to you, leaning forward so he can see you on the other side of Joel. “Since your wedding day got a bit overshadowed.”

Joel snorts. “There’s a fuckin’ word for it.”

You chuckle, letting yourself fall back half a step, the brothers slightly ahead of you. You’re on full alert, head on a swivel, ears pricking at every little noise. “At least the Fireflies have been quiet since then.”

“They’re just doing what they think is right,” Tommy says, and both your head and Joel’s snaps in his direction.

“You sound almost sympathetic, little brother,” Joel tells him, and you can see the way Tommy bristles at the nickname. “Like you agree with it.”

Tommy shrugs, adjusts his grip on his gun. “FEDRA’s been wreaking just as much havoc these days,” he says, and your brow hardens. “You know they’re gonna start hanging people for getting caught out past curfew? Like we’re goin’ back in fuckin’ time or something.”

You sidestep a piece of debris, catching up to Joel completely again. “Getting caught outside the QZ has always been a death sentence,” you say, “this isn’t anything new, unfortunately.”

“Says the woman who was nearly beat to death by a FEDRA officer.”

“Tommy,” Joel says, his tone warning. “Why are we talking about this, anyway? You been talking to  Fireflies?”

The younger Miller says nothing, and you just keep going.

You pointedly went in the opposite direction you and Joel had gone that day when you met Gwen. Just looking in that direction sends a chill down your spine, but you’re determined. Since that day in the QZ, when they blew up the trucks, you’ve been trying to push through it. The feeling still lingers, that terror, and you’re coming to realize that the terror is just…a part of life now. Joel helps, of course; his presence alone is enough to remind you that you’re not back there, that you’re still alive, that you can keep going, that you survived.

That you’re immune.

It’s another thing to add to the list, another tick in the back of your mind. Immune. You’ve gotten in the habit of tucking your shirts in on that side, just in case, not wearing anything that might ride up and show where you were bit.

You think about Anna, often. You wonder what happened, what FEDRA did. You try not to let your mind wander someplace dark, but it’s hard. You hope it was quick, painless. You hope she didn’t suffer.

My baby sister.

You’ve been good, thus far, keeping it a secret. Joel is a brick fucking wall, and you know he’s the last person you have to worry about letting anything slip. You feel bad, Tommy and Tess not knowing, but you know it’s safer this way, that they don’t. It would just put them at risk. Joel knowing is enough of a risk.

Letting Nick live with the knowledge was a risk, and look where that got you.

The thought has wormed its way into your mind more than once. Should you turn yourself in? Show them the scar, tell FEDRA just how long it’s been since you were bit? Let them haul you off to some facility, poke and prod and maybe kill you in the end? Is it safer that way?

What if you’re the answer? What if you’re the cure?

You’ve heard it before. Miracle cures, the answer to the infection, the final easy fix. Maybe that’s what you are. Maybe it’s not luck. Maybe it’s something else.

But whenever that thought appears, it’s accompanied by another. Joel’s voice, rasped in your ear. 

No one’s taking you from me, not now, not ever.

And then when he told you about his hearing…

You can’t leave him. You can’t do it. Is that selfish? Probably. Just add it to your list of sins. It’s long enough by now. What’s one more?

The drop goes off without a hitch — bullets and rations from a group in Providence — and it’s like a sigh of relief, a weight off your shoulder. You and Joel share a knowing smile, and you notice Tommy is still a touch distracted, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. You don’t say anything, and neither does Joel. 

You’re nearly halfway back, when you hear the scream, that inhuman noise that sends your heart racing every single time. Joel leads you behind a large truck, the three of you ducking low to wait for the Infected to pass. Tommy lifts his gun, peering through the scope, but Joel grabs the barrel. “Don’t,” he tells his brother, his tone almost scolding, and you nearly smack his shoulder.

Before the argument can even start between the brothers, a loud shot echoes through the street, the bullet finding a home in the Infected’s head, sending it stumbling forward before it slumps onto the ground. You slide towards the other side of the truck, peering around the truck, in the direction the bullet came from.

Eyes clap onto you before you can even think to hide.

“Liv?”

Fuck.

Joel’s staring at you, his gaze hard as steel, and your heart picks up in your chest. As far as Gwen and the people from Hartford know, you died that day. I’ll deal with it, Joel had said. Someone had cocked a gun, and he’d pushed them all out, claimed the burden for himself. But as far as they knew, you never made it back to Boston. Nearly three months ago, now, and yet here you are. Alive. Breathing.

Immune.

“I saw you, Liv,” Gwen shouts, and you nearly bang your head against the truck as Joel rises slightly, just enough to see who’s out there. “Come on out.”

“Fuck,” Joel grunts, and on his other side, Tommy looks between you two, his brow pinched with confusion.

“What?”

“Just keep low and keep your eye out,” Joel tells him, his voice low, and Tommy nods.

Slowly, you get to your feet, step around the truck, your hands in the air, gun hanging across your chest. There are four other men with Gwen, two faces you recognize from that day. Her brother, Trevor, and another man you never got the name of. As soon as you’re in the open, five guns are pointed at you, and behind you, you hear the click of Joel’s gun, not needing to turn to know he’s got his own weapon pointed at them, sweeping back and forth.

“Hi, Gwen.”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she says, and you’ve never heard her voice so harsh. Every interaction you had with her, before that day, it was always pleasant. You were just survivors, trying to make your way, wanting what was best for your people. Now that you see her, she looks different. Her face is more sunken, her features more pronounced. She looks unwell — not infected, but not good. “I saw it myself. You got bit.”

“I did.”

“And you went back to Boston?” she almost spits, her face screwed up as she says it. “You put all those people at risk?”

“We waited it out,” you say, your hands still in the air. “I never turned, and so we went back. That was almost three months ago, Gwen. If it was gonna happen, it would have happened already.”

Her expression changes, and one of the men to her right says something. His gun lowers slightly, and so does Gwen’s as she turns to him. You’re too far away to make it all out, but you catch a few words.

Fireflies. Immune. The answer.

When Gwen’s eyes slide back to you, you have a pretty clear idea how this is gonna go. You remember what she told you when you met that day; that Hartford wasn’t what it used to be, that things were changing. If you had to guess, the Fireflies aren’t just infesting Boston.

“You’re coming with us,” she says, simply, like she’s discussing the weather. “The Fireflies have a plan, Liv. You could be part of that.”

“Like hell!” Joel shouts, and you turn your head slightly to see both him and Tommy on their feet, guns pointed toward the Hartford crew. “Anyone touches her, I won’t fuckin’ hesitate. We’re leaving.”

“James, grab her!” Gwen orders, and the man closest to you lunges forward, crossing the short distance between you. His hand extends towards you, and Joel’s first shot sounds, rippling through the air, the echo  ringing through your head.

The first bullet rips through James’ extended hand. He screams, stumbling to the side, and you hear the yank of the bolt handle, a casing clattering onto the asphalt. Another man lunges forward, bullets shattering the windows of the truck, and Joel’s second bullet hits the other man in the throat. Blood sprays as he falls, hot on your face, and the third bullet hits James again, right in the temple. Tommy’s gun is automatic, and you see Gwen and the other two men drop behind cover as he shoots.

“Liv, get down!” Joel shouts, and you drop like a stone, crawling back towards the truck. There’s enough space for you to slide beneath it, and you squeak as a bullet clips the heel of your boot. You’re nearly there, hands scrabbling against broken asphalt, when a hand wraps around your ankle, yanks you backward. Your stomach scrapes the gravel, making you scream.

Tommy drops the third man.

You kick off the limp hand, and surge forward again, under the truck. Joel reaches down and hauls you the rest of the way, his gun still pointed at the Hartford people. Tommy’s staring through his scope.

“It doesn’t haven’t to be like this!” Gwen shouts, her voice strained. You wonder if Tommy hit her. “Just come with us. We could fix everything! I’ll kill both your men and drag you to the Fireflies if I have to. Don’t make me do this, Liv!”

Joel stares at you. There’s blood on your face — not your own — and blooming under your fingers, beneath your shirt. “You okay?”

“Scraped,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine.”

His jaw goes tight. “We can’t leave them alive, Liv.”

The thought sinks like a stone through you, but you understand. Hartford was changing, who knew what that meant. Who knew what kind of hell might rain down on you if Gwen made it back to the rest of her people, if she regrouped and came after you again?

“You can save everyone, Liv!” Gwen nearly screams, and you lift your head slightly, just enough to see where she and her final man are. It’s a clear fucking shot. You look at Joel, reach for your sidearm, the smaller pistol strapped to your thigh. He nods, and you nod back; behind you, Tommy is breathing heavily.

“Don’t make me do this, Gwen!” you shout back, your voice hoarse. “Just let us go! Forget you ever saw me!”

“You know I can’t do that.”

You and Joel both rise at the same time, aim already locked, triggers pulled in unison. The final two drop together, and instantly, you stumble to the side, emptying your stomach into the gutter. The street is suddenly eerily silent, and a moment later, you feel a warm hand on your back, rubbed up your spine.

“You’re okay,” Joel says, and you just nod. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, spit onto the ground. Joel offers you a water bottle, and you mumble your thanks. He throws his arm around you once you’re upright, pulls you against his chest, palm against the back of your neck. “We had to.”

“I know,” you say, nodding. “She would have killed you both. I know that.”

It’s shit rationale, maybe, to anyone else. Your hands are shaking, and you step away to holster your gun, shove both hands through your hair. You can feel Joel looking you over, reaching out to wipe the blood from your face with the sleeve of his shirt. Your heart is still racing.

Then Tommy speaks, and your stomach plummets into your toes.

“Either of you wanna tell me what the fuck that was about?”

You open your mouth to explain, the story on the tip of your tongue, but Joel beats you to it. He reaches for you, wraps his hand around your wrist. “You can’t tell anybody, Tommy.” Joel moves himself in front of you, shielding you from his brother, and you can’t tell if it’s intentional or instinctual. “You need to keep your mouth shut.”

The younger Miller steps sideways, meeting your eyes over Joel’s shoulder. “You’re immune?”

Slowly, you nod. “Just like Anna.”

Tommy’s eyes slide to Joel. “You told her?”

“It was the only way to get her to stop beggin’ me to put a bullet in her head,” Joel answers, and your spine prickles with the memory. “Last run we went on. We got cornered in the drugstore near the edge of the city. And she…” He glances at you, something so sad in his eyes that your gut twists. “She got bit.”

“Gwen and her men were there,” you supply, stepping around Joel slightly. “We met them for a drop; that’s when we got cornered, and she…she saw it, the bite. She thought I was a goner, but Joel said he’d deal with it, and they left.”

“And now they’re dead,” Tommy snaps, and you flinch. You’ve never heard his voice so stern. “You came back to Boston, after all that? You put that whole fucking city at risk, Liv! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“We waited it out, Tommy,” Joel spits, and you can hear the anger rising in his tone. “You remember Anna. It was the same. Liv is the same. It’s been months now.”

“I’ve stayed off the radio since then,” you offer, another pitiful excuse, “in case Gwen came across the wrong channel. Joel arranged the drop today, and no one else knows.” You glance over your shoulder. “They would have killed you both, Tommy.”

“You promised,” he grits, staring at his brother. “The moment we were all in Boston, you promised me, Joel. You fucking swore.”

“I’m protecting my family,” Joel replies, his hands clenching into fists. You reach out, squeeze his arm, but he just goes even more tense. “I’m protecting you.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, a tension in the air you feel like you could cut with a knife. Tommy’s gaze slides to you again. “Tess doesn’t know?”

“Nobody knows,” you repeat. “No one. Except for Cowan.”

Tommy’s eyes go wide. “You told a fucking FEDRA soldier?!”

“Not on purpose,” you sigh. “He figured it out. That’s why he took Deanna and the kids.” You can feel the tell-tale prick of tears behind your eyes. “I never meant for any of this, Tommy.”

Those dark eyes — darker than Joel’s — pin you in place for a moment that manages to feel like an eternity. Finally, he tears his gaze away, slings his gun over his shoulder, and starts heading back in the direction of the city.

Joel reaches for your hand, and you follow suit, leaving the bloody street behind you.

+

Joel keeps a careful eye on his brother.

He’s always felt like he could trust Tommy. Sure, he was a bit of a shit when they were growing up, always relying on Joel for one thing or another. Bail money or a case of beer or a job or a part for his truck, the list went on and on. Joel never once felt like he was owed something, like there was some debt for his brother to repay. Tommy’s family, that’s just the way it is. The way it’s always been.

After that first night, after Sarah, Joel knows a part of him disappeared. He knows he scared the shit out of his brother, forced him into the protector position that has always run thickly in Joel’s blood. It was close, too close, on multiple occasions, Joel too buried in his grief to see what was coming and Tommy too distracted by Joel to react quickly enough. But they managed, they stayed alive.

They got to Boston. Too much blood on their hands, but they made it. And Tommy’s right: Joel promised. He promised no more.

But then there you were. There you are.

I’m protecting my family.

The look in Tommy’s eye, as you all walked away from the fight, it still sits in the back of Joel’s mind, weeks later. He’s always felt like he could trust his brother, that he could trust him to keep his secrets, have his back. Have your back.

And for the first time in his life, he doubts that. It gnaws at him like a disease, an annoying tug in his stomach that twitches to life every time he crosses paths with his brother.

Tommy starts ditching jobs. The lists of repairs are usually doled out early in the morning, and they’ll look them over together, pick out the ones that can be done solo, which need an extra set of hands. Tommy meets him in the morning, but by the afternoon, his brother is nowhere to be found, and Joel ends up picking up the slack himself. It reminds him oddly of the old days, when Tommy was fresh off of Desert Storm, when he claimed he just needed to keep his hands busy, but would bail on Joel halfway through the day, slinking off to some bar or another.

Three times in the same week, Joel heads for a repair they’ve agreed to do together, and Tommy never shows. He asks Tess about it, hoping she might have some insight, but she’s just as confused. “He leaves at morning curfew, and he’s home by evening curfew. I don’t know what he does; he doesn’t tell me. I always assume he’s with you.”

On the fourth no-show, Joel has had it. He ditches his own repair, promising to come back and fix the creaky floorboard first thing in the morning, and heads into the city. Dark clouds loom overhead, the threat of summer rain as he loops up and down the streets, searching the few crowds that linger along the sidewalks.

The Fireflies have been quiet since that first ambush, but Joel’s heard a thing or two on the radio. He knows a few of the buildings that have been tagged as hideouts, caches and the like. He stalks past them all, keeping his hands shoved in his pockets, trying to look as casual as possible.

But when he sees Tommy slinking out of the building on the corner of Stillman and Cross, he can’t keep his cool.

His brother hasn’t seen him, and shouts with surprise when Joel grabs him by the collar, hauls him into the nearest alleyway and shoves him against the bricks. “Jesus fuckin’ christ, Joel!”

“What the fuck are you doing, Tommy?” Joel sneers, anger flaring in his gut. “Did you tell them?”

“The fuck is wrong with you? You want us both thrown in lockup?” Tommy grits back, and as the rumble of a FEDRA truck grows closer, Joel releases him, takes a step back, puts a foot of space between them. “You can relax, big brother. I didn’t tell them about your girl.”

“My girl?” Joel repeats, brow creasing. “She’s my wife, Tommy. The fuck is wrong with you?”

“You’re telling me you don’t feel the least bit guilty for what we did to those people? How can you be okay letting Liv walk around here, knowing she—”

He never gets the rest of the sentence out. Joel throws a punch, feels the crunch of his brother’s nose against his knuckles. Tommy decked him once, decades ago, when they were teenagers. They’d gone after the same girl without the other knowing, and when Joel came home pleased as a peach, Tommy was less than impressed when he found out why. Joel had a black eye for a week.

He stalks from the alley the moment Tommy’s back upright, clutching his face. Joel’s knuckles sing with pain, and he heads straight for your apartment before he can do any more damage.

+

Joel glares at you. “Your spaghetti is not a cure-all, baby. It’s not gonna fix this.”

You huff, tying off the gauze around his knuckles. “Sure it is. When’s the last time we had family dinner, anyway?” Joel opens his mouth to answer, but you beat him to the punch. “Too long. Everything has been too tense since everything…happened, and we need something good, Joel. All of us.”

He lifts his brow, pulling his bruised hand out of your grip to reach forward, tugging the chain from where it’s hidden in your shirt, poking his finger through your ring. “Us getting married wasn’t good enough for you?”

You roll your eyes at him, shaking your head, but kiss him anyway, nails scratched through the hair at his temples. It’s the best feeling in the world. “You know what I mean.” He tries to chase your lips for a deeper kiss, but you pull away before he can, pushing back your chair and starting to collect the first aid supplies from the table. Joel watches the sway of your hips as you take it to the bathroom, reappearing a moment later. “Besides, it’s too late; I cornered Tommy this morning and he already agreed, Tess too.”

Joel heaves a sigh. “You’re a menace.”

Your mouth splits in a grin. “And you love me anyway.”

It’s been a few days, since he cornered Tommy outside the Firefly building. As far as he knows, his brother hasn’t skipped out on a job since, but he’s steered clear of Joel, which is just as well. It’s taken a few days for Joel’s temper to settle.

You weren’t exactly impressed with him, when he got home that night. You’ve relaxed some, gone out for a few gigs with Tess, still hesitant to be apart from Joel, but more comfortable than he’s seen you since the car bombs. His knuckles were split, a deep throbbing in his fist, and you’d scowled at him, ordered him to sit at the table while you found something to clean the blood with. And that was before he told you what had happened.

“Fuck, Joel,” you’d nearly shouted, leaning back in your chair, visibly exasperated. “He was never supposed to find out. No one was supposed to find out.”

“I know, baby,” he said, and reached for you with his good hand, curled it around your knee. “I don’t think he’ll—”

“Maybe I should turn myself in,” you said, and Joel felt like the world had dropped out from under him. His chest went tight, suddenly a thousand pounds. His vision is blurry around the edges, breath hitched in his throat, and he nearly topples out of the chair. “Joel?”

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt panic like that, not at first. But then it barrelled into him like a freight train, left him reeling as you slid off your chair and onto your knees in front of him. You were talking, calling his name, grabbing his face, but his mind was somewhere else.

It’s not the same sort of panic, but it’s similar. Similar to the racing heart and short breaths he felt that night, similar to the helplessness he felt when that soldier cornered them, rained hell, took the one thing Joel had left, ripped it away like it was nothing. Left him empty, barely a shell of what he was.

Just a shell of a man with a broken watch he still can’t seem to take off.

Turn myself in.

What would FEDRA do to you? Haul you off to some facility, take your blood and test you like some kind of animal? What if he never saw you again?

What if it killed you?

He couldn’t—

“Joel,” you’d nearly yelled, surging upwards and wrapping your arms around his neck. His nose found your neck, your pulse thumping against his forehead, and the familiar scent of you eased him some. “You’re scaring me. Come back. I’m right here, okay? I’m not…” You trailed off, your voice thick as he slide his arms around your waist and held you closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Since that day, you’ve been watching him as closely as he’d been watching his brother, no subtlety whatsoever, not that Joel minds. He’s always liked the feel of your eyes on him.

Now, you push a hand through your hair, wrinkling your nose. “I seriously need a hair wash before they show up. Start the pasta, would you? Stupid flourless crap takes forever to cook.”

Joel chuckles. “Okay, baby.”

There’s a knock at the door ten minutes later, and Joel hopes it’s Tess, knowing full well he’s not quite ready to be alone with his brother again. His knuckles ache just with the thought.

But sure enough, Tommy’s on the other side of the door.

“We need to talk,” his brother says by way of greeting, pushing past Joel into the apartment. “Where’s Liv?”

“She’s in the—” Joel starts to answer, but Tommy cuts him off.

“We have to give her to the Fireflies, Joel. We have to.”

Joel’s chest goes tight again, the same way it had when you mentioned turning yourself in. You meant FEDRA, Tommy means the Fireflies. His head is spinning. “Tommy—”

“I’ve been talking to their leader, this woman Marlene? Joel, they have facilities out West, doctors and labs and people who are working on a cure. Liv could be the answer to all of it, Joel. Just like the Hartford people said: she could save everyone.”

“Shut up, Tommy,” Joel grumble, shaking his head. His heartbeat is in his ears, nearly drowning out his brother’s words, almost twice as loud in his bad ear. “Just don’t—”

“We could fix this, Joel. If we give her to Marlene, she can take her to the facility. I’m sure she’d let you go with her, if you would just talk to Liv, both of you talk to Marlene, we could—”

“Shut up, Tommy!” Joel roars, and his brother’s eyes go wide as he stumbles back a step. “I’m not talking to any fuckin’ Fireflies, and no one is takin’ my Liv anywhere, you understand me? I won’t…I won’t put her at risk, Tommy, not again!”

Tommy stares at him for a long moment, and for a second, Joel thinks he’s said enough, that his brother won’t cross the line again, that he won’t try to push any harder.

But he’s wrong.

“She could be the answer to everything, Joel. Everything. They could make all of this go away.”

“Or they could kill her,” Joel spits, hands curled into fists at his sides. His chest hurts. “And I will die before I let that happen.”

“You’re being selfish.”

“Don’t say another word, Tommy, I swear. I hit you once, and goddamnit, I’ll do it again.”

“Joel—”

“Tommy, I said don’t!”

Wordlessly, Tommy points over his shoulder, and Joel spins to see you standing there, your eyes big and watery, arms crossed, hands gripping your biceps. This time, it’s you that calls his name, and Joel all but runs to you, puts himself in front of you, protecting you.

He knows what’s coming; it’s like he feels the words before they’re out of his mouth, twisting around his heart all over again. His body reacts before his brain does. “Maybe I should go, Joel. Maybe this could be g—”

He can’t hold back the tears. His body won’t let him. They pour down his cheeks, close his throat, his words stuttered out as he grabs for you, his knees giving out beneath him. You try to grab him before he hits the floor, but you’re too late, his body thudding to the floor, falling against you as he goes. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. “I won’t lose you,” he rasps out, and it takes him a moment to realize his face is pressed against your stomach, one hand finding your waist, the other curled in the back of your shirt. “Please, Liv. Don’t—I can’t. Please.”

+

You can feel his tears soaking the fabric of your shirt, hot on his cheeks. You’ve seen Joel cry before, but never like this. Never so heavily, the emotion so thick it’s literally brought him to his knees before you. He’s gripping you like a lifeline, his face buried in your stomach, and you rest one hand on his head, slide his hair between your knuckles. You want to curl yourself around him, protect him the way he’s always trying to protect you.

And on the other side of the kitchen, Tommy just stares at the pair of you. Every emotion known to man crosses his face; guilty, sadness, anger, all of the things that have become commonplace in this new world. You can’t blame him for any of them, you feel half of them yourself.

But then Tommy opens his mouth. “Liv, if you would just—”

“Please, Tommy,” you say, your tone heavy, tears sparking in the back of your throat. “Please don’t.”

He turns on his heel and heads for the door. When he yanks it open, your breath hitches when you see Tess standing on the other side of the door, obviously confused. Tommy says nothing, pushing past her and disappearing down the hallway. “What the fuck?”

At the sound of Tess’s voice, Joel all but leaps to his feet, peeling himself away from you and bee-lining for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. It suddenly smells like something’s burning, and you curse under your breath as the pot on the stove bubbles over.

Tess closes the door quietly, walks towards you, puts a careful hand on your arm, places a bottle of whiskey on the counter. “So much for family dinner.”

You scoff out a laugh as you flick off the stove, kicking your boot into the dented bottom drawer as you drop the pot of ruined pasta into the sink. Shoving a hand through your hair, you sigh, reaching for the bottle. “You’re telling me.”

“You gonna tell me what the fuck just happened,” Tess asks, leaning against the counter beside you, holding her hand out for the bottle as you take a big swig, “or do I have to guess?”

“I caught the tail-end of that conversation,” you say, guilt twisting your stomach as the lie rolls all too easily off your tongue, “but from what I gathered, Tommy’s joining the Fireflies.”

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(adding more text down here in hopes that tumblr doesn’t cut off my post again!)

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[faegoddessog]

Woman in Red Ch 13/17

Chapter 13: ‘Yes Sir’

Series Summary: She's a very successful woman who can't seem to find a partner that can keep up with her. He is just wanting to find someone who likes him for HIM, not his fame. Neither of them are prepared for what hits them when she walks into that coffee shop.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ only, Dom/Sub play, collaring, restraint, paddling, cunnilingus, temporary marking, just a little bit of ass licking.

A/N: In this story, I make no mention of birth control or condoms or STI's. Please, darlings, please love yourself enough to protect yourself appropriately when you have sex. <3

Darlings, as promised here is Chapter 13. It ended up being SO big (like Austin) that I had to make it two chapters. I hope you enjoy! As ALWAYS, I love your feedback. Hearing from readers, either openly or DM is a great, great joy. So, if I've brought you anything like giddy reprieve from RL with my writing, feel OH so free to hit me up. Hugs!

Message me or leave in a comment if you'd like to be added or removed from my tagged list!

@purejasmine, @slowsweetlove, @richardslady121, @austinbutlerslovers, @tadpoleteef, @allittakesisoneflight

Here is the Woman in Red Masterlist

Here is the link to all my posted work: My Dirty Little, and not so little Stories.

Chapter 13: "Yes Sir"

Inside the box, organized neatly, he sees four fur-lined dark red leather cuffs that buckle and are connected with D rings and small-linked chains, a couple hanks of dark red rope, and a dark red leather collar with a matching leash.  He is both shocked and not at all. He carries the box to the dining table, laying the items out one by one.  The chains clink as they pool on the black table top. Looking in again, he finds a familiar looking black cloth. Unfurling the black wrapping along the smooth surface, a small assortment of toys in varying sizes roll out; vibrators, dildos, and cockrings.  On the bottom he finds a round, red leather paddle, lube, a butt plug with a ring on the end and body butter. He is astonishingly aroused as he lines up everything. 

“Aya,” he turns to her,  his face serious.”You’re sure that all this is ok? Everything here?”  

He is willing to play tie-me-up, tie-me-down games. Has one or five books on the subject in his personal library. 

She looks at everything laid out and puts the butt plug back in the box, she isn’t quite in the mood for that tonight. 

“There. I do have one caveat though,  I don’t like to be demeaned and put down. You can call me a whore, or a slut or something, but only if you are praising me for it.” 

“Alright then,” he agrees and reaches for the collar. “May I?” 

She just nods and pulls her hair up, offering her neck to him.  It was the last time that night that he asked her permission. 

*************

He steps back to look at her. Each limb adorned with a red cuff and a matching stripe around her neck. He had decided to forgo the chains as he was far more of a rope guy. 

He liked the artistry of rope; the meditation of tying the knots,  the beauty of skin pressed with criss-crossing lines, the contrasting colors of hemp. Her bra and panties make him think of a full harness. Someday, he would do a full karada on her with a sukaranbo. The idea of rope running between her legs makes his cock twitch. It’s been a while and he definitely needs a refresher before he pulls those skills on out her. 

As he buckles the collar around her neck, a little shivery sigh rolls down her spine. She hadn’t thought they would get to this so soon, if at all. She had a bare handful of other lovers who liked to play this way. She figured he’d be like them, wanting her to dom. She enjoyed it, make no mistake. But she hadn’t realized just how much she was yearning to be collared, just for a night. Not until his gentle fingers pulled her hands forward and fastened the cuffs had she felt that internal slackening of not being in charge. It showed her just how much she really trusted Austin. 

“Mmm, you look good enough to eat, Pet. Let’s just-” he picks up the red leather leash and snaps it onto the matching collar with a click, “there now.” 

He takes a big breath to control himself. She looks gorgeous in front of him. Only the shadows of the hickies he gave her remain on her tits. He’ll have to mark her again. Just the idea that she was his if only for tonight;  it made him burn. He backs up step by step, the leash an ever widening parabola between them. Desire simmers in his eyes. 

She makes no move to follow until she feels the tug on the taut leash at her neck. Austin leads her across the room to the bar height chairs of the kitchen island. He uses his foot to push two of them apart.

“One knee here and one here,” he points to the two chairs in turn. She clambors up, her legs apart. He saunters around to the kitchen side of the island. 

“C’mere,” he crooks his finger at her. She leans over, hands on the cold marble. He captures her mouth in a gentle kiss. His tongue brushes hers, his teeth nibble at her lower lip. It lasts longer than she expected, this sweet kiss. Her mouth just starts to get insistent, wanting more when she feels the pull. Steadily forward and down, he pulls on the leash, breaking her lips from his. She bends, like a vassal to her lord, bowing close to the counter.

“Ah-ah, all the way,” he gives the leash a little yank at the end and she is stretched forward. The cold marble against her nipples and belly makes her gasp as the leash forces her to lay fully down. 

“There you go,” he says, kissing the top of her head as he squats down, securing the leash tightly to the nearest drawer pull with a makeshift highwayman’s hitch.

“Since this is the kitchen, I think I’ll feast on you,” he kisses her cheek.  His fingers drag from her neck, over the back and to her ass as he walks around the end of the island. She hears the dragging of a dining chair closer.  His hands run up her hamstrings, thumbs digging in at the gluteal fold and peeling her cheeks apart. 

“Stick that pretty ass out,” he pulls back lightly at her hip crease,  “let me see that pussy.” 

She arches as best she can, but is limited due to her secured leash.  

“Oh hoh, what is this?” his fingers run lightly over the crotch of her panties, or the lack thereof. The slit in them frames her lips perfectly. 

“Spread those legs so I can see,” his voice is deep and soft and insistent.  

He sits down on the lower chair and hooks his feet around a leg each of her chairs, steadying them for her. She spreads her legs wide, feeling her wet lips pull gently apart. 

His thumbs pull gently at her little pink petals, his fingers dalying at her opening.

“Oh you are such a good Pet, to have yourself on display for me like this,” he kisses one cheek then the other. 

Then his lips are nibbling down to the juncture of her thighs and ass. He pulls her flesh into his mouth, biting gently but sucking hard. Again and again, on both sides, he growls the bruises onto her skin. 

His fingers are squeezing the globes of her ass, a cat kneading with his claws. 

The sucking, the soft throated growls, the pulling apart of her cheeks, the illusion of no control over it happening; all this only serves to slide Aya further down the slippery slope of submission. She can’t stop the slight pumping of her hips as he administers his marks.

Austin pulls back, watching the red/purple of crushed capillaries rise to the surface. 

“Keep still, Pet,” he grabs her hips.

He pulls her cheeks apart and plants kisses on the sensitive skin between her asshole and her vagina, then down each of her labia. Finally he extends his tongue to taste her. Oh lord, she tasted so good. The way she moans has his cock nodding agreement in his loose linen pants. He had foregone underwear when he dressed after his shower. 

On his second pass, he pushes his face farther into her, the flat of his tongue rubbing back and forth over her pussy lips. His senses are filled with her. He growls as he buries himself aggressively in her the third time. His nose wet, his tongue reaches to skim her clit. 

Aya is vibrating with desire as he plays with pussy. His obvious sounds of appreciation make it that much better. She moans as her ass shakes on his face.

 Her sounds spur him on. His hands pull the flesh of her ass apart, moaning with her, as he gives himself over to his oral infatuation. 

He rubs at her hard pea sized nub with the tip of his tongue. His lips mouthe at each separate outer labia, pulling them in and pulsing them with light suction.  His tongue licks up, along her lips and over the puckered flesh of her asshole. Her soft moans turn into a whine as his fingertips find her clit and his tongue plays at her ass. 

“Oh fuck that’s good,” she moans, feeling herself click tighter.

“Oh fuck that’s good, what?” he pulls away from her entirely, licking his lips and wiping his face.

“Oh fuck that’s good, Sir,” her emphasis on the Sir. The sudden lack of touch leaves her hanging. 

“Do you want to cum, Pet?” he asks, lightly stroking her. He is still not sure if he is going to deny her all night, or make her cum over and over instead. 

“Uh huh,” she moans, hips rocking back and forth, desperate for more.  

“Oh no no, that just won’t do,” he says, reaching for the paddle. He rubs it against her backside in a circle.  He administers her a series of light taps around one cheek that cascade gradually into harder ones. He ends with a moderately hard glancing blow. She sucks air in through her teeth.  

“That’s what you are going to get anytime you forget my honorific, understand?” 

“Uh huh,” she looks back over her shoulder with a wicked smile. 

“Oh you are so naughty,” his upper lip curls into a wry grin.  He repeats his tapping, soft to hard, over her other cheek. When he ends with a hard smack, it garners a moan from her lips and jerk from her hips. He loves that she is so clearly enjoying this heightening of her senses.

“Now, say it right,” a hard edge creeps into his voice. He leans over her, fingers rubbing up and down on her inner thighs. 

“Yes Sir,” she breathes out. She had no idea he would be so good. His initial paddling of her was making her tingle for more.

“Do you want to cum?” he pointedly asks again. 

“Yes Sir,” her voice betrays the level of her desire.

“Good girl,” he strokes her hair. It’s now that Austin decides on a course of action for the night. “You are to tell me when you are getting close to cumming. If you cum before I know it, I’ll be cross with you. Tell me you understand.” 

“I understand…” her voice is nearly rebellious as she balks at being called ‘girl’. If she is going to be ‘girl’ to him, he has to make her behave.

“Oh Pet, I think you just want me to paddle you red,” he proclaims. 

Her only answer is to squirm her ass around with a little moan.

“Say it,” he cajoles softly, rubbing the back of the paddle against her skin. 

“Please,” she waggles her ass against the paddle, pouting like a brat.

“No,” he takes a step away, but somehow leans low to her ear at the same time. “If you want it, little Pet, you have to say it.” 

His voice is like hot butter dripping off his tongue and over her neck with an edge of command. It melts her rising defiance. 

“Please, please paddle me, Sir,” she is only mildly surprised at her begging tone.

“Hmmm, do you think you need it to be good for me?” his tone is calm, a patient teacher asking leading questions of a student. “Or are you just being a little glutton for the punishment?” His words dip into threat as he runs the paddle down her back and over the round curve of her rump.

“Please, yes Sir, I need it, show me how to be good,�� no filter, no thoughts, just need coming out of her mouth. 

“Mmmm, that’s better,” he rumbles so low. He balances the paddle on her ass and steps close between her legs, the fabric of his shirt rough on the soft skin of her inner thighs. His hands run up her spine, over her shoulders and down her arms in a mock massage. His fingers close over her wrists, squeezing tight and he pulls them behind her back, clicking the cuffs together with a snap.

He picks up the paddle. 

Aya is holding on to her mental precipice with one hand. The feel of his hands on her body, smooth and soft is a juxtaposition to the paddle she knows is coming. The oscillation between hard and soft in both his voice and action makes her slip to just her fingertips on the proverbial ledge. 

Gone is the pretense of warming her up with taps. Austin peppers her ass with smacks in a steady beat, moving around her skin so that one spot doesn't get too much all at once. 

Little whimpering moans lilt from her chest with each strike. Her hands restrained behind her back and her leash holding her fast to the front gives her a delicious sense of relinquishment. She surrenders to the sting, to the rising heat on her ass, to his will. She will serve as his plaything, his fucktoy, his pet, his fucking girl… ‘just for tonight’ she tells herself as her mental fingers slip the ledge. 

When he had decided to be a little relentless in his spanking of her, he hadn't expected the emerging red between the black diamonds on her ass to turn him on so much. He tortures his bottom lip with his teeth as he watches impact after impact jiggle her flesh. The only sounds are the smack of the leather and her mewling. He pauses now and then to rub her ass in circles, feeling the heat of her skin. He finds that his hips are thrusting gently into the ether of their own volition. 

‘Soon,’ he thinks to himself, ‘soon I’ll bury my cock between those two red globes and fuck her senseless.’

He moves to her side, threading his free arm under her belly, reaching to her pussy. He leans down, sowing a series of soft, soothing  kisses along her back and down her ass. His fingers start working shapes around her clit, little polygons of pleasure. He waits until she is moaning open vowel sounds, then brings the paddle down a handful times before immediately starting up with his fingers again. 

“You better fucking tell me, Pet,” her reminds her, his voice rumbles low, borderline threatening. 

Over and over he marries the pain of the paddle with the pleasure of his fingers. 

Aya is in overdrive. Every stinging strike of the paddle is forcing her to cry out. Every genius stroke of his long delicate fingers winds her tighter, moans free flowing from her throat. Her mind is whirling and she is just a ball of nerve endings, a ball with which he is proving his expertise.  It is mind bending. Finally she whinges out,“I’ma cum”. 

Austin whips around behind her and buries his face voraciously in her cunt. He can feel the red heat radiating off her skin as he dives deeper and deeper into her, lashing her with his tongue. He ends up nearly bowing down under her before he pulls her clit into his mouth, sucking hard. Even though he is supposed to be in charge here, he feels like an oral supplicant at devotion. He is worshiping at the oldest altar.

The change in stimulation reroutes Aya’s orgasm. It’s only a moment's reprieve though, as the cacophony of sensations start aggregating together as her nervous system catches up. His sudden suction on her causes her to flood over his face.  

The hot buzzing of her ass and the suction on her clit is just too much. She is pitched hard into her orgasm. Screaming, she strains the leash tight, her hips grinding into his face. Her frantically seizing pussy feels empty. God with his perfect fucking cock in her, she’d go wild.

Her juices trickle over Austin’s nose and down his cheeks. His long tongue lapping, lapping, drinking her in. His primal need to be inside her, to claim her, rises. He stands with it and kicks his chair back. Pulling his cock out and over the waistband of his pants, he holds himself, aiming for that portal to the promised land.   His dick reaches, trying to get to her, like Icarus for the sun. Indeed he can feel that she is all heat and soft, swollen wetness, enticing him to come further. It’s all he wants right now, to submerge himself in her and fuckall if he can’t quite reach her on those high stools. What the hell were his long damn legs and cock good for anyway? Desperate to get his dick wet with her, he rises onto his tiptoes. Tantalizingly, he gets as far as rubbing the tip of his cock against her wet lips. If only she would bend her knees, he could at least dip his head in. He tries pulling her hips lower, but the fucking leash!

Aya registers him standing but doesn't hear the chair scratch on the stone floor. His cock merely tickles her lips and he curses behind her. She strains against her collar towards him, wanting nothing more in this moment than to have him inside her.  

Austin’s chest rumbles with a snarl as he pushes her forward forcibly, slackening the leash in order to release the catch from the collar.  Freed, she sinks back deep, spreading wide, open and desperate for his penetration.

It’s pure hedonistic bliss when splits her to the hilt. She barely registers the ‘oh my god’ that rumbles in his chest. Her lungs empty with an ‘ahhhh’ and she vibrates, his big cock stretching her.  She almost tips over backwards into him in her eagerness to be fucked. His tip brushes against her g-spot.  

He undoes her wrists quickly and she is immediately moving up and down on his hard cock using the counter for leverage and balance.  Her moans sound otherworldly as she rides him. All he has to do is stand there, guiding her hips with his hands and flexing his glutes, jutting his cock towards her.  Her ass bouncing so fervently on his cock is possibly one of the most salacious things he’s ever witnessed. 

“Mmm hmmm,” he moans out. “That’s it Pet, ride that big cock,” his breath sucks in through his teeth. She feels so divine he can’t stop the words.  “Fuck that pretty red ass up and down ‘till you cum on me. Oh god you are too fucking hot,” he says, his brows furrowed. 

Her pitch rises, “I’m gonna… ohhh ohhhh! I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” Her fist pounds the hard marble. Her body tries to jerk away from him as she climaxes. His arms clamp like steel around her, forcing her back to him. 

“Oh no you don’t, get back here” he growls, fucking up into her. The sound of the slap of her ass against his hips a harmony of sorts with her continued vocalizations. 

“You’re- fucking- mine,” he barks as he thrusts into her with every word. On the last, he pushes so deep and hard, it makes her scream out the last of her orgasm as it hits her just right inside. 

Later she’ll swear she could feel it in her pancreas. 

He shakes with the effort of both restraining her thrashing, and not cumming himself. 

“That’s my girl,” he breathes, “such a good cockwhore.” He presses her up to her knees and off his cock when she finally starts to droop. 

She lays there shaking and whimpering for a long minute. Her mind gone in the pleasure. Then Austin’s hands are gently on her, pulling her down onto his lap on the dining chair. He hushes at her, holding her to him. She lets him, his possessive declarations dangle in the back of her mind, just beyond her reach. 

“Thank you Aus, that was… you were… wow.” she nuzzles into his shoulder, patting his chest with her hand.

“Oh sweet little Pet,” his voice still edged with dominance and amusement, “I’m not done with you yet, not by a long shot.”  

He takes her hand and presses it to his still hard cock, the tip peeking out from his waistband. She has no idea how he didn’t cum. 

A shaky ‘oh’ courses through her mouth. “Don’t worry Pet,  I’ll give that pussy a little break,” he glides his thumb over her bottom lip and chin. He tilts her head up, “Now what do you say?” 

What she had been expecting to see, she couldn’t articulate. What she found in those gorgeous damn eyes was a man unsated and unwilling to let her go until he was.

That look scares her just a little. Aya finds herself, without warning, poised on the edge of using her safeword. Oh, not for the physical aspect. No, she could slake his need, without a doubt. It's the swirling well of emotions that bubble up, threatening to break her carefully laid seal. As she looks into his exquisite face, she practically melts. His mannerisms; his surety of movement; his mastery of the paddle and her pussy; the way his voice plays at the edges of her sanity; it all adds up and she isn’t sure her heart can afford the sum. She waits for a heartbeat not breathing. 

Austin, watching her like a hawk, sees her vacillation. He isn’t sure why she is hesitating, or what caused the widening look in her eyes. His control has been on point so far, so he mentally braces himself for her safeword to come tumbling out of that beautiful mouth. Apparently though,  the memo got lost on the way to his cock. His hips thrust gently forward pushing his cock into her hand.

“Say it,” his hot breath is a whisper on her ear as he leans forward, “You have to tell me.”  

Her whole body lights up and pure hot desire courses through her. Her inner conflict soars.  She is usually a pro at making these difficult choices in both her professional and personal lives. But it’s never been this tempting to lay herself so bare, be so very open. 

Waiting for a response, Austin reaches out with the leash he’d pocketed while she was shaking on the counter. Thumb on the catch, he pushes it to the D-ring of the collar with a click. 

The sharp sound jerks her out of her trepidation.

Oh. The leash.  It suddenly strikes her that like what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, whatever she is feeling when the leash is on can stay with the leash. She can’t be responsible for the maelstrom,  it can’t possibly be her fault if she isn’t in charge. The feeling of release floods her. 

“Yes. Sir,” her answer comes out in a rushed breath, “I want-” 

Her thumb glides over his tip.  She turns her head into his hand, her eyes catching his. Her tongue sneaks out to lightly lick the pad of his thumb.

What she wants, she doesn't say, but the look she gives him as she lets her sentence dissipate tells him all he needs to know. He lets out a breath didn’t know he was holding and thoughts of her safeword disintegrate in his mind.  It isn’t until he feels the combination of the thumb gliding over his glans and her tongue on his digit that dark, devilish Austin roars forth. It threatens to rip his control to shreds.  Oh holy hell, they may both be in trouble now.  

[edgessunflower]

Lean with it

For @pandorasfavorite

Pairing: Dominik Mysterio x Fem reader

Description: While training at your DIY ring at your house, things take a turn for some extra "training"

You shimmy your shoulders at your boyfriend after you do a submission movie on him, straddling him while you shimmy making him hide his face. You get off him and immediately get back to training for your upcoming matches at Monday night raw, his being against Mustafa Ali and yours being against Naomi, knowing that you both needed all the training and tricks you could learn and have up your sleeves when it was time for your matches, knowing that you both were going to do all you could to win your matches as well as cheer on your three friends and teammates in The Judgement Day when they had their matches. You slide under the ring, getting away from Dom as he tries to grab you and put you against the ring post, you sneak around and climb in behind him, smacking his butt and jump on his back making him yell out in surprise, you laugh as you roll away from him, pushing yourself up on the rings as you catch your breath as you grab a drink for water, turning around and almost choking when you see dom right in front of you as he giggles, grabbing and putting your water on the other side of the ring making you scrunch your eyebrows at him as he rubs his hands together while looking at you "What are you up to?" he raises his eyebrows in a flirty manner as he kisses you with passion, making you lose your breath as your back hits the ropes. "Lean" you give a look of confusion until you lean back against the ropes after he strips your shirt off, you gasp when your lifted up just a bit to where half your body is laying on top of the ropes as he takes the rest of your clothes off "I wanted to try this for awhile and I'm glad you're letting me" you lean your head back moaning as he dips his head between your legs, holding the ropes with your hands so you didn't fall off as he holds your legs over his shoulders, fingers massaging your hips until he pulls you back up placing kisses your legs, going back up your body as he pulls you closer to him, molding the two of you together as you hold on to his back while he holds the ropes under you. You moan quietly in his shoulder as he places wet kisses on your neck and collarbone until you both are out of breath, raising your arms while he redresses you then himself before carrying you inside and stripping again to shower, laughing as you see dom's giddy expression "Damn you wanted to do that for a long time huh" he nods as you shake your head "It was really fun let's do that again soon" he shimmies in excitement as you laugh wrapping him in a hug.

[crowncursed]

“I do.” shining-stxrs (magic Betty for ice king. For their wedding ceremony)

Unprompted asks // always accepting (It got really long so I'm putting it under a read more!)

"I'm going to get marr-ied, I'm going to get marr-ied! Hahahahaha!" Donning a sharp blue tux, he dances around in front of a mirror and a stool, perched on which is his best man, Gunther. The penguin is attempting to stuff the entirety of his beard into the front of the tuxedo, but gets increasingly irritated when the groom won't stand still, so he gives up prematurely and leaves.

The Ice King doesn't seem to care, as he pats his cheeks in excitement. The day came so fast! It felt like just last week she came into his life and changed it forever, and now he gets to see her in a wedding dress, and smooch her in front of his closest friends, and then forever and ever after that!

Too caught up in the thought of marriage, he barely hears the next penguin to come into the room. Somebody is running late, and another somebody is going to get their buns smacked if that first somebody doesn't get moving. Avoiding flailing limbs, Gunther hops up onto the stool as smacks the Ice King across the face.

"How dare you hit me on the day of my wedding--"

The penguin motions towards the clock on the wall. Two minutes until noon.

Oh, his bride must be waiting downstairs for him right now.

One last look in the mirror; tuxedo, check. Corsage of winter flowers pinned to the front, check. Hair combed neatly to one side to cover his balding head, check. Breath, not stinky. Feet, shoe-less.

This was really it.

"Okay, Gunther, I'm ready." He stares down at the little penguin, who is wearing a cute little matching blue bow tie, "are you ready? Mommy and daddy are getting married, I won't have as much time for you anymore."

The penguin rolls his eyes and leaves the room, prompting the Ice King to follow him.

The largest room in the castle had been decorated for this occasion. Statues erected out of ice of the bride and groom were a lovely centerpiece, especially when they caught the mid-day light coming through from the outside. The Ice King has his hands over his eyes, giddy at the thought of seeing her enter the room.

Finally, she come through the door, and he peaks through a gap in his fingers and gasps audibly at the sight.

"Pinch me, Gunther," he whispers to the penguin on his right, who is doing his very best not to drop the rings, "pinch me so I know I'm not dreaming!"

She stands next to him on the alter. He stares at her for a long moment before saying anything.

"Wow, you're... you're beautiful."

One of the penguins in the audience coughs. Oh, right, the vows. He may be a forgetful old jerk but he didn't forget this! They're here somewhere... he checks the pockets of his suit, his butt pockets, and then remembers it's tucked away in a secret third place.

"Dear Magic Lady. I don't know what it is about you, but you make me feel all weird inside, like we already knew each other. You're like the missing puzzle piece for my heart. I thought marrying a hundred ladies would make me feel happy, but none of them ever compared to you. And... here, I drew a picture of the two of us, see?" At the very bottom of the paper is a pencil sketch. They're holding hands and smiling broadly.

"Anyway," he tosses the paper to the side and takes her hands instead, "you're really something special. I'll spend our whole dang life proving that to you if I have to!"

He sniffles, and tears start rolling down his face. "Dang it, I told myself I wasn't going to cry but here comes the waterworks..."

She says I do, and replies, tearfully, "do I ever!"

And they kiss for the first time as man and wife.

[chubby-aphrodite]

She pressed her lips together and looks at the piece of conjured plastic. Well, it looked and felt for the most part like plastic, but when she ran her fingers over it, it didn't look or feel quite right; too matte and too glossy at the same time, and when she turned it over the light bounced off of it oddly. She put it in her pocket and shrugged.

"Oh! Okay. I... wasn't expecting this." Rocking back and forth on her toes, looking around at anything she can to focus herself. She laughs sheepishly. "Can we... can we be spouses anyway?"

The god tilted their head, or she thought they did. It was like the world bent and shifted, and suddenly their head was leaning on an imperceptible angle. "What do you mean?"

She clasps her hands together and twiddles with her thumbs. "Well, firstly, you seem to be mistaken about why I'm here."

The little eyelights dotted across the plane the god is using as a face turn to narrow slits; a shadow passes over it, warping whatever space they've stuffed a bit of their essence into. Seemingly, they've just scrunched their face in confusion. The rumble forming their voice sputtered, coughing on naught but their own thoughts. "Mistaken? My girl, I may not see all, but I have seen enough to know how and why you're here."

"Then you would know that I'm seeking you!" she sing-songs, bouncing from side to side with each word. Then she laughs, and the god recoils from the sound—the wavy form they're using to communicate is now five paces back from her instead of three. "I've wanted to marry one such as yourself for so long, you have no idea."

She looked into the god's ever-shifting form, and what she saw could generously be described as a person-shaped hole in reality pinching the bridge of their nose in frustration. This did little to snuff the giddiness in her eyes as the god looked back upon her. "You did this purposefully?" they asked.

"Yep!" she confirmed, before hastily adding, "Tried a few times before, too."

Dumbfounded. The god was dumbfounded. Hunched forward and squinting as if trying to read minuscule text, they were searching this girl's face for any sign of insincerity. They were growing increasingly afraid for their literacy, then.

She giggled again, and this time the god did not recoil, for they were far too interested why she had suddenly shoved her hands into her pockets. She pulled out many dazzling artifacts that the god was not only familiar with, but intimately aware of: a silver amulet from one of their brothers in darkness; a gilded ring or two from a vast entity they had contacted once; a coin with a brilliant engraving on it that shifted and squirmed like the god it game from—and the list went on.

She thumbed the amulet after she pulled it over her head, playing with its spiraling tendrils and digging dirt from her nails with an object holding the essence of another god inside it. "We tried others, we really did. But you were the first one to let me get a word in, so you've got that over the rest of 'em."

"You said "we." You mean to tell me your parents support this?"

"Oh, yeah," she starts. Her tone makes it sound as if she was catching up with an old friend. "My folks are the type to say they love you and support you unconditionally, and they really really mean it. They helped me research all these rituals and summons and spells... it felt more like learning how to operate a telegraph than how to contact unearthly spawn."

She leans forward with a big, goofy grin, like she's telling the god a secret. "And they'd love to have you as an in-law."

For a moment, there is only silence. Or, at least, physical silence—a sputtering of energy passes through the girl's body, outwards from the god, and their form flickers. They looked like everyone she's every known all at once, and also like nothing at all. It lashes out in tendrils, seemingly in every direction but hers.

Then, it stops. Their form is completely stable and straight-faced. Or, about as straight-faced as a shifting void can be. If gods could breathe, she swore she felt the god taking a deep breath to speak. "It shall be done then."

She explodes in excitement, leaping onto the void and finding it surprisingly solid for a patch of nonexistence. She squeezes the god, soft and prickly and hot and cold and solid and giving all at once, and she feels an unbelievable joy. Not her own immense joy, no, but she feels the joy radiating from this god. This being.

They are hers, and she is theirs.

She is not a goddess, but the god treats her like one—and that's all that matters.

The eldritch god stood before the girl, in almost human form. “Your parents sold you to be my bride. I accepted, knowing that if I didn’t, they will just try another deity, but I will not force this on you. Have this credit card and live as you wish. If you want something else instead, just ask