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thewritergx · 5 months ago

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Caught in the Act: Stepdad!Joel Miller X F!Reader

Summary: Joel catches his stepdaughter with her boyfriend and decides to show her who’s really in charge.

Warnings: Unhappy marriage, mommy and daddy issues, drinking. Smut Containing: Age Gap (Reader is 18+ with undisclosed age, Joel in late 30s), Joel is your stepdad (don't read if your not into that), Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink, Caught in the Act (Reader with secret boyfriend), Jealousy, Cheating, Spanking, Fingering, Kissing, Oral (F!Receiving), Unprotected P in V, Creampie, Pet Names: Darling, Baby girl, Little girl, Daddy.

Word Count: 4.5K

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Please feel free to like and repost. Click here if you’d like more stories from me. Text divider from @cafekitsune. Free color text generator. If you'd like more Joel Miller stories, please go check out @pearlessance.

In the beginning, Joel Miller had hoped he would make a great stepfather. He hoped he would get along with you, find ways to make you laugh, get to know all your interests, and maybe help with schoolwork. He had been a father before, after all. He was sure he could do it again, even if you were already a teenager with your own life. He could guarantee you were safe, loved, and had a warm bed to come home to.

But, it turned out, you were completely different than what he had experienced with his daughter, Sarah. She was grown now, off to a big city hours away from him. Joel always thought she was easy to raise, but after living with you for the past two years, he was one hundred percent sure being a stepdad was nearly impossible. Now, he would settle to know he was a ‘kinda okay’ stepfather.

Joel knew that you hadn’t really done anything wrong. You were a good girl, always coming home before curfew, making all A’s in your senior year, and never bringing around any shitty dudes. But fuck, if you weren’t slowly ruining his life with your little outfits and teasing glares. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, the way your eyes lingered on him, but he could feel you in the back of his mind all the time.

Maybe it would have been easier for him to manage if it happened slowly, the gutted feeling he got when looking at you. But it came on fast, like a truck traveling ninety miles per hour into a brick wall the day you moved in. He hated to admit it, but a part of him deep down in the darkest pits of his decaying soul, loved it. A kind of unimaginable pain he craved constantly, like when you get a small bruise and can’t help but press into the discolored skin. You know that icky, repulsive feeling you get when you touch wet food in the sink? That was how he felt every time he looked at you, his skin recoiling into itself as you hugged him goodbye, your arms wrapped loosely around his waist.

The fantasies were the absolute worst, haunting him like an uninvited spirit watching in a dark corner of every room. He would imagine the most ghastly, devilish images when he was alone. Ones where you would be all spread open for him, letting him devour your swollen pussy while he pumped his fingers in and out of you. Ones where you were waiting on your knees at the front door, a perfect set of lingerie displaying your tits as you sat with your mouth open, waiting for him to come home from work and fuck your little throat. Ones where you were screaming into your pillow as he stretched you open with his thick cock, pounding you into the mattress until you were begging him to stop. It was driving him insane. Insane like he couldn’t control himself. Insane like he wondered if he might have needed to get some serious professional help.

There was a time when he had truly loved his wife. At least he thought he did, hoped it. But she was always so busy, traveling out of town for some important work conference or meetings. He hated being lonely in his own home, hated that he fell asleep knowing you were right down the hall, no one stopping him from sneaking into your room and taking you like a dirty little whore. You didn't deserve it. He knew you were a good girl, an intoxicating innocent clouding his mind. It was exhilarating but left a bad, sour taste in his mouth, sort of like biting into a rotten piece of fruit. His wife was becoming more of an annoyance, her body never helping ease the pain of you. He would try, truly he would. But every time her hands landed on his skin, he thought of you, sleeping alone down the hall.

“Joel?” Tommy waved his hand in front of his face, “Joel?”

Joel shook his head, eyes darting to his brother and thoughts snapping back to reality. “Huh?” Joel pitched the bridge of his nose before running his hand through his hair. “Sorry. Uh, what were you sayin?” He sat quietly across from Tommy, his broad shoulders pressed lazily into the small booth, red vinyl sticking to his back.

“You okay? You haven't listened to a word I’ve said.” Tommy laughed, taking a swig of his beer and eating stale french fries.

“Actually, I ain't feeling very good. Think I might be sick,” Joel muttered his words, hoping he was putting on a believable show. He felt fine. He just wanted to be back home. Back with his girl. As much as he loved his brother, he was begging to be close to you, not in some shitty dive bar avoiding the flirty glare from the bartender.

“You should get home, rest.” Tommy stood, throwing down a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket.

“Yeah, it's getting late anyway”. Joel dragged his body from the booth, slamming down the rest of his drink and grabbing his keys.

It took everything in Joel’s body not to sprint to his truck, his boots stomping across the gravel parking lot. He jumped into the truck, the engine rowing to life. His jaw was clenched, music vibrating through the speakers as he gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white and tight against the worn out leather.

He stumbled into the house, shoulders dropping and his eyes falling to the cold hardwood floor as he walked inside. The house was eerily quiet, the living room dark and empty. He had expected you to be in your usual place, sitting on the couch, wearing a tiny pair of shorts and a crop top that somehow showed way too much and nothing at the same time. His hands rested at his sides, eyes darting to your bedroom with a slight frown.

You knew it was wrong, the way your panties instantly soaked in a pool of arousal anytime you were alone with Joel Miller. It was happening at an alarming rate lately, your mother always gone on work trips or fancy dinners. It was agonizing, your skin constantly on fire for a man you could never touch. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact day or even moment when you started pinning for the man. He was just always around, messy hair always falling in his eyes in the morning, eyes sparkling in the sun as he mowed the grass, and the way he rolled his sleeves up, the material hugging his toned shoulders as he washed the dishes. He was a goddamn masterpiece waiting for you to fall apart and end up in arms. It was wrong on every account. He was rough, older than you by a good fifteen years. Not to mention, he was married to your mother.

You relished in the fact you were finally home alone, the perfect opportunity to get yourself some type of release from the constant yearning. Joel didn't like leaving you alone. Your mother was already gone all the time and he wasn’t going to be another person in your life too busy to show up when you needed him. As much as you loved being around him, feeling his gaze from across the room, you needed a night to yourself. You knew you shouldn’t. You wanted to respect Joel and his house, but it wasn’t nearly enough to stop you.

You laid on your bed, a loose t-shirt hanging off your shoulders, goosebumps rising over your body. You had been seeing a guy for a few months, keeping him a tightly wrapped secret. He was sweet, tall, and smart. The boy hovered over you, his hands falling to your hips as you grind into him, lips lightly parting and panting breaths flowing from you. His fingers grazed the hem of your red panties, the material hugging your waist. He brushed his lips over ours, pulling you into a gentle kiss. Not enough to send any sparks but enough to leave you whining and body raving. His hands traveled lower, dipping just inside your panties. You gasp, bucking your hips into his hand for any type of friction. You were so close to a release, hoping it would help settle the growing need for Joel. You had to stop yourself from imagining him, stop yourself from moaning his name as the boy dipped a finger inside you.

Joel stood in the living room, debating on whether to knock on your door. Maybe you were hungry? Maybe you needed help with that new anatomy project? He lingered towards the door, hand hovering over the handle when he heard a quiet whimper. He listened for a moment longer, the sound of small moans reverberating on the other side. He should knock, he knows that. But in a second of impulse, he was swiftly throwing the door open.

“What the fuck?” Disdain dripped off his tongue, his broad shoulders standing in your doorframe as you lay on the bed, legs spread open. The boy’s hands roamed over your body, kissing your neck and palming at your panties.

“Joel, oh my god! Get out,” you yelped, quickly pushing the boy off of you. You watched as the muscles in Joel’s jaw tightened, the veins in his throat contracting as he swallowed a huff of air.

The boy stood in front of you, helpless fear written all over his face. “I’m uh...I-I’m gonna go,” he muttered, quickly throwing on a pair of Nike Sneakers. God, he looked pathetic. Weak and small next to the man you had really been longing for.

“Yeah. You do that.” Joel cut his eyes at the boy, begging him to give Joel a reason. Joel wanted nothing more than to throw that kid against the wall and fuck him up so bad the cops would have to drag him out. But, he held back, hands crossed around his chest, the muscles in his shoulders flexing against his body. The boy awkwardly slipped through Joel, his eyes on the floor and shoulder shrugging. He squeezed himself between Joel’s large frame and the doorway, quickly leaving with a slight slam of the front door.

You felt your body trembling, the edge of euphoria quickly fading and leaving you feeling empty. You felt your throat go dry, fingers shaky as you looked at Joel, your eyes darting between him, the floor, and your quivering fingers.

“Who the hell was that?” Joel stepped into the room, scanning the way your bottom lip pouted, eyes full of regret and fear. It was cute, the way you were avoiding looking at him, but he needed to see the look in your eyes when he was talking to you.

“No one,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the sound of Joel’s hitched breaths.

“No one? You let…no one touch you like…that?” Anger rose higher, Joel’s voice thick with venom and a hint of disgust.

“N-No. I-I.” You shifted in your bed, sitting on the mattress with a ‘thud’. “He’s just some guy I’ve been talking to”.

“Does this ‘guy’ have a name?” Joel stood at the foot of your bed, his feet planted in the carpet. His eyes filled with darkness.

“R-Ryan.” You spoke matter-of-fact, skin growing hot with embarrassment.

“Ryan?” Joel sucked his teeth, his tongue pressed against his lips as he repeated the boy's name. Stupid and plain, he thought. He wasn’t even hot. He looked like a fucking nerd. Were these the kind of guys you actually liked? He definitely wasn't good enough for you and Joel could guarantee whatever he was about to do with you would have been over in five minutes. You deserved so much more than that. Deserved a real man. A man who could give you everything you needed, leave your body exhausted and voice raspy from screaming. “And what were you and ‘Ryan’ doin’?”

You somehow mustered up the courage to look up at Joel, your cheeks flustered and on the verge of tears. “Nothing,” you mumbled again, eyes quickly falling down Joel’s body.

“Didn’t look like nothin’. Looked like you were about to spread those little legs for him. Were you gonna let that kid fuck you?” Joel stalked towards you, his large frame lingering over you like a lion stalked its prey.

You cringed at his words hating the way it made your body all hot. “N-No! I swear. I wasn’t. I just…” You shifted again, pulling your shirt down in hopes of hiding the wetness formed in between your thighs.

“Just what? You were just under him, lettin’ him rub your pussy and you weren’t gonna fuck ‘em?” Joel grabbed your chin, his calloused fingers pulled at the soft skin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze as his thumb stroked your cheek softly.

“I-” You tried to speak, words harshly cut off.

“Were you gonna suck his dick?” Joel dragged his thumb across your bottom lip, pressing into the soft skin. “Think that kid could actually give you what you need?”Joel chuckled, a sinister vibration shuddering through you. “You need to learn some goddamn respect, sweetheart. Bringin’ a boy like that into my house”.

“I-I’m sorry, Joel. Please, I-I thought you would be gone longer.” Every nerve on your body is electrified with the soft touch of Joel's callous hands, a heavy contrast between his words. He was so close, the smell of whisky on his breath wafting between you.

“You’re sorry?” Joel huffed, “I don’t think you’re sorry, darlin’. Think ya’ liked it. Think ya’ wanted more, huh?”

You stared up at Joel. You hesitated but voiclessly shook your head yes. There was no point in trying to hide it, not with your flustered cheeks and glossed-over eyes.

“Think I need to teach a lesson about what happens to little girls like you.” Joel sat next to you, his chest expanding with each breath as he pulled your arms, directing your body until you were all sprawled out, ass in his lap and face in the blankets. He tugged at the bottom of your shirt, bunching the material at your waist to finally reveal those tiny red panties, your cunt swollen and outlined under the lace.

“Look at these fucking panties. Got all dressed up for him, huh?” Joel’s fingers travel to the thin material between your legs, hooking at the fabric before letting it go with a loud ‘pop’. He caressed your skin, calloused hands squeezing at the fat of your thighs.

You flinched, your skin begging for more of him. Goosebumps rose across your body and your breath hitched in your throat, waiting as Joel’s hands lingered on your ass.

“Joel, What are you-,” A loud slap echoed across the room, Joel’s strong hands striking the curvy fat of your ass cheek hard. Your body rejected the sensation, causing you to stur against him, hips writhing in a stinging pain.

“Stay still,” Joel demanded, his words rushing through you like lightning strikes a metal pole. He struck you hard again, hand lingering on your skin a moment too long, caressing you before he spanked you again.

“Ow!” You immediately cried out at the unexpected impact. Your skin stung, and a red handprint started to form.

Joel ignored your plea, slapping you again. This time, harder, enough to almost make you cry.

“Joel, ow!” A tear formed in your eye and your back arched with each impact. “I’m sorry, Joel. Please, I’ll be a good girl”.

“Don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet, darlin’,” Joel hit you again, fingers traveling down to your panties for the second time.

“Look at how fucking wet you are. You're dripping all over my lap, sweetheart.” You moaned at his words, his hands palming at the sensitive skin, panties adding a rough sensation as he rubbed small circles on your clit. “This all for me or did that dumb boy do this?”

“Fuck, Joel. P-please,” You bucked your hips, ass on fire but begging for more.

“Answer me,” Joel growled, striking you again. His fingers moved just slow enough to work you up, but leave you whining for more.

“Ahh! J-just y-you. I don’t e-even like h-him,” you yelped, cold air hitting your body as Joel reached for your top, swiftly pulling it over your arms and past your head.

“Ya’ don’t even like him? Then why was he in my house? Why were you lettin’ him touch what’s mine?” His fingers returned to your cunt, settling on your soft skin and tugging on the lace. Finally, he was pulling the fabric down your legs, exposing that glistening pussy he had been craving for an eternity.

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You swallowed hard, mouth going dry as you laid completely naked over him. Your ass stung and your pussy was crying.

Joel spread your swollen lips, using two fingers to expose the arousal leaking from your tight hole. “Look at that,” Joel whispered, his fingers softly rubbing the outside of your soft lips, gathering your arousal thick on his fingers. He moved slowly, expertly rubbing your clit in a figure eight motion. You shuddered, the feeling just enough to add a sense of pleasure under the pain of your abused skin. You bucked your hips back into his hand, little moans falling out of you.

His free hand traveled lower, lightly circling the soaking skin of your cunt, tight and swollen as he pressed his finger gently inside.

“Oh god,” you squealed, Joel’s finger pressing right against that sweet spot.

“So responsive. This is what ya’ like, huh?” He curled his finger up, his other hand still massaging your clit. “Like makin’ a mess on your stepdaddy's fingers?” He whispered, quickly adding a second finger to pump into you. “I know you do. You’re fuckin’ drippin’, baby girl”.

Every muscle in Joel’s body was flexing, his toned arms stiff as he hits that sweet spot over and over again. The sensation is almost too much, your stomach tightening as he stretches you out.

“Fuck, daddy. Please”, you cry, your mouth falling open as Joel ignores all your pleas for mercy. That tight feeling in your stomach grows, and shaky legs cause your hips to falter.

“I know you're close, baby girl. Cum on your daddy’s fingers. It’s okay.” Joel struggled to keep you from sliding off his fingers, your walls tightening around him as his fingers press into your velvet skin.

“Joel!” You’re practically crying, eyes gripped close as a rush of euphoria flows through you. Everything in you relaxes, that sweet sensation leaving you vibrating with pleasure.

“Good girl,” Joel mutters, eyes locked on the way your body is sucking his fingers in, your juices running down his hand. Joel hesitates for a moment. He thinks about fucking you with his fingers until you're a burning pile of ash under him. Reluctantly, he decides to show some type mercy, gently helping you lay back on the bed.

He positions you on your back, your knees bent so your feet lay flat against the blanket. Before he can think, before he can force himself to get up and walk out the door, he is sinking to his knees and wrapping his arms around your thighs.

“Let me clean you up, darlin’,” Joel mutters, placing gentle kisses down your stomach.

He settles on your thighs, lightly biting at the skin and sucking harsh red marks. He spreads your legs wider, hovering his face above your core. He can guarantee your little boyfriend was not planning on doing this.

Jole’s breath lands on your pussy, hot and slow as he licks a long stripe through your folds. Fuck, that’s the taste he had been dreaming of, like heaven oozing out of you and onto his tastebuds. He uses the tip of his tongue to tease your clit, flicking it up and down against you. Your hands fall to his thick hair, tugging at the loose strands that fall down his forehead. Joel hums, sending a vibration through you as his spit mixes with your wetness.

His tongue traces every part of your core, settling back on your clit. This time harsher, like he's on a mission. His teeth graze the gentle skin, fingers digging into your thighs as you fuck his mouth. You're a mess under him, bucking your hips into his mouth as he sucks at the plump skin.

“That’s it. Just like that. Cum on your daddy’s mouth, little girl”. Joel’s words echo through you, his tongue ripping another orgasm through you like a hot blade cuts through rubber. It's gentler but just powerful, leaving your mind foggy and breathless.

“Such a good girl,” Joel growls, quickly forcing himself to stand. Finally, he gets a real look at your body. Your hair is already messy, red strands falling down your shoulders. Your nipples are swollen, the dark pink buds standing on edge. Fuck, you were breathtaking.

Joel knew this was the moment that he truly couldn’t come back from. Maybe there was nothing wrong with just helping his girl get off. It was safer with him, he thought. But actually, fucking you? It would be too much. He should leave. He taught you a lesson. Taught you who you really belong to, right? He thought it would be easier. Thought he could stop whenever he was getting too close to crossing that line of no return, but his feet were planted in the ground and his cock was throbbing against the zipper of his jeans.

Your eyes pleaded up at him, pupils dilated as you watched in silence. You didn't look scared and he found no hint of regret in your eyes. You looked happy even, a slight smile on your face.

“Think you can take your daddy’s dick?” He stood above you, watching your pussy dripping with his saliva.

You nodded your head, arms grazing the soft skin of your stomach. He shouldn’t fold this easily. He should’ve made you say it, how much you wanted him. But that little nod was all he needed to kick off his boots and pull the zipper of his blue jeans down.

“Just, fuck…Your mom can never know”. Joel pulled at his shirt, swiftly throwing it up over his head. His broad shoulders were finally on display, the muscles in his arms all toned. You had never seen him like this, his chest sprinkled with greying hair. He was like a Roman painting, his stomach firm but with a little bit of extra fat to grab onto. A true dad bod, you thought.

“I know. J-Just want you. All of you,” you muttered, sitting up on your forearms as you watched him pull his jeans down his legs, leaving him in a pair of dark briefs. You could tell from here just how hard his cock was, the fabric strained and tight against him.

“I know, baby girl. Think I don’t see it? The way you're always watchin’ me? Or the way you grab my arms when ya’ laugh? Fuckin’ drives me crazy, ya know.” Joel stepped closer, his heart pounding in his chest. God, he really was about to fuck the little girl he was supposed to be helping raise. I mean, it’s not like you shared blood or anything. He wasn’t actually your dad. He was just a guy…married to your mom.

“Just let me know…if gets to be too much,” Joel groaned, closing his eyes as he swallowed. He cursed himself for this, pulling his boxers off his hips. As much as he hated it, his cock sprang free, dripping with precum as he dragged his body to hover over you. It was a sweet relief, the air hitting him as he pumped his hand up and down his dick.

Joel spread your legs wider, his hips falling over yours as pulled you into a hungry kiss. His lips meet yours with a subtle taste of whiskey and you. His tongue slowly licks at your lips, his hands gripping your hips as he lines himself up to your entrance. You open your mouth a bit, letting him trace his tongue against yours, exploring every crevice of your mouth. The tip of his cock brushes against your clit, his large member teasing you and gathering your wetness.

“Please,” you whine. Your arms fall down Joel’s shoulders, meeting his eyes as he gently presses his tip past your folds.

“Fuck, baby. So fuckin’ tight.” Joel growled, pushing himself inside you with a sweet burning stretch.

“Oh, Joel!” You moan, your throat tightening around your words as he sinks deeper inside you. You're taking half his cock now, so much bigger than the boy you had been seeing.

“I got you, baby. Doing so good.” Joel’s head fell into the crease of your neck, placing hot kisses as he hit the back of your pussy. He stayed like this for a moment, letting you get used to the feeling of him before he pulled back. “That’s a good girl. Takin’ her daddy so well.” Joel dragged himself out, leaving the tip inside before falling completely back into you, brushing against your g-spot like a pro.

“Feel so good,” you whine, your nails dragging down his back as he picks up speed.

“God, baby girl. Fuckin’ doing so good.” He tries to hold back, hips growing just slightly rough as he fucks deep into you.

Your body is trembling again, your heart sinking with every thrust and a single tear runs down your cheek. He was so big, hitting your cervix over and over again.

That feeling was quick to creep back, your chest tightening as he pounded into you, cock pumping in and out faster and rougher.

“Daddy, please,” You cried, your body fighting off the euphoria as Joel pressed his weight against you.

“It’s okay. Cum on Daddy’s big dick,” Joel growled, no longer stopping himself from making a complete mess of you. He watched your eyes flutter close, your back arching off the bed and your hands digging into the blankets. He snapped his hips, a loud echo ringing out across the room and you clenched around him, thick white cream coating the base of his cock.

Just like that, you were crying out his name and shaking uncontrollably. Your orgasm ripped through you, hard and undeniable.

“Daddy! Fuck yes!” You screamed, your hips bucking into him as you bit into his shoulder.

“Fuck, that’s it.” Joel ground against you, hips never faulting as you withered under him. “Like Daddy’s cock, huh?” He growled, his own high building as he watched you shudder at his touch.

“I love it, daddy. Love your dick so much,” You whined, forcing your walls to open up for him.

“Yeah? Wish I was fucking you a long time ago baby. Wanted to since I met ya’.” Joel’s rhythm grew messy, hips slapping into you at an unprecedented pace. “Gonna let your daddy cum inside your little pussy?”

“Yes, please Daddy. Want your cum,” You stuttered, your voice all raspy and barely audible.

Fuck. Joel couldn't stop himself and he was thrusting as deep as he could, sinking all the way inside you until his balls landed on your clit. You were so beautiful, so tight around him that his mind was all clouded and drunk.

“Goddamn. That’s my good girl. Lettin’ her daddy get her pregnant. Want to carry my baby huh? Get all swollen while your mom’s out of town. Bet she wouldn’t even notice.” Before he could stop himself, he was painting your walls white, fucking every drop of his cum deep inside you with a painful need.

“Yes, Daddy!” You whined, watching as Joel slowly pulled out, his cum dripping down your leg. He dragged himself off of you, hitting the mattress with deep panting breaths.

“Love ya’, sweetheart. Always have.” Joel muttered, his words spread out and uneven as he pulled your back against his chest. His mind was racing, the reality of what he had just done weighing on him like a ton of bricks.

He should have knocked.

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bernardsbendystraws · 7 months ago

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𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 .ᐟ 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕

synopsis: Matt is obsessed with your lip gloss.

warnings: SMUT , obsessive!Matt, soft dom Matt, teasing, pervy Matt, flicking beans, and more.

ʚ with love and big tits, Rose ɞ

The lipgloss painted on your lips had driven Matt insane all fucking day. It wasn’t intentional on your end, but god…he was in pain from how bad he needed you.

He wanted your perfect lips messy. Matt needed to see your saliva drip down and smudge the pearlescent glitter—he needed to see you as he needy as he felt.

And it didn’t take long.

As soon as you two had gotten home and started cuddling, you were caught off guard by Matt’s behavior. He wouldn’t let you get up—or even move from your body being pressed directing onto his. His hands clamp possessively on your sides, frantically pulling you against him.

The lack of distance between your bodies answers your confusion about his behavior. You feel it, he’s hard—he’s throbbing.

A subtle grind of his hips makes your breath catch in your throat. Matt lets his hand palm and massage your thigh, his lips tracing delicate kisses on your neck—knowing it’s one of your weakness.

Anytime he kisses your neck he’s mesmerized how quick your energy shifts. Your hands grip harder, your breaths get shorter, and you…you always get so needy.

This time wasn’t any different. Desperation is audible with the sound of your nails scratching into the sheets. It’s intoxicating how blissful everything feels, but your body screams for more.

His efforts aren’t enough. Teasing isn’t sufficient for the pulse building between your legs. Your skin crawls for anything and the heat shriveling in your gut begs for something as soft pecks turn sloppier trailing down to your collarbone.

The weight of your body falls further against him. Air whispering on the wet trail of kisses has you in a daze. You’re hypnotized by the feeling of your body heating up warmly and aching for him to touch you more.

Matt lets out a breathy moan as you sway yourself back onto his hard bulge with sluggish, uncoordinated movements. You need him. You need him so bad that there’s little left but pure instinct.

“Matt…” you whine out.

Harsh breaths fan onto your neck as he continues ravishing you with hungry kisses. His hands falls forward. “Is this what you need, doll? Just want more, hm?” he rasps, dipping his hand through your pants to circle your clit over your underwear.

The broken moan that leaves your lips is encouraging to him. He lets himself find a good, slow pace while toying with the sensitive bud.

You can’t help but let your back arch against his front, but Matt is sure to keep you pinned against him. He wants to feel you writhe.

“You were teasin me all day, sweetheart…that damn lipgloss, I swear. Shouldn’t I return the favor?” His fingers start to pace even slower, a light pressure barely even palpable from his touch now.

“I…didn’t mean to, you—please,” you say, biting on your lip as you feel his chest vibrate with a low hum.

“Don’t worry, doll. I know you didn’t mean to and I—“ he lets his hand slide beneath the thin fabric of your panties.

There’s little hesitation as he swivels his nimble fingers through your wet heat, circling your hole for slick before dragging his hand back up to your swollen clit. “—I don’t tease my girl too much, no…I…” his pants are heavy against your neck.

A certain lace of lust found in his voice and his touches—one that makes you feel like a doll, not a toy. He’s playing with you. So intricately…so delicately…so obsessively….

”—I don’t do that, right? Always make my girl feel good…don’t you think, sweetheart?” he purrs.

The aggressive nods of your head awakens something in him—an even hungrier touch as he starts to grip you a little harder, pushing his fingers with more passion and starting to strum them delightfully against your clit.

A shriek leaves your mouth. Your hand grabs around his wrist in pure desperation. It’s too much.

“Want me to stop?” he asks.

Your grip becomes stronger, pulling his hand further into your underwear and your grind up into his touch. “N—no…I—fuck, please just…don’t stop, it—feels s’good, I,” you rush between breaths.

Matt hums, dipping his nose to run alone the subtle marks from his lips made on your neck just minutes ago. “Yeah? want me to keep playin with my doll, hm? I—fuckkkkkk, sweetheart…that’s right—“ drool is slipping from your lips as your mind runs blank. It feels so good. Nothing could float in or out of your mind. It’s just this—the pure bliss of his touch calming you to a numb state of pleasure.

“My messy girl—-fuck, my—my pretty doll.”

The sight of your drool sliding down and mixing with your lipgloss is even better than he had been imaging all day. It’s the perfect sight—it’s the perfect feeling. You look so messy, all ruined and he’s barely done anything. The way your body squirms is viciously beautiful to him. You can’t control yourself.

You’re a perfect mess.

And it’s all for him.

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azrielbrainrot · 7 months ago

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The First Light of Dawn

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Somnophilia

Description: The bond threatens to drive both you and Azriel insane.

Warnings: Smut, somnophilia, fingering, oral sex, dub con (except it's not because they totally discussed this before)

Word Count: ~1,6k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: I feel obligated to say that you should only try something like this with someone who you trust and with prior consent and that you can take it back anytime. Hope you enjoy!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

There wasn't much Azriel loved more than flying over Velaris after a long mission, feeling the breeze hit his face and his sore muscles as he watched the city shining below, always reminding himself why he works so hard to protect it. Today's mission had been a mostly routine affair, one he didn't even have to leave his shadows for, but he still felt particularly exhausted after it.

His brothers had warned him multiple times that the bond could be hard to deal with at times, especially when it was as fresh as yours, but he always thought they were exaggerating, - your bond had brought him nothing but happiness after all. The Mother proved him wrong today though. Azriel was gone for barely a full day and while he was supposed to be focusing on his target all he could think about was how much he missed you. He could almost hear the bond in his chest screaming at him to go and find you, to hold you in his arms and never let go.

Even now it was trying to guide his body in the direction of your house on the other side of the river, making him have to almost fight with himself to keep flying to the townhouse. The sun wasn't even close to rising and you had worked all day as well, he wouldn't disturb your sleep just because the bond was so annoyingly irrational. Azriel contemplates waking Rhys or Cassian up so they could spar with him and help him release some of the tension clinging to his body, but that would be proving them right, something he was unwilling to do no matter the cost.

At last, he lands on his balcony with a soft thud, a sigh escaping him at the familiar sight, sending his shadows scattering around the room so they could relax as well. The bond had been so loud all day, that he thought he was imagining smelling your scent in the air, already setting his weapons down on their respective spots in his dresser when his body locked up as he heard soft breathing behind him.

Turning around slowly, Azriel couldn't even believe his eyes when he saw you sleeping soundly under the covers. His shadows climbed up his body immediately, giddily letting him know that not only was he not dreaming, but his pretty little mate had also been missing him all day, crawling up into his bed so she'd be surrounded by his scent.

His tired body awakens at the sight, walking closer to the bed slowly so he didn't wake you up, unable to keep away. A smile breaks out on his lips when he reaches you, pushing some of the hair out of your face so he could place a soft kiss on your forehead, scarred thumb caressing your cheek softly. Gods, you were so perfect.

Just when he thought the bond would finally calm down, it starts spreading a different kind of heat over his body, your scent assaulting all of his senses the longer he breathes it in. His hand trails down to your neck, pushing the covers down a bit as he goes, a whimper almost escaping him when he finds you were wearing one of his shirts, and nothing else from the looks of it.

His body moves before he even realizes what he was doing, pushing the covers off your body completely, exposing you to his hungry gsze, hazel eyes tracing every bit of exposed skin, taking note of how his shirt although too big on you, had ridden up enough to let him know you were truly only wearing it and nothing else.

With the bond purring inside him and his shadows whispering just how much you've missed him, Azriel turns your body over carefully, laying you on your back as he sits on the bed beside you, hands caressing your legs softly. You sigh in your sleep when his hands spread your thighs apart, but show no sign of waking up. Your scent, deepened with arousal hits his nose in full force, a groan echoing around the room. It seems you really did miss him.

Azriel wastes no time in lifting the shirt up to your neck, making a sound in the back of his throat as your entrancing body is revealed to his eyes, biting down on his lip as your nipples started hardening under his gaze. He leans down to drop a kiss between your breasts, closing his eyes and breathing you in, feeling your heart beating under his lips for a moment. Gods, what was he doing? His body shows him the answer right away as he starts trailing wet kisses down your torso, biting and then soothing the skin with his tongue as he goes, a primal hunger rising within him.

He sits up suddenly when he reaches your navel, letting out a growl as he sheds any remaining piece of restraint that threatened to stop him. Your chest was rising and falling faster now, mouth agape as puffs of air escaped past your delicious lips. He knew he'd find you soaked even before his fingers met your cunt, easily sliding one and then two inside you carefully.

Azriel watches his fingers almost like he was in a trance, almost purring at the noises they made as he moved them in and out of you, your wetness dripping down his palm. Your body knew his touch well, whether you were awake or sleeping, sucking in his fingers greedily, almost begging him to keep going and take what was his.

A wicked idea comes to his mind, taking his fingers out and adjusting your body carefully so he could lay down between your legs, throwing your legs over his shoulders and lining his face up with your dripping cunt. He wanted to see how long it'd take you to wake up, if he could make you cum before you did.

Hands holding onto your waist, Azriel licks a broad stripe up your cunt before diving right in, moaning against you as your taste overwrites all of his senses. He almost forgets himself and the situation, getting lost in your taste, your scent and the feeling of your soft skin under his hands. Azriel grabbed at your thighs, massaging the flesh with his hands, moving back and forth up to your chest, playing with your nipples as best as he could given the angle. His hips start grinding down onto the mattress, his cock throbbing under his leathers as he feasts on you. He couldn't get enough of you, he probably would never get enough.

The Spymaster is so focused on your cunt, that he fails to notice your breaths coming out faster, your body trembling under his, and your eyes blinking awake, confused by the sudden rush of pleasure, moans of your own echoing around the room. It's only when your fingers tangle in his hair and you call out his name in question that he realizes you have woken up, moaning against you, the vibrations sending a shudder running through your overheated body.

It doesn't take long for you to fall apart on his tongue, cumming around him beautifully as soon as he starts pumping one of his fingers back into your cunt while his mouth abused your clit. Azriel laps up your release, only pulling away when your body is shaking too much and your hands start pushing at his head, struggling to breathe through the unexpected pleasure he was giving you.

Kissing his way up your body, lingering for a moment over your chest, sucking a nipple into his mouth, and then over your neck, marking it up with his teeth, he softens when he gets to your jaw, sweetly kissing your face before his lips fall over yours at last, your hands moving to hold the back of his neck to keep him in place, tasting yourself on his mouth.

“You're a heavy sleeper,” he whispers against your lips when you pull away, unable to resist licking over your bottom lip once.

“I think you're just too good at being sneaky, Spymaster,” your murmur, voice still heavy with sleep and still breathy from the mind numbing orgasm, legs still trembling softly at his sides.

Azriel hums, taking your lips between his own again, hands still caressing your skin, coaxing the sweetest gasp from you, one he gladly swallowed, his body fitting over yours perfectly.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as the bond finally gives him a moment of rest. “Couldn't stop thinking about you all day.”

“Me too.”

His shadows had already told him as much but it still warmed his heart to hear the confession coming directly from your lips, a content smile widening on his lips.

“Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes,” you admit, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I couldn't sleep without you.” Leaning up to peck his lips as he purrs at your words. He's convinced he could live forever in your arms.

Azriel starts feeling sneaky fingers tugging at the straps holding his leathers together, leaning away so he can watch your face adoringly as you unbuckle them expertly without ever looking away from him and still blinking away the sleepiness in your eyes.

“What are you doing, my love?”

“It's only fair I get to play with you too, don't you think?”

#azriel x reader #azriel smut #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfiction #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar smut #acotar kinktober #my writing

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wroetolando · 2 months ago

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𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚝 𝚆𝚊𝚛 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where lando finds a hornet mid-stream, panics, and calls you to save him—only to realize there are two

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: help! - the beatles

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: language

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The first sign that something was wrong came in the form of Lando’s sudden silence.

You had been sitting on the couch, lazily scrolling through your phone while his stream played in the background. His usual stream banter filled the apartment—occasional bursts of laughter, the sound of his wheel clicking as he drove, and random mutterings under his breath.

But then, out of nowhere, dead silence.

You frowned, glancing up from your phone. “Lando?”

A beat. Then—

“It’s bigger than a hornet,” Lando’s voice came, his tone filled with absolute terror. “It’s like a bird, man!”

Your head snapped up in time to see him pushing his chair back so violently it nearly tipped over. He was standing now, his headset still on but slightly lopsided, his wide eyes locked on something off-screen.

“Lando, what—”

Then he bolted.

You blinked.

The chat exploded on his screen. Messages flew in at lightning speed, all variations of:

WHAT IS HAPPENING??

LANDO ARE YOU OKAY??

“LIKE A BIRD”??????

And then he screamed.

Lando Norris, the Formula 1 driver, a man who routinely threw himself into high-speed battles at over 200 mph, screamed at a pitch so high that you were sure dogs were perking up in confusion across the neighborhood.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, standing up to investigate.

By the time you entered his streaming room, you were met with the sight of pure chaos. Lando had somehow acquired the vacuum cleaner, wielding it like an ancient warrior preparing for battle. The nozzle was raised toward the ceiling, trembling slightly in his grip.

“Ooh, it’s moving! It resists!” he yelped, his voice cracking.

You followed his gaze and finally spotted the enemy—a single, admittedly large, hornet clinging to the ceiling.

You bit your lip, trying desperately not to laugh. “Lando, are you—”

“Oh, she’s too big!” Lando shrieked, his hand tightening around the vacuum like it was a lifeline. “What the fuck! It’s resisting the Hoover! It’s just—oh my god, it’s looking at me! IT’S LOOKING AT ME!”

That was it. You lost it.

Doubling over, you laughed so hard that tears pricked at your eyes.

Lando, however, did not find the situation nearly as funny.

He turned to glare at you, betrayal written all over his face. “THIS ISN’T FUNNY, Y/N!”

You struggled to catch your breath. “I—I’m sorry, I just—”

“NO, BECAUSE LOOK AT IT!”

You did. The hornet, completely unfazed, was just chilling on the ceiling, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with the screaming human below.

“I swear it’s planning an attack,” Lando muttered.

You wiped at your eyes, still chuckling. “You’re actually ridiculous.”

Before he could retort, the hornet suddenly twitched.

Lando screamed.

It was loud. It was dramatic. And it was followed immediately by the loud thud of the vacuum hitting the ground as he scrambled away.

“Fuck. Oh—oh my god, I’m SCARED!”

The chat was going insane. You could see messages popping up on his second monitor.

LANDO THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN

THE WAY HE THREW THE HOOVER LMAOOOO

SOMEONE PLEASE CLIP THIS

Lando, oblivious to the internet roasting him in real time, now had a shoe in his hand. He looked at you, wild-eyed.

“This is it,” he muttered. “I’m going in.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“No. But I have no choice.”

And with that, he launched the shoe at the hornet with the kind of determination that should’ve guaranteed success.

It didn’t.

The shoe missed entirely.

And then—because the universe apparently had a sick sense of humor—another hornet appeared.

Lando froze.

His voice dropped into a whisper. “There’s two.”

You blinked. “What?”

His hands trembled.

“There’s TWO.”

A pause.

Then, absolute pandemonium.

“WHAT THE FUCK.”

Lando sprinted across the room, tripping over the fallen vacuum in his haste. You barely had time to register his sheer level of panic before—

“There’s TWOOOOOOOOOOO.”

His voice cracked violently, sending you into another uncontrollable fit of laughter. You had never seen him this distressed before.

“I TOLD YOU!” he wailed. “I TOLD YOU!”

At this point, he had climbed onto his gaming chair like it was a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean.

“Alright, alright, I’ll handle it,” you said, still laughing.

“No—Y/N, don’t! You can’t just—”

You ignored him, grabbing a rolled-up magazine and stepping forward. Lando let out a strangled noise of protest, but he was too frozen in fear to physically stop you.

With one swift motion, you swatted at the first hornet. It immediately darted toward the open window and disappeared.

One down.

Lando let out a small, hopeful gasp.

You turned to the second one, waiting for it to settle. Then, just as it landed, you struck again.

It was over in seconds.

Silence filled the room.

Lando stared at you in awe. “…You’re actually insane.”

You rolled your eyes, tossing the magazine onto the desk. “You’re welcome.”

Without warning, Lando lunged at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding on for dear life.

“You saved me,” he mumbled dramatically into your shoulder. “You’re my hero.”

You laughed, patting his back. “I hope you know the internet is never going to let you live this down.”

He groaned. “I already know. I’m gonna be seeing this for the next five years.”

You pulled back slightly, tilting your head. “You do realize that if you’d just let me handle it earlier, you wouldn’t have just humiliated yourself in front of thousands of people?”

Lando frowned, his lips pursing in thought. Then, with all the wisdom in the world, he said, “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

You smacked his arm.

He grinned.

The chat was still exploding. Clips were already being shared. Memes were being made in real-time.

And you?

You couldn’t wait to watch them.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

#f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #mclaren #mclaren f1 #ln4 #lando norris x you #f1 x you #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 fic #ln4 mcl #lando norris fic #wroetolando

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javelinbk · 2 months ago

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Ok, here it is. We've had the 'insane things Paul has said about John' list, now here's 'insane things John has said about Paul'*

*Note: Some of these are ‘John said to me’ quotes rather than words from John himself, so take these ones with a grain of salt.

And because so much of John’s Paul-induced insanity reflected in his actions, some (dis)honourable mentions…

Cutting up a girl's clothes and calling her a whore for sleeping with Paul (from the Beatles Anthology book)

Being mean to Jane when Paul first meets her

Defending Paul after the LSD controversy time and time again

Writing 'I'm always perfect' on a photo of Paul and 'funeral' on a photo of Paul & Linda's wedding

Getting upset about Too Many People and writing How Do You Sleep in response

Mocking the Ram photo with a pig

Using the 'Let Me Roll It' riff in Beef Jerky

Having a fight with Yoko and immediately running off to Paris

Other icebergs…

Insane things Paul has said about John

McLennon - by @frodolives

Paul McCartney - by @frodolives

Sources, full quotes and some others that wouldn't fit under the cut!

"If I can't have a fight with my best friend, I don't know who I can have a fight with" - The Mike Douglas Show, 1972

"Things are still the same between us. He was and still is my closest friend, except for Yoko" - 1971 interview

"He said to me, 'Artie, you worked with your Paul recently … I'm getting calls … that my Paul wants to work with me and I'm thinking about it … How did it go when you worked with Paul?'" - Art Garfunkel anecdote (submitted by @didwemeetsomewherebefore)

Mintz: There's one name that has not come up in our discussion [...] Paulie. John: Yes, we did! We got Paul in it. And I object to that 'Paulie' business - 1973 interview (submitted by @didwemeetsomewherebefore)

"If anybody said anything bad about Paul, John'd take a swing at you. He'd say, "You can't talk about Paul like that". Paul was his best buddy" - Alice Cooper anecdote

"I'm entitled to call Paul what I want to, and vice versa; it's in our family. But if somebody else calls him names I won't take it." - 1974 interview

"Paul was one of the most innovative bass players that ever played bass. And half the stuff that’s going on now is directly ripped off from his Beatle period." - 1980 interview

After a late lunch, Linda launched into a long paean to the joys of living in England. When she was finished, she turned to John and said, “Don’t you miss England?” “Frankly,” John replied, “I miss Paris.” - Loving John by May Pang (1983) (submitted by @big-barn-bed)

"The Boulevard Saint-Germainegreer shone in all its springbok glory as he stepped lightly on some French loafers toward the waiting arms of Comrade Amie" (and a lot more) - Skywriting by Word of Mouth

"My cheri my pau pau, do you remember when we were at a cafe on the left bank? You could not find your garter? Because it was on your little prod" - John's song demo (submitted by @thewalrusespublicist)

"I'm just like everybody else, Harry, I fell for Paul's looks." - Harry Nilsson anecdote (submitted by @thegirlwiththeaxe)

"He also looked like Elvis. I dug him." - John in Hunter Davies’ The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (1968) (submitted by @lesbianjohnlennon)

As the limousine edged through the screaming fans outside the cinema, John said laconically, 'Push Paul out first, he's the prettiest.' - Victor Spinetti, Up Front: His Strictly Confidential Autobiography (2006) (submitted by @fishfingerpies)

I could even hear what they were saying off-mike; ‘Oh Paul, you’re so cute tonight.’ was met with the reply 'Sod off, Lennon.’ - concert anecdote (submitted by @rabiessnail )

'Are those jeans tight, Paul?' That was John. 'What do you mean tight?' 'I can see your suspender belt through 'em and your stockings. You've got ladders in them.' Victor Spinetti, Up Front: His Strictly Confidential Autobiography (2006)

John: It sounds a vaguely good idea but I wouldn’t have my wife or any of me friends wearing them. Paul: Well, you’ve had us wearing them. John: I know, Paulie, but you’re so well-built - 1964 interview

Ringo: And I Love Her, yeah I love that one …and the way you sing it knocks me out, man. John: And the way that camera goes over your head… I thought, 'hello' - 1964 interview

"Meeting Paul was just like two people meeting. Not falling in love or anything. Just us. It went on. It worked." - John in Hunter Davies’ The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (1968) (submitted by @i-am-the-oyster, @thewalrusespublicist)

"Hey! Did you dream about me last night? …Very strong dream. We both dreamt about it. It was amazing! Different dreams, you know, but I thought you must’ve been there…. I was touching you" - Let It Be sessions, 1969 (submitted by @adriennefrombrooklyn)

"We do need each other alot. When we used to get together after a month off, we used to be embarrassed about touching each other. We’d do an elaborate handshake just to hide the embarrassment… or we did mad dances. Then we got to hugging each other. Now we do the Buddhist bit… arms around. It’s just saying hello, that’s all." - - John in Hunter Davies’ The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (1968)

Houghton: How do you feel about Paul McCartney now? John: Uh, we’re – haha. [laughs] This is like a joke: “We’re just good friends.” We’re – we’re pretty close now, like I was telling you before. - 1974 interview

"Nobody ever said anything about Paul having a spell over me, when I was with him for a long time. Or me having a spell over Paul. They didn’t think that was abnormal, two guys together. […] Why didn’t anybody ever say, “How come those guys don’t split up? I mean, what’s going on backstage? I mean, what is that Paul and John business? Why – you know, how can they be together so long?” - 1980 interview

"When I’m up against the wall, Paul, you’ll find I do my best" - Let It Be sessions, 1969 (submitted by @iiiiiiits-m)

"The plus is that your best friend, also, can hold you without… I mean, I’m not a homosexual, or we could have had a homosexual relationship and maybe that would have satisfied it, with working with other male artists." - 1972 interview (submitted by @big-barn-bed)

“When we sang together, Paul and I would share the same microphone. I’d be close enough to kiss him […] So we’d be playing these concerts, in front of thousands of people, but the only thing I could see was Paul’s face. He was always there next to me – I could always feel his presence. It’s what I remember most about those concerts.” - Elliot Mintz, 'We All Shine On: John, Yoko & Me' (2024)

Paul: There’s a story. There’s another one – ‘Don’t Let Me Down’. “Oh darling, I’ll never let you down.” Like we’re doing— John: Yeah. It’s like you and me are lovers. Paul: [reserved] Yeah. [pause] John: We’ll just have to camp it up for those two. Paul: Yeah. Well, I’ll be wearing my skirt for the show, anyway. - Let It Be sessions, 1969 (submitted by @alienoriana)

"The early stuff – the Hard Day’s Night period, I call it – the early period, was the early equi– se– what I’m – what I’m equating it to is the sexual equivalent of the beginning of a relationship, of people in love. And the Sgt. Pepper-Abbey Road period was the period of maturity in the relationship. And maybe had we gone on together, maybe something more interesting would have come out of it." - 1980 interview (submitted by @thewalrusespublicist)

"I mean, there were quite a few women he’d obviously had that I never knew about. God knows when he was doing it, but he must have been doing it" - 1972 interview

“It’s just handy to fuck your best friend. That’s what it is. And once I resolved the fact that it was a woman as well, it’s all right. We go through the trauma of life and death every day so it’s not so much of a worry about what sex we are anymore. I’m living with an artist who’s inspiring me to work." - 1971 interview (note: I know the 'best friend' here is Yoko, but the implications, baby...)

"He rang up and said he’d got this job and couldn’t come to the group. So I told him on the phone, “Either come or you’re out.” So he had to make a decision between me and his dad then, and in the end he chose me. But it was a long trip." - 1971 interview

"This song was written by an old estranged fiancé of mine called Paul" - Introducing 'I Saw Her Standing There' at Madison Square Garden, 1974 (submitted by @didwemeetsomewherebefore)

"The person I actually picked as my partner, who I’d recognised had talent, and I could get on with, was Paul" - 1980 interview (submitted by @crepesuzette2023)

"It would not have been the same. It would have been a different thing. But maybe it wouldn’t either. Maybe it was a marriage that had to end. Some marriages don’t get through that – that phase. It’s hard to speculate about what would have been." - 1980 interview (submitted by @thewalrusespublicist)

"I was living with Paul then, so I wrote with him. It’s whoever you’re living with. He writes with Linda. He’s living with her. It’s just natural" - 1971 interview

"It's like when the lawyers come into the divorce, you know? And that makes it a whole different ball game, you know… 'speak to my lawyer'" - 1973 interview

"It was never a legal deal between Paul and I. It was a deal we made when we were fifteen or sixteen, when we decided to write together, that we’d put both our names on ’em, you know." - 1980 interview

"And “go out and get her,” you know, and forget everything else. So subconsciously I take it that he was saying, “Go ahead.” On a conscious level, he didn’t want me to go ahead. So subconsciously, he… The angel in him was saying, “Bless you.” The devil in him didn’t like it at all. Because he didn’t want to lose his partner." - John talking about Hey Jude, 1980 interview

"When I slagged off the Beatle thing in the papers, it was like divorce pangs, and me being me it was blast this and fuck that" - 1974 interview

"And it’s really lawyers that make… divorces nasty. You know, if there was a nice ceremony like getting married, for divorce, then it would be much better. Even divorce of business partners. Because it wouldn’t be so nasty." - 1971 interview

"It’s like asking a divorced couple, “What day was it that – that decided you to – that the marriage wasn’t going well?” I didn’t – there was no date." - 1976 interview

"I’ve compared it to a marriage a million times, and I hope it’s… understandable for people that aren’t married, or any relationship. It was a long relationship." - 1976 interview

"I’ve only selected to work with – for more than a one night stand, say with an odd thing with [David] Bowie, or an odd thing with Elton [John], or anybody who was hanging around – two people. Paul McCartney, and Yoko Ono. Okay?" - 1980 interview

"I seen through junkies, I been through it all, I seen religion from Jesus to Paul" - 'I Found Out' lyrics, 1970 (submitted by @johns-prince)

“I’m glad that’s over. I feel like I’ve been keeping a vigil for him. Not that I care, you understand.” - John, according to John Green, Dakota Days (1983)

"One girl very shyly gave George a button badge which said ‘George for PM.’ ‘Why would Paul McCartney want you?’ said John to George.” - Hunter Davies’ The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (1968) (submitted by @didwemeetsomewherebefore)

John: "I was trying to put it 'round that I was gay, you know-- I thought that would throw them off… dancing at all the gay clubs in Los Angeles, flirting with the boys… but it never got off the ground." Q: "I think I've only heard that lately about Paul." John: "Oh, I've had him, he's no good." - 1975 interview (submitted by @johns-prince)

And I had a little upstairs, an unusable upstairs, and I kept a radio up there. Very faint. All of a sudden John said, "Is that Paul?" I thought it was somebody he knew named Paul. I didn't see anybody walk by. I said, "No." On the radio, Paul McCartney. We never mentioned anything about The Beatles. This little, low sound you could barely hear, he picked it right up. So, it just made me aware of how much attuned he was with The Beatles after they broke up.. - Gary Tracy, John's optometrist (slightly different version here)

John: "I've always thought there was this underlying thing in Paul's 'Get Back.' When we were in the studio recording it, every time he sang the line 'Get back to where you once belonged,' he'd look at Yoko." - 1980 interview (submitted by @johns-prince)

But in mid-January 1973 Lennon and Ono quarrelled publicly at another party. “I wish I was back with Paul,” Lennon reportedly said. - Peter Doggett, You Never Give Me Your Money: The Battle for the Soul of The Beatles. (2009) (submitted by @notgrungybitchin)

'From time to time John would say to me ''I wonder what Paul is thinking about, right now.'' I said John, I've only met him a couple of times in my life you know … I have no idea. And John would ask ''Do you think he thinks about me at all?''' - Elliot Mintz (submitted by @thewalrusespublicist )

“He was always saying, ‘I wonder what Paul is doing.’ When John and I were together, and this is about a week or two before our relationship ended, I remember him saying, ‘Do you think I should write with Paul again?’ I said, ‘Absolutely. You should because you want to. The two of you as solo performers are good, but together you can’t be beaten.” - May Pang

“Yeah, I miss Paul a lot. It’s been a year since I’ve seen him. He came over with Linda to me place in New York. Course I’d love to see him again. He’s an old friend, isn’t he?” - 1974 interview

"I never thought we’d come to that, because I didn’t think we were that stupid. But we were naïve enough to let people come between us." - 1971 interview

‘Paul? My dear one’ - 1980 interview (submitted by @didwemeetsomewherebefore)

"I’ve read cracks about, “Oh, the Beatles sang ‘All You Need Is Love’, but it didn’t work for them,” but nothing will ever break the love we have for each other." - 1972 interview

'"I just saw a girl who said she saw John Lennon walking down the street in New York wearing a button that said, "I love Paul." She asked him: "Why are you wearing an 'I love Paul' button?", and he said: "Because I love Paul." - Harry Nilsson anecdote (submitted by @bluewater9)

#the john quotes iceberg #presented without comment #although I will say I feel for john with some of these because I get what he’s trying to say #but just… some of the word choices #choices were made #insane quotes: john edition #that john and paul business #paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #john and paul #mclennon #javelin studies #javelin’s edit

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byuntrash101 · 10 months ago

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clutch. - 이페릭스.

clutch: when someone or a team performs really well in important situations.

SYNOPSIS. felix is the last one standing against the last squad. since you don't want to end the night on a loss you give your friend felix a little motivation: "felix, if you clutch this i'll send you my tits"

bsf!felix x f!reader ft. seungmin, smut, mdni

tags. sub!felix, also simp felix (he's got a big fat crush on you), also felix' gorgeous and luscious hair, phone sex, guided masturbation, masturbation (f & m), nudes, use of toys, begging, teasing, pet names (good boy, pretty boy, baby), praising (he deserves 'em, ok??), squirting, orgasms (f & m). wc. 2.9k

a/n. i hope you enjoy because this is pure filth lolzzz. my inspiration comes from a twitcher that was playing val and one of her friends said that to her and she fucking slayed everything. also this is based on apex because i dont play val or lol so yeah.

“Fuck! I’m down” you heard Seungmin wail in your headset. You sighed, annoyed. It was your very last game of the evening and you really didn’t want to end on a loss. Your eyes went up to the corner of the screen again. It was down to the last team and you could have been the champions. But you died in a 2v1 earlier and the team didn’t have anymore respawn beacons. You still had hope to win because Seungmin could surely take them but he was cornered and the other team had the high ground. Felix was the last one standing on your team and well… He wasn’t the best player and the enemy squad was still full.

Felix was petrified watching all of his squad get slaughtered one by one. He was frantically checking his hiding spot, hearing the steps of the other squad coming in.

“Felix if you clutch this I’ll send you my tits”.

The silence that followed was almost religious. Felix didn’t even think, he didn’t let his nerves take the best out of him at the idea of possibly seeing you in a way he had secretly dreamed of for a long time now. Instead it calmed him, he was in a sort of serene trance. He knew if wanted to get his crush’s nude he had to do this. He had to win.

So he did.

In a second he jumped out of his hiding spot, surprising the healer of the enemy squad and fired first and took them down. He was light as a shadow as precise as an assassin. He heard the footsteps coming in from the left so he circled the building by the right. He jumped on the roof waiting for the last two enemies to find him. One opened the door just beneath Felix he fired, not missing a single shot but the second one quickly came to help his teammate. Felix had to take cover but as the first one was trying to heal he shot again to take them down. He quickly came down the rooftop and made the final blow with his melee weapon. And there it was: you are the champions. Written in red and gold across the screen while epic music played in the background but Felix heard none of it. The song was completely drowned out by the loud cheers of his friends.

You and Seungmin screamed and jumped. You couldn’t believe what you saw, Felix single handedly took out the entire last squad. When you got up your chair to jump around you were really thankful you swapped for a wireless headset.

“Broooooo” Seungmin started, “What the fuck was that? You absolute legend.”

“Mate, I don’t even know”

“Lix, that was actually insane!” you chipped in.

The conversation went on and Felix was patiently waiting for someone to bring up what you said earlier. But no one said anything. It was probably a figure of speech or a joke… Yeah, probably a joke. And Felix couldn’t help the little tinge of disappointment that tainted his heart when he heard you say goodnight at the other end of the line.

“I really gotta go, I’m working in the morning” Seungming started.

“Yeah” Felix chuckled, trying his hardest to maintain the euphoria of winning, because somehow he still felt like he lost in the end.

“Good night, Lixie” you whispered.

“Bye” He exhaled, staring at your small icon before the green halo around it disappeared.

Your picture was smiling right at him and he sighed again picturing you smiling like this tonight. Then he thought of what you said again. He slapped his forehead and frowned at himself. How did he actually believe that?! Of course it was a joke. A stupid joke you would make to your friends… A friend who you love platonically… Platonically and that’s it… Felix had to understand that, he had to accept that. After all these years you probably saw him as a brother.

He cringed and shook his head at the idea, trying to stop the dreadful train of thoughts before he’d eventually break his own heart. But right when he was hovering above the shut down button the distinct sound of a new message chimed in.

[Attachment received: for_the_goat_my_lixie.jpg]

Just like earlier, Felis didn’t take a second breath, didn’t scramble, his hand was steady when he clicked on it. What the screen then showed knocked the air right out of his lungs.

You are so beautiful.

You were wearing your gaming gear, your LED baby blue headset, your hair beautifully tied back, no make up. Your gray demon slayer hoodie was pulled up. You seemingly didn’t wear a bra today because the hoodie was the only thing you needed to lift up to snap the perfect picture of your heavenly tits.

Felix swallowed thickly, he flipped his long blond hair out of his eyes as they were screwed onto the screen as hot blood rushed to his groin at an alarming rate. He felt dizzy as his tongue swiped across his bottom lip. You looked so mischievous, wearing a devilish little smirk slightly crooked, just so playful. Your breasts were squished together and you held the camera with one hand with the other lifting up the hoodie. Your nipples were pebbled. So fucking perfect, Felix thought as his hand found his growing bulge. The perfect size, the perfect color. Perfection. And to top it all off your tongue was sticking out, a long and thick string of saliva was dripping onto your chest, right into the cleavage and rolling down to your nipples, making your skin wet and shiny. It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen. You were the most erotic thing ever.

[incoming audio call: staydreamgurl]

Felix panicked for a second, almost knocking the ninja energy drink on his custom keyboard.

“Shit” he caught the can before the disaster and picked up the call.

“Hm-Hello?” Felix tried, his deep voice was careful, almost hesitant. And you chuckled at his awkwardness.

“So,” you started, Felix could hear the same devilish crooked smirk through the phone. “What are you gonna do with it?” You sounded so naughty and Felix almost choked on his saliva, a novel attitude he was not about to start complaining about.

“Hmm… I-I don’t really know yet” He lied, his eyes fluttering to the huge bottle of lotion behind the monitor.

“Liar” you said, tit for tat.

Fuck.

“You’re gonna jack off to it”

“Yeah” He chuckled awkwardly again. “I was gonna do that”

“How?”

“W-what, what do you mean?”

“How are you gonna touch yourself to my pic?” There was not an ounce of hesitation in your voice. “Tell me how you’re gonna do it”

“I-I…Hmmm” Felix stammered, he was at a loss for words. This brand new attitude you had, your sultry voice, your pushy, self assured demeanor and the lewd photo that was still full-screen on his monitor. He loved all of that a little too much.

“You want help?”

“What?”

“I could tell you exactly how to do it. You’d just have to listen to me and do what I tell you.”

“Fuck” he let escape, his breath was already short. Was he fucking dreaming? Was it really happening? Was something finally happening? He would have ever imagined this. Not tonight after dreaming about it countless times. It was finally happening. “Hm, yeah, y-yeah I’d love that.” Felix agreed.

“Good boy.” you praised in the same sultry tone, the pet name made Felix’ cock jump between his thighs.

“Grab your lube, your lotion. What do you usually use?” You asked, your voice a little lower, a little quieter too.

“I-I use lotion.” Felix said, reaching behind his monitor and dragging the blue and white bottle to him.

“Oh! So naughty, not so innocent after all, huh?” You chuckled. “Take your clothes off, all of them.” You ordered, and in a split second Felix was completely naked on his chair, his pink nipples were hardening as he pushed his back onto the comfortable gaming chair.

“Are you hard?” you asked in a sinful sigh that had Felix’s heart flutter stupidly.

“Y-Yes” Felix said, struggling not to stroke himself, impatiently waiting for your instructions. “I’m so fucking hard right now.”

“My bare tits get you hard, pretty boy?” You said, a little rasp in the voice that didn’t go unnoticed.

His dick throbbed again as he let out a stifled sigh. He definitely liked the way you were talking to him.

“F-fuck yes they do. And your voice too.” Felix’s usually deep voice sounded ever so slightly more squeaky. “C-can I please touch myself, now?”

“Already begging, huh?” you asked, rather amused.

“Please” Felix huffed quietly. For you he seemed he had only been waiting a couple of minutes but in reality he had been waiting for you for a lifetime. He was so eager for you, so thirsty for more of you in a brand new novel way. A version of you that he never met and only ever dreamt of was suddenly here, suddenly you were real. And he couldn't get to know the new you fast enough.

“Get the lotion in your hand, a good amount. I want it to glide smoothly”

“Yes!” Felix hastened to answer. He extended his hand and pushed on the pump twice, getting a generous dollop of lotion onto his palm.

“Now smear it on yourself. Base to tip, everywhere and don’t forget the balls.” He immediately did as he was told. He hissed quietly at the feeling of the cold lotion on his hot cock. He took the lotion to his base, all the way up to his tip and down to the balls.

“There, there. Good job baby” you cooed and the kind words earned you a small little whimper.

Felix was gripping down at his cock, trying hard not to stroke himself yet, waiting for you.

“Now, start rubbing your thumb over the tip, tease yourself a little bit for me, baby”

“O-okay” he said, his fist went up his shaft and his thumb circled his tip, teasing the little ridges at the sides and going up to also tease his slit. He gasped at how sensitive he already was.

“Tell me how it feels, baby don’t be shy” you whispered.

“Nghh... It feels s’good but I-I want more” Felix’ voice bordered on a grunt, as his hips involuntarily bucked into his fist. “Please can I stroke it?”

“I really like when you beg” You huffed again, your voice sounded strained. “Keep going baby, I might just say yes”

“Shittt” Felix was still rubbing his tip, growing more sensitive by the second. “pleasepleasepleaseplease, l-let me jack off for you, I’ll be so good for you. I-I… Aaah- I promise”.

“Hmmmm” you hummed in satisfaction. “Good boy, you make me so wet. Can you hear it?”

Just then Felix held his breath, turning up the volume in his headset and he heard the most melodious sounds he’s ever heard. A beautiful symphony of lewd wet noises erupting from your end of the call. It sounded so sinful.

“I hope you won’t mind that I started without you. I just couldn’t resist fucking myself with my favorite toy right now” you chuckled, almost bashfully, as if you weren’t now spilling the most sinful arrangement of words known to man.

Felix’ eyes grew twice their size as his jaw hung open in surprise, he could have exploded in his hand right there. He would have pledged abstinence for a month to see you right now. Hell, he would have given everything! Everything to see you push the toy inside your wet and dripping little pussy. But he didn’t want to possibly scare you away by asking after waiting for so long so he settled for a less intrusive question.

“H-how is it? The toy? What does it look like?” Felix burned with impatience for more details that would make him imagine you perfectly.

“It’s purple, thick and long. I can’t take it all in but it feels so fucking good.” You confessed, feeling more pleasure coming in with another deep thrust of your wrist.

“Goddamn- Aaah…” Felix sighed as he imagined your dripping little cunt all stretched out by the big purple cock you were holding and mercilessly shoving into your throbbing little pussy.

“Touch yourself now, stroke your cock for me, Felix”

“Fuck yesss” He literally melted as his hand wrapped around his clock and dragged the lotion across his shaft down to the base and back up to the tip again. “Aaah- Fuck-”

“Not too fast, baby” you said, as more lewd wet noises erupted from your end.

“Fuck, o-okay” Felix slowed down, but somehow it was agonizing, he wanted to feel more, and he wanted to match your rhythm, imagine he was the one inside you right now, rearranging your guts and making you pant and moan. You sounded so heavenly and Felix was convinced you looked even more unreal. His eyes fluttered back to the picture on his screen taking in your perfect tits and picturing them bouncing with each thrust of your wrist, maybe you were even the big toy with two hands, your breasts squished between your arms, shoving it inside with force, making your back arch against the chair.

“Oh god- Felix” you moaned, your breath catching in your throat as you gave yourself a particularly powerful thrust. “Oh f-fuck” you hissed. “I’m getting close.”

“Oh fuck yes, Please can I go faster? I-I wanna finish with you”

“Yesss, stroke it faster baby, really milk your cock for me. I’m…Nggghh- I’m almost there.”

“Fuck, you sound so fucking hot I’m going insane” Felix sighed as he stroked his cock faster, his movements were more shallow, focussing mainly on his tip as his other hand naturally came up to tease his hard sensitive pink nipples. He let out a high pitched moan, that made your cunt grip on the purple cock inside you, you huffed and moaned picturing Felix’s cock weeping for you, twitching for you, simply awaiting your command to finally explode.

“Listen, Lixie, I want you to cum on my tits, cum on my pic”

The cute nickname sounded so sinful on your lips right now. Felix grabbed the screen and pulled it closer to him, not caring about straining the cables of his carefully put together setup. He wasn’t thinking of anything that wasn’t the way you right now. His mind and thoughts were only for your perfectly wet and tight cunt and how it would feel around him.

He kept on stroking himself, his tip touching your tongue on the picture, smearing precum on his screen.

“Ahh fuck, I can’t hold it much longer” He whimpered. “Pleasepleaseplease I wanna cum for you, let me c-cum for you.”

He sounded so perfect for you, so desperate, on the verge of insanity, begging you to let him cum. You pictured his tight balls filled to the brim with delicious piping hot cum he specially cooked up just for you. The idea brought you over the edge.

“Nowww, Felix. Cum. Cum with me”.

Your movements became uneven as your pussy clenched down on the toy, throbbing uncontrollably. The crushing weight of your orgasm swept you off your feet, sending radiating heat from your core to each of your limbs. Every muscle of your body tensed up and spurts of translucent liquid rushed out of you, soaking the toy beneath you and the chair.

You sounded so fucking divine, and even if he couldn’t see Felix heard you were squirting, he heard the liquid rushing out of your to get soaked in by the chair and even crashing on the floor. Those wet sounds coupled with your divine moans and your command for him to cum was more than enough.

He aimed right at your perfect tits, the first squirt of cum was absolutely massive, almost effectively covering your whole chest in one go. Felix felt himself twitch in his hand as he moaned, his voice was so high pitched that his voice cracked but none of you even noticed. He aimed the second spurt at your pretty face, picturing he was cumming on your perfect tongue and you could taste him, eagerly waiting for him with your tongue out, just like in the picture. He couldn't stop cumming, rope after rope of cum came crashing on his screen, covering your picture in thick layers of cum.

When he was done a satisfying shiver ran down his spine and he sighed at the way his muscles relaxed, he felt at peace finally. There was a silence that was only cut by both of your sighs and pants but the silence wasn’t awkward. Not anymore, you went too far for that.

“That was amazing.” You were the first one to speak, when you had caught your breath. “I came so hard,” you confessed as you looked down at the mess you had made.

“For me too. I don’t think I ever came this much ever.” Felix brushed the sweaty strands of blond hair away for his eyes as he was also looking at his cum gradually thinning out and dripping off the monitor onto his desk.

“We should do that again” You suggested and Felix sat up in his chair, he ceased the opportunity.

“Maybe next time… you could like… let me see you” He said, testing the waters, trying to take things even further.

“No, next time I’ll let you feel me”.

want more subby felix? try my fic girls like me ♡

SYNOPSIS. felix's heart flutter when he thinks of you but he's not sure if he can be with a girl like you...

want to be udpated when i post? join the taglist here

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yanderenightmare · 1 year ago

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Mahito

♡ TW: NSFW, noncon, psychological torture

♡ FEM reader

Mahito is so scary because you're the only one who sees him.

You can't tell your friends, you can't call the cops, you can't even discuss it with your therapist for fear of being committed.

You're all alone with him—half the time convinced you’re going insane.

He doesn't even need to kidnap you. Why would he? He likes your cozy apartment. To see you in your natural habitat with all your personal trinkets. Your books, your decorations, the contents of your fridge, your makeup, your clothes, not to mention the soft warmth of your bed…

Sure, his sewer has its charm, but you probably wouldn’t like it there very much. Not that it would stop him, but he’s sure you’d be boring if all you did was stay cooped up there all day.

This is much more interesting. To be there when you come home from work, having trifled through all your belongings, dragged everything out—made a mess like a new puppy would. To watch you try to cling to your sanity, going about life, trying to live it normally even when he’s right there on your sofa wanting to dish about how much you loath your pissy boss or that loud neighbor and what fun it might be to kill them.

You brush him off as intrusive thoughts—a manifestation within your mind. That’s the only explanation that allows you to keep your wits with you.

But it’s become hard to bring anyone home. Even though others can't see him, he’ll walk about your friends and the odd date and comment on all the things they do, ridiculing them when they say something cheesy, feigning puking before giving it away with a snicker, then asking you why you bother hanging out with them at all. And you wonder if that’s what you really think… why else would a figment of your imagination say something like that?

No. You decide. He doesn’t represent your thoughts. He’s just… a roommate who knows no boundaries.

Funny enough, you don’t really recognize that he’s any dangerous before you’re getting dressed after a shower, opening a drawer on your dresser you rarely look in—only to find it overfilled with dozens of tiny shrunken heads.

You scurry back on the floor with your hand clasped over your mouth until your back meets your bed—skin crawling. There’s no air left in your lungs from the shock to produce any such thing as a scream—so instead, you start heaving—then crying.

“Oh—I was wondering when you’d find them!” A cheer is heard from your bedroom threshold.

Your eyes pan to look at him—or it. Mahito, with a big grin on his face—clapping as though impressed by your performance.

“Wh-what– what is this?” You splutter, trying not to throw up—casting shifty glances over at the lump that had fallen to the floor—its face twisted with agony, unrecognizable, but you think you still knew… “What have you done?”

It doesn’t smell of rot, but something else—like unwashed clothing – sweat and piss and shit—you don’t understand how you hadn’t smelled it before. You don’t understand how you hadn’t heard it before—the moaning, though only in hoarse weak voices, still there, in a chorus, crying in pain.

“I’ve been studying them.” He says—casually, padding across the floor before bending down to pick the one up.

He looked at it with disappointment, throwing it up and catching it like one would a baseball—then clicked his tongue.

“But I must say you’ve got boring taste… I don’t feel like I learned much of use from any of them at all.”

He drops it to the floor in a fleshy splat, and you cringed anew—wanting to crawl away, wanting to get out, to call the police—maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to be committed—maybe there was something genuinely wrong with you…

Mahito doesn't share your concerns, though. He’s got his mind on other things.

“I think I’ll learn better through practice.”

You don’t realize what he’s talking about before you’re being lifted up on the bed and then pushed down against it.

His lean but muscular frame has you dwarfed as he crawls after you—caging you between his arms and legs.

“I wouldn’t mind the floor, but I’m sure you’d prefer the bed. That’s how you humans usually like it, right?” He smiles—as though he’s doing you a favor.

He’s taken off his usual tunic—showcasing a pale grey chest patchworked together in crude stitches—and you don’t really understand why you’d ever conjure something that looked like it. So human, yet still… so not.

“I didn’t know what size you’d want—they were all so different—but I think bigger is better, isn’t it?”

It doesn’t register before you feel the weight of it on your stomach.

Fat and warm, ridged with veins and hard against you.

Looking down, feeling the situation settle on your skin like the raw cold—you realize, though you don’t understand it—Mahito isn’t just some imaginary friend.

Whatever he is—he’s neither friend nor imaginary.

Your chest flares. “Mahito, no – ”

Your hands fly to try and push him off, but they’re easily caught. His fingers stretch inhumanly like playdough, using only one hand to reign in both wrists, pinning them to the pillow above you.

“No? Still too small?” He asks, as though your uproar had been a cry for more—his voice in a playful lilt. “I can make it bigger if you like~”

You squirm when the thing between your thighs grows an inch—swelling up into something fatter than your wrist—weighty and twitching atop you.

It alone churns your guts, but the sight of his face gleaming so innocently makes it all so much worse.

You whimper as he drags a rude finger through your folds—bluntly poking at your hole.

“You’re supposed to be wet, no?” He posed, keen eyes watching your face grimace in discomfort—drilling his digit inside you despite it.

When knuckle-deep, he curled it, nail scraping into the gummy of your tender walls—making your whole body twist with an ache, shaking your head while sinking your teeth into your lip.

“Stop-” You croaked pitifully, still trying to wring your wrists free—but the hand keeping them jailed had hardened into something that was no longer skin.

He just yawned at your struggle. “So noisy...” Bored while looking down at you and the ugly way your lips curled at his crude fingering—but then his eyes widened. “Wait—oh! I get it now! So, this is what kissing is for…”

He didn’t give you much time to turn away before his mouth locked on yours—more in an attempt to swallow than to kiss, feeding you his tongue—which felt so much longer than it should be—winding through you until it licked your gag-reflex and made you choke.

You tensed in response, clenching the finger prodding you—and he took it as an invitation to squeeze another in—making you squeal out a sob in his mouth.

But though it was a cruel ministration, it was enough to tickle the instinct—dragging wet out from within you, bathing the digits that now slid with greater ease in and out.

“See~ I told you I’d learn better through practice...” He mumbled against your lips—having felt the change—also noticing the quiet that befell you… looking so cute beneath him.

He chuckled—the taste of your kiss still warm and wet on his lips.

“That really did shut you up, hm~ you humans are so funny.”

That thing resting heavily on your belly does a little jump, and you flinch with it. Left panting after being throat-fucked by a tongue—you’re really only able to shake your head as he slips the beastly thing down between your thighs—its fat head licking your clit on its way until kissing your entrance.

Two fingers haven't done you any justice—nothing could—to prep you for something of that size.

“I think this is correct…” He muses, nudging himself against the slim coin-sized hole—looking a little confused while he did so—though not exactly unsure of himself… more as though it was the whole procedure in and of itself that was at fault and not him. He was just following instructions, after all.

Sucking his teeth at the tautness, he continued to press the tip through you.

A whine was ripped from your chest as it arched off the bed—thighs quaking on each side of his hips, kept spread despite wanting to force themselves shut.

“It’s better if you relax.” He offered then, though without much sympathy. Sounding almost jaded—as though you were keeping him waiting.

But then a thumb pressed down on your clit, forcing another jolt to rush through you.

“Women like to be touched here, right?” He rubbed crass circles into it—worse than amateurishly—rough patterns that bore no real intention of making you feel good.

Then his mouth slid from your mouth, down your neck—only to sink teeth in your tit.

“And here~” He giggled while nomming your nipple, rolling the little nib between his teeth before flicking over it with his tongue again and again, sucking on it harshly.

None of it made you relax like he’d suggested. Either way, he continued to sink his length one thick chub at a time as fast as your hole allowed. And soon enough, he reached your end before your hole could reach his. But that was no issue…

The hand on your clit, cupped your mound instead—and beneath it, where warmth pooled, you felt inner things alter—change, rearrange, allowing the giant member inside you to sink deeper even though you knew there couldn’t possibly be any deeper to go.

“Wow~ look at that…” He awed when his pelvis smushed against your mound—kneading into your clit as he pressed a curious hand down on the bulge he was making in your belly.

Strings of drool stuck from his lips to your chest—and a sick look pooled in his eyes.

Thicker and thicker breaths left him. He swallowed thickly. Barely blinking.

“I think I get it now…” His voice had shed its humorous tone, now sounding soft with something you didn’t want to have the attention of. “It’s like our souls are playing together…”

His hand stroked your stomach—like he was petting something you couldn't see.

“Feels good.”

♡ MAHITO masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

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ashwhowrites · 3 months ago

Note

Hi beautiful! I’m so happy you are back! You are the best writer ever!!💜

I was wondering if I could request a prisoner Eddie Munson x nurse shy reader. ( in prison for whatever reason you want) He gets beat up in prison and he goes to the nurse and finds her so beautiful and they flirt and feelings start coming up. He try’s to see her anytime he can, and maybe they have a kiss that leads to more like smut??

I love your writing! Sorry if this is bad!

I hope this is what you wanted (it leads to smut but not much of a smut scene )and that you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting!❤️ And it's not a bad request at all!! Prisoner Eddie is fun. Thank you for the love. Prisoner Eddie deserves the criminal love photo

Heal me, nurse

"BREAK IT UP!" An officer screamed as a fight broke out in the small cafeteria. Eddie ignored the officer as he continued to land punches across the other prisoner's face. The officers raced over to the brawl but didn't arrive fast enough to protect Eddie from the bash against the back of his head.

Eddie groaned as he fell over, his head pounding as three guys began to beat his body black and blue. He felt relieved when several officers pulled all the guys off of him. Eddie wiped his nose and realized he was bleeding. He could feel his eyes, ribs, and the back of his head throbbing. He was barely aware of what was going on as he was dragged to a room.

"All yours," the officer spat as he let Eddie's body drop on a chair next to the door.

"Dick," Eddie muttered to himself as the officer walked off. He held his body in pain as he looked around to see where he had dropped off.

"Let me help you to the bed," a soft voice spoke. Eddie blinked through his throbbing eyes as he took in the other person in the room. He groaned as the stranger helped him stand, he took the time to take her in.

She was insanely attractive, and he wasn't saying that because he'd been stuck in cells with random men and hadn't seen a female in ages.

"Where am I?"

"The nurses' office," she smiled, helping him sit on the tiny bed.

Eddie hummed, he didn't even know prison cared to have a nurse. "And you are my nurse?" He swore he's only seen attractive nurses in porn, and he couldn't lie he was imagining how she would look in a tiny nurse outfit.

"Well, I'm everyone's nurse. Now, what happened?" she asked. She sat on a small stool in front of him, her eyes waiting.

"Fuckers jumped me, and now my head, ribs, nose, and eyes are throbbing," he shrugged. Eddie was rough, and he could handle taking care of himself. He had done it a thousand times before. But the idea of this pretty girl having to check him for wounds? Yeah, he liked that.

She stood up and grabbed a small light, flashing it in his eyes as she directed him to follow it. She tried to focus on her job and not that this prisoner was insanely hot. He had captivating eyes, so dark and warm. She felt a blush creep up her neck as he stared right back into her eyes.

She stepped back as she felt the room grow hotter. She walked over to the small sink and wet a cloth. She walked it over to him and softly wiped away the dry blood.

"I'm sorry this happened to you and that the officers treat you like shit," she whispered, gently cleaning his nose.

"Nothing I can't handle, I'm a big boy," he shrugged, chuckling.

She tried not to shiver at his deep chuckle. She silently yelled at herself as her mind went elsewhere with his big boy comment. She dabbed his nose, his eyes never leaving her face. She felt nervous under his stare, trying to avoid eye contact, but she kept feeling this pull to look back.

Once she cleaned off his nose, she tossed the towel to the side.

"Could you..uh..unbutton.. your-" she shyly stuttered, her hands waving to his orange jumpsuit. She hated how nervous she felt around this stranger.

"Unbutton what, gorgeous?" he teased. He enjoyed how shy she was, and it was clear he was making her nervous. "This?" he asked, two fingers slowly unbuttoning the first few buttons.

She blushed deeply as his skin became exposed. She could see some ink on his pale skin. She moved without thinking, stepping closer as she took in the spider and demon. She held her breath as his fingers teased more buttons, but then his fingers landed under her chin.

She squeaked in surprise at the touch. Her skin was raised with goosebumps as she tried to sneak a deep breath.

"I don't think I heard an answer, darling," Eddie whispered.

"Yes," she coughed, "unbutton the top so I can see your ribs, please."

Eddie chuckled at her shyness, teasingly unbuttoning the top half of his suit. Y/N tried to make it seem as if she wasn't interested in what else was under his clothes.

She reached forward to softly touch the ribs that were becoming a darker color compared to his white skin. For the first time since she met him, she was focused on her job. Eddie couldn't help but twitch as her fingers trailed across his ribs and stomach.

"I think it'll just bruise," she said gently, tracing the small marks. She stepped back, "You can button up. I'll give you some ice to take with you."

Eddie was sent on his way, holding an ice pack against his ribs. He craved a hot shower, but he wasn't sure if he could even have one. He took the ice to his cell and prepared to sleep the pain away.

But only two hours later, his body was screaming, and the ice was melted. Eddie didn't know the time, unsure if it was early or late. Eddie decided to get more ice to help him get more hours of sleep. And the hope he'd get to see her again.

He turned the corner and noticed a small light coming from the office. He walked in and was pleased to see her sitting at the desk. He gave the door a soft knock to alert his arrival.

"Thought I should return this."

Y/N was startled by the voice, jumping out of her skin as she turned to see him.

"Oh! Thank you. Usually, the officers bring those back in the morning...are you even allowed to be out right now?" She asked, looking over his shoulder.

"And give those dicks a reason to see you? Nah. And look where I am, baby. Does it look like I follow the rules?"

She had to give him that. She stood up and took the melted ice bag from his hands and threw it back in the freezer. Eddie shamelessly checked her out as she bent over.

"What's your name?" He asked

"Y/N, and yours?" She asked as she turned around. He was much closer than before. His body was almost right up against hers.

"Edward Munson, but you can call me Eddie," he said, a charming smile on his lips.

~~~

It only took one day for both of them to feel something. Eddie constantly found ways to visit her. Sometimes he picked fights, letting them beat him as badly as they could so he could limp his way to her. Other times he pretended to feel sick or that he was going mentally insane.

She always greeted him with the same smile and gentle touch. He was happy the other prisoners always went for his ribs and chest because he loved watching her get nervous when his upper body was exposed.

He could easily tell she was attracted to him and he felt the same for her. Life in prison was just as hell as people thought, but she added some life to the dull building. She gave Eddie a reason to smile.

Y/N was a little worried about how much Eddie found himself in her office. Some days he didn't even heal from his last fight, bruises adding on to other bruises. She had to admit that he pulled off a busted lip and bruised eye very well. Selfishly she enjoyed his trips to her office. She liked his company, and the more he came, the longer he stayed. Something was forming between them, and it definitely wasn't allowed.

~~~

Eddie walked down the hall, clenching his stomach as he faked a horrible stomach pain. The officer dropped him off and left without a word. The door was closed and Eddie was a little confused. He turned the knob and welcomed himself in.

His girl was there, perfect as always. But she wasn't alone. She stood in front of an officer using a stethoscope on his bare chest.

"Breath in for me,"

Eddie watched as the officer seemed to enjoy the moment too much.

"Kinda hard when you take my breath away," the officer chuckled. Eddie couldn't help but scoff at the flirty comment, making his presence known.

"Oh, Eddie, hi!" She smiled, joy on her face as she turned to him. "Just one second!"

She turned back to the officer, eager to get him to leave. "Well we are all set. Everything seems fine."

"You'll think about tonight right?" The officer asked

Eddie slit his eyes, sending a glare to the man.

"Uh.." she looked towards Eddie, then back, "Yeah, I'll think about it."

Once the officer left, Eddie strolled into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Oh that's supposed to stay open," she said, her voice growing quiet as she heard it lock.

"Oh? Then why was it closed with him?" She shivered at the venom in his voice. Her stomach filled with excitement as a jealous look covered his face.

"He asked," she gulped, his heavy steps reaching her feet as she stood still.

"Yeah, what else did he ask for?" Eddie questioned, beginning to unbutton his orange jumpsuit. "Something about tonight."

Y/N ignored the burn between her thighs as he continued to unbutton his suit past his stomach. She cast her eyes down for a quick glance then back up to his face. Her eyes yearned to look back to his happy trail and see where it disappeared.

"He asked me about having dinner together,"

Eddie moved fast, softly gripping her hair as he yanked her head up. She whined at the burn, her knees getting weak. He slowly leaned in, teasing his lips over hers. She felt the room grow warmer as his breath hit her lips, her eyes begging him to close the gap.

"Are you wanting to?" He whispered

"No," she said instantly, "please Eddie," she begged

"Please what?" He asked, "you want me to kiss you?"

She licked her lips as she tried to nod her head through his grip.

"My pleasure," he said against her lips before he kissed her. She moaned as his lips worked against hers, firm and passionate. His hands gripped her hips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue softly moving into her mouth.

She wasn't sure if she was allowed to touch him, her hands burning to feel his skin as his tongue danced with hers. She nervously placed her hands on his shoulders as she tried to fight back in the kiss. It was no use, though; he had all the power.

He pulled back, smirking as she followed his lips. "Get on that bed, baby girl." He whispered, stepping back as he stripped out of his suit. She scrambled to the tiny bed.

She held her breath as he stood in his boxers, his hard-on caught her attention as she shamelessly stared. She felt herself drool when his hand landed over himself and softly rubbed himself. The sound that left his body made Y/N clench her thighs.

"I'm going to show you who's really in charge around here."

She felt locked in a trance as he walked over to her. His hands were on her in seconds, easily taking all the material off of her skin. She felt nervous about the idea of being naked in front of him but the way he looked at her made her feel like she had nothing to be shy about.

His hot mouth was on her skin as his hands trailed down her stomach. She shivered as she felt his hand growing closer to the wetness between her thighs.

Eddie sucked on her neck as his fingers slid in between her soaked folds. She moaned out as his fingers slid inside her, stretching her open.

"Think you can handle my cock, pretty girl?" He teased, his breath hot against her skin as she began to rock against his fingers. She whined in response, her thighs turning into jelly.

"Yes, please," she begged, throwing her head back his fingers sped up.

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dreamersworldduh · 2 months ago

Note

Seeing as the people yearn for Brenton Thwaites Dick Grayson what about a fic where reader gets sent to prison for something stupid or whatever. He gets put into a cell with Dick. Dick is indifferent to his presence, but when reader gets threatened buy some inmates Dick offers protection in exchange for- well you know what! completely consensual but is an favour exchange

Thankuuu

PROTECTION

• DICK GRAYSON x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — In the brutal confines of Gotham State Penitentiary, survival depends on silence, strength, and knowing exactly who to avoid. When you arrive—fresh meat, still raw with the anger that got you locked up—you expect isolation, maybe violence, definitely fear. What you don’t expect is Grayson: your quiet, unreadable cellmate who keeps to himself, barely speaks, and yet commands a kind of fear that even the worst predators respect.

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing. Violence.

WORDS! 17.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Okay, I know I’ve been absence but I haven’t been doing nothing—this fic right here took a week to finish and I have more coming. So be prepared for the flood, thank you for requesting—enjoy your reading✨🫶🏽

For the next twelve months, your home is Gotham State Penitentiary—cell block D, unit 43, third bunk from the left. A narrow slab of metal bolted to the wall, thin mattress, no privacy, and a toilet in full view. Why are you here? Because you did something reckless. No, scratch that—something flat-out insane. The kind of act that blows up your life in one quick, satisfying explosion. You knew the fallout was coming. You just didn't care—not in that moment.

Not when you saw your ex-boyfriend's face go white. Eyes wide. Mouth half-open, like the words he wanted to say got stuck in his throat. That raw mix of betrayal, disbelief, and something close to heartbreak—that was the payoff. That was what you wanted. That split-second where you had all the power, and he had nothing but shock. For five glorious minutes, it felt worth it.

Then the sirens wailed. Then the cops tackled you to the ground. Then the gates of Gotham State slammed shut behind you with a metal scream that echoed in your spine.

Intake was where it hit you. Cold tile floors. Buzzing fluorescents. The stench of bleach and sweat and fear. This wasn't juvie. This wasn't a night in a holding cell and a slap on the wrist. This was a maximum-security prison built like a fortress—gray concrete walls, watchtowers, razor wire, and no easy exits. Everyone here was doing real time. Fifteen-year sentences. Life without parole. Robbery, arson, aggravated assault. Murder. The kind of men who didn't just talk tough—they were tough. The kind who broke fingers like they were snapping twigs. No metahumans, no masks, but make no mistake: these guys were predators. And you? You were the new one. The untested one. The one who still smelled like the outside.

The guards? They barely looked at you. They'd seen a thousand versions of you before—new meat with a chip on his shoulder and regret kicking in fast. They barked orders, shoved you through processing, and handed you your jumpsuit like you were a product on an assembly line. And the other inmates? They noticed you the second you stepped onto the block. Some just stared. Others smiled. A few muttered under their breath. You felt it all—eyes crawling across your skin like ants. That smug defiance you brought with you? Gone. Somewhere between the strip search and the fingerprinting and the cold metal bracelet slapped on your wrist, it evaporated. Fast.

You started to wonder.

Was five minutes of satisfaction really worth a year behind these walls?

You're about to find out.

You stepped into the cell, the heavy metal door clanging shut behind you like a final verdict. The lock clicked with a dull thud that seemed to echo straight into your chest. No going back now. The room was barely big enough for two bunks, a toilet, and a metal sink. The air was stale, thick with the layered stench of old sweat, bleach, and institutional despair. Cold, too—like the concrete walls were leeching heat straight out of your skin.

You'd braced yourself for this—cramped quarters, zero privacy, the kind of silence that always felt like it was holding its breath. But what you hadn't expected was the guy already inside.

He was shirtless, crouched low to the ground, cranking out push-ups with a pace that wasn't fast, but relentless. Controlled. Like every movement had a purpose. His back was broad and cut with muscle, the kind you didn't get from casual gym visits. This was functional strength—prison strength. A body built to survive, not just look good. Sweat rolled down his spine in slow rivulets, catching the flickering fluorescent light above and making his skin shine like polished bronze.

His hair was damp and messy, brown and curling slightly where it brushed the tops of his ears. You could tell it had been cut a while ago, probably by clippers with no guard, the kind of rough cut you got from a guard or a fellow inmate with a dull blade. He looked young—mid twenties, maybe—but carried himself like someone much older. Someone who'd seen shit and came out the other side sharper for it.

When he finally finished a set, he rocked back on his heels and sat up, breathing steady, not even winded. That's when he turned his head just enough for you to see his face. Sharp jawline, a couple days of scruff, and a purpling bruise blooming under his left eye. His expression was unreadable—blank, almost bored. But his eyes were the curveball: deep brown, warm, soft in a way that didn't match the rest of him. Kind eyes. The kind that made you think of a loyal dog, the type that would follow you anywhere... or rip someone apart if you told it to.

You opened your mouth, figuring it was smart to at least introduce yourself. Tension like this? It didn't need help getting worse.

"Hey. I'm—"

Nothing.

He didn't look at you. Didn't ask your name. Didn't even flinch. He just reached down, grabbed a stained white towel—your towel, sitting on the lower bunk that was clearly supposed to be yours—and wiped the sweat from his face. Then, without so much as a glance your way, he dropped back to the floor and kept moving, muscles flexing again, the rhythm of his push-ups steady as a ticking clock.

You stood there for a beat, hand still halfway raised, words dying in your throat. Right. Message received.

So much for small talk.

You were seven days into your sentence, and already the rhythm of prison life had sunk into your bones. You woke up with the clang of metal, moved through the day like a ghost. No eye contact, no conversation, no sudden movements. Just survive. Keep your head down, your mouth shut, and your back to the wall. Blend in. Be invisible.

So far, it had worked. Mostly.

That afternoon, you sat alone at one of the scarred metal tables in the cafeteria, your tray of prison-issued "lunch" cooling in front of you. The food was barely food—grayish boiled potatoes swimming in lukewarm water and a scoop of something that might have once been beans, or maybe meat, or maybe nothing at all. You weren't trying to figure it out. You just chewed slowly, methodically, eyes locked on the tray like it held state secrets.

Around you, the room buzzed with controlled chaos: trays clattering, low murmurs of conversation, the occasional bark of laughter, the slap of boots against linoleum as guards walked their lazy loops. Nothing sounded urgent. Nothing felt out of place.

Until it did.

It started with a hush. Not loud, but unnatural. A drop in volume that spread like a ripple through water. A subtle shift in air pressure, like the room itself was holding its breath. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up before you even looked up. You'd felt it before, on the streets, in bad neighborhoods, in worse moments—when things were about to go sideways.

You lifted your eyes.

Three men. Moving with purpose. They didn't bother hiding it. They walked like they owned the floor, like the space around them belonged to them and they were just deciding what to take next. Big guys, all of them, their bodies built from endless reps in the yard and lives lived by force. Ink crawled down their necks, across their knuckles, dark lines telling stories of loyalty and violence. The one in front had a scar that split his face from lip to jaw, puckered and pale, like someone had tried to give him a permanent grin with a razor blade.

They stopped in front of your table.

Didn't speak. Didn't blink. Just stood there, letting their presence do the talking. The leader's hands were buried casually in the pockets of his jumpsuit, but the two behind him were coiled tight, fists clenched, shoulders squared. Ready.

You didn't recognize them, but from the way they were looking at you—like a wolf pack eyeing a stray rabbit—they definitely recognized you. Or thought they did. Maybe you looked like someone they hated. Maybe you'd stepped into the wrong shower stall without knowing it. Or maybe they just needed someone to make an example of.

Either way, trouble had found you.

And it brought friends.

The leader stepped forward until his boots were nearly brushing your tray. His shadow stretched long across your food, and the smell hit you—sweat, cigarettes, and that thick, sour stench of too many men packed into too small a space for too long. He looked down at your plate, then at you, that twisted half-smile curling up the side of his scarred mouth.

"Kang wants your tray," he said, tapping two fingers against the edge of it. Slow. Lazy. Like he was already bored with how easy this was going to be.

You didn't answer right away.

Your jaw locked. You stared at him, then at the tray—your tray. The same godawful meal every inmate got, but to you, it was everything. You hadn't bought anything from commissary since you got in. No cookies. No cup noodles. No candy bars tucked into the corner of your locker. This was it. The only food you were going to see until the next morning.

Give it up, and you were going hungry for the next eleven hours.

You looked at the clock on the wall. 6:00 PM.

No chips. No extras. Just this tray and your pride.

And pride in prison could be dangerous.

Still, you didn't move. You didn't flinch. You just met his eyes—briefly—and gave your answer.

"Nah," you said, voice low but clear. "I'm eating today."

The tap of his fingers stopped.

The smile faded. Just a bit. Enough for the temperature in the room to drop.

Kang didn't like your answer.

You saw it in the subtle snap of tension across his jaw, the way his lips twitched as if suppressing a snarl. Something shifted behind his eyes—like a door slammed shut and locked from the inside. Whatever mild amusement he'd been faking a moment ago evaporated. What replaced it was colder. Sharper. A quiet kind of fury, the kind that didn't explode—it waited.

The air between you thickened, as if the room had narrowed and the space around your table had turned into a pressure chamber. You could feel it. Something was about to happen.

Then, like someone flipped a switch, his two boys moved.

The one on the left cracked his knuckles as he stepped forward, broad shoulders rolling like he was stretching before a workout. He had that look—tight jaw, steady eyes, like he was already picturing your head bouncing off the table. The other guy circled fast, his boots silent, his posture practiced. He didn't hesitate. This wasn't his first time cornering someone. He moved like muscle memory was guiding him, like he'd done this same dance a dozen times before with the same ending every time.

Your hands tensed. You pushed your legs back under the bench just enough to brace yourself. Fight or flight didn't really exist in a place like this. There was only fight or fold. And folding too early meant you'd be folding every damn day after that.

Then Kang raised a hand.

Just a flick of his wrist. No words. No theatrics.

And they stopped. Froze in place mid-step like they'd been put on pause. Neither one said anything, but they didn't need to. The obedience was instant, reflexive. Kang didn't even glance at them—his gaze stayed locked on you.

The smile returned, but it wasn't smug this time. It was calculated. Cold. The kind of smile that says, Not today. But soon.

He leaned forward slightly, just enough to cross into your space without touching you. Close enough that you could smell the faint trace of mint gum—unexpected, oddly clean—and the sweat dried into the seams of his collar. His voice was low, casual, like you were sharing a joke.

"Eat up, rookie. Gotta keep your strength."

Then he straightened, turned, and walked away like nothing had happened. His crew hesitated half a second longer before following, their bodies still thrumming with restrained violence. They didn't look back.

You didn't move.

Couldn't. Your body was locked in place. Heart hammering behind your ribs like it wanted out. You could feel the weight of the room now—every stare, every unspoken question. The cafeteria hadn't gone silent, but it had definitely shifted. Conversations had dipped. Forks hovered mid-air. Dozens of inmates had watched the scene unfold, and none of them had said a word.

They didn't need to. The looks said enough.

You'd just made a move. Or a mistake. Or maybe both.

You turned back to your tray. The potatoes looked grayer now. The mush looked wetter. Your appetite, what little there was, had vanished completely. You forced one bite. It tasted like nothing and sat in your mouth like concrete.

And then—movement. Out of the corner of your eye.

Across the room, half-hidden in shadow, leaning against the back wall where the light flickered overhead.

Grayson.

Your cellmate.

He stood there with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, his back pressed against the wall like he'd been there the whole time. Maybe he had. His brown hair was damp, as usual, curling slightly at the ends. Sweat darkened the collar of his worn gray shirt. His face was unreadable.

He didn't nod. Didn't smirk. Didn't blink.

He was just watching you.

Studying you.

Like you were some puzzle he hadn't quite solved yet.

It wasn't judgment. Wasn't concern. It was something colder. More analytical. Like he was mentally filing this moment away, deciding what kind of person you were—what kind of problem you might become.

And that stare? That flat, steady stare?

It rattled you more than Kang ever could.

The next day, you were knee-deep in the laundry room, sweating through your uniform and elbow-deep in someone else's filth. The air was thick—humid, heavy, saturated with the sharp sting of bleach and the mildewy undertone of fabric that had soaked in too much sweat and too little detergent over the years. It stank. The kind of stink that settled into your nose and wouldn't leave, even when you scrubbed your face with cold water later.

It wasn't glamorous. Hell, it was barely tolerable. But you'd put your name on the assignment sheet the moment you got processed, before the ink had even dried on your intake forms. It was one of the last jobs left—nobody wanted it. Most inmates scrambled for the kitchen (extra food), or the library (peace and quiet, maybe a little dignity). Laundry, though? That was bottom of the barrel. Grunt work. Lifting, scrubbing, folding, hauling. All day on your feet, back screaming, hands stinging from bleach and constant friction.

And still, you considered it a win.

The room was big, at least by prison standards—concrete floors, exposed pipes overhead, and rows of industrial washing machines the size of small cars. They clanged and rattled violently as they spun, shaking the floor and making conversation nearly impossible, which suited you just fine. Giant wheeled bins overflowed with orange jumpsuits, socks stiff with dried sweat, towels that looked like they'd been dragged through a sewer. Sorting them was mindless work—sort by color, by smell, by how likely they were to fall apart in the wash. Rinse. Repeat. Literally.

Your shirt clung to your back, soaked through. Your shoulders burned with every load you dragged from machine to dryer. Your fingers were cracked and red from wringing out piles of soaked fabric. But there was space. There was movement. There was a task to keep your brain occupied.

And, most importantly, there was no Grayson.

Your cellmate hadn't said a single word to you in a week. Not a greeting. Not a threat. Not a grunt of acknowledgment. Just... nothing. He existed in that cell like a shadow pinned to the corner. Silent. Unblinking. When you spoke, he didn't answer. When you coughed, he didn't flinch. You weren't even sure if he noticed you most of the time. It was like living with a mannequin someone had carved from stone.

At night, it got worse. You'd lie on your bunk and glance over to find him sitting upright, staring at the far wall. Eyes half-shut, maybe resting, but never fully asleep. Always alert. Always still. The man never twitched, never turned over, never made a sound. Like he was wired to stay on watch, even when the world around him went still.

That kind of silence? It wasn't peaceful. It was oppressive.

So yeah—folding underwear in a stinking hellhole for eight hours a day felt like a goddamn vacation.

In the laundry room, you had noise—clanging, hissing, grinding, rumbling machines that made it impossible to think too long or too hard. You had motion—tasks to finish, bins to move, towels to fold. You had space. You weren't being watched. Judged. Weighed and measured by a man who hadn't spoken to you but somehow still made you feel small every time he looked your way.

Here, in this sweltering box of sweat and steam, you could just be a body doing a job. No past, no mistakes, no ex-boyfriends, no cellmates with haunted eyes.

Just heat. Just noise.

And for now, that was enough.

You were working alongside Cruz—a rail-thin guy with hollow cheeks and tattoos that looked like they'd been scratched into his skin with a pen and a needle. He never talked. Just grunted now and then, more to himself than anyone else. You didn't mind. You'd grown to like the quiet between you. He folded fast, moved with practiced efficiency, and never asked questions.

A guard stood by the door. Mid-forties, heavyset, with eyes that looked half-asleep under his buzzed haircut. He wasn't watching you so much as trying not to care. Arms crossed. Slouched. Counting the minutes until his shift ended. He hadn't spoken in over an hour. You hadn't either.

For once, the silence wasn't heavy. It felt... peaceful. Like the room was its own little bubble, sealed off from the rest of the prison.

Then you heard it.

A sharp whistle. Clean. Controlled. Echoing off the tiled walls like a knife clinking against glass.

Your head snapped up.

Cruz froze mid-fold. You exchanged a glance, brief but sharp. You could see the tension rise in his shoulders. That whistle hadn't been random. It was a signal.

The guard straightened. His posture shifted just slightly—shoulders up, eyes suddenly focused. He looked at the door, nodded to himself, and then... walked out. No warning. No radio call. No command. He didn't even look back.

Just turned, opened the door, and disappeared into the hallway like he'd never been there at all.

Your gut twisted.

Then they walked in.

Kang came first, his swagger slow and deliberate, the way someone walked when they were sure no one could touch them. His jumpsuit hung open halfway, sleeves tied around his waist like he was too relaxed to care about protocol. Behind him came his two usual shadows—huge, mean, built like failed linebackers. One of them had a split lip that never seemed to heal. The other had a shaved head and a tattoo on his neck that looked like a noose.

The door slammed shut behind them with a hollow clank that echoed all the way through your chest.

Your heart sank.

You already knew this wasn't a chat. They hadn't come here to scare you. That part had already passed.

Cruz didn't say a word. Didn't ask what was going on or if you were okay. He just wiped his hands on the thighs of his pants, walked around the folding table, and slipped past them like he wasn't even there. Like this was choreography. Like this had all been planned and he'd practiced his exit.

No eye contact. No hesitation.

And then it was just you.

Standing in the middle of the room. Hands wet from handling clothes. Shirt stuck to your back. The sweat between your shoulder blades now cold. Piles of dirty jumpsuits boxed you in like low, fabric-covered walls. The machines kept groaning, kept spinning, like they couldn't care less about the shift in air, the building tension, the inevitability of what was coming.

Kang stepped closer. That grin on his face again—casual, slow-spreading, cruel in its patience.

No words yet.

Just that smile.

And you knew, with a certainty that hit like ice in your veins: You were completely, absolutely alone.

The silence in the room wasn't natural. It didn't feel empty—it felt charged. Like a live wire had been strung through the air, humming just beneath your skin. Your heartbeat was too loud in your ears, thudding hard, fast, like it knew time was running out.

You started doing the math in your head—how many steps to the door, how far they'd have to move to cut you off, what you could use in here as a weapon. Nothing promising. Nothing that ended with you walking out of the room unscathed.

They hadn't rushed you. That was worse. They were still, deliberate, watching you with the patience of men who enjoyed dragging things out. Kang stood at the front, relaxed, loose-limbed, like this was all a game and he already knew the outcome. His two boys flanked him like shadows—silent, unmoving, faces unreadable. One cracked his neck. The other smiled, just barely.

You scanned the room again.

No help. No cameras. No corners to hide in.

The folding tables were bolted to the floor, the carts too heavy to push quickly. Wet clothes filled every bin—useless. The only things within reach were towels, shirts, and socks that smelled like mildew and stale body odor. There was no guard. No Cruz. No one sticking their head in to check on you.

No witnesses.

Maybe if you moved fast, you could sidestep them. Get to the door, pound on it, scream. But that would mean turning your back. You'd be giving them a clean shot at your spine before your foot even hit the floor.

And you weren't naïve. You weren't strong. You weren't built for this. You were wiry, sure, but that meant nothing against guys who looked like they bench-pressed concrete for fun. The kind of men whose knuckles were scarred from too many fights, whose eyes didn't blink when fists flew.

You were fast. You had a mouth. Neither of those things would save you here.

Your fingers curled into fists without you telling them to. Not because you thought you could win. But because there was no other choice. It was instinct. Cornered animal shit. If this was going down, you weren't going to make it easy for them.

Your pulse spiked again.

Kang moved without warning—no glare, no wind-up, just a blur of motion and then crack. The sound echoed off the concrete walls like a gunshot, sharp and brutal in the stale air. Fire bloomed across your cheekbone. Your head snapped sideways with the force of the slap, and your knees buckled, legs giving out like someone had cut your strings. You hit the floor hard, palms scraping raw against the rough concrete as you caught yourself.

There was no time to breathe. No time to think.

Two sets of hands grabbed you—thick, callused, fingers digging into your arms like meat hooks. They jerked you upright with zero effort, your boots scraping across the floor. You tried to twist, to pull free on instinct, but it was useless. They held you wide and exposed, your arms stretched out like you were on a goddamn cross. Their grips were iron. You were nothing but a rag doll in their fists.

Kang stepped in.

Not fast. Not angry. Just... calm. Collected. His face was blank, like he was checking a box on a to-do list. He moved into your space with the quiet confidence of someone who never had to raise his voice to get what he wanted. That slap? It hadn't been punishment. It had been punctuation. A statement.

He tilted his head, eyes scanning your face. His expression was almost lazy, like you were a stain he'd been meaning to wipe off the wall for a while.

"I run this place," he said. His voice was low, smooth, practiced—like he'd given this speech before. "Not the warden. Not the guards. Me."

He took a step closer. The heat of his body was sudden and suffocating. His breath smelled like cafeteria coffee and old garlic. You could see the fine sheen of sweat along his hairline.

"When I want something," he said, "I take it. Food. Respect. Space. Doesn't matter."

His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back to your eyes. "You don't tell me no. Not ever."

You clenched your jaw. Tried to breathe through your nose, to stop your hands from shaking, but your pulse was a drumbeat in your ears. You knew what was coming next. Everyone did. Kang didn't threaten. He demonstrated. Pain was his language, and you'd just signed up for a private lesson.

He reached toward your face again.

And then—the door creaked open.

It wasn't loud. But it cut through everything.

All four of you froze.

The machine noise faded into the background. Time stopped, suspended on that creak of rusted hinges and the faint squeak of rubber soles.

In the doorway stood Grayson.

Framed by the flickering light of the hallway, dressed in his gray work shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His posture was casual—almost too casual. Hands loose at his sides, legs slightly apart, like he'd just happened to walk in at the exact wrong time. Or maybe the exact right one.

His eyes moved slowly across the room. Took in Kang. The goons. You, held like an offering. His expression didn't change. No surprise. No concern. Just that unreadable look he always wore, like he was scanning a puzzle and hadn't yet decided if he was interested in solving it.

He didn't speak.

Didn't have to.

The effect was immediate. Subtle, but real.

The grip on your arms slackened, just slightly. Enough for you to feel it. The weight shifted behind you. Kang's posture didn't break, but something in his shoulders went taut. You didn't need to see his face to know he hadn't planned for this. And that he didn't like variables.

Still, no one moved until Grayson stepped into the room with a slow, deliberate calm, each movement quiet but purposeful—like a wolf entering unfamiliar territory, already calculating every exit, every angle. His eyes didn't flicker. Didn't scan. They locked straight onto Kang and stayed there, unwavering. His voice, when it came, wasn't loud. But it sliced clean through the thick air like a razor.

"Let him go."

No shouting. No threats. Just four words, spoken with the kind of authority that didn't need volume to be heard. There was no plea in his tone. No uncertainty. It was a command, plain and final—like he was stating the obvious, and the rest of the room was just waiting to catch up.

Kang turned his head slowly, pivoting toward Grayson with a deliberate laziness, the kind that said I don't take orders from anyone. His smirk curled wider, sharp with amusement, but his eyes had gone colder, narrower.

"Well, well," he said, drawing the words out like taffy. "The silent bunkmate speaks."

He gave Grayson a once-over, casual on the surface, but you could see the tension behind his smile—the calculation. The pause as his mind worked, trying to figure out if this was posturing, bluff, or something else entirely.

His two goons didn't move. But their grips on you changed. It was subtle, but you felt it—uncertainty in their hands, the beginning of hesitation. Their fingers twitched like they were waiting for new orders. You were still trapped between them, arms pinned, but now the pressure had eased, just slightly. Enough to know they weren't so sure anymore.

Grayson didn't respond. Didn't blink. He stood there, loose but grounded, like a stone dropped in the middle of the room—immovable. His expression didn't change, and somehow, that made it worse. He wasn't trying to intimidate Kang. He wasn't trying anything. He was just watching. Waiting. Not out of fear, but out of restraint.

It was quiet. Tense.

The kind of silence where even the machines in the background seemed to hold their breath.

Then: footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Heavy.

The guard reappeared, sauntering back in with a wad of gum in his mouth and a face that said he hadn't seen—or cared about—a single thing. He didn't ask what was happening. Didn't scold or intervene. Just leaned against the doorframe, scanned the room once, and let his eyes settle on Kang.

A single nod.

Nothing more.

But it was enough.

Kang clicked his tongue in irritation, barely masking his frustration, and took a slow step back. "Another time, then," he muttered, voice low and clipped.

The moment his weight shifted, the hands on your arms released. Just like that. Like someone had pulled the plug on a machine. Your legs wobbled beneath you, the blood rushing back through your muscles like static. You stumbled but caught yourself, knees bending just enough to avoid collapsing again.

Kang didn't look at you as he passed. His smirk was back, but thinner now. Hollow. Performed.

As he brushed past Grayson, there was a flicker—just a beat—where something unspoken passed between them. No words. No challenge. Just acknowledgment. The kind of look that says, We're not done.

And then they were gone.

The door swung closed behind them with a dull, mechanical clunk.

The room was still spinning slightly. Your cheek throbbed with every beat of your heart, a deep, stinging heat settling under your skin. Your hands were shaking, though you didn't notice until you tried to wipe your face.

Grayson was still there.

Still silent.

He looked at you for a long second—expression unreadable, face set like it had been carved out of stone.

Then, without a word, he turned and walked back into the hallway. No nod. No check-in. No acknowledgment that he'd just stopped something from going very, very bad.

But you felt it.

Something had shifted.

Kang had walked in to remind everyone of the rules.

Grayson had just rewritten them.

That night, the cell was colder than usual. The kind of cold that crawled into your bones and stayed there, slow and deliberate. You lay flat on your bunk, arms at your sides, staring up at the cracked ceiling where the concrete spiderwebbed from years of stress and neglect. Outside the narrow window, the yard lights cast dim streaks across the walls, long shadows that moved with the occasional passing guard. The rest of the cell was dark, quiet. Too quiet.

Your cheek throbbed with a deep, pulsing ache. Swollen. Tender. Every time your head shifted against the thin prison pillow, the pain flared back up—Kang's signature, branded onto your skin without even breaking it. A reminder that he wasn't finished with you. Not by a long shot.

You didn't move when the cell door opened with its usual mechanical groan. You just kept staring up, eyes unfocused, waiting.

Grayson stepped inside without a word. No hesitation. No glance in your direction. He moved like he always did—silent, efficient, like the space belonged to him and you were just borrowing it. He went straight to the sink, pulled a towel off the rack, and turned his back to you.

Then, without looking, he tossed something onto your chest. A small plastic-wrapped rectangle. Cold.

You blinked, startled, then looked down. An ice pack. Already chilled. The kind they handed out in medical for sprains, bruises, maybe worse.

"I convinced the nurse," he said, voice flat as ever, like he was commenting on the weather. "Told her it was for me."

He didn't wait for thanks. Didn't ask how you were. He just sank down onto his bunk, elbows on his knees, fingers laced loosely, eyes on the floor like this was just another night.

You pressed the ice to your cheek. The sting hit first—sharp, biting—but it faded quickly into a dull numbness that took the edge off the pain. You winced, but you didn't say anything. Part of you wanted to thank him, but the words wouldn't come. Not just because of the pain. Because you didn't trust it. Grayson didn't do favors. He moved with purpose. He chose silence like a weapon. Whatever this was, it wasn't kindness.

After a moment, he spoke again—still staring at the floor.

"Kang's not going to let this go."

You turned your head slightly, the crinkle of the plastic pack breaking the quiet. "Figured."

Grayson nodded once. A slow, deliberate motion. "He doesn't like being challenged. Not in public. Not anywhere. That little stunt in the laundry room? That wasn't just about you. That was about his reputation. You embarrassed him. Made him look weak."

You didn't respond. You didn't need to.

"He'll come at you again," Grayson said. "Sooner. Harder. Maybe not with fists next time. Maybe with something worse."

Your fingers tightened around the ice pack. You could already feel the bruise setting in under your skin.

"But not you," you said, turning your gaze toward him. "He doesn't touch you. Doesn't even look at you twice."

Grayson's jaw flexed. A faint, imperceptible shift in his expression. His eyes lifted slowly to meet yours, sharp and focused, like you'd just asked a question with more weight than you realized.

"There's a reason for that," he said, quiet but heavy.

He didn't offer more. No backstory. No threats. Just a fact, dropped into the air between you like a stone in still water.

The silence stretched. Long enough to feel uncomfortable. Long enough to realize he was sizing you up—again. Reading your face, your posture, your pain. And then, without ceremony, he said:

"I'll keep Kang off you."

Like he was offering to loan you a book instead of rewriting your entire survival plan. "You'll be left alone. No more looking over your shoulder, no more counting footsteps outside your cell at night."

You stayed silent, the ice pack cold against your cheek, its edges beginning to soften with body heat. The dull ache in your face was still there, throbbing just beneath the surface, but the shock of what he was saying cut through it like glass.

Then he added—clear, calm, deliberate:

"In exchange for sex. Consensual. No games. No power plays. Just the real thing."

The sentence dropped like a steel door slamming shut. Final. Inescapable.

Your grip on the ice pack didn't tighten, but your breath did—held for just a second too long before you forced it out through your nose. Inside, your brain kicked into gear, scrambling to catch up. You'd heard things. Stories. Deals. Quiet arrangements. But this—coming from him—this wasn't what you expected.

Not from the guy who barely spoke, who moved through the prison like a ghost no one dared touch. Not from the man who hadn't so much as looked your way for a week, and then stepped in like some grim-faced deus ex machina just when Kang's fist was ready to follow his slap.

You didn't let your reaction show. Not here. Not now. Subtle was survival. Everything else was weakness.

Slowly, you lowered the ice pack and met his gaze.

He wasn't smirking. He wasn't taunting. There was no predatory glint in his eye, no sadistic edge. Just that same unshakable calm, that careful calculation. He wasn't trying to shock you. He was stating a fact. An equation, plain and simple.

He'd run the numbers.

This was the solution.

You swallowed once, quietly. "That's... direct," you said, your voice steady, even though your pulse had started to spike in your throat.

A faint flicker of something moved across his face—maybe a smile, maybe not. It was gone too fast to be sure. "Figured you'd respect that more than bullshit."

You didn't respond right away. You kept your breathing even, your expression neutral, but inside your thoughts were tearing in five different directions. Part of you felt insulted. Part of you was curious. Part of you just didn't know what the hell to feel. He hadn't threatened you. He hadn't cornered you. But he'd still pushed the air out of the room with a single sentence.

You looked at him, really looked—trying to find the angle. Because there was always an angle. You'd learned that fast in this place. Trust was just another word for "what's the catch?"

But Grayson... he just waited.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Like he knew you were going to weigh it.

And like he already knew which way you'd tip.

He said it the way someone might suggest a trade—cigarettes for soup. Calm. Logical. Like he'd already weighed the terms and filed them away in some internal ledger.

At first, all you could do was sit with it. Let it rattle around in your chest.

It wasn't shock, not exactly. You weren't naïve. You'd seen the system behind the system—the quiet transactions that ran this place. Protection had a price. Affection had a currency. Sex was often part of the bargain, sometimes bartered, sometimes taken. No one talked about it in the open, but everyone knew.

What did catch you off guard was the source.

Grayson.

The man who barely spoke. Who watched the room like a hawk and moved through the prison like he wasn't part of it. Who never smiled, never postured, never tried to make friends—or enemies. He was a ghost with weight, and somehow that made him more dangerous than the loudest guys in the yard.

You'd spent nights wondering what his angle was. If he even had one. And now here it was. Laid bare. Simple. Blunt.

And somehow... clean.

Your instinct was to recoil—but only for a second.

Then you started thinking.

You'd already made a mistake with Kang. Not the choice itself, but the visibility of it. Everyone saw you stand up to him. And now? That bruise on your cheek wasn't just swelling—it was a warning. A message. An open invitation.

Kang wouldn't forget. And he definitely wouldn't forgive.

You could try to bluff. Act crazy. Pick a fight. Keep a sharpened toothbrush under your mattress and pray you saw it coming next time. But deep down, you knew: you weren't built for that war. You were smart, fast, sharp with your words—but that only got you so far when the wolves started circling.

So you turned your head. Just enough to look at Grayson.

He was still sitting there—motionless. Silent. Watching you with those dark eyes that didn't blink. Didn't push. Didn't plead.

And damn it, he was beautiful.

Not soft, not romantic—but raw. Lean muscle and clean lines. Tension in every inch of his body, like he was always ready to spring. That kind of strength that didn't shout, but hummed beneath the surface. His skin glistened faintly from the heat. Hair a little messy. Jaw clenched in that permanent neutral.

And yet, his expression didn't carry lust or pressure. It carried... certainty. He'd said what he wanted. Now he was waiting.

The power wasn't in his muscles. It was in his patience.

You shifted the ice pack in your hand, feeling it begin to melt. The chill slipping down your wrist.

This wasn't about desperation. It wasn't coercion.

It was an offer.

No strings, no threats. Just a choice.

And maybe that's what threw you most of all—because in a place where choices were rare, this one was real. Yours.

You weren't sure how you felt about it. Not yet. Part of you bristled. Another part—the tired, scared part—considered it for what it really was: a lifeline wrapped in something that, under different circumstances, you might have even wanted.

And sitting in the dim cell light, your face bruised and body aching, you realized something simple and undeniable.

You were considering it.

You slowly pulled the ice pack from your cheek and placed it on the edge of the bunk, fingers lingering on it a moment longer than necessary. The skin still throbbed, but the cold had taken the edge off. You exhaled, long and steady, then lifted your eyes to meet his.

Grayson hadn't looked away. His expression was the same—still, focused, unreadable. But there was something in the quiet way he watched you, something that wasn't demand or hunger. It was patience. Restraint. Like he was giving you all the space you needed to decide.

And you had decided.

"Alright," you said quietly. "I'm in."

His reaction was subtle—barely more than a shift. A slight lift in his chin. A faint ease in the way his shoulders dropped half an inch. No smile, no gloating. Just that quiet, settled energy, like something had clicked into place for him and he didn't need to announce it. He just knew.

He didn't move. Didn't speak right away. Let the weight of your answer settle into the room.

You swallowed once, nerves fluttering low in your stomach. Not regret—just uncertainty. This was new territory, and you were stepping into it without a map.

"So..." you said, your voice a little rougher now, not quite sure how to phrase it. "How does this work? What do you want me to do?"

Grayson's head tilted slightly. Not in judgment—more like he was giving you his full attention.

You kept going, half-serious, half-deflecting. "Do I just lie there? Do whatever you say? Not touch you? Just... shut up and take it?"

The sarcasm was there, but it didn't quite mask the question underneath. You were still feeling the edges of what this was—what it could be. You didn't want to feel owned. You didn't want to feel used. You just didn't know what he wanted from you... or what you were even willing to give.

He stood then.

Not abruptly. Not to intimidate. Just stood, calm and steady, and stepped across the narrow space between your bunks. It only took two strides in a cell that small, but it felt bigger in the moment. You stayed seated, but your body tensed slightly, every nerve awake.

He didn't reach for you. He didn't tower. He simply stood close enough for you to feel him—his presence, his heat. And when he spoke, his voice was low and measured, the same steady cadence as always, but heavier now. Intentional.

"I don't want you passive."

That alone made you blink. It wasn't what you expected—not from a man who had the power to demand anything.

"This isn't about control," he said. "It's not about taking something you don't want to give."

He paused, eyes locked with yours, and his tone didn't waver.

"You're not just a body. And I'm not some caged animal looking to use you."

It hit harder than you expected—because it wasn't just reassurance. It was respect. In this place, that was rarer than anything.

You didn't look away.

"Touching's fine. Wanted, actually," he added, softer now, but not uncertain. "I want you in it. Real. Responsive. Not because you owe me, but because you want to."

You felt that—deep in your gut.

He was giving you something more than protection. He was giving you a line you didn't have to cross. He was giving you choice in a place that had stripped almost all of it away.

For the first time since Kang cornered you in the laundry room, the weight pressing down on your chest started to ease. Not vanish. But loosen. Just enough to let you breathe.

You looked up at him, heart thudding against your ribs, voice low and steady—though the tension threading through it betrayed the anticipation running under your skin.

"So... when does this deal start?" You asked him.

Grayson didn't answer. Not out loud.

He moved instead—slow, smooth, not a wasted motion. He leaned in, his presence surrounding you before he even touched you. His hand braced lightly on the wall just above your shoulder, not trapping, but claiming space. His breath reached your skin before his mouth did—warm, steady, close enough to make your own catch in your throat.

Then his lips touched your neck.

Not rushed. Not rough. Just a brush—barely there, but enough to make your skin spark under the contact. He moved deliberately, kissing the line just beneath your jaw with a quiet confidence, like he knew the map of your body without ever having to ask for directions. He wasn't fumbling. He wasn't testing. He knew.

You let out a breath—soft, shaky—more reaction than choice.

Goddamn.

It wasn't just that he was good. It was the control. The restraint. The way he didn't need to push because every movement felt earned. Like he'd been waiting for the exact right moment to act and now that it was here, he wasn't going to waste a second.

Your body betrayed you almost immediately. Your head tilted to the side, exposing your throat, giving him more without thinking. It didn't feel like surrender. It felt like instinct.

Your hands moved without command—up his chest first, fingertips brushing the thin cotton of his shirt. Solid. Tense. He wasn't flexing, but the definition was there, unmistakable. Strength built from routine, from discipline. You slid your hands lower, slow, feeling the faint ridges of his abdomen shift under your palm with each breath he took.

And then—lower.

You felt him. Already hardening. The heat of him pressed behind coarse fabric, thick and undeniable beneath your fingers. Your hand paused there, resting lightly, the reality of it grounding you in this moment in a way nothing else could.

Grayson exhaled—low, quiet, controlled. A sound you wouldn't have noticed unless you were this close. But it was enough. Enough to confirm this wasn't just physical for him. He felt it too. The charge. The gravity.

Still, he didn't push. Didn't grab. Just kept his mouth on your neck, his lips dragging slowly along your skin like he had all the time in the world.

And in this brutal, suffocating place where control was currency and vulnerability could get you killed... there was something disarming about the way he held both and still let you lead.

You let your hand curl slightly against him. Felt the response, the subtle twitch, the tension roll through his body like a wave he didn't show on his face.

This was real. Immediate. Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with survival, desire, and the rare luxury of choice.

And as Grayson's mouth moved lower, dragging along your collarbone, your fingers still curled against him, one thought floated through your mind—sharp and clear:

Yeah... this deal might just work.

Grayson then he pulled back—not fast, not hesitant, but with a deliberate sort of calm. Like he'd decided the pace and wasn't going to let anything rush it. Not even you.

Without saying a word, he reached down, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and pulled it over his head in one smooth, fluid motion. The fabric slid up and off, and then it was just him—bare from the waist up under the stark overhead light. And for a moment, all you could do was look.

He was exactly what you'd imagined—only better.

His body was a blueprint of quiet strength. Not bulky, not showy, just carved from repetition and necessity. Lean muscle that wrapped around his torso in clean, defined lines, as if every inch of him had a job and no part of him was wasted. His chest was firm, his stomach tight and flat, each ridge of his abdomen catching the light like they'd been sculpted in concrete. No ink. No flash. No need to prove anything.

Just him.

Raw. Clean. Focused.

You barely had time to process it before his hands were on you. And when they were—God, they were careful. His fingers slid under the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head with a gentleness that felt almost surreal in contrast to the hardness of the space around you. There was no grab, no jerk. Just patience. Precision. He moved like he was unwrapping something rare, and he didn't want to miss a single second.

When the fabric cleared your skin, the chill of the air rushed in fast and sharp, dancing across your ribs, your shoulders, your neck. It made your breath hitch. Made everything inside you light up.

Then he hooked his arms under your thighs and lifted you like it was nothing.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up—legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, hands bracing on his shoulders. His grip was strong, firm, but not harsh. Your back hit the wall with a thud softened by the hard plane of his chest pressing into you. The cold of the concrete kissed your spine, but the heat of him overwhelmed it—his body flush against yours, radiating warmth that seemed to sink into your skin.

His face was right there.

Close.

Too close.

His lips hovered a breath above yours, and you could feel everything—his exhale, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. He didn't move. Didn't close the space. He just waited, suspended in the moment, so close it made your skin ache.

And then, finally, his voice came—low, rough-edged but soft.

"Is kissing okay?"

The question slid over your skin like silk, and it hit harder than anything else he'd done. Not because of the words—but because of what was behind them. The restraint. The awareness. The choice.

Even now, with your body wrapped around his, with heat rolling off both of you like fire pressed between steel, he was still asking. Still making sure. Still giving you the space to say no.

That shouldn't have made your pulse jump the way it did.

But it did.

Because here, in a place where everything was taken, he was offering.

And the answer was already rising in your throat, warm and breathless, your lips brushing his as you whispered it.

"Yes."

You weren't prepared for the softness.

Grayson, the man who moved like a blade in a sheath—controlled, silent, always coiled—had never once given the impression that gentleness lived anywhere inside him. He existed in sharp lines and quiet authority, the kind of presence that warned people without a single word. In Gotham State, that was survival. That was currency. And you'd assumed, understandably, that if he ever touched you, it would feel like possession. Like dominance.

But now, with your back pressed to cold concrete and your body caged between his and the wall, what you felt was something else entirely.

His breath was warm against your lips. His arms held you steady, his strength obvious—but unused. He didn't press forward. He didn't claim. He just waited, suspended in that breath of space between decision and action.

He could've done anything in that moment. You'd already said yes. The deal was made. There was no performance left to put on, no power struggle to win.

And still—he waited for you.

That undid you more than any aggressive advance ever could've. Because in a place where most people only took, he was offering. Quietly. Patiently.

Your hands slid up his shoulders, anchoring yourself to something solid. Your fingers curled into the firm shape of him, skin warm under your touch, the tension in his muscles humming just below the surface. You were steadying yourself, but also learning him—tracing the lines of someone who'd spent years being unapproachable.

You gave a small nod.

Barely anything.

But it was enough.

His lips met yours.

And everything else fell away.

The kiss wasn't hungry. It wasn't rushed or desperate. It was measured. Intentional. The same way he moved, the same way he spoke—every motion deliberate, like he'd thought it through before he did it. His mouth brushed yours, then deepened the kiss slowly, pulling you in without overwhelming. It wasn't the kiss of a man used to getting what he wanted—it was the kiss of someone who knew the value of patience. Who didn't take—he drew you in.

His hands stayed locked under your thighs, holding you firm, grounded. You were suspended there, between his strength and the wall, but you didn't feel trapped. You felt held. The tension in your body, the one you didn't even know you'd been carrying, began to unravel. It started in your chest and rippled outward—through your fingertips, into your breath, into the way your body softened into his.

Your mouth moved with his, slow at first, then with growing need. But the need wasn't for escape or dominance. It was for connection. For something human in a place that thrived on the absence of it.

You felt yourself give in—not because you were expected to, but because in that moment, you wanted to. The pressure, the fear, the fight you'd been clutching to in your gut like armor—it all cracked under the warmth of that kiss. You let it.

Time stopped meaning anything. The cell, the cold wall, the ever-present buzz of prison noise outside the door—they disappeared. It was just the two of you, suspended in heat and stillness, your heart beating fast against his chest and his breath breaking softly against your lips.

You didn't know what this meant.

You didn't know what it would turn into.

But for now, with Grayson's lips against yours and something honest threading between your bodies, you let go of the questions.

You let yourself feel it.

And for the first time since walking into Gotham State, you didn't feel afraid.

Suddenly, a soft moan slipped from your lips before you even realized it—quiet, breathy, but thick with heat. The sound seemed to ignite something in Grayson. His body pressed harder into yours, his hips rolling forward with slow, deliberate pressure that left no question about how badly he wanted you. The friction sent a sharp jolt through you—skin to skin in places, fabric between you in others, but nothing close to a barrier.

You could feel everything.

He was hard against you—thick, insistent, grinding in just the right way. The pressure wasn't rushed. It was controlled, like he was savoring every inch of contact, letting it build between you. Every slow rock of his hips made your pulse race faster, the tension curling low in your stomach, hot and tight.

Then his mouth left yours.

His lips trailed down along your jaw, kissing softly at first, then lower—nuzzling into the sensitive skin of your neck. His breath was hot against you, a low exhale brushing across your skin right before his mouth opened and he latched on, sucking lightly.

You gasped—eyes fluttering shut, head tipping back to give him more access. He didn't waste it.

His tongue flicked across your skin, slow and precise, teasing before he pulled you between his lips again. He sucked with a rhythm—measured, maddening—each pull of his mouth sending little shocks of pleasure radiating down your spine. You felt his stubble scrape faintly against your neck, rough and grounding, a contrast to the heat building inside you.

And all the while, his hips kept moving.

Slow. Grinding. Deliberate.

The tension building where your bodies met had you trembling slightly, your breath catching every time he shifted just right. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, gripping tight, anchoring yourself to something solid as your nerves sparked beneath your skin. You weren't thinking anymore. You were feeling. Reacting. Leaning into every brush of his lips, every thrust of his hips.

It was overwhelming.

The heat. The pressure. The way your bodies fit together like you'd done this before, like you belonged there—against that wall, in his arms, surrounded by cold concrete and the kind of intensity that made the whole world fall away.

You'd expected this to be physical. Transactional. Something raw and efficient—a trade of protection for sex, stripped of emotion, clean in its purpose.

But this?

This wasn't clean. This wasn't distant.

This was intimate.

Every kiss, every grind, every breath shared between you blurred the lines further. It was fast becoming something else—something dangerous, something real.

Then Grayson's hands slid beneath your thighs again, firm and steady, but this time there was a shift in intention. He wasn't lifting—you felt it immediately. He was lowering you, guiding you down with a careful kind of control, like he didn't want to break the rhythm that had built between you. Your back eased away from the wall, and gravity took over, pulling you into the next part of whatever this was.

He followed your descent the whole way, his hands never leaving you. His palms were warm, anchoring you even as your knees met the cold, unforgiving concrete. The chill bit at your skin—sharp, immediate—but you barely registered it. All your focus was fixed on him. On the rise and fall of his chest, damp with a thin sheen of sweat. On the way his eyes locked onto yours, steady and unreadable except for the heat flickering behind them.

He didn't speak. He didn't have to.

The silence between you was louder than anything words could've added. It pulsed with tension, thick and charged, the air so heavy it felt like it was pushing in on your lungs.

Grayson's hands slipped from your legs as he straightened, towering over you, and reached down to the waistband of his prison-issue pants. You watched, transfixed, as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic and pushed both the pants and boxers down in one fluid motion. The fabric dropped, pooling soundlessly at his feet.

And then he was bare in front of you.

There was no hesitation, no need for show. His cock stood thick and hard, flushed at the tip, the shaft veined and heavy, the weight of it making it twitch subtly as it was freed. The sight of him made your breath catch—sharp and sudden. You'd imagined, sure. Thought about what he might look like under all that control and silence. But seeing it?

It hit different.

He was big—unquestionably. But more than that, there was something commanding about the way he stood there, fully exposed, entirely still. Like he knew what he was offering. Like he trusted you to take it without needing to be told.

Your breath caught as you looked up at him—Grayson standing over you, skin flushed, every line of his body drawn tight with control. His dick hovered just inches from your mouth, thick and pulsing with heat. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, but his eyes... his eyes told a different story.

There was fire behind them now.

Not wild, not reckless—contained, but alive. A low-burning hunger that simmered just beneath the surface of his usually unreadable expression. He wanted you. Badly. But more than that, he was letting you have this moment. Letting you choose. Still silent. Still still. But utterly focused on you.

You leaned in slowly, deliberately, keeping your gaze locked to his. There was a kind of power in that—knowing he wasn't directing this, knowing he was waiting for you. You wanted him to see it, to feel it: this wasn't submission. This was your decision. Your yes. And you wanted him to understand exactly what that meant.

Your lips parted.

You took him in—just the tip at first. Warm, heavy, the taste of him blooming on your tongue, earthy and unmistakably male. His breath hitched above you, the sound sharp and quiet, but you caught it. His fingers curled slightly at his sides, like he was fighting the instinct to reach for you. That restraint made the heat between you flare.

You drew your tongue around the head in a slow, deliberate circle before easing lower, inch by inch. He was thick—more than you were used to—and your jaw ached as your mouth stretched to accommodate him. But the discomfort faded into sensation, into purpose. It was grounding. Real.

He let out a long, quiet breath. His abs flexed, the muscle twitching beneath the surface as he tried to stay still.

You found your rhythm—slow, deep pulls of your mouth as your hand wrapped around what you couldn't take, stroking in time with every movement. The pressure built with each pass, saliva slicking his skin, heat growing between your legs with every soft sound he didn't mean to make.

You watched him the whole time.

Every clench of his jaw. Every subtle shift of his hips. The way his nostrils flared when your tongue dragged along the underside of him on the way back up. He was still trying to hold it together—still composed, still Grayson—but you could see the edges beginning to fray.

That restraint, the way he gave you space and didn't take—it only made you want more.

You went deeper, slower. Hollowing your cheeks. Tightening your grip. You heard his breath catch again, heard the faintest curse slip past his lips, low and rough.

And that was when it clicked.

This wasn't just about the deal anymore.

This wasn't obligation.

This was something else.

With every bob of your head, every flick of your tongue, you could feel the tension rising in him. The pressure. The effort it took to stay still. And you liked it—knowing you were the one pulling him apart, inch by inch.

The man who didn't bend for anyone...

Was beginning to lose control.

And it was because of you.

Grayson's fingers clenched around the edge of the bunk behind him, knuckles whitening as they curled tight around the cold metal frame. The rigid press of steel against his skin grounded him—barely. His grip was the only thing keeping him tethered, keeping him from sinking completely into the rush of sensation spiraling up through his spine. But you were making it impossible.

Your mouth moved with slow, focused purpose. Every glide of your lips down his cock was smooth, wet, perfectly controlled. You didn't rush. You didn't falter. You knew what you were doing—and worse, you knew what it was doing to him. Your tongue traced sensitive veins, your lips sealed around his dick, the suction just right. Every pass was a tease and a promise all at once.

And your eyes—fuck, your eyes.

Locked on his. Dark with heat. Steady. Unapologetic. There was no submission in your gaze, no fear. Just intention. Confidence. You looked at him like you were daring him to fall apart.

And he was.

Grayson had spent his time in Gotham State like a shadow—quiet, untouchable, locked behind layers of discipline. He never got close. Never entertained the idea of letting anyone in. Survival here depended on that distance, on keeping your needs buried where no one could use them against you.

So when you first walked into his cell, he'd barely glanced your way. Just another body. Another sentence. Another soul trying to disappear.

But then you spoke—sharp, biting, eyes defiant even after being thrown into hell. You didn't shrink. You didn't plead. There was something alive in you. Unbroken.

And it had hooked him from the first second.

He hadn't touched anyone in months. Years, maybe. Inside this place, time was elastic. Weeks bled into each other until need became background noise—something you ignored or turned into rage. Release was rare. Trust, rarer.

But now? Now your mouth was wrapped around him, and all those things he'd buried were clawing their way to the surface.

Every movement of your tongue, every subtle shift of your lips, every sound you made as you took more of him—it built pressure in his core like a fuse inching toward its end. His hips stayed still only because he willed them to. His muscles were tight with restraint, the need to thrust forward—deep, hard—simmering just beneath the surface. But he didn't. Not yet.

Because you were owning this. Guiding it. Controlling it.

And that wrecked him in a way nothing else could.

You were better than he'd expected—better than his most desperate, late-night fantasies. He knew you'd be sharp, knew you'd come into this with something to prove. But this? The way you sucked him in like you were claiming him, the way your hand stroked in time, the little flicks of your tongue that made him curse under his breath?

It was more than just good.

It was devastating.

And he loved it.

Grayson's breath was coming harder now, each inhale deeper than the last, chest rising and falling like he was in a fight—but he wasn't trying to win. Not anymore. He was teetering on the edge, and for once, he didn't want to pull back.

Because for the first time in too long, he wasn't just enduring.

He was feeling—every inch of your mouth, every drag of pleasure, every crack in the wall he'd spent years building.

And the thought hit him hard, almost dizzying:

If this is what it feels like to lose control... maybe it's worth it.

You drew his dick deeper with another slow, deliberate pull of your mouth. His stomach tightened, muscles along his abdomen flexing like cords pulled taut. For a split second, he let his eyes close, not to block anything out, but to feel it more clearly. The warmth of your mouth, the slick glide of your tongue, the tight pull of your lips—it was dragging him toward the edge faster than he'd meant to go.

And he was losing his grip.

He opened his eyes and looked down at you—saw your mouth stretched around him, your jaw working, your eyes still locked to his like you were daring him to let go.

That was all it took.

Something inside him cracked open.

Grayson's hand moved, slow but deliberate, threading through your hair until his palm pressed firm against the back of your head. He didn't force. Not yet. He just held you there—grounded you. The weight of his hand, the way his fingers curled into your hair, sent a message without needing words: you're mine now.

Then he moved.

His hips rolled forward, gentle at first, testing the rhythm. Shallow thrusts, slow and controlled, as he began to guide the motion—his dick slipping deeper, the tip brushing the back of your throat before he eased out again. You adjusted, your lips tightening, your breath coming shallow through your nose as you accepted his pace.

And that—your willingness, your trust—only poured gasoline on the fire under his skin.

His grip in your hair tightened slightly, his rhythm beginning to shift. Less careful. Less composed. The control he'd clung to was unraveling, thread by thread, replaced by something more raw, more real. His thrusts deepened—not brutal, not careless, but charged with heat and hunger. With need.

A groan slipped from him, low and ragged. It rumbled from his chest, unguarded and full. He wasn't just reacting to your mouth anymore—he was surrendering to it.

The bunk behind him creaked as he braced a hand against it, the strain in his shoulders visible, his knuckles white from the force of his grip. The only sounds in the cell were the wet glide of your lips around him, the quiet suck of pressure, and the steady, increasingly broken rhythm of his breathing.

Then your eyes flicked up again.

You looked at him, mouth full, cheeks hollowed, and in that moment, something changed in him.

His gaze darkened. That controlled fire in his eyes flared into something possessive, feral. Not cruel—but intense. Hungry. Like he was seeing you not just as the person on your knees, but as his. Someone who could take him. Who wanted to. Who chose to.

And that made it deeper. Hotter. More than just sex.

This was trust. Power. Desire, tangled together until they couldn't be separated anymore.

His hips snapped forward again, harder now, your throat taking the full length of him. He felt you gag, just a little, and immediately eased up—but you didn't pull away. You held, breathing through it, letting him stay deep for a beat before he withdrew. His fingers stroked the back of your head once before his grip in your hair eased, his fingers slowly unwinding, trailing through the strands like he wasn't quite ready to let go. His chest was rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, the heat rolling off him in waves. He held your gaze as he pulled you up—one smooth, unhurried motion, like he was savoring every second of bringing you back to your feet.

The second you were upright, he was on you.

His mouth crashed into yours, and the kiss was nothing like before. This one was heat and teeth, deep and messy and full of all the tension that had been coiled between you since the day you stepped into that cell. It was greedy—desperate in a way that made your knees go weak. His tongue slid against yours, taking what he wanted, demanding everything back.

His hands moved like they had a map—roaming down your spine, finding the dip of your back, then gripping your waist tight, pulling your body flush against his. You could feel every inch of him—his chest heaving, the strain in his arms, the hard press of his cock still wet from your mouth.

Then he broke the kiss, panting, lips swollen, eyes dark.

No words. Just movement.

His hands dropped to your waistband and in a single, practiced motion, he tugged your pants and boxers down. The fabric clung briefly to your skin before sliding down your legs and pooling around your ankles, but Grayson didn't give it time to settle—he kicked it aside with his foot, sending it somewhere into the shadows behind you. Gone. Out of the way.

The cold air hit your skin and made you shiver, a rush of sensation climbing your spine. But his body was already there, already pulling you back into heat. His hands returned to your waist—firm, possessive—as he turned you, guiding you toward the wall like he'd done it a hundred times in his head.

You let him.

Your palms braced against the concrete, cool and unforgiving under your skin. You leaned into it, your breath fogging faintly in front of you, chest rising as anticipation clawed its way through your veins.

Behind you, Grayson stepped in close, the warmth of him immediately wrapping around you again. His chest brushed your back, his breath ghosting across the side of your neck. Then you felt it—him—thick and hard, pressing between your cheeks, hot skin against bare skin, no fabric left between you.

One of his hands held your hip, his grip steady, grounding. The other slipped lower, fingers curling around the base of his dick as he guided himself down, the head nudging between your legs—slick, swollen, precise.

He didn't shove. He didn't rush.

He just waited there—lined up, ready—the thick head of him brushing against your hole in slow, deliberate pulses, each movement a promise, each breath a countdown.

The tension was suffocating.

And in that breathless moment, with your body open and aching, the concrete cold beneath your hands and the heat of him poised behind you, it was clear:

He wasn't just going to fuck you.

He was going to claim you.

You felt the first press of Grayson's dick against you—broad, hot, deliberate. He didn't shove. Didn't rush. Just held you there, his hand firm on your hip, anchoring you while he pushed forward with steady, unrelenting pressure. The thick head of his dick eased past the resistance, stretching you slowly, and the sensation was instant—deep, all-consuming.

He was big. You'd known it from before, seen it, felt the weight of him in your mouth—but this was different. This was inside.

Your breath stuttered, body instinctively tensing as the stretch intensified. Your fingers curled against the concrete wall for balance, knuckles whitening. Inch by inch, he sank into you, each movement slow and controlled, like he was trying to give you time to feel every part of him.

Halfway in, he paused.

His chest hovered behind your back, his breath hot against your shoulder. His voice came low—hoarse, threaded with restraint.

"Breathe."

The word skimmed your skin like a touch, and you obeyed. You focused on your inhale, long and shaky, letting it move through your body as you tried to relax around him. The pressure began to shift—still intense, still burning, but now edged with something else. Something that made your stomach tighten and your thighs tremble.

You exhaled. He moved again.

The final push was slow, smooth, deep. He filled you completely, his hips pressing flush to yours, the stretch turning molten as your body yielded. You gasped, not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming fullness of it. Of him.

Grayson stilled.

One hand remained braced on your hip, the other sliding up to your lower back, fingers spreading wide across your skin to keep you steady. He held you like that—completely still—his cock buried to the hilt, his breathing ragged and uneven behind you.

You could feel it.

Every inch of him. Every beat of his heart pounding through the tension in his muscles.

He was holding himself back.

Then, slowly, he began to move.

The first thrust was shallow, careful—testing. A slow pull out, a gentle slide back in. Your breath caught again, but your body was adjusting now, learning the rhythm, the weight, the heat. He pulled out a little further the second time, then drove back in with more pressure, more hunger. The sound of it echoed—quiet, rhythmic, skin meeting skin in the heavy silence of the cell.

His grip on your hips tightened.

Each thrust grew more certain, more claiming. His control was still there, but it was fraying at the edges. His rhythm quickened—steady, deep, purposeful. Like he was imprinting something with every push of his hips. Like he wasn't just fucking you. He was taking you.

And your body responded.

You pressed back into him, breath hitching with every stroke, chasing the rhythm he was setting. Your knees quivered, your palms flat against the wall for balance, your skin burning with sensation. Each thrust sent a rush of heat curling up your spine, blooming outward through your limbs.

The reasons behind this—survival, protection, need—blurred.

What mattered now was the way he felt inside you. The way he moved—like he couldn't stop himself. Like having you this way was something he'd imagined for too long, and now that he had you, he couldn't get close enough.

Each thrust now came with intention, a growing urgency pulsing through every snap of his hips. What had started as deep, steady motion turned rougher, needier, the pressure mounting with every inch he drove into you. He pushed deeper with each roll of his body, filling you until you felt stretched to your absolute limit—and maybe even a little past it. The sound of him—his skin slapping against yours, the wet drag of each thrust, the ragged rhythm of his breath—filled the concrete cell like a pulse, a beat that matched your racing heart.

You squirmed beneath him, breath catching, your body trying to process the overwhelming sensations. Your fingers scraped along the cold wall, twitching for purchase, trying to find something—anything—to brace against. The pressure inside you was intense, unbearable in the best possible way. You weren't trying to pull away. You were just trying to keep up.

But the second you shifted, the second your hands moved even a little—

Grayson was there.

His free hand swept your wrists back in one fluid motion, fast and smooth, like he'd been waiting for it. Before you could even gasp, he had both of your arms pinned behind you, your wrists locked in one strong hand, the roughness of his palm pressed tight between your shoulder blades and his chest.

You cried out—a sharp, breathy sound, half-surprise, half-desire—as the change in angle sent heat rushing straight to your core. The new position made everything feel sharper. Tighter. More exposed. More his.

Grayson leaned in, his body flush against your back, his voice low and rough in your ear.

"You're not going anywhere."

His breath was hot on your neck. His grip on your wrists firm and unrelenting. And then he thrust.

Hard.

You choked on a moan, your mouth open but no sound escaping, your body jolting forward as he bottomed out inside you with brutal precision. You arched, spine bending, the air knocked from your lungs as pleasure crashed through you like a wave. Your hands flexed uselessly in his grip, pinned tight. He wasn't letting go. He was anchoring you, locking you in place while he took you apart.

Every thrust after that came with purpose.

Not careless, not wild—but focused. He moved like he was memorizing the shape of you, the sounds you made when he hit just the right spot, the way your walls fluttered around him when he pushed too deep, too slow, too good. He groaned—low and guttural—his lips brushing against your shoulder, his breath ragged now, heat radiating off him like fire under your skin.

The wall was cold beneath your chest. The floor hard under your knees. But all of that faded into the background.

There was only him.

Inside you. Around you. Taking and giving in equal measure.

And then his voice came again—right against your ear this time, deep and breathless, tinged with something feral he was barely holding back.

"Just like that."

His words sent another ripple down your spine, your body clenching in response, and you realized you'd stopped thinking about why this started—what it meant.

Now all you could do was feel.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the tiny cell, rhythmic and relentless—wet, sharp, unmistakably intimate. It bounced off the cold concrete like the walls were holding onto it, amplifying every thrust, every breath, every moan that slipped past your lips no matter how hard you tried to bite them back.

Anyone walking by would hear it.

Hell, anyone on the block would.

And you didn't care. Not even a little.

Grayson had you pinned hard against the wall, one hand locked around your wrists behind your back, the other gripping your hip like he owned it. His chest was slick against your back, his body moving with brutal, focused precision—each thrust deep, controlled, calculated like he wasn't just trying to fuck you—he was studying you. Learning you.

He hit that spot again and your knees buckled slightly, a broken sound catching in your throat as your forehead pressed into the wall. The pleasure was too much—dense and burning, winding through your body like fire in your veins. Every time he pulled back and slammed into you, your breath hitched, your skin jolted with heat, and you sank deeper into the rhythm of him.

It wasn't just good. It was overwhelming.

It was obliterating.

You weren't afraid. You weren't nervous.

You were fucking gone.

And it wasn't because this was some prison-born desperation. No. It was because of him. Grayson fucked like he knew exactly what you needed before you did. Like he'd mapped out every nerve ending, every twitch of your hips, every soft gasp and sharp moan—and was playing your body like a goddamn instrument.

Your ex? Forget it. That was fumbling hands and pretty words. That was heat without depth, desire without gravity. This was different. This was raw, physical, soul-deep. This was someone driving into you like he was erasing something—every bad touch, every cold night, every ache that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with being unseen.

Grayson saw you.

And now he was taking you—fully, completely—like he'd been waiting for the exact moment when you'd finally let him.

Your head thudded lightly against the wall as he buried himself in you again, hard and deep, a groan tearing out of him that sounded half-possessed. His hips slammed into yours, his grip bruising in the best way, and all you could do was hold on—your body vibrating, melting, tightening around him with every punishing thrust.

And god, it was insane.

Of course it took a prison cell. Of course it took Gotham.

Of course it took getting slapped around by Kang and nearly broken by the system before ending up here—pinned, breathless, fucked half out of your mind by the one man in this hellhole who could handle you.

It should've been a tragedy.

But it felt like deliverance.

Suddenly, Grayson stopped—every muscle in his body going rigid all at once, like someone had thrown a switch.

You were so deep in the rhythm of him, the weight of him, the pulse of pleasure pounding through your body, that it took a full second to register the shift. But then you heard it too.

A sharp crackle—pshhht—followed by low, garbled voices over a walkie-talkie. Codes. Numbers. Instructions. The language of authority, clipped and cold. Then came the unmistakable sound of heavy boots echoing down the concrete corridor. A slow, measured march of guards making their rounds.

Your heart shot into your throat.

Grayson didn't say a word. He didn't have to.

His grip on you tightened—protective, grounding—as he gently eased out, the motion achingly slow, and guided you away from the wall. His hands, which had been so rough seconds ago, now moved with surgical calm. No panic. No wasted motion. Just control.

He navigated the darkness with ease, guiding you across the cell to his bunk with a hand on your lower back. The sheets were rumpled, the scent of sweat and sex still clinging to the air—thick, unmistakable. Outside the cell bars, the overhead floodlights spilled silvery stripes across the floor. It wasn't total darkness, just enough to blur details. Just enough to hide.

He lay down first—on his side, facing the wall—and without hesitation, pulled you down in front of him. Your back pressed to his chest, your legs curled into the shape of his, your skin still flushed and tingling from everything that had come before. His arm slid over your waist, holding you like a shield, like a secret.

Then he slipped back inside you.

You nearly gasped—but bit it back hard, teeth sinking into your lip as his dick pushed in slow and deep, your body already open and greedy for him. The new angle was different—less force, more stretch—but it hit something inside you that made your toes curl against the sheets. It wasn't urgent now. It was deliberate.

A quiet, controlled burn.

He held you flush to him, chest to your back, your bodies locked together like one solid shape beneath the thin blanket. His hips moved in the smallest motions, just enough to keep you full, to keep the fire stoked.

Then—clank.

The cell door rattled as the latch was tested. A flashlight beam cut across the floor—bright, white, and merciless—sweeping over the bunks.

You shut your eyes, breath frozen in your throat, willing your body to stillness even as Grayson kept moving inside you. Barely-there thrusts, slow and subtle. But the pressure was growing again, the friction impossible to ignore. Every pulse of his dick made your insides clench, your core tighten, your heart pound harder.

The light passed over your face. You didn't flinch.

Grayson's breath hovered just behind your ear, hot and slow. He wasn't kissing you—just breathing there. His lips ghosted over your skin like a secret, and somehow that felt more intimate than anything that had come before.

Outside the bars, the guards moved on.

Boots faded down the corridor. The radio static became distant noise. The threat passed—but the tension didn't leave.

Grayson didn't loosen his grip. Didn't pull out.

He just held you tighter.

And kept going.

His body curved perfectly into yours, every inch of him aligned like he'd been shaped for this—for you. His chest was warm and firm at your back, his breath ghosting against the nape of your neck in slow, steady waves. Each thrust into you was deep, precise, measured—like every movement was part of some intimate choreography only he knew. Even with the faint noise of guards still echoing down the corridor, he moved like nothing else existed. No prison. No threat. Just the two of you in this sliver of darkness and heat.

Then his hand slid lower.

You felt the rough drag of his fingertips first, tracing down your stomach with purpose. Then he wrapped his fingers around your dick—warm, solid, confident—and you had to suck in a breath through clenched teeth. The touch jolted through you like a live wire. He didn't hesitate. His grip was just right—firm, not painful—just enough to let you know he was fully in control.

He began to stroke you in perfect rhythm with his hips. Each push inside you was mirrored by the glide of his hand, like his body was reading yours in real time. The synergy was unreal—too perfect. Every part of you was being worked in sync: his dick filling you in slow, relentless waves, his hand coaxing your dick forward with practiced ease, his breath warming your skin in ragged exhales.

You tried to stay quiet. You had to stay quiet.

But your body was unraveling fast.

Pleasure blurred your thoughts at the edges, your nerves on fire, every muscle locked tight in anticipation. His thumb dragged across the most sensitive part of you with maddening precision, over and over again, and your hips twitched forward instinctively, chasing the friction.

Still, his rhythm didn't falter.

He was methodical—focused—stroking you just enough to push you closer, then slowing just enough to hold you there, right on that precipice. It was maddening. Addictive. The pressure was coiling in your core, heat blooming in your gut and spreading outward, your whole body tensing, tightening, needing.

Your breathing turned erratic—shallow and fast, teeth pressed into your lip to keep the sound in. But Grayson felt it. He knew. He adjusted, just barely, and the stroke of his hand picked up—faster now, firmer. His thrusts grew more intense too, still quiet but sharper, each one angled with purpose. Precision. Like he wasn't just chasing your climax—he was crafting it.

You reached back blindly, your hand finding his forearm and gripping tight—needing something solid to hold on to as your body began to tremble under the pressure. The tension built in waves, fast and brutal, spiraling through your spine, into your stomach, burning through your chest like it was ripping you apart from the inside out.

You were there.

Perched on the edge of everything—control, silence, sensation—tipping closer with every stroke, every thrust, every quiet, burning breath from the man wrapped around you.

And there was no going back.

The pressure in your core finally shattered—white-hot and blinding.

A low, broken moan tore out of you, half-smothered against the pillow, the rest caught somewhere deep in your throat, raw and involuntary. Your entire body seized as your orgasm ripped through you in sharp, uncontrollable waves. Your hips jerked forward, muscles locking, then trembling as the cum pulsed out of you, thick and hot between Grayson's fingers.

But he didn't stop.

His hand kept stroking you through it—slow, firm, relentless—dragging every last spasm out of you like he was determined to wring you dry. Your body twitched under his touch, every nerve lit up and blazing, the overstimulation skimming the edge between pleasure and something more intense, more overwhelming. You gasped again, body straining, your back arching off the mattress as the aftershocks rolled through your limbs.

The world around you blurred—the prison, the cold air, the hard cement and steel. It all fell away. All you could hear was the thunder of your heartbeat in your ears and the wet, rhythmic sound of his hand gliding along your spent dick.

Then, as your muscles started to go slack and your breathing began to even out, Grayson shifted behind you.

Still hard. Still deep inside you.

He let out a quiet grunt, low and restrained, as he adjusted his hold, one hand sliding up your torso while the other anchored you by the hip. He moved with focus, but not urgency—like a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and exactly how he planned to take it.

In one smooth, powerful motion, he guided you flat onto your stomach. The sheets were still warm beneath you, damp with sweat and heat, but you barely had time to register it before his weight was on you again—his chest pressed to your back, skin slick, heartbeat fast. His hands skimmed down your sides, large and steady, before settling at your hips, where he gripped and lifted, raising you just enough to give him the angle he wanted.

You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt him again.

The head of his dick nudged back at your ass—slick, thick, still pulsing with need. And then—he pushed in.

You choked on a sharp gasp, your entire body lighting up as he filled you again. The sensation, so soon after your orgasm, was almost too much. But it wasn't pain—it was intensity. Blistering and deep. Your fingers curled into the mattress, jaw clenched as your body tried to keep up with the new onslaught of sensation.

His pace had changed. Gone was the slow, deliberate rhythm.

Now he moved with force. With hunger.

Grayson's hips snapped forward, hard and fast, the slap of his skin against yours loud in the quiet of the cell. He drove into you again and again, each thrust hitting deeper, sharper, the bed creaking beneath the rhythm of his body. It wasn't reckless. It wasn't out of control. It was focused. Primal. A man possessed by need, but still terrifyingly precise.

His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your skin, holding you right where he wanted you—grounded to the bed, to him. Each thrust sent sparks up your spine, your thighs shaking from the overstimulation, your breath catching with every impact.

You couldn't speak.

Could barely breathe.

All you could do was hold on.

Then he leaned down again, the heat of him searing against your back, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Still with me?" he growled, voice low and rough, thick with lust and that razor-sharp focus that had never once let up.

You nodded—barely able to move—teeth sinking into the sheets as another helpless moan escaped your lips.

His thrusts came faster now, rougher, each one driving into you with the kind of force that made your breath punch out in soft gasps. You felt it in everything—the tension rippling through his muscles, the bruising grip of his fingers at your hips, the way his breath broke apart against the back of your neck in short, uneven bursts.

He was close.

You could feel it.

His body was fire against yours, sweat slicking the space where your backs touched, the heat of his skin branding yours. He pounded into you harder, deeper, and you could feel every bit of it—your thighs trembling, your spine bowing beneath the force of it.

Then it happened—that telltale shift.

You felt him twitch inside you.

His abs clenched.

His rhythm faltered, stuttered—just for a second.

Then Grayson pulled out fast, sharp, with a hiss of breath gritted between his teeth.

You barely had time to turn your head, to blink, before you felt the first hot pulse of his release hit your lower back—thick, warm, unmistakable. He groaned low, the sound rough and almost broken as his hand wrapped around his dick, jerking himself through it. Thick ropes spilled across your skin, warm and heavy, his chest rising and falling in shallow, trembling waves as he rode out the last of it.

He kept stroking—slower now, riding the final throbs of his orgasm with his forehead tilted down, his breath catching like he was still inside the freefall. His body hovered over yours, the tension slowly leaking from his frame, replaced with the kind of raw stillness that only came after something real.

The air in the cell was thick—heat, sweat, sex. The scent of it clung to your skin, to the sheets, to the very air you pulled into your lungs.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Not because there was nothing to say—just because there was no need to say it.

Grayson's hands slid from your hips, fingers soft now, brushing your skin like an afterthought—like he wasn't ready to let go just yet. He stayed close, his body still pressed lightly to yours, the last of his weight resting against your back as he caught his breath, head bowed, chest still heaving.

And you—body tingling, heart racing, mind blank and full all at once—just lay there.

Feeling every inch of him cooling against your skin.

Feeling everything you'd just done settle into your bones.

The cell was quiet again.

Only the distant sounds of the prison reminded you where you were—metal doors clanking far down the corridor, the occasional echo of voices too muffled to understand, the steady electric buzz of the overhead lights that never quite turned off. The rest of the world had returned, creeping in around the edges of the moment you and Grayson had just carved out of it.

Then you felt him behind you.

Grayson moved with the same calm he always had—efficient, steady, but now slower, like the adrenaline was leaving him too. The mattress dipped slightly as he leaned forward. Then something warm, slightly rough—an old shirt maybe, or a towel that had seen better days—passed gently over your lower back.

You inhaled sharply at the first touch, more from surprise than discomfort.

He was careful.

Wiping away the mess he'd left behind with a tenderness you hadn't expected. There was none of the force from earlier, none of the raw, consuming need. His touch now was quiet. Respectful. Almost reverent. He didn't rush. He made sure you were clean.

You let out a slow breath, tension bleeding from your limbs as your body slowly settled, the last sparks of heat fading into something calmer. Something almost fragile.

When he was done, the mattress shifted again as he stood. You heard the soft rustle of fabric behind you—pants pulled up, a belt being fastened, the subtle pull of cotton sliding over skin. You stayed where you were for a few more seconds, gathering yourself. Then you pushed up onto your elbows, your shoulders tight, your spine giving a dull, satisfying ache. The blanket slid down your back as you rolled onto your side.

Your feet touched the cold floor with a soft slap, grounding you.

You stayed like that for a beat, head bowed, eyes adjusting to the dim light, heart still trying to find a steady rhythm.

Then you looked up.

Grayson stood near his bunk, already halfway dressed. He was pulling his shirt over his head, the motion smooth, practiced. His back flexed with the effort, every line of him lean and strong, carved by habit and survival. When the fabric settled into place, he glanced over at you—just once.

His face was unreadable again.

Whatever fire had burned in him minutes ago was tucked away, folded back into the quiet calm he wore like armor. His breathing had evened out. His jaw was tight. But something in his eyes lingered—something he didn't say, didn't show fully, but couldn't quite hide either.

There was no awkwardness in him. No regret. He wasn't avoiding your gaze, and he wasn't searching it either.

Just existing in that space between what had happened and what it meant.

You ran a hand through your hair, your fingers tangling for a second before falling away. You thought about speaking—but the words didn't come. You didn't know what to say that wouldn't feel too big, or too small.

So you didn't say anything.

Neither did he.

You stood up slowly, muscles still loose, legs shaky with that strange, post-release ache—the kind that lingers in your bones long after your body's stopped moving. The chill in the cell kissed your bare skin, raising goosebumps along your arms and thighs. You bent to grab your underwear from where they'd landed near the edge of the bed, the cool floor biting at the soles of your feet. The fabric felt thin and scratchy as you pulled it back up, the elastic waistband snapping softly into place against your hips.

As you straightened up, still adjusting the band with one hand, Grayson's voice cut through the air.

"Thanks for that."

You turned your head, caught off guard not by the words themselves, but by the way he said them—low, even, casual. Like you'd handed him something small, like you'd shared a cigarette or a joke. Not like you'd just let him bend you over in the dark and fuck you into the mattress until your body forgot how to breathe.

He was fully dressed again, sitting on the edge of his bunk. Elbows on his knees. Spine straight. Watching you. His face had settled back into that unreadable calm you were starting to recognize—not cold, not guarded, just contained. But his eyes gave something away. Not much. Just enough.

There was no smugness in his tone. No self-satisfaction.

Just quiet sincerity.

And that—somehow—hit harder than the sex.

You didn't answer right away. You weren't sure how to answer. Your heart was still beating too fast for words, your mind still trying to sort out what this all meant, if it meant anything at all.

Then he added, "You really won't have to worry about Kang or his boys again. I mean that."

Your gaze locked with his. And this time, there was no question in it.

His voice was steady. Grounded. Like a door slamming shut with finality. Not a threat. Not a boast. Just a promise. Quiet and unshakable.

And somehow, you believed him.

Because something in his tone—the weight, the stillness—said he'd already decided what would happen if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way.

He wasn't offering protection anymore.

He was giving it.

And whether you'd meant for it to happen or not, something had shifted. Something real. Heavy. Irrevocable.

And now it was yours.

What you didn't know—what no one ever said aloud, not even in whispers—was why Grayson could make a promise like that and mean it. Why just a few words from him could silence the threat of Kang and every man behind him.

It wasn't just about reputation. It wasn't about owing favors, or pulling strings with the right guards. That kind of power could be taken. Challenged. Broken.

What Grayson had... was fear.

Cold. Heavy. Earned fear.

Because Grayson wasn't just respected in Gotham State—he was the reason the worst of them watched where they stepped. The ones who ran gangs, who extorted commissary and blood and loyalty out of the weak—they gave him space. Not because he asked for it. Not because he made threats.

But because they'd seen what happened when someone didn't.

Kang had a crew, sure. He had numbers. He had swagger. But he didn't have the one thing Grayson had buried in the silence behind his eyes: history.

He never raised his voice. Never threw a punch unless it was absolutely necessary. He didn't posture, didn't bark commands, didn't play the dominance game like the rest of them.

Grayson didn't need to.

He was the kind of dangerous that walked quiet and ended things completely.

Because under that steady calm, beneath the silent routines and the unreadable expressions, was a man who had once taken apart a crime empire with his bare hands. Not figuratively. Not through lawyers or backroom deals.

Richard Grayson had dismantled Tony Zucco's empire piece by piece—burned down his warehouses, exposed his smuggling routes, slit the throat of his most trusted lieutenant in front of a room full of witnesses. And when Zucco's daughter tried to run, tried to avenge the family name, Grayson tracked her down, too.

No hesitation. No loose ends.

And then, he vanished behind prison walls—and every name connected to Zucco stopped breathing.

That's what they didn't say in here.

That's why the old-timers didn't look him in the eye.

Why the guards never searched his cell too hard.

Why Kang kept his distance, even when you gave him the perfect excuse to strike.

Because when Richard Grayson said you were safe...

You were.

And anyone stupid enough to test that?

They didn't leave the same.

If they left at all.

#x male reader #dc x male reader #dick grayson #dc #batboys #dick grayson x male!reader #dick grayson x male reader #brenton thwaites #brenton thwaites x male reader #nightwing #nightwing x male reader #titans

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reavesluv · 9 days ago

Text

Cameras

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x influencer fem!reader.

Summary: You and Paige are big figures in the internet, Paige just came out to the world as a lesbian and you've always been open about your sexuality. So your managers got a plan.

Fake dating + she plays hard to get

Part 1.

Part 2. “Moving to Dallas.”

notes: Im sorry if this is so bad i honestly have writers block right now 😔

You never thought a fake relationship could change your life in so many ways as it did now that you’re with Paige.

Honestly, Paige wasn’t so bad at all. You two shared a lot of time together while pretending to be lovers, it was actually fun.

Going together to a mall, date nights, park walks with your little Pomeranian called “Cherry.” – Which Paige loves, by the way.

“Cherry! Come here!” You screamed, running behind your dog.

“Y/N, is a damn park. She’s not gonna leave!” Paige screamed watching you run around.

“I don’t care, what if someone steals her?” You screamed back.

“Oh gosh.” She thought. “What did i do to get involved with this girl?”

Paige started running your way to make you stop chasing Cherry.

She was faster than you, obviously. So it wasn’t long until you felt her arms wrapped around your waist making you stop.

You were a little sweaty, trying to calm your breath. But she hugged you anyway.

“I promise you, she’s not gonna leave.” Paige said, wiping away your sweat with her hand.

“Fine.” You pouted. “But if she leaves, i’ll leave you.”

She laughed, amused at what you said. “Oh, you wouldn’t.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, no. But anyway you’re gonna have to find her.”

She chuckled. “Okay, love.”

Oh, love.

Paige had no idea how much you actually cared about her, and she just loved to make all the “pretending” stuff so difficult for you.

“Come here and sit with me, we’ll take some pictures while Cherry plays around.” She adds.

“Okay, sure.” You answer, smiling at her like an idiot.

Being with Paige became more than just a “fake relationship.” But, you were not sure if it was only you, or if she felt the same way.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Now you were packing your things, your life, inside three suitcases to move to Dallas, literally the other fucking side of the country.

Draft night was pretty fun, Paige being number one overall pick was amazing, you couldn’t deny that you were really proud of her.

“Congrats, Paige.” You say. Standing up from the table you both were to give her a hug.

“Thanks, pretty.” She answered.

“You’re just teasing me.” You chuckled.

She got closer to your ear so no cameras could record what she was saying.

“Maybe, but is not difficult to pretend i’m not, right?” She said. And after that, she left the table to grab her Wings jersey.

It killed you the fact that Paige loved to pretend. Because that was what she was doing, just pretending.

The after party was worse, everyone blackout drunk, messing around other people. And Paige was definitely one of them.

“Fuck Y/N, you look insanely gorgeous tonight.” She says, getting closer to you. She smelled so much like alcohol you could tell she was not in her five senses.

“Thank you Paige, but you’re too drunk to think.”

“Am i? Naaaahh.” She took another sip of her drink. “Bet you love pretending to be with me.”

“What?” You asked, curious.

“Yeah, don’t lie to me Y/N. I know you love to walk around while everyone thinks i fuck you.”

“Is not like that, Paige.”

“Isn’t it?” She said wrapping an arm around your waist. “Because we could stop pretending and you should let me fuck you.”

Your heart started beating so fast, you didn’t know what to say or do.

“Paige–” You took a deep breath. “I’m taking you home.”

She smirked. “Oh really, now?”

“Yeah, but is not like that. You’re too drunk, and you’re not even gonna remember this tomorrow.”

“Come on, baby. You know you want to.”

Fuck, it was really so difficult for you.

“Whatever Paige, but not tonight.” You ended.

She pouted at you. “Can i at least get a kiss? So the cameras can have a little pic of us going around, y’know.”

Your heart was beating so fast you thought it would explode. “Ye–ah.?” You tried to answer.

And that was it.

She kissed you. Like she loved you.

And you knew she didn’t.

Next morning, she didn’t remember. Neither of you saw pictures.

So she never knew she kissed you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Do i really have to?” You ask Lena.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. But yes, if you wanna keep up with all of this, you need to move in with her.”

“I didn’t expect you would tell me to move in when she got drafted!”

“Well it was obvious, wasn’t it?”

“No.”

Paige was already in Dallas, waiting for you.

You had to text her to tell her the new plan your managers came up with, she didn’t seem bothered by it.

Paige, i have to move in with you, did you hear?

Yeah, Louis told me

You okay with that?

Yeah, i guess we can work it out

Okay, i’ll be on the first plane to dallas tomorrow morning

Alright, i’ll see you then

You weren’t ready, like, why would you be ready to move in with someone you’re not even dating, and worse, in the other side of the country?

The plane landed on dallas. You were not a texas type of girl, so everything was going to change.

Some of the stuff and furniture you had to bring with you from LA was in another plane, so you had to wait for it.

Paige, i’m in texas!

That’s good Y/N, i’m heading to the airport right now

Okay, thank you

see you there, love

Your eyes brightened when you saw her. In a slick back ponytail, nike dunks and baggy jeans.

“Heeey.” You said.

“Hey, welcome to our new city.” She answered.

You chuckled and hugged her softly. “Is it good in here?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “Just a bit hot, though.” she laughed.

You both chuckled. Paige noticed you had a worried look on your face, so she held your hand softly.

“We’ll make this work Y/N. We complement each other.”

“Yeah, i know.” You sighed. “I just really miss California.”

She chuckled. “Hey, but at least you have me.”

You chuckled back. “You’re right. I’m here, but with you.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

finally part 2, i’m so sorry, im a lazy writer 🤓

tags! @niya500

#uconn x reader #basketball #paige blockers #paige buckets #paige bueckers #paige x fem reader #paige x oc #paige x reader #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball

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madamechrissy · 6 months ago

Text

Keep This Low Key

💜 Pairings: Choso x Fem reader- some Gojo x reader- Rating: Explicit- MDNI

💜 Contents/Warnings: Choso has a tongue ring for reasons... oh and a dick piercing for other reasons. In this chapter, teasing, sexual tension, cunnilingus, explicit sex, lots of confusion, jealous angst. Warning- the reader and Choso are with other ppl (just kissing but still) friends w/benefits

💜 Word Count: this chap - 9k

💜 Summary: You have been Choso's best friend for years, and one night he has a date with Yuki, his girlfriend, while you have a date with Ino, your boyfriend, only for them both to break up with you at the same time! You all think of calling each other, but run right into each other. Choso brings you home since you didn't even have your car, and you two are crying over a couple beers and a silly movie, only to have a sudden idea. Why not say fuck dating, fuck heartbreak, and just fuck each other?

No drama, no mess, no upset, and you two are such good friends, nothing can go wrong, right? The only agreement is no feelings, and if you all find a s/o, you'll end things. But the moment Choso opens his heart to you, and the moment you start falling, things get messy, as you realize he's the best you've had, and you're falling hard. Will you all stay friends, become more, or will everything blow up?

✨️Comments and reblogs appreciated ✨️

Chapter Two 💜 Masterlist 💜 Playlist 💜

Chapter Three

“What do you mean… you’re… going… fuck you feel s’good.” Choso is moaning in your ear as he’s fucking you, bent over the bathroom sink, his cock pumping inside of you, even with a condom he feels how good and perfect your pussy is, clenching down on him. “On a date with him?”

“Cho… ah!” You scream out, arching your ass up for more of his strokes, the way his piercing hits your g spot makes you incoherent, you’re soaking his length all the way down to his and your thighs, making a sticky mess. Your eyes catch his expression in the mirror, as fucked out as yours. “S’not a- mmm- date!”

Tattooed, strong biceps wrap around your body, those big hands gripping and squishing your breasts as he shoves his cock in deep, making your eyes roll back, as you begin cumming all over his cock. You both share a moan, Choso is burying his face in your neck, hot breath tickling your ear as he exhales, soft dark hair against your cheek.

He feels so good inside you, so good your knees are weak. You are nearly collapsing, now Choso has to hold you up entirely, fucking into you more, making your tits jiggle with each thrust. “Why… him…”

“Cho… you have… a date too!” You scowl at his reflection now, earning his cute little pout, his brows together.

“But- fuck, pussy is so good - you shouldn’t.”

“Then you- ah - shouldn’t! Just… friends, yeah?” You say softly, hiccuping on your words as he pinches your nipples, twisting them as he pounds your cervix.

“Cum on your best friend’s cock right, then, hmm?” He orders, so demanding and sexy suddenly, and you obey, cumming so hard you’re blinded this time, pulsing all around his cock. Choso moans out, pushing in deep and rocking his hips, turning your face to the side, so that you look at him.

You choke up when his violet eyes hit you, trembling and trying to focus, he’s fuzzy, you’re so fucked out you’re dizzy, and you taste his sweet breath on yours lips now. You lean forward, kissing him, which is your undoing, it has been the past couple times before this, when you kiss him you can’t pretend, can’t pretend you don’t care he’s going on a date today, and so are you.

You can’t pretend this is how friends behave.

But you can’t ruin what you do have, he feels too fucking perfect inside you, and now he’s throbbing, thickening, you feel him starting to cum hot in his condom, that heat inside your entrance, walls flutterign around it. And fuck if you’re not wishing instead he could bust in you without one. Which is fucking insane, but friends certainly don’t do that, do they?

Choso whimpers against your lips, vulnerable and sweet as he cums, rocking gently now, cupping your face so gently. “You’re so pretty, you’re so beautiful-”

“D-don’t say that.” You manage to whisper, tears pricking your eyes, making him sigh as he kisses you again, still snug inside you, your body pressed against his sink, legs dangling how he has you, has all of you.

“You are, I told you I’ll n-never lie. Your pussy is perfect.” You struggle not to speak your heart, you’ll ruin this, and now that Choso is going on a date, you don’t know how long this will continue.

“You feel good in me too. I love it.” You whisper, before you can think better. Choso eases out then, throwing out the condom after he sets you to stand on wobbly knees, holding onto you.

“I love being inside you. Never felt anything better.” He’s brushing your hair back, and you’re shaking your head. “What’s wrong, angel?”

“Don’t even call me that.” You push at him, pulling up your shorts and yanking down your top, he tries to slide it up, frowning as he kisses on your breasts.

“What, why can’t I? I always have.” He murmurs against your skin, and you tremble at his touch, goosebumps rising before you pull away, looking in the mirror and fixing your hair.

“I just can’t hear it. When’s your date?” He scowls then, something Choso really never does, dark brows low over his eyes.

“When’s yours?.

“Not a date, and I asked you first.”

“That’s different, she’s just some girl and grabbing something to eat. He’s Gojo. You simped over him all of-”

“I know, ugh. It’s just a drink, Cho, to catch up. I’m not a little lovesick girl anymore, you know.” You sigh, putting yourself together, looking in the mirror, avoiding his violet gaze. Your legs are literally still shaking, you can barely collect yourself, breaths coming in little pants.

“And when is the ‘not date’?” He asks again, you look at him, exasperated.

“Cho, we agreed we wouldn’t date seriously again, that’s the point of this, right? Being friends with benefits? So what makes you think I’ll be serious about him.”

“Because he’s always been your fixation.”

“Yes well, we both had them I guess.” You murmur, stepping out of the bathroom then, it’s too small, too overheated. You try to take several breaths to compose yourself, as he follows you.

“If you leave every time we have sex, I’m gonna start worrying.”

“You know you’re amazing at it. I just don’t wanna make it weird.” He pauses you now, tilting your chin up, pressing you against the front door of his home now.

“You can still hang out with me, you know. I missed you.” He whispers, you sigh, nodding then.

“Me too. I have a bit of time before I get ready, do you?”

“I have to practice, but you should come watch, yeah?” You nod then, smiling, you’re overthinking all this, he’s just Cho Bear, right?

You’re his best friend. That’s it.

Best friend who he just…

“I’d love to watch you all. I’ll get ready and come see you all before I go on the… it’s not a date you know.”

He purses his lips. “Mmhmm.”

“And you didn’t answer about yours.” You tap him on the chest playfully, seeing the strong muscles tense as you barely touch him, fingertips trailing up his tattoo slowly, watching his breath catch before you pull away. “Sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize.” He holds your hand now, both of you looking at each other in the quiet of the living room, it’s too fucking intense, you have to pull away, before you say something stupid… “But no, we’re just getting dinner tonight, that’s all really.”

“She’s pretty.” His brows draw together a bit, sighing.

“Gojo’s pretty.” You giggle then.

“You’re pretty, Cho Bear.” You tease, and he leans down now, cupping your face gently.

“You’re beautiful.”

Fuck.

You’re trembling as you hold in so much, how can he be so very casual about saying things like that, about wrecking your resolve. “Beautiful best friend?”

“Mmhmm. Prettiest friend ever.” You smile a bit, feeling your chest tighten, aching to draw his lips to yours. How does adding the physical suddenly make your mind so mushy? “So you’re not going out on this seriously?”

“Not at all, just for… like the hell of it.”

“If he hurts you I’ll kill him.”

“Cho!” He just glares.

His phone rings then, and you use it as your exit, you truly need to breathe, ignore the fact that your pussy is still throbbing from aftershocks of him inside you, ignore the tenderness on your throat from his big hands. You can’t complicate things further with Choso, you currently can’t handle how much he is occupying your every single thought.

When you’re home and getting dressed for later, you can’t help but wonder how you both got into this, well it was your idea. And it was your idea to show up and Choso’s place to fuck him this morning, it’s not as if Choso called you, no you called him and came over, eager for him after a week of not having him at all. You had avoided the shit out of him after that concert.

Seeing him with that girl hurt, especially since he’d just been inside of you, raw too, did that now not mean something? To a girl who always wanted things to be so special, now you wonder at yourself. Because Choso felt special, and Ino had never felt that way, it felt more like what was supposed to happen, it was the progression of a serious relationship.

It didn’t hurt that Choso and Yuki had gotten so close and your friendship was strained, seeing him in that mall ring shopping with Yuji had made you realize just how serious he was for her. You and Ino had talked a bit about future plans but weren’t as far as that.

Choso doesn’t know you saw him, but you did, and any lingering wonders about him that day you had put far behind you. Now, everything has shifted and changed, you’re running out on your best friend after his cock is inside you, purely because you don’t know what will spill out of your mouth.

“Baby girl, you’re dickmatized.” Your best friend says now on video chat, Utahime. You sigh, smiling at her, pretty brunette and sassy as fuck. “How the fuck are you gonna go out with Gojo though!?”

“You just hate him.”

“Of course I do! Oooh, that outfit. Slay.” You smile and do a little spin in the pretty outfit, it’s chilly today so it’s a tan sweater with black tights and little brown boots. “Add a belt!”

“Of course. Now listen… what do you mean dickmatized? By Cho?”

She lights up a blunt, you jokingly try to grab it from the phone screen, making her snort in laughter. “Yes, by Cho. You absolutely are, look at you.”

“Dickmatized. I’m dickmatized.” You mutter to yourself now, smacking your forehead and sighing. “That’s all it is!”

“When you get good dick, it really fucks your mind up. So first off, you need to make sure that’s all it is, because that boy seemed in love with you.”

“He loved Yuki, ‘Hime.” You slip on a light tan belt, admiring the outfit in the mirror, bending over now to slap on some lip gloss.

“He definitely was down bad for her. But Gojo in response!? Really.”

“I may have seen Cho with a pretty blond girl before I said yes.”

Utahime sighs at that, shaking her head, pretty black locks falling as she leans forward. “Feelings from just a couple dick sessions? God help you.”

You glare now. “Bye!”

“Bitch… sorry.” You snort and roll your eyes. “Don’t fuck Gojo for the love of all that is good. Who knows what he’s got, he’s a hoe.”

“Don’t I know it. But… I mean I’m literally fucking my friend. Can I judge currently?” She sighs, hitting her blunt as you pick back up the phone.

“Trust me you’re a long way from him. You know, I love Choso, I really do, but be careful. He falls fast and hard, don’t wanna accidentally hurt him.” You nod now, smiling into the phone.

“I agree. Ugh, I miss you! Come back home soon.”

“I will be home next week, let me enjoy my vacay. Horny ass.” You glare and she laughs at you. “What I can’t joke, you were always such a good girl.”

“I know I’m corrupted.”

“Dickmatized.”

“That. All right, love you!”

“Love you too. Don’t fuck Gojo.”

“Jesus.” You hang up the phone, and none other than Satoru Gojjo is texting you, your heart does still do that little high school jump, despite the shit memories.

‘Gojo I… what do you mean? What did I do wrong?’ you’d had tears in your eyes as you had asked the question, dancing with Satoru Gojo at prom finally. He looks down at you with cold, crystal blue eyes, ones you could stare into forever.

‘You want things so serious, and I just am interested in fun. It’s nothing personal, sweets.’

‘I can be fun!’ You pout and he smirks a bit, like the charming jerk he could be, his big hand pressing your back, against his chest. You immediately get flustered, and he’s chuckling.

‘You’re a good girl. It’s cute but not my thing. I plan on having a pretty fun prom night, if you catch me?’ he looks over to the several girls, cheerleaders of course it was what he usually went for, not shy girls like you with your nose in a book. It had been some miracle he’d ever noticed you.

‘I… Gojo we can… um…’ Your heart races as he finishes the dance, leaning over and pressing his lips against yours, when he tries to deepen the kiss, hands slipping down to your ass, you tense a bit, so nervous. ‘I just need a little time is all!’

‘You keep being a cute little virgin, it’s all good. Thanks for the dance.’ You’re trembling now, feeling sobs choke you up, he raises a thin brow. ‘You crying?’

‘N-no. I… Gojo, please…’ Gojo leaves then, arms around two of the girls, throwing you an arrogant peace sign, you’re alone in the middle of the dance floor, everyone watching you, whispering about you.

Suddenly you’re in his arms, Choso’s arms, he’s pulling you against him, swaying side to side, and you blink and look up at him. He’d opted to wear a black band shirt under a suit jacket, his hair spiked up in places, choker on his neck. He’s still your best friend Choso, even at a formal prom.

‘You don’t have to, people are making fun of me.’ You whisper, voice breaking in the middle, Choso frowns then.

‘You’re my best friend, and no one gets to make fun of you. What happened?’ You ease in his hold, a hand on his shoulder, the neon lights of spinning disco balls illuminating his handsome face.

Handsome.

Choso was handsome.

But, he was only your friend.

And your best friend, right?

‘He broke up with me.’

‘On the dance floor!? At prom!?’

‘Because I’m too… I’m not fun, Cho.’ He spins you then, frowning.

‘I think you’re fun.’

You feel your cheeks heating up embarrassingly. ‘I’m not fun, Cho, not like he wants.’

Choso blinks, glaring now. ‘So because you won’t fuck him so soon he’s leaving you? What kind of dude does that?’

‘I tensed when we kissed, I didn’t go far enough-’

‘Shh.’ He holds you against his chest now, your arms are around his neck, you’re feeling so safe, hiding your emotions against his black jacket. ‘Don’t change for anyone, you’re perfect the way you are.’

You shake yourself out of your reverie as you pull up at Choso’s home, hearing the music blaring from the garage already. Satoru Gojo had truly been terrible back in high school, it was a mean thing to do, and Choso had come to your rescue. But… he’d done it because of your bond, how do you go and ruin that?

“Dickmatized.” You murmur again, walking in the garage now, Megumi smiles a bit at you, waving, but Yuji runs up and hugs you like a happy puppy.

“Hey! You’re here!” You laugh a bit as he picks you up and spins you.

“Holy… you got strong, what happened?” He holds a well toned bicep out and flexes, grinning, you just laugh at how sweet he is. “Working out?”

“All the time! My muscles are almost as big as Choso’s.” You smile as Chose walks back in, seeing you and smiling, licking his lower lip, you damn near overheat when you see that ball on the barbell of his ring, remembering the insane things he did last week with it.

You’d been so eager this morning you’d told him to just fuck you, and you’d been soaking wet before he touched you, that’s how stupid your body was reacting. You’d kissed him and throbbed, eagerly stripping him until you all somehow ended up in his bathroom, you’re still not sure how, you’d been too entranced in all of his kisses, his touches.

“Hey angel, you came.” He says with a smile, coming to hug you now, fuck even his hugs get you, his scent…

Dickmatized.

“Of course I did, lemme see what you all got.”

“A challenge.” Megumi says, swirling his drumsticks, and Yuji is bouncing up at the chance to impress you, you barely can look Choso in the damn eyes, so intense, not knowing how to just act normal. You needed to.

You sit now and watch them as they start the set, listening to the beat of the drums, the bass from the guitar, and Choso’s smooth as silk voice. His long fingers with those painted black nails wrap the mic, and he starts singing lyrics you’ve heard a ton of times, but for some reason it’s as if he’s singing them to you.

You’re feeling like some dumb high school girl again, and that was years ago, gosh almost six years since that prom night. When you finally stopped being such a lovesick fool. But you can’t stop your heart from racing, your eyes from trailing down Choso’s long torso in this tight black shirt of his, that shows his rippling biceps and veiny forearms.

Arms that had you bent over a bathroom sink this morning.

Stop that.

The music wraps around you in the garage, you’re focusing on it now, focusing on the three of them. Choso is the best older brother in the whole fucking world, taking care of Yuji as he had, and you love to see them interact, Yuji’s adorable infectious grin shining out from a serious, focused Megumi, and an intense Choso. You know all the words to the songs, singing along silently, so as not to overtake Choso.

You have heard them play a hundred times, but they’ve never felt like this before, those lyrics Choso wrote, surely about Yuki.

And all I see when I close my eyes is you.

Choso’s eyes keep catching yours and you can’t stop the tightening in your tummy, while you mouth the words with him. Yuki, surely. Couldn’t be you, this was a song from months ago. So don’t be so stupid, so foolish, don’t think that you’re suddenly in his heart because he fucks you.

You suck at this.

You watch him, his hand moving over the strings of the guitar slung over his chest, along with Yuji now, hips swaying with a grace that’s almost mesmerizing, his eyes closed in concentration, those long lashes fluttered shut. You see the sweat dripping from his brow just so, making his neck glimmer with the thin sheen as he leans closer to sing again.

Like a jolt to the heart.

There’s a jolt in your entire body as you keep watching him, trying to also focus on Megs and Yuji so you weren’t so fucking obvious, but the way Choso’s body is swaying with the rhythm makes you damn near drool. You start to feel your heart race faster along with every beat and every word, and you’re pretending it’s the music or the way he’s looking at you.

You’re up and dancing now to the beat, they all smile as they play and watch you, you’re letting it pick up your hips and move you, moving to the rhythm. Megumi’s drumming is like a heartbeat, steady and strong, driving the song forward. Yuji’s playing is more intense than ever, as if he’s trying to outdo Choso in some unspoken competition.

But Choso…

Choso opens his eyes again, looking directly at you. You hold your breath, feeling like the entire world has stopped spinning for just a moment as he finishes the lyrics.

And I fall for you. Over and over again.

The music dies down, and the garage is filled with the sound of your own racing heart thrumming in your ears, for a moment you’re so entranced by his violet eyes and those words you just stand there. You clear your throat then, jumping up and down and clapping as they all smile.

“It was great, guys. Really. Oh my god you’re gonna kill the next show!” You say then, and they are beaming now, especially Yuji, who comes up and hugs you again, you notice Choso glaring just a bit.

Confusing.

“You’ll be at the next show right?” Megumi asks you now, you nod then, earning a little quirk of his lips as he fixes up the spiky black hair of his. “Good.”

“I wouldn’t miss it. I told Cho I never missed one, I just had to hide because… well Yuki hated me.” Yuji rolls his eyes, and Choso tenses as they put up their instruments.

“She was so mean.” Yuji says. “I’m glad we didn’t buy a ring.”

“Yuji…” Choso starts, but you smile.

“For the best maybe?”

Choso nods, no need for you to say that fucking Ino was partially because you watched that shopping trip happen. Now you know he didn’t buy one but…

Choso’s phone starts dinging and he peers at it. “The date?” Yuji asks.

“Not a date, I don’t want to date any time soon. Just grabbing a bite with a big fan is all.”

“Uh huh sure.” Choso scoffs, shoving at Yuji, as your own phone goes off, and Satoru’s name pops up.

Jock Gojo: (You’re not sorry for this name in your phone btw) I’m heading in twenty, sweets.

You: I’ll head that way.

Jock Gojo: Sounds good.

“I have to head out, you all. Thanks so much for showing me your music, you know I am proud of you all.” Megumi shyly smiles and Yuji beams, but Choso’s mouth is stern as he looks down at your phone curiously.

“Let me walk you to your car.” Choso says, you wave at the boys as he leads you over, you inhale the fresh air, trying to let the breeze cool you down, you’re overheated when Choso is standing so close to you.

You tuck your hair behind your ear nervously, Choso takes in your outfit now, hands gently brushing down the soft knit of your sweater. “Do you like it? It’s cool enough to wear now.”

“It’s pretty on you. But you always look pretty.” You bite on your lip now, unable to look at him, just watching his hand against your sleeve as it traces it, the tattooed hand that could wrap your throat so easy.

“Thanks, Cho Bear.” You playfully nudge him, and he clears his throat, smiling down at you, as if coming out of his own thoughts.

“Just a drink huh?”

“Yeah. Not a whole dinner like you, Casanova.”

Choso scoffs, leaning against your car, crossing his arms. “It’s literally a bite to eat, nothing fancy. I wouldn’t have said yes if you hadn’t told me to go ‘have fun’. I took it as you…”

“You seemed to be having a lot of fun.” He blinks then and you sigh.

“What do you mean?”

“After we hooked up at the club, well I came to find you, to apologize for being so weird about this. And…”

“Shit.” He exhales, hand on his face now.

“No, it’s cool. I just… I mean we just had… and like raw even? And it was so weird to me, to see you with someone immediately-”

“I’m so-”

“No, no it’s fine. Swear. It is just my preconceived notions of what sex was supposed to be. I am glad you had fun, and I hope you have a lot of fun with her.” Choso’s eyes are serious, mouth in a stern line when you gently put your hand on his shoulder.

“That hurt your feelings, stop lying.” You gulp, shaking your head. “You think after being best friends for ten years I don’t know you?”

“But it shouldn’t have.”

“But it did.”

You feel him looking right through you, calling you the fuck out. You shake your head now, heading to the driver's side door, bending to open it up, but he’s right against your back, you feel his entire body hard and strong, so tall he takes you over, his hands braced right on the hood of your car as he does. You feel his breath against your cheek as he bends down low.

“Cho what are you doing?” You whisper, looking back at him, he’s too close, so close you can’t think, a hand slipping up your waist now, reaching around to splay the expanse of it over your sweater.

“I’m sorry that hurt you, you don’t deserve to be hurt. I swear I was just upset because you ran and…”

“It’s okay I’ll never be mad at you.”

“Promise?” You nod and he exhales, his lips far too close. “If I said what’s on my mind you’d be mad.”

“What is it? Annoyed about Gojo?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Nothing you say would make me mad at you. You’re the sweetest friend in the world.”

“Am I so sweet?” Choso’s hand presses against your tummy as his lips press against the shell of your ear, making you tremble. “Thinking of how I’d love to pump cum in your pussy before you go out with him.”

You gasp, his words talking right to your damn pussy, you feel him pressing more and imagine him there so deep. “You…”

“Dripping my cum all night.” His hand lowers, barely brushing against the hood of your clit over your tights. You’re shaking so much your knees are almost knocking together, ass arching up, feeling his strong thighs against it.

“You don’t mean that.” You say softly, earning his quiet laugh, he ghosts his fingers over your clit, before letting you go, and you exhale, looking at him incredulously now. “You’re what… kidding?”

“You think I’m kidding?”

“It’s not like you Cho!”

“Do you really know me all the way?” He asks, and you bite your lip again, turning to look up at him, the car now cold against your back. He gently takes your lower lip out of your teeth’s grip, thumb brushing over the indentations.

“I know you like the back of my hand. I thought so at least. You can’t say things like that, they confuse me.”

“What’s confusing? Me cumming inside you?” He leans forward, cold metal necklace brushing on your exposed collarbone, he’s tilting your chin up, you’re lost in the violet depths of his eyes, as the lights are setting outside, the night descending, encapsulating everything in pinks and purples.

“We said it was too intimate.”

“Maybe I want-” Your phone goes off again, you glance at it, watching his jaw lock now. “Gotta go?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“Yeah.” He exhales, backing away now, just in time for Yuji to run out, waving goodbye. Choso closes your door, and you gulp down the horrible feelings as you drive off.

What the fuck was that.

Satoru Gojo whistles as you enter the martini bar, you smile a bit and roll your eyes, he’s in a fancy expensive ass dress shirt and slacks, looking like a million bucks, you feel just a little underdressed. You nervously look down at your outfit, as his icy blue eyes follow. “You look good, fuck.”

“I’d have dressed up more if I knew you were.” He takes you by the hand, letting you do a spin, whistling and earning your flushed cheeks.

“No, the sweater dress is cute as fuck. I just like to dress up everywhere, literally go to the gas station like this.” He grins, a flash of white teeth.

“Prissy ass.” You tease, and he laughs, still holding your hand in his, and fuck Gojo’s fingers were long, ridiculously huge, taking yours over completely. You look down nervously, so curious about him then.

“Thanks for coming, I thought you’d blow me off.”

“I should have. Pulled a prom.”

His mouth forms an O, brows knitting together. “Ouch. Sit, sit.”

You sit next to him, and he holds up two fingers, getting one of the waitresses' attention. She fawns over him, and he’s winking at her, looking at her name tag lazily. “Can I get two martinis for us please? Oh and some of that famous cake.”

“Coming right away Mr. Gojo!” She runs off and you expect Gojo to stare at her ass honestly, but he doesn’t, he leans back in his seat, an arm around your shoulders casually, you inhale that extravagant cologne of his as you lean in a bit.

“You still wear the same scent.” You say, before you curse yourself.

“You remember that?” He asks, a brow raised, you nod a bit. “Huh. Yeah, I have always worn it, that’s true. Ya like it?”

He’s wiggling his brows now, with a big ass grin. “It smells good, yeah, I guess.”

“You guess. Well, you smell good too, sweet. Like cupcakes.”

You can’t stop your giggle. “Cupcakes!”

“Mmm, my favorite. Vanilla.”

“Well I’m not vanilla.”

“No?” You’re heating up again, ignoring his smirk with a little glare, taking the drinks the waitress hands, she also hands Satoru her number.

You can’t blame her, there was a time you were obsessed with him. You still feel a bit of the butterflies, especially at the proximity you two were in, but you know also what you’re feeling for Choso is intense. And it’s something you shouldn’t be feeling, or even thinking about truly.

I wanna cum inside you

What the ever loving fuck was that!?

“So how have you been? What work do you do?” Satoru asks, and you smile a bit then.

“I actually do admin work.”

“Boring.”

“Very.” You giggle then. “Your work is boring too.”

“Sure the fuck is. But I tend to find my own fun.” He’s sipping his martini, crossing his legs now, fingertips slipping down where your sweater slides off one shoulder, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Banging assistants on your desk?” You quip.

“How’d you know? Want a new job?”

“Oh god.” You can’t help your laugh as he’s chuckling, sipping on your martini, exhaling a bit. “Mmm, yummy.”

“They have the best ones here. Ooh, look cake.” Satoru always loved sweets, you have no clue how he’s so slender when you used to watch him eat cookies and donuts by the dozen. Another waitress brings over a big piece of chocolate cake, decadent and fluffy.

“Okay it does look good.” Satoru picks up a fork now, handing you a little bite, you lean close and take it off the fork, licking your lip and shutting your eyes with a little moan.

“Damn, what do you sound like cumming if you sound like that from biting some cake?”

“Oh god, really Gojo!” You shove at him now, and he’s eyeing your lips hungrily, you nervously lick them again, earning his exhale. “Just because I’m not a goody goody doesn’t mean I’ll put out you know.”

“I didn’t ask that, you’re thinking about it.”

“Sure am not.” You take another sip now.

“Bad breakup, yeah?”

“Yeah it was shit. I kind of… well I kind of have a friend with benefits now, you should know that I guess?”

“Freaky hmm.” You shake your head at him, he just sips his drink, stirring the little cherry in it slowly. “I don’t care about that, I have a few regulars, until I date seriously again I mean.”

“You date seriously now?”

“I had a year-long relationship, it kind of… ended shitty. So I guess I’ve been avoiding commitment.” You tilt your head a bit, studying his pretty face.

“You seem more genuine than before.”

“Teenage Gojo was a little shit for sure.”

“Yep.”

“Hey!” Now he’s laughing, and fuck he’s charming, running his hand through his silky white hair and leaning closer. “I should apologize.”

“Yeah, that was shitty.” The wound has long healed, but remembering what happened hurt, especially the pathetic way you still tried to be with him, even after all of it. “I wasn’t popular like you.”

“No, you weren’t but you were sweet, and funny. And smart.”

“Ah… thanks Gojo.” His hand rests on your thigh over the thin black tights you’re wearing, and you don’t smack him off, but you tense just a bit.

“Can you forgive jock Gojo?” He pouts pretty pink lips.

“I can forgive jock Gojo.” He exhales, eyeing your drink now.

“Want another?”

“Um…” You wonder what’s holding you back, from the guy you’d been literally in love with years back, handsome and funny and much more mature Gojo.

Choso inside of you that’s what.

Choso’s big hands on your hips, the way he kissed you, the things you’d felt from them, since when did kissing make you soaked? But was it just him being so sweet and sexy, giving and talented? Was it because you were so comfortable with him, even showing your body?

Ino just never felt anything more than sweet or nice, but you have a severe lack of experience.

“I’ll take another, thank you.” You say softly, he orders two more, nibbling on the cake, frosting on his perfect pale skin. You thumb it off carefully, and he laps it off your finger then, smirking at your little gasp.

“You’re cute.”

“Cute huh?”

“Cute. Little reactions, so easy to read. You always were, but I guess my idiot ass wasn’t reading then.”

“You were just fucking all the cheerleading team.”

“Of every school.” He winks and your eyes roll back. “Just kidding, only the surrounding schools.”

“Oh gosh.” Satoru takes his cherry then, popping it between his lips, blue eyes filled with mischief as he peers at you. “What?”

“Nothing, just thinking how I didn’t get your cherry.”

“Oh jesus. You talk too much, you know. Thank you.” You say to the waitress as she hands you another glass. She also hands Satoru her number. “Is this everywhere you go?”

“Yeah. Kinda always has been like this. Lemme eat your cherry.”

“Everything you say sounds so pervy.” You hand him your cherry then, he takes it between his teeth, snowy lashes lowering, and you feel your body heat up then.

Satoru’s leaning down just a bit, taking your chin between his thumb and finger then, leaning low. “You’re so pretty tonight.”

“Oh… thank you Gojo.” You catch sight of it then, of Choso Kamo out the window on the bustling street in the evening, and the pretty blond in his arms.

You gulp now, pulling away with a breath. “No kiss huh? Still mad at Jock Gojo are you.”

“Um… no I… I have to go to the ladies room. I’ll be back?” He nods then, poking around on his phone, snapping pics for his Insta, which was of course stupidly popular and had been.

You walk past the window, surely you’re mistaken?

But who else has spiky black fucking pigtails.

He’s grinning too, as she’s leaning up, her arms around his neck, and you feel sick to your fucking stomach when he kisses her. Sure it’s just a kiss, right, and you don’t date him, and you shouldn’t care. That’s the point of it all, to not care, but why does it feel like someone’s punching you in your gut as he cups her face with his fucking hand!?

Fuck it brings tears to your eyes, they pull away and he looks all shy and fucking adorable, you quickly walk to the bathroom before he peers in the window and sees you, running into it and unable to stop your tears. The alcohol from the martinis is hitting just a bit, and you’re already overwhelmed from memories of Gojo, from what Choso’s doing to your mind.

You take several breaths, getting angry now, how can he say things like he did, look at you like he did, and do that!?

Yeah, you’re on a date too, aren’t you?

You’re not with Choso. He can do whatever the fuck he wants, and just a week or so ago, you were only friends. Only ever. You watched him date, healed his heartbreaks, held him when he cried. And so did he, eating ice cream and crying together, falling asleep watching movies. Friends, the best.

You were ruining it, by your emotions, he seemed perfectly able to just do whatever and be unaffected, no this was a you problem. Dickmatized, was it true, was that all this was? Was it just getting off with a dude for the first time, and the care you have confused you?

You’re touching up your makeup, peering at the mirror, struggling to pull yourself together. Why did it hurt so bad… why did him cupping her face make you so sick… you can’t let it happen, let it get to you. This is what you both agreed on, and he clearly took it a lot further than you had planned him to. Maybe you don’t mean anything to Choso at all, maybe he just does this because it’s convenient.

Because he wants to get over Yuki.

Your hands tremble then, you pull out your phone, and message him.

You: Hope your date is going great.

You want to say so much more, but you can’t, it’s not your place. Choso looks at the message, and your heart falters, but he doesn’t respond. You shake your head, closing your eyes again, pulling yourself together as you realize what a fool you have been, fixing up your lip gloss and then heading back to Satoru, who smiles up at you, having finished the cake clearly.

“Sorry sweets, I can get more.”

“I’m not hungry, it’s fine.” You stand there for a moment, Satoru yanks you down on his lap, making you gasp as you land on his leg.

“Maybe I’m still hungry.” You go to scooch back over onto the bench, but then you think about it.

Should you turn this down? Choso literally was kissing in the middle of the streets, and not even someone he knew, maybe he was so hurt he was becoming something he didn’t want to. A hoe era, spurred on all by you, a peek at your phone with no notifications from him.

“Not here, Satoru.”

“Satoru, huh?” You flush at his bright blue gaze, his big hand burning against your thigh again, making your hips shift in your seat.

“You seem different. Like you grew up. A bit.”

“Just a little. And why not here? Wanna go home with me? So slutty.” He whispers.

“Oh never mind. I didn’t say all that. Get me some more cake.”

He grins now, ordering another piece, and you genuinely open up to each other and laughing about school days, Satoru snaps a picture of you for his Insta and tags it hanging with old friends. You laugh a lot, and enjoy his goofy ass attitude, you can’t help it, he’s always been charming and now he’s much less of an ass than he was.

But you peer at your phone now and then, you and Satoru have spent an hour here, now he’s walking you to your car, you’re shivering a bit at the chill in the air, so he’s rubbing your arms, stepping closer. He bends low, those snowy lashes hovering over his cerulean gaze, intoxicating in the chilled night, so chilled you see puffs of his breath like little smoky clouds.

“I had fun, thank you for this.” You say softly, his lips turn up on one corner, fingers brushing across your jaw.

“I should thank you, fuck I was a shit to you. You deserved a lot better than being left on a dance floor.”

“It’s forgiven, you were young…”

“Still. I’d like to do this again?”

You nod shyly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He’s leaning down further, lips just a breath away, and you exhale then, visions of Choso swirling in your addled mind, but also Satoru smells good, he feels good against you, his big hands pressing into your waist. You feel yourself trembling in his hold, curiosity and hurt mixing with old feelings.

“I’d like that too.” You brush silky hair back, and he leans forward then, pressing his lips against yours, you feel them warm and plush, your arms lean up as he presses you closer, tongue darting in your mouth, swirling. You gasp and he pushes it further, bringing you against his hard, lithe body.

You feel guilty though, and how!? You aren’t with him, he hasn’t asked you out, he’s with someone… but something feels wrong. Like you’re cheating on him in some way when it’s impossible to, so you shove all of it back and let Satoru Gojo kiss you, and you kiss him back. He’s expert at it, devouring your mouth, a breathy cry from the back of your throat escapes.

“Fuck.” He murmurs, hands slipping down the sides of your breasts, making your nipples perk up, you feel your tummy clenching with desire for him, it’s not that insane need like Choso, but Choso isn’t really yours, and it feels good, his hard thigh between your thighs now, pressing up. “You’re so hot.”

“You could have done this on prom, you ass.” You tease, and he laughs softly, hands grabbing your ass and exhaling.

“This ass… you didn’t have this.”

“Oh that’s why!”

He grins. “Shut up, you’re bratty. Let me…” He is kissing down your throat now, and your head falls back, grinding on his thigh, earning his hiss against your ear, you’re clinging to his expensive dress shirt, getting wet against him. “Mmm I’ve been missing out, haven’t I?”

“Maybe… ngh!” Satoru bites your neck, sucking now, your eyes roll back, forgetting you’re in a fucking parking lot of a fancy bar, forgetting the hurt of your feelings from not just your ex Ino’s rejection, and seemingly Choso’s.

Your hands run down his hard body, feeling his well toned muscles under your touch flex, sliding under his shirt to feel his hot skin. “Come over.”

“Satoru I told you I…”

“I don’t care if you’re fucking someone.” You blink in surprise, he’s cupping your face, watching your face as he presses further. “Lemme get you off.”

“Not… not yet. I feel like I’m a little tipsy and the break up…”

“You’re missing out, you know how long these fingers are?” He wiggles them, making you snort in laughter.

“I’m sure it’s great but I’m not so easy. We’ll see if you’re serious hmm?”

“Then you’re going out with me again.”

“Maybe, if you’re lucky.” Satoru’s brows are raised, his hand slipping down your tummy, slipping up your sweater.

“You are.” He kisses you once more, fuck it feels good, you find yourself losing it in Satoru’s hold, crying out softly when he finds your pussy over your tights, he presses up and you stop him, despite your pussy throbbing. You can’t do it… “Was just gonna rub it, not gonna fuck you in the parking lot. Well…”

“I’m saying good night, Gojo.” You shake your head and pull his hand off, he surprises you by kissing it before kissing your lips once more. You wonder at his motivation, is he really that different? But you kiss his hand too, smiling now as he steps back and takes a breath.

“Good night, pretty. Text me when you’re free again?” You nod, smiling as he throws that peace sign at you, before slumping against your car for a moment, feeling so off, so… odd.

You check your phone, and see Choso’s snap with his meal, after you had texted him, you hate how much something small like that hurts already. You slide into your car and head home, for some reason tears forming in your eyes. Are you really going to be pining away for someone you can’t really have, or don’t have again? Is this just what you constantly do?

You’re sobbing by the time you get home, damn near hiccuping at how upset you are, yanking off your heels and belt as you walk in. You keep checking your phone like an idiot, Choso had never ignored a text, even when he was with Yuki, was he just done with your emotional responses to sex? Should you try to make sure you’re much less involved!?

“I suck at this. I suck at everything.” Your shoulders are shaking as you cry into your hands, which shake violently, until you flop down on the bed.

You can’t do this with Choso, it’s already fucking you up.

You call him then, and no answer, making you scoff, throwing it across the room, continuing to cry. This wasn’t dick like Utahime said, you felt something so intimate while fucking Choso it’s insane, like he just got you, like he could see in your entire fucking soul. What was it?

You take a shower, and eventually check your phone again, Satoru has messaged you, odd that Satoru somehow could write you back, but Choso couldn’t whatsoever. You crack open a beer and down it quickly, aching to get your mind off your best friend, why can’t you just be casual?

Jock Gojo: Need a pic of you. For reasons.

You snort at that, rolling your eyes.

You: You wish.

Jock Gojo: not naked if you don’t want… I mean… I want but…

You say fuck it and snap a pic which he hearts, just you in your pajamas with a little filter because you’ve been crying.

Jock Gojo: Fuck you’re sexy.

You feel yourself heat up at his words, sending another with the strap slid off your shoulder, then Satoru sends his abs which, damn they were sexy, cut and defined. You’re biting your lip, shifting a bit, turning on your tummy now as you stare at the screen and sigh.

You: You’re hot but you know it.

Jock Gojo: It’s still nice to hear ;) Bet you’re wet again.

You: Whatever! Good night, Gojo.

Jock Gojo: Masturbate to me <3

You roll your eyes and laugh, he sure the fuck is hilarious, this was your dream in high school, and he’s not even being a dick, he genuinely seems better. You should be excited. Not crying. You start to nod off when the phone rings, you almost don’t wanna answer it, but you do, taking a breath as you hear his voice.

“I’m so sorry! I thought I responded to your text, then the phone was in my car when you called. Is everything okay!?”

“It went great. Shouldn’t have called.”

Choso pauses then, silence on the phone. “What’s wrong.”

“Nothing!” You sit up in the bed, hugging a pillow to you, the emotion back in your eyes now. “It was rude of me.”

“What, no? It’s rude of me that I didn’t remember to hit send. Please, you can always write to me.”

“Yeah… Well good night Cho, I’m tired.”

“Something’s wrong, I’m coming over.”

You scoff then. “Coming to fuck me after your date horned you up?”

“What!? What? How can you say that!” You hear the pain in his voice, and you hate yourself. “We’re talking about this face to face.”

“I can’t face you right now. I can’t.”

“Did he hurt you? Was he mean? Was-”

“He was great and I had fun. Okay? Like you.”

“Like me? How…”

“I saw you kissing her right in front of the bar.” Choso’s quiet then, and you sniffle, wiping your eyes. “I was just something for you getting over Yuki, this whole thing was stupid.”

“You were not just that. Not at all. I kissed her, yeah but that’s it… I’m on the way.”

“I won’t let you in.”

“You’re my best friend, you damn sure will.” He hangs up then, and you glare at the phone, shaking your head at him, before you can think he’s knocking on your door, you answer it with a scowl.

Choso scowls right back, leather jacket on him, his hair in those sexy spiky fucking pigtails, ones you wanna yank him by, to kiss him, to cum all over his face again. It’s all you can think about, him on you, him in you, like some stupid fucking drug that’s ruined you. He’s heaving breaths as you are.

“Let me in?”

“Fine. For a minute.” You shut the door behind him then, and he bends down, pressing your back against your door, barring you with his arms. You feel your pulse quicken as he studies you, far, far too close. “What?”

“Why are you crying?” He cups your face, it’s too sweet, it’s too much. You just shake your head, looking down as he strokes your cheek with his thumb. “Are you upset I kissed her?”

“No! Why would I be? You’re not mine.” You choke on the fucking words, Choso exhales, leaning closer, head resting on yours.

“Speak your mind. If I hurt you I’m sorry, I promise it was just a kiss, I told you if I did more I’d let you know.”

“Well I kissed Gojo so what do I care?” He pulls back now, glaring at you, violet eyes glinting in your dark living room. “What? Only you can?”

“You kissed Gojo?” You just nod, and his dark brows are low over his eyes, brushing a thumb over your lower lip gently.

“I only kissed him.”

“I didn’t question you, I never would. I know you’d tell me. So you should know that I’d tell you.”

You nod then, feeling so ashamed of your emotions. “I promised no feelings and I suck at it. I got jealous though I shouldn’t.”

“Jealous of what? Look at you.”

“Don’t say that!” You shove at his hard chest, eyes locking with his now. “We’re still friends with benefits then? Nothing serious yet with her?”

You’re so stupid.

But you want him.

Is this the only way you can have him?

“Nothing serious, that was the only kiss there was. I hope you brushed your teeth. I don't wanna kiss Gojo.”

You snort then. “You assume I wanna kiss you. Did you brush your teeth?”

“No.” He laughs then, and you do.

“Then no kisses.”

“I’ll kiss something else.” Choso starts kissing down your throat now, and you exhale at the pleasure, losing yourself in his kisses, until he pauses, touching your neck. “A hickey?”

“I… oh. Did he bite me that hard?” You run fingers down your neck curiously, Choso’s furious now. “What? What do you care?”

Choso’s eyes narrow. “Why do you care enough to call me?”

“Oh just go then.” You shove him once more, but his eyes are all lit up now, hand gripping under your chin, wrapping your throat, thrilling you to no end.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer, okay?” He’s apologizing even as his hand is wrapping your throat, tone sweet, his other hand pressing into your hip.

“I forgive you. Now… go if you… Cho!” Choso’s down on his knees right in front of you, slipping your shorts down, looking up at you under his dark lashes.

“Did he kiss you here?” He asks, and you shake your head, hands pulling on the pigtails intriguing you all day.

“Nowhere close. Just my n-neck - mmm!” Choso’s kissing up your inner thigh, as your cunt is pulsing wetness, fuck he ruins you just breathing against it, throwing a thigh over his shoulder now. “D-did you kiss her… there?”

“No, I’ve wanted to taste my really mean best friend all day.” You go to retort, but now his tongue is slipping up your slit, and you’re dripping, pussy aching for him. Choso moans against your pussy, flicking that tongue ring on your clit, you cry out, head smacking on your door now. “Done being mean to me?”

“If I’m done will you stop?” He laughs softly, grabbing your thighs with those strong hands, those calloused fingers.

“I think I have another way to get you back for your attitude, angel.” You blink curiously, but he’s fucking you with his two fingers, curling them inside and pressing, tongue swirling your clit and making you lose it.

“Cho! F-fuck… please…” You’re grinding on his face now, toes curling at the insane pleasure he brings, as he flicks his tongue with his fingers, over and over, making you tremble, so close so quick.

“So yummy. Feel her, she’s ready.” He’s so fucking sexy, scissoring those fingers up into you, sucking your clit in his mouth and humming.

“Cho! Cho oh my- ah- wait…” Suddenly he’s completely gone, right when you’re about to cum on his face, licking his lower lip and sliding your shorts up. You sputter, when he stands, kissing your forehead gently. “What the… Choso…”

“You should trust me, and be honest with me. If you saw me, you should have told me. If it hurts, you tell me. You’re one of the most important people in this world to me, okay?” Your addled brain barely computes, you just stare up at him, dumb. “I’m mad at him too, I’m mad he bit your neck.”

You blink in confusion. “You… why…”

“It’s too pretty to be marked up, especially by him.”

“Choso…” He brushes your pussy with his fingers, making you jolt, craving the friction, he’s so close to your lips you can taste him.

“Want me inside you?” You nod weakly, as he strokes back your hair. “Then you should be nicer.”

“Are you edging me, Choso Kamo!?”

“Hmm.” He smirks then, kissing your lips, you taste yourself on him, pulling him down to you, but he breaks away, gently holding your face. “Good night.”

“Are you… really now… you’re the one…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow when you’re nicer. Mean little angel.” He pecks another kiss on your forehead, leaving then.

Leaving you with an aching pussy and a wrecked mind.

What… the fuck. Do you really know Cho bear that well? Because…

“Fuck.”

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I KNOW it's frustrating. They suck right now lol!! Look forward to your comments <3

Chapter Four

#choso jjk #choso x reader #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen choso #jjk x reader #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso x female reader #satoru gojo #jjk gojo

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