#so. thoroughness. i sure was fuckin thorough.

[orcelito]

local tryhard sends 975 words of description in commission details to artist

head. in my hands.

[swordsofsaturn]

if this round of hair dyeing doesn't stick well enough i'm officially denouncing good dye young as absolute trash

[screampied]

I feel like Sukuna eats pussy the best in jjk (besides Geto). Like he'd be FEASTING till you're crying and shaking

꒰১ warnings. fem! reader, ōral (f receiving), mild dacryphila, eating from the back, impact play, he has a forked tongue

whenever it came to pussy eating—sukuna ryōmen was just nasty,

with no shame whatsoever, he doesn’t care. all he really cares about is having you arched over the wooden leg of his throne, your ass all out and drinking out orgasm after orgasm out of you. he really knows no bounds— a starved man, he’d eat you out until there’s fat tears sticking against your naturally lengthy lashes. “o-oh my goddd,” you’d whimper out. not even seconds after, you’d just finish a release and he’s already delving his long tongue between your slick folds again. your taste makes him groan, he’s never had anything as sugary sweet as you. a sharp nail of his gingerly scrapes against the juncture of your curves as you arch forward. your mouth opens—pretty pink tongue unfurling as you’re just feeling the tip of his tongue wander to its hearts content. he’s messy, if it’s not dripping down his chin he doesn’t want it. you shudder, feeling him thrust his tongue in and out of your puffed cunt before he pries your thighs open further. you gasp, hearing him gather a nice amount of spit before it delivers right against your dripping entrance. “s-sukuna, you’re so nasty.”

“gotta be when your pussy’s this wet,” he huffs.

a thumb stroking down against your swollen slit. with a tongue skimming across his lips for an extra relishing taste, he rolls his tongue out all the way and you can even hear his throaty, ‘ah’ noises as he prepares to dive back in.

sukuna groans, feeling himself get hard just from pleasing you. with a rude spank, he speaks in a rough tone. “arch for me more. ‘m starved ‘n i need seconds.”

it’s not even long before the curse is nose deep. your pulsating folds were continuously being sucked and you already feel your tummy heaving. then texture of his tongue. the length, the forked structure of it all that repeatedly slurps everywhere inside of you makes your toes curl up. despite them curling, they were numb anyway so you felt practically nothing.

he’s snarling, fangs of his occasionally poking against your clit. sukuna chuckles as he feels your ass wriggle against his face, he brings a thumb towards your hood before he glides it across. “what a fuckin’ mess. jus’ can’t get enough, can ya?”

and with sukuna— he’s thorough.

and while you’re happily arched over for him, eyebrows bunched together into a cute furrow, he makes sure that his tongue licks every part of you. a wet, slippery trail from your pussy to your ass, even between the secluded inner crevices of your thighs. he’s greedy, he doesn’t like when you make an attempt to touch yourself. each time you try to play with your pretty cunt whilst he’s eating, he smacks your hand away, grousing a “don’t touch my girl.”

his girl— your pussy.

sukuna’s favorite thing to do would be to constantly spit on your folds, only to lap it up, then spit on it again,

bonus if he finishes eating you out, telling you to come here, then makes out with you so you can taste how much of a messy girl you were for him. he likes hearing you moan, the nibbling he creates against your slit has you sobbing profusely. with your own two hands, you feel against your mounds that were glued against your chest, rocking against his face as you feel yourself approaching the inevitable abyss of pleasure. a groan leaves his lips as your ass jerks against him, he’s gotta hold you still so he can savor this,

savor you..

with glistening reddened lips of his, sukuna briefly departs his mouth from your love palette and with crimson bloodshot eyes—his own lustrous saliva dribbles down between your slit, dragging a thumb to softly snake against your convulsing nub. your mouth stupidly dangles open that it’s almost comedic. you then feel a whimper die out your throat, rubbing your ass against his face, “kuna, ‘s good, right there pleasepleaseplease.” it’s only then when he snakes a hand between your thighs, prodding his fingers alongside your saturated pussy. the moment sukuna starts to maneuver tiny circles and shapes against your pussy, you were just about done for. the staticky friction from his palm going against your folds scratches such a lewd itch in your brain.

you’re going haywire—crazy for more of his touch. as years merely blinded you from how they were welling into your sockets, your voice becomes strained from your numerous whimpers. he sucks you so good, so much of your slick pours down his chin that it even starts to get into his kimono.

sukuna ryōmen was nasty,

but his tongue was even nastier.

it doesn’t miss a single spot, he’s all in the depths of anywhere and everywhere.

you chew your lip in salacious anticipation. unhurriedly, you rock back against his mouth as you feel his callused fingertips gripping against both parts of your ass, spreading it even further.

sukuna leisurely dips his tongue into you once more, it’s probably been the umpteenth time by now as he kisses against your clit. “mhm,” he’d hum to himself, your eyes were visibly rolling back. you saw nothing but darkness. as he’s bringing you closer and closer toward the edge. your nails grip against the arms of his throne, embedding into the hardened material before you whine, shimmery tubby tears forming above the outer corneas of your dilated pupils before you make a cute attempt at crawling away from his mouth but he drags you back.

“girl get the fuck back here. can’t have my meal runnin’ away now, huh.”

[chisungie]

.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

♡ Bimbo Barracks Bunny ♡

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Rough Sex, Objectification, Dumbification, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Possessive! 141, Mean! 141, Manhandling, Slut-Shaming, Fem! Reader. ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Expect a lot of objectification.

Manhandling, too.

And wolf whistling.

It’s absolutely constant when you’re with the 141 – especially considering you’re their 24/7 fuck toy.

More days than not, you’ll be subject to a rough and thorough pounding from one or more of your boyfriends, hear them tell you to “Take it, you stupid whore,” as they slam into you from behind, holding you down over the edge of a counter.

Slut-shaming is to be expected, too.

You can’t wear a single outfit in peace — especially if it’s a skirt or dress.

Someone’s sticking their hand up there on their way past and making a grab for whatever their hands can find purchase on.

Dumbification Central.

“Too fuckin’ stupid for your own good – need a big, strong man to tell you what to do, don’t you."

They’ll buy you things to make up for their roughness with you if (when) they see you limping after an encounter with them. Ghost’s the main offender in this case; for what he can’t convey through words, he does through gifts. And what scandalous gifts they can be.

He especially likes dressing you up like his doll, buying you things he knows will fit you, things that will make it so much harder for him to resist the urge to ravage you whenever you bend over or come and sit on his lap.

They call you ‘Princess’ ‘Bunny’ 'Kitty' ‘Pretty girl’, or (Price’s favourite) ‘Daddy’s girl.’

They definitely smack your backside all the time, btw. The second they see the chance, they’ll pounce on it – on you – reeling back and slapping your ass.

The yelp you make when you feel the sharp sting is just too cute to pass up, as is the wounded, wide-eyed look you give them.

They also love showing their ownership over you: marking you up for the next man to see when he tears your dress off or pushes your skirt up, only to see that someone else has ruined you first (usually with their cum still oozing out of you, too).

Price is the most extreme — he has a crippling breeding kink and it shows.

More often than not, he’ll bend you over his desk and pull your hips as close to his as humanly possible, trying to get as deep inside you as he can.

“My girl, only good for takin’ my cock and havin’ my kids – gonna make me into a real daddy, hm?”

Entertain his kink for even a second and he’ll make sure you’re not going anywhere even after he’s done with you; he has to keep you plugged up and make sure his seed takes, after all.

Ghost loves to steal you away and throw you over his shoulder when he’s needy.

He’s like a caveman in the way he throws you onto the nearest surface without ceremony and tears your clothes off, spreading your legs and pressing his clothed bulge against your cunt.

He growls, too. Makes you squeal when he grips your panties by the bridge and tears them off, leaving you exposed and ready for him to use as much he likes.

He treats you as his personal cum bucket, emptying his load into you as many times as he pleases, using you.

“Good-for-nothing slut, just beggin’ to be chased down and fucked in that tight little outfit. Did’ya think I wouldn’t notice? Practically had your arse hangin’ outta your skirt, just waitin’ to have your guts rearranged by me.”

Soap’s a menace - a cruel one - and takes his time with you, edges you, makes sure that foreplay drags on for a good hour or two before actually stuffing his girth inside you (given he has the time).

He likes to make you nice and desperate – likes to have you begging for him and eating out of his hand before he’ll entertain the idea of letting you take him.

“Think ya deserve it, lass? Think ya deserve to have me fuck whatever thoughts you’ve got rollin’ round in that empty head a’ yer’s out?”

He’ll grin down at you as you pant and plead, shutting you up by making you suck his fingers.

“Well, if ye have any thoughts in there.”

Gaz is the gentlest of the 141, but any man is subject to a power shift. Especially against someone they perceive as less intelligent than them.

And you’re no exception.

Gaz is the most likely to experience post-nut clarity, realising (and feeling immediate shame for) the way he spoke to you, the way he called you his “Fucking slut with no other purpose except to get me off,” was potentially hurtful to you.

Literally will not forgive himself – he’ll apologise, buy you things, hang his head in shame until you manage to (eventually) convince him that it’s alright, that you don’t mind, and that you actually enjoy when he turns a bit feral.

As do they all.

They’ll pimp you out to König sometimes, too. But only if they can sit in and watch supervise.

There’s something just so disgustingly satisfying about watching you get your insides visibly rearranged by the 6’10 Austrian – especially when they can see the heavy bump of his cock in your stomach, making you cry out with every slam of his tip against your cervix.

“Scheiße– where’d you find this pretty little thing, Ghost? Didn’t think you were allowed prostitutes on base,”

He’s just as – if not more – mean than the 141. Especially if you cum before he does.

Doesn’t matter if you tell him you’re overstimulated, he’s still going to get his release, whether you like it or not.

“Shut it, Brat – you’ll take my cock for as long as I want you to. Keep whining and I’ll choke you with it.”

You’ll receive no help from the 141. Not when they’re on the precipice of an orgasm, at least.

Ghost will even goad König, telling him to show you who’s boss, to shove it in deeper – wanna see her cry.

You always end up covered in cum afterwards, panting while your cunt leaks with König’s semen, the clink of the man responsible’s belt in your periphery as he sorts himself out.

You’re always very well taken care of afterwards, though. Bath, bed, and plenty of rest, with as much food as you could want. And a cuddle session, of course.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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[libingan]

— how the TF141 eat PUSSY

JOHN PRICE

price starts by kissing and nibbling along your inner thighs, his breath hot and eager. he moves to your cunt with a determined tongue, savoring every inch of your pussy. his licks are slow, firm, and deliberate, ensuring he tastes every bit of your juices before concentrating on your clit.

he’s skilled and demanding, using intense, steady licks and forceful sucks on your clit, keeping you on the edge with a combination of persistent pressure and sudden bursts of intensity.

throughout, he lavishes you with praise, his voice rough with desire. “you’re so fucking delicious,” he growls. “I love the way you taste. I want to make you come all over my face.”

he doesn’t use toys, preferring to rely solely on his mouth and hands. his focus is entirely on your pleasure, making sure you’re completely satisfied with each lick and suck.

absolutely loves to edge you, bringing you to the brink of orgasm and then pulling back, making you beg for release. “not yet, love,” he’d murmur. “I want to hear you beg for it.”

sometimes he’ll restrain your hands above your head, keeping you from touching him or yourself, making sure you’re entirely at his mercy.

KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

gaz takes a calculated and intense approach, starting with slow, deliberate licks around your cunt before shifting focus to your clit. his technique is precise, varying from gentle, teasing licks to rapid, urgent flicks.

neutral towards toys, sometimes using them but not relying on them. his fingers might play with your pussy while his mouth is on your clit, ensuring a thorough and varied stimulation.

gaz’s dirty talk is filled with praise, his voice smooth and encouraging. “you taste so fucking good,” he murmurs. “I love how you’re responding to my tongue. keep moaning for me, let me hear how much you enjoy this.”

he wants to make you feel adored and thoroughly pleasured, using his skillful technique to bring you to the brink of ecstasy with every touch and lick.

he loves to make eye contact while eating you out, watching your every reaction and getting off on the sight of you falling apart. “you look so beautiful like this,” he’d say, his voice husky.

gaz enjoys teasing you, brushing his tongue lightly over your clit and then pulling back, making you whine and beg for more. “tell me what you want, love,” he’d say with a smirk.

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

soap dives into eating your pussy with unrestrained enthusiasm, his scottish accent thick with desire. he starts with rough, eager licks, his tongue hungrily lapping up your juices. hes aggressive, his mouth constantly moving, focusing on your clit with hard, sucking attention.

he loooooves using toys, often incorporating a vibrator or dildo while his mouth is busy on your cunt. his fingers might stretch and tease you, adding extra stimulation to his relentless tongue.

his dirty talk is explicit and degrading, delivered with a thick Scottish accent. “ye’re so fuckin’ wet, lass,” he groans, his voice dripping with lust. “ye love this, don’t ye? ye’re such a dirty wee slut for my tongue.”

soap aims to push you to your limits, enjoying the way you squirm and beg. his relentless focus and use of toys are meant to leave you completely undone and craving more.

he’ll often slap your cunt lightly, adding a sting of pain to the pleasure, making you yelp and moan louder. “take it all, ye slut,” he’d growl.

soap loves to make you ride his face, grabbing your hips and grinding you down against his tongue, making sure you’re in control but completely at his mercy.

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

ghost's approach is intense and commanding. he dives into your cunt with a fierce, determined tongue, starting with broad, rough licks before focusing aggressively on your clit with hard sucks and teasing nibbles. his movements are precise and relentless, ensuring that every touch drives you wild.

he doesn’t use toys, preferring to rely solely on his mouth and fingers. his fingers may thrust into your pussy while his mouth focuses on your clit, creating a combination of sensations that leaves you breathless.

ghost’s dirty talk is harsh and degrading, adding an extra layer of intensity. “you’re such a filthy slut,” he growls against your cunt. “beg for it, you dirty whore. show me how much you want my tongue.”

he loves to hold your thighs apart with a firm grip, keeping you spread wide and completely exposed to his mouth. “you’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs, his eyes dark with desire.

ghost might spit on your clit, adding to the wetness and making his licks even more intense. “take it, you fucking whore,” he growls, his eyes locked on yours as he devours you.

he enjoys making you squirm and struggle, using his strength to keep you in place while he works your pussy with ruthless efficiency. his goal is to push you to your limits, making you come with an intensity that leaves you trembling and completely satisfied.

[helluvapoison]

Can you do the Vees (Separate) with a S/O who will randomly deep clean the whole house? Like will just get up and deep clean the room? Taking everything out scrubbing everything, etc.

cleanliness is next to holiness

˚✧₊⁎ The Vees ⁎⁺˳✧༚

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Bewildered and slightly offended, he didn’t think his room was that messy, he stares at you in confusion the first time you do this

• “Mi corazón, I can… call someone to do this?” He gestures to the items you’re pulling out of his closet

“No, I’m ok.”

Doubt is written all over his face.

“Are you, though?”

“Yup, but thanks for asking.”

• He thinks it’s because he has a nasty little habit of throwing and breaking items when he gets upset. Learning that’s not the reason doesn’t ease his confusion but at least he knows he’s not the problem

• Valentino rushed to lock up his weapons shelf. If you were going to make this a regular occurance, he needed to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt

• …He might need to put some, ahem, toys under lock and key while he’s at it

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• With the amount of wires and cords around his flat, Vox panics when he sees you kneeling next to a bucket of soapy water. You’re so fleshy, don’t you know that’s dangerous!?

“I’m wearing rubber gloves,” You counter.

He lifted you high above his head, like that would protect you from the potential blackout it would cause if the bucket spilled

“Oh yeah, that’ll save you from 1,000 volts!”

• Like the other’s, he wishes you’d let him tell someone to do the dirty work. He’d much rather an Imp get fried than you

• Acting like he’s busy with work, Vox hovers around when your tedious cleansing process begins. He actually becomes slightly impressed. You’re methodical and thorough, like a code

• Eventually he learns to back off and let you do your thing. He may not understand why this is your thing, but at least you’re not in danger

• There’s always worse habits you could have

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• No matter how many times she’s walked in on it, Velvette always gapes when she opens the door

• “You’re a fuckin’ freak, doll.” She sighs, turning and leaving so as to not deal with the situation, “Love you though.”

• She doesn’t get why you would clean an already spotless place. She pays people for that, you know!

• As long as you don’t get the bright idea in the middle of her favorite show, or even think of going in her studio, she doesn’t mind the fuss

• Vel makes a playlist for when you’re in a “cleansing mood”, she calls it

• She’ll find a chic outfit that makes it look like she plans on helping, takes a few pictures and then sits in the doorway. She keeps you entertained and updated on what sinners are saying on her posts while you work

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ this was so fun to write! the vees would just be so confused lol

[eupheme]

— hit the road [into the fire, part vi] [finale]

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 3k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, sex for favors, sub/dom elements, hurt/comfort, kissing, fingering, light dacryphilia, rough PiV, creampie, multiple orgasms 

a/n: the final part! thank you so much for checking out this series! 💖

“You still mad?” He husks, pulling back to let his lips brush yours. His thumb swirls against your clit. Tempering the pitch of your groan, as you buck into his touch.

It makes you remember just how angry you had been with him, the day before. His harsh words already easing with the way he slaughtered all those men for you.

“Yes.” Your teeth nip at him, a whine as his fingers slip from you, to tap harshly against your center.

“Good.” He growls, “Don’t hold back on me, now. Want you to ride these fingers, sweetheart.”

(or - the Ghoul does a thorough job of making sure you’re alright.)

You only make it as far as the third room.

The warehouse is empty, the only sound in your quiet footsteps. The hitch of your breath, as you try to catch it. A familiar warmth that you’ve come to associate with him, as he checks for anyone lingering. 

An old office door knocked open with the barrel of his shotgun. A bathroom next, the stall doors hanging off their hinges.

An old bunk room, at the end of the hall. A narrow military cot tucked against the wall, next to an overturned desk, age-old papers spilling out against the floor. 

His head turns, catching the way you automatically look to him. The way you follow at his heels, his own little shadow. 

A ground-out sound slips from his teeth - a decision, as he hauls you in behind him. Your back pressed up against the door as it closes, his swift fingers latching the lock in place. 

His look hungry, as your eyes meet him. Caging you in, hands grasping at your waist - a thigh fitting between yours, pressing to your core. 

Your hips rock on their own, a shared breath as your nose brushes his cheek. He’s hard against you - since your mouth had first met his. Maybe even before. Meeting the roll of your hips, as your hand reaches down to cover him.

Feeling bold, as he fills your palm. Your fingers curling as he hisses, just before his lips press to yours again. 

You can feel him throb against you. As you cup and squeeze - his own fingers flicking at the button of your pants. Going further - his hand twisting until he can fit it down, and tuck it against your cunt.

Rough fingers parting you. Slipping over slick skin, as you tug at his belt. 

“Always so fuckin’ wet for me,” He husks, a low hum at your expression. The half-lidded eyes as he pets at your clit - your own hand going still, distracted. 

“Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

Pinching your clit, sending a pulse of pleasure-pain down your spine.

“Only for you.” You breathe.

A rough growl, as his other hand reaches, to finish your job for you. Wrenching open the zipper, letting your hand slip beneath.

“I know. Only for me.” 

It’s a sigh, as your skin meets his, squeezing. 

You think he’d take you right here. Spin you around and fuck you against the door, and you’d let him. His fingers already nudging at your hole, teasing the tip into where you need him. 

You whine in surprise, when his hand slips free. A rough hum around his fingers, licking them clean, when he sees your expression - as he herds you back towards the cot. 

Shoulders rolling, his bandolier and his bag dropped on the table. That dark coat slipping from his arms. Flung across the cot, so you’re not wrapped up in the filth that splatters the outside when he fucks you. 

Stalking toward you until the backs of your knees hit the mattress, sending you down. That thrill shoots through you, at how easy it is for his fingers to catch around the waistband of your pants, to tug them down. 

You lean forward enough to work the laces free on your boots, kicking the layers off until you’re bare.

Watching as he regards you, in faded shades of blue and worn leather. Broad-shouldered with a trim waist, all hidden by the bulk of his tattered coat. Fingers at his throat - loosening the snaps, before he’s straddling the end of the cot. 

His eyes doing a slow sweep, a pinch to his brow - almost as if confirming that there weren’t any other marks on you that weren’t left by his own hand, or mouth.

Bending low when he is content - hands catching your thighs, pushing, to keep them apart. A slow drag of his tongue against your pussy, before his fingers follow to fit inside you.

Arcing over you, swallowing your cry - licking into your mouth so you can taste how you meld together. 

Losing just a bit of the messy, hungry edge from earlier. His free hand slipping up - palm curled around your neck. Almost as if remembering how to do so, as he lazily deepens the kiss.

The plunge of his fingers is loud. Two notched deep, stretching you out. This he has not forgotten - how to press and curl his fingers until you are keening. 

“You still mad?” He husks, pulling back to let his lips brush yours.

His thumb swirls against your clit. Tempering the pitch of your groan, as you buck into his touch. 

It makes you remember just how angry you had been with him, the day before. His harsh words already easing with the way he slaughtered all those men for you. 

“Yes.” Your teeth nip at him, a whine as his fingers slip from you, to tap harshly against your center.

“Good.” He growls, “Don’t hold back on me, now. Want you to ride these fingers, sweetheart.”

Encouraging your hips to roll, to buck into his touch. Chasing the high that shoots through you, with each pound of his fingers. 

A rough sound of approval when your hand slips beneath your shirt. His own leaving your throat to tug at the hem. A bitten out “off ” that has you tugging it over your head, the faded bra following.

Nipples tight when his teeth pinch against them. A ragged groan as you reach down - your fingers joining his, his thumb tucked in between them. 

He lets you touch yourself for a moment, the needy circle of your fingertips, before he’s batting your hand away. 

“Only way you’re gonna come is by me,” The Ghoul rasps, “You need to keep your hands busy, then you keep ‘em right here.”

Guiding your hand down to his cock, letting your fingers wrap around. Your thumb slick when it brushes the head, his grunt low as you try to stroke him.

Desire warm in your belly and thrumming in your veins with how hard he is. At the feral sound he makes when your fingers flex, dipping down to stroke against the tight seam of his sack. 

It sends you higher, each flick of his thumb and crook of his fingers bringing you closer and closer, until you’re there.

“Oh.” It’s ragged, as you chase the building pressure. His hand at your hip, biting into your skin, “Fuck, I’m gonna come -”

Your moan breaks, as the pleasure rushes over you. Pooling low in your cunt as you clench around his fingers, then rippling outwards. 

“There you fuckin’ go,” He hums, watching your eyes flutter shut. The pinch of your brow, the small of your back arching off the table as you cry out. 

Drawing out your orgasm, as his fingers stroke. One of your hands pinching at your tits, the other forgotten as it curls around his cock. Almost missing the way his hips cant into your touch, matching the thrust of his fingers. 

Teers prick at your eyes. A whine as his fingers slip free, only to press against your mouth. Dipping past your lips as they part - your gaze heavy-lidded as your teeth pinch down, tongue licking across his knuckles. Sucking the taste of you off them, with his eyes greedily fixed on you.

“Fuck.” It’s caught in his throat. 

Man-handling you as he shifts forward. Tugging your thighs over his, thumbs pressing into the joints of your knees as he pushes them up towards your chest. Spreading you wide - opened beneath him.

His spit-slicked fingers drifting to wrap around his cock. The flushed head ghosting across your cunt as his hips shift. Leaving a sticky spot against your belly, as he imagines how deeply you’ll take him.

“Fuck me.” You beg, hips hitching. 

He growls in response. The fat tip slipping across your clit, notching at your entrance. Your muscles tense in anticipation, still unable to help the ragged gasp as he fills you with a swift thrust. 

Even with the way he made you come, there’s still that ache. The heavy weight of him fitting inside you, his teeth clenched as he feels the way you wrap so tightly around him. 

“Were made to take me,” His voice ragged, as his hips move, “Weren’t you?”

Rough skin dragging against your walls, as he watches how you squirm beneath him. All you can do is nod, the words caught in your throat. 

It knocks something loose inside you. How big he feels, the stretch of him. The ache in your limbs, the drain of adrenaline and the sweet embrace of relief.

Your moan hitches. The tears spill over. Cutting through the dust on your cheeks, glinting in the light.

He throbs inside you at the sight. A heave of his chest, a stuttered slowing of his hips at the choked noise you make.

But you need this. Need him - need to forget everything else. 

“Don’t you fucking stop.” Your teeth are bared, and something flickers in his expression. The smallest dip of his head, before his grip is tightening around your thighs.

“I’ve got you.” He husks, as he pulls you to meet him. 

Driving harder into you. Leaving you breathless, panting. Until you’re thoroughly distracted, too full to feel anything other than him. 

Mindless, just how he likes you when he’s buried inside your cunt. The tip of his tongue drags against your cheek - catching a glimmering tear, before his lips are pressing to yours.

You want his mouth everywhere. Between your thighs again. You wonder if this is why he held back - that spark that ignites when you slot your mouth with his, the shiver when his tongue brushes yours. 

You don’t want him to ever stop. 

“You're gonna give me another.” It’s a command. Short and rough - breathed out against your lips when he pulls back.

He clicks his tongue, with the shake of your head. That heated look dragging down you again, fixing where he spears into you. 

“I can’t-” You gasp, but you can feel it. 

How his cock strokes against that spot deep inside you. Each breath short as you reach - nails biting into his wrist, where he keeps your thighs spread wide.

“You will.” He vows, through gritted teeth.

Filling you, only to ease himself out - drive himself again to the hilt. Your gasps loud and unfiltered as he brings you higher, words tumbling from your mouth. 

You think he can make you - with the tight clench in your belly, the desperation that tinges the sounds pulled from you. 

He’s done it before, after all. 

“Oh, god,” It’s a needy sob, as you watch the way his fingers tighten their grip. Head lifting to watch the glossy shine of his cock, as it pounds into you.

He grunts, loosening his grip - fingers slipping against where you’re stretched wide around him. Slick when they circle your clit again, that spark inside you roaring.

Another panting breath, another plea,“Oh my god-”

“Cooper, darlin’.” He rasps, “Call me-”

"Cooper.” You echo - his name drawing out long and low between your lips.

Feeling right, something missing clicking into place. 

His hips grind harshly against yours, a broken sound caught in his throat when he hears you say it. 

Such a small thing to have such a weight. But it does - you know what it means, for him to gift you this. 

You try it again, his eyes fixed on the way your lips round with his name, how you clench around him with the tight swirl of his fingers. 

"That’s right.” Cooper growls, “You gonna be cryin’ out a name, it fuckin’ better be mine.”

Again, and then again. Until is long, drawn out. 

A plea that breaks, as you cry out - when he makes you come hard around him. Your nerves are a live wire - the ceiling above swirling into a haze as everything fades to white noise. All you can feel is him. 

He fucks you through it - hands easing down to grasp at your hips, keeping your hips meeting his as you pulse around his cock. 

Fingers lazy as they swirl against your clit, until you’re bucking with overstimulation. Trying to push his hand away - but he flattens it, possessive with the way he keeps it tucked against soaked skin. 

This time when you come down, he lets you breathe. His cock still notched deep, feeling the fluttering aftershocks of your orgasm as he arcs over you. 

Your eyes dazed, a cock-drunk smile as they drag across his face. Sharp cheekbones and rough edges. Pretty, you think - and not for the first time. 

Greedy as they dip lower, to his throat - all that open skin, new to your eyes. He catches you looking at him - his own eyes narrowing. The flick of his tongue against his teeth. 

“Go on, now.” He husks. 

Waiting for you to ask. Giving in, when you do. 

It’s slow, how you reach. The tips of your fingers mapping his scarred skin. Thumb pressing into the hollow of his throat - drifting down to the hard muscle of his chest, where his faded shirt parts. 

Tugging at the fabric - head tipping up so you can press your lips against the healed gnarl of skin, where he had taken a bullet from you.

Close enough that you can hear how his breath comes out ragged. A low groan against your teeth when they scrape his neck - your hand pressed too close to the gallop of the heart. 

It has him leaning away from you. Catching your wrists, the brush of his lips against the bruised skin, before he’s dragging them down and pinning them against your belly.

A flicker of pain as you gasp, punctuated by a harsh thrust of his hips. Your tits bouncing where they’re framed by your arms, his fingers pinching against your skin as he does it again. 

You’re slick around him. Can hear each plunge of his cock - his eyes dropping to see how you smear across the base. Sticky against his sack when he grinds deep, from when you gushed as he fucked your release from you.

It’s not an act, the way you sigh his name. The way you clench, as if to keep him inside. 

“Too fuckin’ good,” Cooper growls, feeling your spiked pulse beneath his fingertips. How you squirm, brow pinched as he arcs over you.

As he takes. As if he thought he wouldn’t get this chance, again. 

As if you're his, and you just might be.

It shoots straight to his cock, the tightening in his belly. Driving him near feral, with the way you watch, the hot shimmer of desire. 

“Gonna come in your tight, sweet cunt. Fill her up right.” It comes out low, almost desperate - if he could be. Those sharp thrusts turning shallow as your hips move, chasing after him.

Your eyes fix on his, teeth sinking into your lip as you grin. Knees closing around lithe hips, your ankle hooking around his to keep him close.

“Please.” You beg, “Cooper, please -”

The sound of his name has his teeth clicking together. A ragged groan, pressure against your wrists as he leans into you. 

Fitting his hips flush with yours, as he comes. Cock heavy and twitching as his hips rut - fucking his come deeper inside you with each pulse as he empties himself. 

Panting as he drifts down, but there’s no menace in the sharp edge of his words.

“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, sweetheart.”

It feels different this time. 

The weight of him as he stays seated in you. His fingers are still tight around your wrists, keeping you close on his terms. A hand planted near your shoulder, as the heave of breath slows. 

Something from before, slipping in.

He didn’t have to find you. You don’t even know how he did. 

Didn’t have to kill those men. Lay you down on his coat, fuck you until you couldn’t even think -

It has to mean something. 

And with the way his eyes trace over your face…

You know that Cooper feels it, too.

When you jolt awake, you’re alone. 

You’re not sure when you drifted off, a wince when your hand scrubs over your face. An ache in your cheek, a much duller one settling between your thighs.

The spot next to you is cool, the coat gone. Your stomach flips, uneasy. Fingers fumbling as you redress - already stumbling for the door as you tug on your boots.

A knot winding tight in your chest as you slip through the door. A ragged sigh of relief when you see him, your back sagging against the wall. 

Not used to being idle. Finishing up his business, snapping the metal lid shut on a small crate. 

“Cooper.” 

His name rings out - those dark eyes finding you instantly.

Crossing the room slowly, with the jangle of his spurs. Knuckles tipping up your chin, frowning at your expression.

"Thought you were gone," You huff, embarrassed, “Thought it was all a dream.”

There’s the lightest twitch of his lips.

“If that was your dreams,” He husks, “I’d hate to see your nightmares, sweetheart.”

It’s the first time that the field has been leveled, between you. Something charged sparking, in the slow sweep of his eyes. 

“What next?” Your question is quiet - rough hum, as his eyes narrow. 

“Mean to find a courier.” His head tilts towards the crate behind him, “Send a lil’ somethin’ back to your Vault. Gotta see a man ‘bout his brother, too.”

The implications of both makes your stomach churn - another reminder of just how dangerous he is. 

You blink, with a small nod, “And… and after?”

“And after,” He drawls - with the sweep of his thumb against your chin, “I suppose we’ll have to see where the road takes us.”

Cooper’s hand drops. Palm upright, as it extends between you - an offer. 

Giving you a chance to run, now that your life is your own. 

“You in, sweetheart?”

It’s easy to answer.

With a smile - 

You take it.

the end! ✨

honestly, thank you so much for reading this. I was feral over the idea of a one-shot, and there was so many kind comments that it blossomed into a longer story for them 💖 every comment has meant so much, and I have loved every second of writing this! thank you for the encouragement, and giving me an excuse to write more, because ahh I was (and am!!) so hooked! you all are the best. would love to know what you thought!

[mouseymilkovich]

CANT BELIEVE I ALMOST MISSED THE SLEEPOVER. Okay chef order up, let’s fire one “I don’t think my legs work again yet.” And one “I made breakfast.” With a side helping of Carmen Berzatto, and reader walking into the kitchen on shaky legs after a thorough second round in the morning?

YOU DIDN'T MISS IT ANON MWAH!!

“  i don’t think my legs work again yet.  ” + “  i made breakfast.  ” — from ; morning after prompts

🎀 let's have a sleepover — submissions closed 🎀

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

As you stumbled into the kitchen on shaky legs, you noticed Carmy turning to laugh at you.

"Good morning." He hummed with a little grin.

"Morning... I don't think my legs work again yet." You laughed as you sat down.

"Sorry. Can I make it up to you?" Carmy teased. "I made breakfast."

"Ooh, what'd you make?" You asked curiously.

"Bacon, eggs, french toast, yknow, the works." He hummed happily, plating some of it with a little bowl of fruit on the side.

"That sounds so good. Are you sure you aren't just trying to win me over with food? I mean, dinner last night, breakfast this morning, you're spoiling me."

"Hey! I just love cooking. Makes me happy." Carmy said with feigned offense.

You laughed, smiling softly. "I'm just fuckin' with you, Carm. I love your cooking. Now feed me! The faster I recover, the faster we can get back at it."

"Man, you're a slut." Carmy teased.

"Thank you!" You grinned.

[watermelonlovershigh]

Long Awaited Punishment {part. 14} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

Not So Patient After All {part. 13} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

AN: sorry this took so long. writing smut is hard enough but writing smut with a submissive man is even harder. i hope you enjoy. i tried my best to write a good sub/dom dynamic in this but i don't know if i did very well. let me know if you enjoyed by leaving your feedback and reblog. xoxo

This story contains: talks of kinky things, male douching, smut obviously, mild edging, face sitting, sub/dom, handjob, blowjob, pegging, crying from pleasure

{ housemate!harry - boyfriendrry - soft!harry - subrry - bi!harry dom!reader }

word count- 3,214

Tonight's the night you finally get to 'punish' Harry by fucking him with your brand new pink strap-on until his mind is sent into another dimension, but not before teasing and edging him beforehand.

"You sure you're up for tonight? Just because we've had this planned doesn't mean we have to do it, okay. I wouldn't be mad or disappointed, at all."

Lounging in bed on Friday morning, you and Harry engage in some pillow talk before he has to get ready for work. It began with inquiring about each other's sleep and dreams, but took a serious turn when Harry mentioned tonight.

You nod your head where it rests on his shoulder and reply back, "Yeah, I'm sure. I mean, I'm a little nervous. I have played dom before but I've never fucked any of my subs. They wouldn't let me. So I've only tied them up or edged them. Like that one time I made that guy wear a cock ring while I rode him. Which, by the way, was pretty fun to do."

"Please, don't ever torture me like that. M' all for being tied up, gettin' fucked, even havin' my ass spanked, but edgin' for an hour with a cock ring on, while you ride me, I draw the line there."

You let a laugh escape your mouth. "Because you said that, I may just have to purchase a cock ring too, just for you."

Shrugging, Harry replies, "Eh, never said I didn't already have one. Just that I don't ever want you to torture me like that."

You sit up straight, your bed head framing your face, and ask, "You own a cock ring and didn't tell me?"

Now Harry giggles before turning serious again, "Hey, it's never been brought up. I wasn't keepin' it a secret from you. But um, on a more serious note about tonight, you don't have to be nervous, Y/n. Just be your confident self and remember what I did to warrant you fuckin' me. Remember I'd been a bad boy."

-----------------------------

While Harry was at work all day, you took the opportunity to get things ready for tonight. This includes sterilizing the pink strap-on and tidying up the bedroom to create a more comfortable atmosphere. Not feeling up to cooking, a pizza was ordered for dinner just before his arrival home.

Upon Harry's return from work, he joined you at the table to enjoy the delicious pizza you had ordered before taking a thorough shower. This shower wasn't his usual routine; it was a pristine cleansing to ensure he was impeccably clean for the night ahead.

He meticulously shaved his bum to avoid you having to stare at his possibly hairy backside, and then used an extra douche he had kept in the storage space beneath the bathroom sink. Before partaking in anal sex, Harry always took the necessary steps to cleanse himself. The mere thought of accidentally getting shit on his partner was enough to make him cringe.

After completing his grooming routine, he thoroughly washes his body and exits the shower, drying himself off and putting on only a pair of underwear. Harry then leaves the bathroom and entered the bedroom where you had arranged everything. He gasps in amazement, expressing, "Wow!".

You nervously look up at him and question, "It's not too much is it? I.... I wanted to make the room all cozy for us."

Harry shakes his head before approaching you, gently placing his hands on each side of your face. Speaking softly, he reassures you, "No, it's perfect, baby. I appreciate the effort you've put into tonight. It makes me feel really comfortable with you and what we have planned. Thank you, m'love." He leans in to give you a tender kiss, causing you to melt at his touch, momentarily losing track of your responsibilities for the evening.

Before things get too heated, you pull away and think to ask before things get started, "Do you have a safe word, Harry?"

"Mhm, it's cherry. You know, because cherries are red, red means stop."

With a clap of your hands, a switch flips in your brain, triggering a surge of dominance. "Excellent. Climb on the bed and place your hands above your head. I won't tie you up, at least not for now. Just remember to keep your hands to yourself, no touching, understood?"

Harry answers with a meek, "Yes." and does as instructed. Before joining him on the bed, you stand off to the side and begin stripping your clothes off, revealing what you have underneath. A pair of black lingerie. It's nothing too extreme but it does make you feel slightly more powerful. After your reveal, you look to Harry and see his mouth has dropped open and his eyes become darker. You can also see the large dent he's made in his briefs.

You kneel on the bed, positioning yourself between Harry's legs. Placing your hands on his meaty thighs, you glide your hands up and down, moving higher and higher each time, nearly touching him where he needs it most. You notice his struggle as he refrains from touching you, wanting to bring you to his aching cock but doesn't as he wants to please you and be a good boy.

Harry is fixated on your hands, hoping you'll shift just a bit higher. The suspense is tormenting him. He believes he's never been so aroused in his whole life. It's so intense that it's causing him physical discomfort. His testicles are pulsating from being so engorged with semen, and the extent to which his erection has expanded is becoming excruciating in his underwear.

Recognizing the unease Harry's in, you make the decision to reposition your hands and place them directly on his stiffened cock. You cradle his junk in your hands, still atop his underwear, and he sighs with relief from the momentary comfort it offers. Slowly, you glide your palms up and down the fabric, noting the rise and fall of his stomach. You continue this action for another minute before feeling restless and eager to transition into more of the fun stuff.

You halt your hand, and before Harry can express his discontent at your pause, you grasp the waistband of his underwear and lower it. His erection springs up, revealing his lower abdomen glistening with precome. "Aww, does my poor baby want me to touch it? To make it feel better?" you inquire in a mocking tone.

"Please, baby. Hurts s'bad!" Harry's immediate response reveals that he's fallen under your spell. His voice has become higher in pitch, indicating his vulnerability and submission. Unlike your past submissive partners who sometimes had a hard time fully submitting in front of you, Harry has quickly embraced his submissive role tonight, making you feel honored and content. Happy he feels safe enough to let go fully and be in a different headspace altogether with you.

You toss his briefs onto the ground to deal with later, then choose to end his discomfort. You lean towards Harry's lap, allowing a lengthy strand of saliva to flow from your mouth and observe as it trickles down his pulsating penis. He moans at the sensation of your warm spit sliding down his cock. You use your right hand to gently stroke his erection, spreading your saliva along his entire shaft.

Harry wishes for more but decides to keep his thoughts to himself, allowing you to do as you please. He's considerate of your wishes and refrains from interfering, despite his deep-seated urge to grab your hair and shove your mouth down on his cock.

Once you have dedicated time to pleasuring him with your hand, the desire to take him into your mouth becomes more compelling. You lower yourself, positioning your knees beneath your body, and carefully ease him into your mouth. Harry is the largest you've ever encountered, making it challenging to take him fully without experiencing pain. You begin to move your head in a rhythmic motion while using your hands to stimulate the portion that cannot fit in your mouth. As his breathing becomes more intense, it's apparent that he's nearing climax, and so, you withdraw yourself.

"Hey," Harry scolds, missing the touch you just had on his cock.

Looking up with a reassuring smile, you reply, "Shh, no whining. I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby." Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you duck down, lifting his scrotum in one hand, and allowing your tongue to lap at his puckering hole.

"Oh, God damn!" His expression of pleasure through profanity arouses you, causing you to subconsciously stimulate your clitoris with the heel of your foot that's tucked beneath your body. You knew of Harry's enjoyment with having his ass played with, but you didn't fully comprehend the extent of his passion for it. You're thankful he maintains good hygiene, otherwise, you wouldn't be engaging in this activity right now.

Before psyching yourself out, after licking around his shaven rim a few more times, you use both your thumbs to open his hole and insert your tongue. You thrust your tongue in and out of his anus, making him crumble in response. Despite not touching his dick, Harry believes he could achieve a hands-free orgasm with enough time like this. However, he's certain you wouldn't permit it.

Once his hole is nice and wet with your saliva, you pull away and announce, "Okay, time for the strap-on."

Though Harry's mind is beginning to become fuzzy, he's still courteous enough to ask, "Are you wet enough, m'love?", knowing the type of strap-on you bought doesn't have a harness on your end, rather a bulbed part that goes inside you and a suction part that goes over your clit.

In a cheeky manner, you reply, "Why don't you find out." Though there's heaviness in his limbs, Harry is about to sit up and comply with your request. However, you start to crawl up his body and kneel over his face. He looks up at you with his big, green eyes, as if he can't believe you're about to sit on his face.

Despite your panties still covering your damp pussy, you proceed to lower yourself, allowing your cunt to make contact with his mouth. Harry extends his tongue out and traces a wet path along your core, prompting a moan to escape your lips. He then begins to suck on the area where he believes your clit is located under the black fabric, and his mouth fills with the juices that have soaked into your underwear.

It's Harry that's moaning now. Popping his mouth off of you for a second, he mutters, "Fuck, you are soaked."

As he prepares to resume eating you out over your panties, you decide to withdraw. Although his mouth would have provided immense pleasure, your anticipation for the main activity of the night is growing. "I need to fuck you, now." Harry, in a state of a blissful daze, simply nods in agreement, ready to follow your lead. He observes from his position as you discard your black lingerie onto the floor alongside his briefs. Then watches as you reach for the lube and strap-on from your nightstand.

You get back on the bed and instruct your boyfriend, "Get on all fours for me." He follows your instructions, getting into the submissive position known as doggy. Even though he's feeling vulnerable, he trusts and feels safe with you. The last time he was in this position was with a guy he met on a dating app months ago, getting his back blown out.

Before you begin, Harry decides he wants to watch you insert your end of the toy inside you cunt. "Wait, can I watch you put it in yourself?"

"Yeah, baby. Of course." You make your way to the top of the bed, and Harry turns his head to the side as you begin to gently insert the egg-shaped ball into your body. The initial tightness gives way to a sense of relief once it's completely inside your wet pussy. Harry's limbs tremble from his position, despite you not having touched him yet with the toy. The mere act of you placing the toy inside yourself has awakened a strong feeling of arousal, adding on to the several times he almost had orgasms but was edged before he actually came. "Now it's your turn," you state matter-of-factly.

Carefully, you slide back behind his body and grab the lube. You're fortunate not to have needed it for yourself, as your body produces its own lubrication, but Harry doesn't share that advantage. You apply some of the clear, slimy, liquid to the lengthy toy that's inserted in you on one end and carefully spread any remaining lube around his rim. "Mhm, fuck!" His response makes you chuckle. You find joy in the way he seems to unravel with minimal effort on your part.

Once the toy and his bum are properly lubricated, you confirm, "Sure you're ready? Let me know if it hurts at all and I'll stop, okay, baby?"

"Yes, please, just fuck me already!"

Because of his bold attitude, you pull your hand back and lightly slap his right ass cheek as a small punishment, but know deep down that Harry enjoys it. Then, you place the tip of the fake cock against his puckering hole and gently push it in while holding onto his narrow hips. You expected to feel more nervous when this moment arrived, but surprisingly, you don't. You feel powerful and confident. The role reversal of being in control and fucking a man gives you a sensation that is entirely new, and you love it.

The arms that were supporting Harry give way, causing him to fall onto the bed, with only his ass elevated and his knees drawn beneath him. "Oh my God, Oh my fuckin' GOD!" he exclaims repeatedly, recalling precisely why he enjoys anal sex. The sensation of something inside him brings immense pleasure. As soon as your hips connect with his and the toy is fully inserted, you pause momentarily to let him adjust. However, Harry doesn't require this adjustment, as proven when he begins pushing his hips forward and then rears his hips back, essentially fucking himself on the toy.

Witnessing his eagerness, you start to thrust. Initially, it feels unfamiliar as you're not accustomed to thrusting during intercourse. Although, after a few awkward movements, you begin to get the hang of it. Yet, because this particular strap-on is designed to bring pleasure to you as well, you soon realize the challenge ahead. The part that's inside of you is stimulating your g-spot directly, providing additional pleasure as you have to continuously squeeze your pelvic muscles to avoid it from slipping out while thrusting.

After about two minutes of thrusting, you suddenly remember that the strap-on is actually a vibrating toy. You remove one of your hands from Harry's hip and lower it to activate the on button. In an instant, both of you are uttering moans and profanities. The vibrating bulbed egg inside you, along with the outer part stimulating your clit, sends waves of pleasure through your entire body, causing you to slow down involuntarily. The overwhelming pleasure makes you want to remain still and revel in your impending orgasm.

"Dnt' Stop!" Harry's speech is slurred, indicating a significant alteration in his mental state. This situation scares you a tiny bit, as you have never encountered someone entering subspace, nor have you experienced it yourself. The entire scenario is foreign to you. However, you conducted some preliminary research prior to this evening to ensure that you would be equipped to assist him appropriately should the need arise.

With a shaky breath, you manage to spit out, "I’m not... not trying to. It’s just, I’m about to come. Holy shit!" Your body trembles as an overwhelming orgasm surges through you, leaving your ears ringing. Although you've felt pleasure from vibrators in the past, the one inside of you right now is stimulating your g-spot so intensely that the vibrations travel from your head to your toes. Furthermore, the vibrations sucking your clit enhance the intensity of your orgasm.

As you begin to come down from the powerful orgasm, the urge to remove the strap-on is strong; however, you decide to push your own boundaries for Harry's sake. The stimulation is overwhelming, affecting every nerve in your body, yet you take deep breaths to center your attention on your boyfriend's pleasure. Harry's been very well-behaved tonight, listening to your commands and not touching you unless you instructed otherwise. He's followed your every command. He certainly deserves to have a powerfully orgasm experience.

You begin to thrust once more, this time reaching around to take hold of Harry's painful erection. He tries to express his pleasure through moans, but only a faint whine emerges. In your desire to hasten the moment, your dominant hand moves swiftly along his shaft, while you maintain a focus on thrusting deeply and forcefully rather than at a rapid pace. You're getting exhausted by this point. Dominating is taking a lot out of you.

Harry's breathing becomes increasingly labored as his face is pressed into the pillows beneath him. His hands grip the sheets so tightly that they appear to be in pain. This is a side of Harry you have never witnessed before. It seems as though he has placed complete trust in you, surrendering both mentally and, soon enough, physically.

When you feel his cock twitch in your hand, you're ready to assure him that it's alright to let go, but before you can express this, Harry exclaims, "Gonna come, oh m'..." Suddenly, his back arches and his entire body convulses as he succumbs to his orgasm. As you continue to stroke him, you feel warm spurts of cum escaping his dick, coating your hand and the sheets below, and it just keeps coming. No wonder his balls were so swollen, they were about ready to burst with how full they were.

Unbeknownst to you, Harry experienced not only a penile orgasm but also a prostate orgasm simultaneously. While he's encountered this phenomenon before, tonights proved to be the most intense he's ever experienced. As the waves of pleasure continue to envelop him, he finds himself unable to suppress a sob that escapes his lips. Initially, you feel a sense of concern, but then you recall Harry mentioning that he occasionally cries when the intensity of his orgasm is overwhelming, reassuring you not to worry if it occurs.

Gradually, you withdraw your hand from Harry's cock as you sense it starting to lose its firmness, and ceasing the movement of your hips followed by promptly turning off the vibrations. With his head pressed into the mattress, he emits strained cries, his body shaking from the remnants of his intense climax. He looks so vulnerable in this moment that all you want to do is scope him up and hold him, tell him everything is gonna be okay.

You slowly remove the strap-on from his body, which causes him to cry out more intensely for a moment, and then you carefully pull your end out as well. Despite feeling just as drained as you believe Harry is, you understand that the dominant role comes with responsibilities. The key responsibility is aftercare, and you conclude that the first step in providing aftercare tonight is to help Harry calm down.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(if you want to be apart of my new tag list, let me know right here !! )

tag list: @swiftmendeshoran // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @hsonlyangelxo // @lunabai // @ppleasingg

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

Aftercare {part. 15}

[gallusrostromegalus]

My drawing skills suck are very unpracticed but I have a mighty need to create fanart of the garbage tarot. I don't even know anything about the source material but I am in love with these idiots.

Actually... I do a lot more mixed-media than I do drawing........... Hmm...

As a Completely Unrelated Thought, what do you think Zaraki's handwriting would look like?

I'm glad you asked because there's na specific answer for AEIWAM fic! Zaraki!

(Note: in AEIWAM, Kakiyo was Tousen's adopted sister, not an unrequited crush, and she raised money to go to the academy by working as a travelling schoolteacher for a while)

---

The first time Yamamoto gets a report from Zaraki, it genuinely throws him for a loop. Its a thorough if somewhat gruesome report about the 11th dealing with a pack of hollows that had been attacking isolated villages. Nothing Yamamoto was not already used to, but reading descriptions of mutilated villagers is somehow more unsettling when the descriptions look like this:

(a stylistic example)

Yamamoto takes him to task next meeting.

(continued under the cut)

"I know you're still learning the job Zaraki, but you can't foist your paperwork off on Miss Kusajishi." Yamamoto growls.

"I... Didn't? What?" Zaraki looks extremely confused, but the Captain-General is not fooled.

"You mean to tell me THIS is your handwriting?" Yamamoto snaps, throwing the report on the table, sheets spilling out as it slid down the length of it, so everyone could see the bizarre cutesy hand it was written in.

Zaraki's face darkened, jaw clenched. "Yeah. What about it? You goin' blind as well as senile?" He growled.

"THIS IS THE HANDWRITING OF A LITTLE GIRL, ZARAKI, DO YOU HAVE THE SAME HANDWRITING AS YOUR DAUGHTER?" Yamamoto slammed his hand on the table, temperature sharply increasing around him.

Zaraki began to arch his back and crackle with Reiatsu as well, but was stopped by loud ringing chime and a hand on his arm.

Yamamoto blinked in surprise to see Tousen, of all people , holding the giant back. There was a click as Tousen fully re-sheathed his sword. Suzumushi's chime wouldn't effect either of them, but it redirected their attention very effectively.

"My apologies, Yamamoto-sama." He bowed his head before turning his ear up at Zaraki. "Kakiyo wrote about this to me. You could only afford for one of you to receive schooling, right?"

Zaraki huffed and shook himself before answering. "Yeah, I was a broke-ass bastard before this." He grumbled, scratching his neck in a de-escalation feature. "Yer sister was a fuckin' saint and a genius. Neither of you have any business tellin' the whole world though."

"I think it was an exceptionally brave and difficult thing you did." Tousen shrugged. "Even when she used that method, less than one in a hundred parents actually stuck to it, much less achieved what you have."

Zaraki started looking everywhere but at Tousen, thinking. "... wouldn't call it brave, it was just makin' sure she was doin' good in school." He muttered.

Tousen kept listening intently at Zaraki. May I tell Yamamoto-sama so he doesn't cause another scene?"

"You're going to tell me what you're muttering about whether you like it or not." Yamamoto menaced.

"My sister taught Zaraki-taicho and Miss Kusajishi how to read and write." Kaname sighed and took off his goggles to rub the bridge of his nose. "It's extremely common in the Rukongai to have to teach children whose parents have never had any kind of schooling. Many of the parents would like to go to school too, but can only afford to send their children- actually , usually only one child. It's not usually an issue of money, but time- the parents can't afford to miss fishing season, or spare any siblings because they're needed on the farm. But, when you have a parent who is as attentive and caring as Zaraki-"

"Tttch!" Zaraki huffed at Kaname, who pointedly ignored him.

"-You can get around the schooling fees and scheduling problems by telling the student that their homework is to teach their parents what they learned in school that day. The homework you give the students is for their parents to do after they pass the lesson on and grade them on how well they taught their family." Kaname explained, putting his goggles back on. "Kakiyo was in awe of Miss Kusajishi's dedication to teaching you, and immensely proud of your efforts."

Zaraki still refused to look at Tousen, but his ears were bright red.

"...ohhh." Ukitake realized. "Wow, that's... I thought it was impossible to learn how after a certain age, that's - well, I don't think it's something I could have done!"

"What?" Glared Yamamoto.

"Zaraki-taicho and Miss Kusajishi have the same handwriting because he learned how to read and write by learning her school lessons from her." Unohana translated. "-An exceptionally difficult way to learn, and commendable for even trying." She continued, arching an eyebrow at him as a warning.

"Yeah and with all due respect Yama-ji? You're not exactly in a position to be complaining about anyone else's handwriting-" added Shunsui. "Zaraki's handwriting is odd, but it's perfectly legible. Nanao-chan framed your last memo because she thought it was an abstract painting."

Yamamoto turned to Shunsui with an aggravated glare.

"I'm afraid I have to second Kyoraku-taicho." Tousen said, without an ounce of chagrin in his voice. "The kido spell on my glasses can translate nearly everyone's hand, but the only person in the ninth who can read your memos to me is third-seat Maegawa, and mostly because she's had several centuries practice."

"Wait, we were supposed to be getting memos?" Mayuri squawked. "Dammit! I thought that squiggly garbage was the fax machine breaking every other week! I disassembled that thing three times trying to fix it!"

"You can all shut up now." Yamamoto snarled, and everyone did, but there were still a lot of pointed looks around the table, and Unohana's eyebrow had not resumed it's usual curvature yet. "Please consider my complaint withdrawn."

Unohana's eyebrow arched further and she cracked her eye open to reveal a coal-black iris, going from Warning to Threat.

"...My apologies, Zaraki-taicho. That was. Inconsiderate of me." Yamamoto muttered.

"Ya gonna shut up about it now?" Zaraki asked, not quite facing Yamamoto, but back still arched.

"I will hold my judgment in check in the future." Yamamoto acquiesced, watching him.

"Sure." Zaraki grunted, shaking his shoulders to drop the subject. "Right, what the fuck were we doing?" He asked, returning to the agenda.

---

After the meeting, Tousen took a minute to stand in the late afternoon sun, exhaling and releasing the tension of the day, when someone grabbed one shoulder and plopped something heavy on the other.

"Yeh didn't have to do that." Zaraki grunted just behind Tousen's ear, his forehead resting on the small man's shoulder, half gratitude, half grumble.

"One of the responsibilities of a captain is to keep the general in check, and I had a particularly good opening to stop that nonsense for good." Kaname hummed, hand reflexively coming up to touch the giant's head on his shoulder, fingertips tracing over the scarred visage and peculiar hairstyle.

"Didn't read that in the employee handbook." Zaraki grunted, grin in his voice.

"Yamamoto wrote those handbooks, and he'd rather we let him do as he pleases. You have to learn how to read between the lines, Zaraki." Kaname teased.

Zaraki gave his strange, low clicking chuckle of amusement and affectionately mock-bit Kaname's ear before standing up, still holding his other shoulder.

"...Thanks. " he muttered, giving his arm a squeeze and stepping away. "Gotta go pick up Sensei, you talk to her if you think I need more tutoring!" Zaraki waved, striding off to collect Yachiru in completely the opposite direction from her school.

"ITS THE OTHER- oh, he'll figure it out." Kaname sighed.

The sun was low in the sky, but it was still warm, and the first Cricket of summer started chirping, startling him. Suzumushi chirped with it, singing her mournful loss of her original wielder, but not so despairing this time.

"Kaname?" Sajin asked, heard before he was felt as usual. The lieutenant's meeting must have wrapped up late.

Kaname smiled and put a finger up, indicating he should listen. Sajin did, helmet tipping slightly to hear.

"Crickets!" Sajin realized, and offered Kaname his gauntlets hand to lead him home. "...I miss Kakiyo too." He sighed.

"You're not really gone if some part of you lives on in someone else." Kaname hummed. "I realized she is not so far gone today."

"Oh?" Sajin asked. "Where does she live on?"

"Have you read any of Zaraki-taocho's reports yet?" Kaname grinned. "His hand is not his hand alone."

[brewed-pangolin]

Inspired by your thoughts on tea, since we know Soap makes fun of Ghost during the Alone mission for asking for a cuppa... do you think Soap would make tea for his wife? Tease her about it but always make sure her favored brand is in the pantry?

Umm...I might have gone a little overboard with this. Oopsies. (But I loved it so much!!)

Johnny would absolutely tease his love for your certain affection and acquired tastes towards tea.

Always muttering little quips under his breath as you meticulously scrutinize the herbal tea aisle of the grocery store for the better part of half an hour.

--

"Steamin Jesus, gonnae be growin' roots inta th'floor if this takes any longer."

You roll your eyes at him. Too lost in mulling over whether to go with the tried and true chamomile tea bags you've been using for years, or venture out and take a chance on the loose tea you've been reading so much about.

You decide, after much internal deliberation, to go with both.

Once at the checkout lane, you survey the ever growing line of products and can't help but notice that two of your newly cherished items seemed to have miraculously disappeared.

"What's th' bloody difference?" Soap's sudden interjection pulls your eyes towards him. Holding both boxes in his hands, eyes shifting back and forth to give each parcel a quick yet thorough inspection.

"Th's ones tea in a bag. And th's ones loose. So what, ones caged and th'others free range?"

"It's basic chemistry, smartass," you snap back. Snatching both boxes out of his hands, adding them back to the line along the grocery belt.

"You should know something about that, Soap. Being a demolitions expert and all."

"Aye, I am. Rarely havin' to deal wit botanicals though, sweetheart."

An amused sigh escapes your lips, shaking your head as you point to each box and explain in lamens' terms the difference to the ill educated Scot.

"Tea bags are good for quick steaps, inexpensive and easily accessible. But they also grow bitter quickly, are only good for one-time use, and generally have one dominant aromatic note."

You give him pause, narrowing your eyes and gander whether he's understanding your descriptive breakdown or altogether lost like a deer in headlights. His cocked eyebrow indicates the former, allowing you to continue.

"Loose tea has numerous aromatic tones, a longer shelf life, greater variety, and one scoop can be brewed multiple times. Yes, they're quite a bit more expensive and take longer to steap, but the pros outweigh the cons pretty unanimously."

"So why ya buyin' both then, bonnie?"

"The same reason you buy two bottles of the same whisky? One single malt and the other blended. Different brewing styles bring out different keynotes in taste. It's simple chemistry and, why are you looking at me like that?"

You question abruptly. His cerulean eyes gazing upon you with the warmth of a summer's dawn. And carrying with it a smile that would make any young mare weak and tremble at the knees.

"Yer so fuckin' cute when ya go on a tangent like that, bonnie. Cannae help but get lost in ya," he whispers. His thumb gently wrapping around the curve of your chin as he leisurely closes the distance between you.

"Um. Excuse me?"

A sudden, unfamiliar voice tears you both out of your enchanting eye lock, forcing you to break from his gaze and focus on the somewhat embarrassed expression of the young cashier.

"That'll be $78.95, ma'am."

--

Not even two months later, you turned John MacTavish into a class act tea brewing connoisseur. Something about the chemical intricacies of it seemed to pull at the explosive alchemy that flowed so easily within his mind.

Boiling the water to the perfect alloted time and temperature. Pouring it carefully over the filled infuser that he measured out like an artisanly skilled brewer. He even had an app that would indicate the steeping time for each distinct batch of tea leaves.

And as he brought the expertly steeped brew up to you in bed, you couldn't help but give yourself a theoretical pat on the back to turning the once tea scoffing Scot into a true master brewer.

"Simon would be proud, John." You teased, bringing the porcelain rim of elegantly decorated cup to your lip.

And Soap answered first with a icy glare, followed quickly by his typical brogish banter.

"Donnae fuckin' dare, lass."

Drabbles Masterlist

[whimsicalpolitical]

prompt 5 with matty!! 😁

thank you for the request!! 5-> filming it, either for private purposes or because they’re amateur pornstars

“Wish you could see us right now, how perfect you are f’me,” he grunts as he moves, your sweet cunt stretches tight around his heavy cock, eagerly swallowing him back in. He drags his movements out to give himself a good show, like the greedy man he is.

You whimper in response. If it looks as good as it feels, it would be a dream to witness. A new idea suddenly sparks.

You reach to the nightstand to take your phone in your hand, Matty’s eyes following yours in the act.

“S’ why you’re my girl, you know? My dirty fucking girl.”

“Want me to record a movie hm?” Matty’s filthy comments string along as he opens his phone’s camera, and selecting the ‘video’ option. “Want to see what I see?”

Your soft moan gives him his answer, so he presses ‘record’. Matty tries to keep the camera steady, while keeping his strokes deep and thorough.

You already came minutes ago, matty however didn’t orgasm just yet and you’re thrilled to see how it’s going to look.

A tightness grows in Matty’s spine, wandering to his abdomen and making his balls tug tight. He can’t last much longer at this rate. Not with you squeezing him like this.

“You’re the best, fuck me.”

You mewl into the blanket, clamping around his cock in a vice grip. Matty growls lowly at the tight warmth enveloping him.

“Rub your clit for me, can’t do it,” with one hand at the camera he still has to steady himself somehow, he can’t touch you as well, “I’m busy, love.”

You do as he says, you reach down your body to rub your clit in slow circles, moaning at the pleasure.

It’s sending you into another overwhelming climax. Matty embraces the new tightness and lets it tug him toward the edge. He angles his phone to show off your splayed pussy before he unravels.

“Fuckin’ hell, look at you.”

Matty groans harshly while his thrusts falter. He stalls for a moment before a new heat fills your cunt. Hot ropes of cum coat your slick walls, buried deep with a harsh thrust.

The recording pans in further - now zoomed in on your stuffed hole. Matty pulls himself from you, exposing your pussy to the camera. Slowly but surely, Matty’s cum leaks from your cunt and over your swollen clit.

“Can’t wait to show you how fucking wicked we look,” he groans.

Matty presses a thumb against your slick clit, teasing the bundle of nerves into a circle. You twitch and tighten your pussy on instinct, making Matty chuckle from behind the camera.

“The hottest video to ever exist,” he presses the record button to stop the video.

“Let’s show you, love,” he gets up to sit next to the headboard, your head resting on his abdomen. He shows you the video and you blush, getting turned on all over again.

“I will feel like a fucking wanker when I’m on tour,” he says, “cause I’m totally gonna jerk off to this.”

You slap his thigh lightly, chuckling to yourself because you will definitely get off on this as well.

“But for now, let’s get you cleaned up yeah?.”

[ivestas]

Hello. I saw your post and would you be up for doing a bit on a reader who cares little about themselves but cares deeply for the team?

love deterrence

Summary: You care about the 141 more than yourself to a worrisome degree. 

Tags: platonic!141 x soldier!fem!reader, mentally ill reader (implied), headcanon format, reader implied to be young, unedited

Word count: 1.3k

Notes: ANON... THE MOMENT I SAW THIS I DROPPED EVERYTHING. the requests I get r always top tier, BUT THIS IS S +. also my bad for this being price/soap/ghost-centric, theyre the characters im most confident in writing---and, also also, SEND REQUESTS. you guys are so slay w reqs its actually insane

You were a soldier—a good one at that. 

Thorough in your assignments, fearless on the field, and reliable. Truly, it’s something any enlister would seek out. 

That was Price’s initial thoughts—everyone else’s, really. You liked to get shit done and you were determined to always, always see through a mission’s completion. 

It was a trait that, at first, wasn’t noticeable, but it intensified the longer you stayed with the 141. 

Many things increased the longer you were with them: you went from formal to friendly, quiet to outspoken, frigid to warm... you grew comfortable. They each took notice in their own way—with Soap being the one to constantly reciprocate and encourage in his own way; despite his loud character, he was subtle in pushing you out of your bubble.

Even Ghost encouraged you... in his own way. 

“You look like you wanna say something, spit it out, kid.” 

It was hard not to warm up to them, and vice versa; the team was as tightly knit as they come, and you could confidently say that you’d trust your life in their hands...

...but, you’d much rather they worry about you last.

And that was when Ghost was the first to notice your recklessness on the field when it came to them; the moment you heard one of them was in danger, you’d be quick to finish the area in such a careless manner and rush to them—and many, many times he’d berate you about it. 

“Kid, when I tell you to stay put, you stay put.”

“But—“

“No fuckin’ ‘buts’, you shut up and listen, understand?!” 

“...yes sir.” 

But you always disobeyed. At one point, Ghost demanded Price to put you on temporary leave because of how worrisome it was getting—you’d listen to every single order and follow through in quick succession, but the moment it came to your safety, you just..?

And that’s when it clicked to Ghost: you didn’t care. It was their lives over yours, and something about that just pissed him off. 

(Maybe it was because he understood the feeling, and he hated knowing that you felt it too. You were young, you shouldn’t feel that way—not now, not ever.)

Price would catch on later around the same time Soap did—although the two certainly weren’t dumb, it’s just the mere fact that they didn’t understand the way Ghost did—they’ve had their mental pitfalls, but not the abject depression that pushes one to feel so little about themselves. 

They’d find out much later—you’ve become sneakier in protecting them, something that Ghost still catches from time to time but can’t butt in since you were so damn clever with it—and it was when an enemy tossed a bomb in your and Soap’s direction that your nature dawned on him. 

You were quick to toss the bomb back, and not only did you do that, but you shielded him from the blast by throwing yourself onto him despite the fact you were smaller than he. 

Luckily, the blast didn’t harm you, only leaving you with a few scrapes and ringing ears. 

But, the moment he got back up on his feet, you were fretting.

“You okay, Soap? You’re not hurt, are you—?!” 

“Lass, worry about yourself, I’m fine!” 

“Are you sure?” 

It was like talking to a brick wall: terribly frustrating.

Price, having been a few feet away and had shielded from the blast, saw the spectacle and almost laughed. 

It was ridiculous to him—you threw yourself, but you’re worrying about the muscle-bound soldier? 

He didn’t like soldiers who tried to play hero—especially soldiers who were hardly grown. Especially soldiers who seemed to lack care for themselves.

So, Price would start sneaking in sentiments of care: complimenting you outside the field, (”You made that, sergeant? Great job, it looks wonderful.”) trying to hear you communicate your own interests, things about you. 

Soap already does that, and Ghost soon follows too, though slowly. He wasn’t good at praising—his compliments were always so awkward, no better than his fucked up jokes that he cracked at the worst times. 

Price always made sure to give you the best cots, Ghost would give you a portion of his food because...

“I’m watching my weight.”

“What?” 

“You heard me, sergeant. I’m watching my weight.” 

“...you’re literally a soldier—“

“Just eat the food kid, don’t make me repeat myself.” 

Soap was the only direct one—the other two didn’t want to make it uncomfortable for you, but Soap was, well... Soap. 

“Look, kid, lass, you need to start lookin’ out for yerself.” 

“I am already, don’t worry—“

“You stood in front of Price when you thought there was an enemy sniper.” 

“He’s the captain! I gotta protect him!” 

“You could’ve just told him—listen, I don’t like using threats, that’s the L.T’s thing, not mine, but if you continue to treat your arse like a meatshield, I’m gonna make sure you’re put on leave again, okay?” 

It becomes a struggle after that: you felt overwhelming guilt for feeling guilt, for being ‘selfish’, or feeling guilty for taking risky actions in order to protect them because you know they’ll feel bad. 

It’s a perpetual struggle that you didn’t know what to do about, and it’s at the worst time you broke down. 

You and Ghost were cleaning up the mess hall since Soap won a bet against him, and when you picked up an extra plate more than Ghost, you began overthinking.

Was this gonna piss off Ghost? Were you going to make him feel bad? Were you doing this for yourself or for him? Why did you do that—should you give him the plate? What should you do? What’s the right thing?

As much as the guys tried to ease your mind, I think they did the opposite: and, at that moment, you couldn’t stop the tears.

That made you even guiltier, especially when Ghost noticed. 

But, all he said was “talk.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft, and with that allowance, you spoke. 

It was incoherent: a babbling mess of “sorrys” and admissions of guilt for shit he didn’t even know one could feel guilty for—you shook, moments would jump where you would collect yourself for a few seconds before bursting once more. 

Taking the dishes from your hands, he set them back on the table and engulfed you in an awkward but strong hug. He didn’t trust himself to say anything right, but he hoped—prayed—that you knew the sentiments. 

And you did—you reciprocated immediately, burying your face into his bulletproof vest; heaving, shaking, breaking. 

He was then at a crossroads: you were unstable. Guilt like that—this faux selflessness that was really something more tragic—it only leads to one thing, a thing he couldn’t bring himself to name. 

So, the same night when he was sure you were asleep, he went straight to Price. 

“Sir.” 

“Yes, Ghost?” 

“The kid—she can’t stay. She needs to see a professional.” 

Price sighed. “You don’t think I’m tryin’? Been trying to reach a psychologist—therapist—whomever. Laswell’s said she’s workin’ on it, so we’ll see.”

“But she can’t stay, this type of job, it’s not good for her mind.” 

“That’s up to her. You can’t just kick someone out—it’s ain’t that simple.” 

Ghost opened his mouth, ready to spit back, but Price cut in, stern. “It’s up to her. I’ll make sure she sees a professional at least bi-weekly, but you can’t force a leave on her.” 

Ghost settled with that, though not completely satisfied. 

When you eventually do see a professional, you get a little better—you recognize the patterns, the triggers, the reasons. It’s easier to dissemble the mess that your mind is and just understand. 

Although you’re a little more careful now, more thoughtful about your own body, there’s always a level of protection you place on them that they know is irremovable: it’s care. 

And they reflect that care right back at you, both in and out of the field. 

AO3

Masterlist

Requests are open

[kimpossibly]

THE CHAIN -> e. roundtree PART ONE: drummers' curse

PAIRING: eddie roundtree x fem!reader WARNINGS: mentions of minor injuries (NOTE: some warnings for this story include MAJOR spoilers for this series down the line, so I'll put those beneath the cut. If you don't want to get the story spoiled, then just ignore it ― but I did want to provide the chance for you to get an idea of how the story will go later down the line if you have any sensitive topics you'd like to avoid. please prioritize your mental wellbeing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apologies in advance for making Y/n the drummer and putting Warren on rhythmic guitar. I just loooooooove female drummers. Also can you tell that I love Karen and Camila? Because I love them with alllllll my heart and soul. Another sorry in advance because this one may break your heart a little ― it sure broke mine. NOTES ON THE WORK: I used the timeline from the book, mostly because I couldn't keep track of it in the show haha. I read the book twice before watching what episodes of the show were out, so the lines may blur between the two. For your convenience (and mine, tbh), I'll put the year all the characters were born underneath this note so you can reference it when you need to. I just couldn't keep track honestly. I think in the show they start the band when Graham is fourteen, but in the book he's around 18 when they add Warren on, so it's kind of confusing?? I decided to stick with the book because it was a more physical timeline. Anyways, enough talking, here's your guide! ― YEARS BORN (in order of age) Billy Dunne -> 1947 Camila Dunne -> 1949 Graham Dunne -> 1949 Warren Rhodes -> 1949 Eddie Roundtree -> 1949 Daisy Jones -> 1951 Y/n L/n -> 1951

WARNINGS (SPOILERS INCLUDED): reader has a terminal illness. Discussions about death and loss, depictions of grief, hospitals

It's no secret that the renowned 1970s band Daisy Jones & The Six went through its fair share of ups and downs. Until their inexplicable split on July 12, 1979, they were undeniably one of the biggest bands in the world. While a more detailed account of the band's history will be recounted in a more thorough transcript, this advanced edition will focus specifically on two of the band members: Eddie Roundtree and Y/n L/n. More specifically, it will focus on their individual and combined roles they played in the band's eventual downfall.

THE RISE OF THE SIX (1965 - 1972)

GRAHAM: Y/n grew up next door to us. She was a little younger, two years or so, so we never really gave her a second look. Until the day she wandered into our garage during band practice out of nowhere. She practically ripped the drum sticks out of Chuck's hand and just started...wailing on 'em. I mean, she could make your head spin. Here was this thirteen, fourteen year old girl next door, this kid, and she was the best fuckin' drummer we'd seen. I mean, in the neighborhood. She wasn't Mitch Mitchell, but she was the closest thing we had. And she was too good to be shoved in the back with a tambourine. But we couldn't just take Chuck's spot away and hand it over to the new girl.

CHUCK: I knew right then and there that they wanted to give my spot to the new girl. There was no doubt in my mind. And, you know what? I got it. This chick was good. Way too good. Did I feel threatened by her? Hell yeah, I did. And at the time I probably wanted to tell her to screw off, but now...now I get it.

EDDIE: She was good. Amazing, actually. Graham and I looked at each other and knew that she was something we'd be stupid to pass up on.

BILLY: When Chuck told us he wanted out, we were pissed, of course. We were heading off to open for Winters that week. It felt like things were going to look up, just like I always knew they would, and he was ditching. I know now that that wasn't really what it was ― he'd gotten into college, fan-fucking-tastic. It was a good opportunity for him, a sure thing. But right then it felt like a betrayal.

WARREN: So he ditched, and Billy just turned right to Eddie and said, "Go tell Y/n she's in." And he was just...terrified.

EDDIE: I said, "why me?" You know? It wasn't my band, it was Billy's. And here he was, ordering me to tell some new girl she was in. I was fifteen and could barely ask a waitress for ketchup. At the time, that was probably the last thing I wanted to do.

GRAHAM: He asked why it had to be him, and I told him the truth: he was the least intimidating. Billy, you know him. He had a tendency to get too focused on the task at hand and could get a little...harsh. And Warren? He had one of the biggest personalities you could find. He'd scare her off before we had a chance to offer her the spot...[Pauses] I probably could've done it, in all honesty. I just didn't want to screw it up. Eddie was better with words than I was, and we needed her in our band. Badly.

EDDIE: And I remember thinking, "Here goes fucking nothing."

The doorbell ringing was what got her attention. No one ever used the doorbell. It was always a knock ― that, or someone just walked in. The L/n's front door was hardly ever locked back then. Y/n's mom was a nurse, formerly a school nurse. She didn't want to risk the chance that some kid took a spill and had to limp home on an injured leg. So all the neighborhood knew, if you got hurt playing outside, you could march on over to Miss L/n's place to get yourself fixed up.

Y/n had her own share of walk-ins, too. By the time she was ten, she had seen her mom help out enough kids that she was practically a nurse herself. She could disinfect and bandage and stitch up any old case that walked through her front door. And if someone who was too busted up for first aid? She knew where the keys to the family Winnebago was and how to drive herself and them to the local hospital. She was only fourteen and didn't have a license, but it didn't matter. She was a safer driver than most everyone else on the road.

So when someone rang the doorbell, she assumed that it was someone too injured to knock. She grabbed the car keys and made sure her suture kit was within reach.

When she opened the door, she didn't see the blood and broken bones she was expecting. Instead, Eddie Roundtree stood on her front porch, hands shoved anxiously in his pockets. He looked all right, but that didn't stop her from asking: "You're not hurt, are you?"

"Um. No," Eddie said quickly, taking his hands out of his pockets.

"Okay," she said slowly, eyes narrowing. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yeah, sure."

Y/n turned and walked further into the house, prompting him to close the door and follow her. She led him to the kitchen. "Lemonade? I made it this morning," she offered, already opening the fridge.

EDDIE: That jug of lemonade was bigger than she was. [Laughs] I could barely watch her get it down. I was afraid she'd drop it on her foot. But she just took her time getting it from the fridge to the table. I found out later that her mom bought a pound of lemons a week because Y/n wanted something to offer every kid that came through their front door. [Pauses]. She was just like that.

He gave a nod. Y/n stood on her toes to grab two glasses from the cabinet. She poured one glass, hands shaking from the weight of the jug, and Eddie realized that this awkward silence was probably the best time to transition into his real reason for visiting.

"Chuck left the band."

"Oh," she said simply. "Sorry."

"Don't be."

She paused, looking confused. And Eddie, who's will to live was slowly draining from this conversation alone, raced to finish what he had (awkwardly) started.

"I just mean that...you're in. The band. If you want to be our drummer, you're in."

Y/n paused mid-pour, setting the pitcher down on the counter carefully. She turned around until her back pressed into the kitchen counter, arms crossed over her chest. "And you thought I'd jump at the chance to join?"

"No. No," Eddie said quickly. "We just wanted to offer you the spot if you still wanted it."

"Did I say that I wanted it?"

"No, but―"

"Okay, just making sure," she handed him a glass and hopped up onto the counter, crossing her legs underneath her. "So you need a drummer?"

"Yes. Badly."

She took a sip from her glass and paused, as if weighing her options in her mind. She swallowed. "Are there any other girls in the band yet?"

EDDIE: Yet. Like she knew it was going to happen. It was just a matter of time.

"No, not yet." he replied.

"Then be honest with me: are you guys sleazeballs?"

EDDIE: Sleazeballs. She didn't sugarcoat things. She wanted to know if we were creeps or if we'd let her play drums in peace. I get that, one hundred percent. but back then, it felt like she was trying to accuse us of something.

"No," he said quickly, "Well...Warren can be a little much, but he means well."

She took another slow sip, once again weighing her options in her mind. "When's your next gig?"

"We play pretty much every night, wherever we can find. It might take us a bit to teach you the songs, but―"

"I can learn them," she said confidently. "How soon do you need someone?"

"Soon as possible."

EDDIE: By then, I was terrified she'd say no. All these questions and never once did she seem really interested in joining. I was already trying to figure out which of us would be the least shit at the drums.

"Okay. I'm in."

EDDIE: And that was it. She said yes. I didn't appreciate how much she'd saved our asses right then, but I was relieved. That was for sure.

GRAHAM: Eddie came back, told us she said yes. She couldn't join practice until her mom got home ― she didn't want the house to be empty if some injured kid wandered by ― so we had about an hour and a half to teach her every song.

BILLY: She picked 'em up like [snaps] that. Never doubted it for a single second, either. Once she knew it, she knew it.

EDDIE: She showed up to the first gig in overalls and sneakers. She let Camila put a little makeup on her, too, but we could all tell she hated it.

CAMILA: She was sweet. And, surprisingly, a little shy. I could tell she was a little scared of the boys. That's why she was a little cold to them at first. But she was just the coolest kid. I mean, fourteen years old and joining a rock band? She was a little rockstar, right off the bat. She asked me to put some makeup on her before her first gig with the band. When I gave her a mirror after and asked her what she thought, she said, "I like it, but it makes me feel like a doll. Not a drummer." She liked the glitter the most, though. It became her trademark. She put it on her cheeks, in her hair, everywhere that would catch the light. She'd come off stage and you'd see a little pile of sparkles behind the drum set.

EDDIE: Right off the bat, first gig. It was enough to freak anyone out. She joined the band six hours ago, learned the songs three hours ago, and now she was playing in a club to a couple dozen people. It seems so small now, but back then? It was like starting at Wembley.

Y/n shook out her hands for the eighth time. It wasn't about loosening up for the gig anymore, she just needed something to do that didn't involve throwing a punch or screaming at the top of her lungs. She looked up at Billy, standing at the front of the group, cool and calm as ever, and she had the distinct urge to kick him in the shin. Why did he get to be so calm when she was right behind him, on the verge of throwing up?

She turned to anxiously twisting a single drum stick between her fingers, around and around, faster and faster. Eventually it became so mindless that she barely noticed as the stick slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She bent to retrieve it quickly, hoping no one had noticed.

But, of course, someone did.

"Hey," Eddie said, looking back at her.

"Warren knocked it out of my hands." she said quickly.

Eddie glanced over at Warren, who was a solid two feet ahead of her, physically unable to have knocked a drum stick out of her hands. Y/n knew from that glance that he could see right through her lie. Now she really wasn't in the mood to talk.

EDDIE: She was terrified. And she was lying her ass off about it. I didn't want to run the risk that she choked up in the middle of the show and screwed up our set. So I figured I'd just, talk. And if she wanted me to screw off, she'd tell me. She had a way of saying exactly what she wanted.

"You've heard of the Drummer's Curse, right?" he asked.

She frowned in a way that told him no, she did not.

"First, there's the obvious stuff: drummers have to lug around the most shit out of anyone in the band. Drums sets are heavy and expensive, so there's that. But the worst part is that they're easy to overlook, you know? They're at the back of the stage behind all this shit, everyone stands in front of 'em. Drummers can fade into the background real easy. The best drummers can outshine anyone else onstage. You'll do that one day, but if you're freaked out now, just let yourself fade a little. You'll play better than anyone up there and the crowd'll know it, but you can let them focus on someone else if you want. You get what I'm saying?"

EDDIE: For a second, I thought she was going to punch me.

But then she nodded, wiped off some of the pink lipstick Camila had put on her with the back of her hand, and pushed her bangs to the side. "Drummers' Curse, huh?"

"Some people believe in it, some don't."

"And you?" she asked, turning to him. "Do you believe in that kind of stuff?"

Eddie paused. Shrugged. "Sure. Seems true enough to me."

Y/n nodded. "I don't. It sounds like bullshit to me."

Eddie frowned. She looked up at him. "I'm not going to let myself fade because I'm scared. I signed up for this, you know. The least I can do is own my place. If I outshine you, it's just because I'm that good," she said matter-of-factly. "I will need help carrying the stuff, though."

EDDIE: I didn't know what to say. I mean, [laughs] what the hell do you say to that?

He felt like he'd had the rug pulled out from under him. And then, he surprised himself: he laughed.

And Y/n surprised herself then, too ― she smiled.

EDDIE: That was just...[Shakes head. Smiles.] I don't know.

"I think we can manage that." he said with a smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen...The Dunne Brothers!"

WARREN: If I were still the guy I was back then, I would completely undersell her to you right now. I'd tell you she was an average drummer who was more in it for the thrill than the craft. But that wasn't it at all. She got up there and she just...shined.

GRAHAM: We all knew she'd be scared before the first gig. In fact, she looked about ready to throw up when they announced us on stage. But the second she hit those lights, it was like she was a different person. She waved and smiled like she'd done it a hundred times. The only other person I'd seen do that ― I mean really become another person on stage ― is Billy.

BILLY: That first show with Y/n was a little bit of a trainwreck. We were at least a half beat behind the entire show. And I'm not saying I blame her, but she was new and shiny. We got through it just fine, but I think we all felt it wasn't our best show.

WARREN: That show was bitchin'.

GRAHAM: It was a great show.

WARREN: Back in those days, we'd get off stage and start cheering for ourselves like we'd just won the goddamn lottery. Somewhere along the way, that stopped. We'd just pat each other on the back, say 'good job,' and that was that. But when Y/n got backstage? She was screaming and yelling like it was the best night of her life. And all of us joined in without a second thought ― well, maybe all of us except Billy. He was kind of a hard ass, even then. None of us had ever heard this girl talk louder than a glorified whisper, and then she came out of nowhere with this full-body scream. And who did she run to? Well, I think you can guess.

CAMILA: She just about jumped into Eddie's arms.

Adrenaline is a funny thing. For one, the effect is had on different people can be vastly different depending on who it was. Some people mellowed out, some people amped up. Y/n fell into the second category.

The second she got off the stage, a giddy laugh ripped from her chest, turning more into a scream of triumph halfway through. She was buzzing. Literally. Her hands felt numb ― or, more accurately, they felt like they felt more. Everything she touched was sharp and blinding.

The next person to join in on the screaming and jumping around was Warren. Then Graham. Then Eddie. And then, reluctantly, Billy. Eddie was the last to come off stage, slinging his guitar off his shoulders, and Y/n, without thinking much about it, ran straight to him, leaping directly into his unsuspecting arms.

The others were too hyped up on their own adrenaline rushes to notice that anything out of the ordinary had happened. She wrapped her legs around his waist hanging onto him like a koala. And Eddie, who couldn't deny adrenaline, held onto her back without a second thought.

After a moment, she leaned back, arms still wrapped around his neck, faces inches apart. "Drummers' curse, huh?"

EDDIE: She didn't fade. She couldn't, not even if she tried.

Eddie just smiled and shook his head. "Sounds like bullshit to me."

[grampsoninspace]

doctor’s orders.

Please, don’t let it be him.

Please no…

Please!

“Good evening,” a warm voice interrupts your silent pleading with whatever force is listening. There’s strain in the usual honeyed tone, which jerks your chin upward with an invisible string. Your panicked thoughts are replaced by your emergency mode, your hands trembling with adrenaline at the pain in the man’s voice.

“What did you do now?” you hiss, assessing the patient visually before you even get close to him, watching blood drip steadily from a wound just shy of his temple.

Captain Howzer smiles up at you with mischief in his brown eyes.

“I got a little too close to the action, Doc,” he shrugs.

“How many times do I have to tell you? The blood belongs inside of your body, Captain. For Maker’s sake, can we go a single week without you risking life and limb for the nearest being?” You pull your gloves on with an angry snap.

“Well… it is my job,” he tells you, trying to sound the slightest bit remorseful and failing miserably.

“I don’t care if it’s your job — it’s going to be a little hard to do it if you’re dead,” you shake your head, starting to remove his armor to assess the rest of him.

“You’re fussing again,” Howzer’s voice drops in octave and volume, much too near your ear.

“Well, that is my job,” you mimic his accent poorly, daring to look back into his eyes as you remove his chest plate.

His full lips are twisted in the faintest smile, and he is watching your every move. You roll your eyes but you can feel yourself blush, choosing instead to focus on removing his pauldrons, gauntlets, and gloves.

“I know... I like it when you fuss over me,” he leans forward and yanks the top of his blacks off with one hand, exposing his skin down to his waist.

You turn back to face him and remind yourself with a deep breath and a mental lashing that you are a fucking professional and you will do your job without incident or…

Or…?

What were you saying?

“Well?” he prompts.

“Hm?” you raise your eyebrows, pretending you were listening.

He leans back with his palms flat on the exam table, his knees farther apart than you remember. “I asked you a question.”

“Which was?” you ask, frowning, silently cursing yourself.

“I asked what your diagnosis was,” he smirks.

“I don’t know yet,” you rub your forehead with the back of your hand. “I need to get your head cleaned up first. Do you feel pain or discomfort anywhere else?”

“No pain…” His smile is teasing. “But I still expect a thorough examination. I could be in shock.”

You give him a look. “Behave yourself, Captain.”

Howzer holds his hands up. “I’m just asking you to do your job, Doc. I wouldn’t expect any less but the closest attention to detail when you’re in charge.”

You swallow, and he won’t look away from your eyes — even as you start to gently clean the wound on his forehead and he sucks in a breath through his teeth, grabbing your wrist roughly and trying to pull your hand away.

Your stomach flips but you give him a stern look.

“Captain. When I said to behave yourself, I clearly meant you need to allow me to do my job.”

“Warn me next time,” he growls, releasing you.

“I did!” You smack his hand down. “I told you I had to clean your head…”

“Oh, that’s what you meant,” he smirks up at you as you continue removing the blood from his skin. You press harder in retaliation and he grabs both of your wrists.

“Stop being belligerent or I’ll let you fuckin’ bleed to death,” you tell him through gritted teeth.

“Which one happens first?” he asks, your wrists still bound in the shackles of his rough hands.

“What—?” you ask, scrunching up your face.

“You said you’d let me fuck and bleed to death,” he repeats, pulling you forward and tugging your hands behind his back so your face is much too close to his.

“Do you think it could be in that order?” he drops his voice down deep and low, his breath warm on your skin.

“You know damn well I did not say that,” you tell him, trying to sound sure of yourself, but your voice shakes.

“Do I?” he asks, searching your face with his dilated eyes.

“Should I check your hearing?” you ask sharply, but his gaze lands on your lips.

“What?” he jokes, and you sigh in his face.

“Captain.”

His eyes flick to yours, and he leans back just enough to let your hips rest in the V his legs have made. “Say my name, and I’ll be good for you.”

“This is very unprofessional behavior,” you frown.

“I’m no snitch,” he whispers. “Besides, is it against protocol for you to use your patient’s name?”

“Of course not,” you sigh again. “But I’m using your title as a sign of respect, just as I would do with anyone else.”

“And I love that about you, but I wanna hear you say my name,” he grips your wrists harder, gives you a little yank, and you arch into him involuntarily.

“Captain Howzer…” you say, trying to keep your tone even and clinical.

“Close,” he smiles but shakes his head. “But no. Just say my name, and I’ll behave.”

You take a deep breath, knowing he’s absolutely full of shit without running a single test to prove it.

“Howzer…” you say in a low voice, your temple pressed against his. He hums low in his throat, and the vibration of it in his chest seems to travel wherever your body is touching his.

You let your lips brush his ear: “Can you please allow me to finish my exam now?”

“Yes ma’am,” he rumbles, letting go of your wrists and planting his hands on the edge of the table again.

His eyes are closed and he keeps very still as you clean his head wound, patching it with bacta and exploring the rest of the lines in his face, running your fingers over the deep scar on his cheek.

“Field medic work,” he smiles, leaning into your touch. “Didn’t have your finesse.”

“Doesn’t change anything,” you blurt out quietly.

His eyes slide open and they are darker than a starless night. “Hm?”

“You know,” you frown, pushing his face to the side to check his neck and shoulders with careful hands.

“What do I know?” he asks, his cheek twitching with how badly he’s trying not to smirk. “What doesn’t the field medic’s work change?”

You sigh roughly in the back of your throat as you move around the table to check his back. “Your… face.”

“Oh, because every clone has the same one?” he asks, a defensive lilt to his teasing.

“No!” you poke him in the shoulder blade, hard.

“Then what?” he twists, to try to make you look at him again, but you push him forward.

“What did you promise me?” you frown. “Be still, Howzer.”

He inhales deeply and sits up with perfectly straight posture. You run your hands down his spine, then press your fingers where you know injured organs would reveal tender spots. He doesn’t flinch, but you don’t know if that’s his training or an actual lack of pain. Nothing seems out of place, but knowing him, he’s probably hiding something.

“Get up,” you pat his shoulder.

He obeys, standing perfectly at attention.

And as you help him remove his lower armor, it’s very apparent that he’s not the only one.

You instantly blush, despite having seen countless human bodies in all different contexts… your whole body flushes with warmth which travels between your legs. You’re removing his knee pads and the feelings you’re having are so improper you feel yourself blushing harder with shame…

“Sorry Doc,” he says quietly. “Natural reaction.”

“To what?” you blurt out, looking up from your kneeling position into his face.

He smirks. “I think we both know you know the answer to that… You’re a doctor. You know how the human body functions in these situations…”

You shake your head. “I’m making sure you’re not going to die of internal injuries, Howzer. I’m not doing anything to try and…cause this.”

“Don’t have to,” he says, low and rough. “You just are.”

Your fingers are still on his thigh, just about to get him to lift his foot to let you remove his boot, when you stop and feel your jaw go slack.

“Please stand up,” he asks. You oblige him, and he sits back up on the exam table, obediently removing his boots for you without breaking eye contact once. You swallow around your dry throat, taking in the sight of him there in nothing but the bottom half of his blacks, which he’s now standing again to remove.

Howzer sits back up on the exam table in just his dark briefs, which — despite their color — are not doing much to hide the topic of your discussion.

Why do I want it in my mouth?

Your eyes are wide when you meet his gaze again, thankful beyond belief that he can’t read your mind. But he smiles softly like he can.

Why is that a thought I’m having right now, when I should be making sure he isn’t in any more pain?

You try to snap out of it, distracting yourself by looking fo contusions or abrasions, any signs of internal injuries or dislocated bones… You put your gloved hand on his thigh to inspect a discoloration there and his body reacts visibly to your touch.

“Howzer…” you whisper, “Should I stop?”

“Please don’t,” he breathes, reaching out to grip the wrist closest to his bare skin.

“I… I need you to stand up and turn around,” you tell him quietly, and he does as he’s told, letting you peruse the backs of his legs and the bottoms of his feet.

When he turns around again, he’s mere inches from your body, his muscles taut and his face hyper-focused on yours.

“I don’t see any other… problems,” you swallow, your voice barely audible. “You’re free to dress and go now.”

“But I don’t want to,” he shrugs, lifting his hands to cradle your face.

He doesn’t kiss you.

He brushes his nose against yours, touches your foreheads together, rubs his cheekbone up and down your cheek.

You can feel the rough texture of the skin on his face and let a soft sound escape your careful throat.

Howzer locks onto that sound like a heat-seeking missile, pressing his hand gently to your throat and repeating the motion he thinks you liked — his cheek pressed to yours.

You whimper lightly, just barely audible, and he loses his careful control to what he wants most.

He kisses you so hard it snaps your head back; you gasp into his mouth and he takes that as an invitation, exploring inside with his tongue. He only breaks the seal your lips have made to let you breathe, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your jaw and down your neck, hungrily making his way down to taste as much of your skin as he can reach.

His hands move from your face and neck to unbutton your uniform coat, pushing it down off your shoulders onto the floor, sliding his long fingers under the shirt you wear beneath.

“I want this off,” he tells you, and you nod your permission, lifting your arms to let him strip you from the waist up.

He removes your bra so quickly and easily it gives you the slightest moment of hesitation and doubt, wondering how many women he’s collected inside the warmth of his body just like this. But his hands are holding your breasts and his tongue is in your mouth again, and you quickly forget your fears. His fingers travel down to the waistband of your pants, and you don’t think you’ve ever taken them off so quickly in your entire lifetime.

“Fuck,” he whispers, looking at you in nothing but your underwear. “You’re perfect.”

“Prove it,” you tease him. “You get naked first.”

He smiles at you with bright eyes, yanking his underwear down and hopping up to lie back on the exam table with his arms behind his head, all too comfortable.

“What’s the verdict, Doc?” he asks, eyes closed, body stretched out for your (scientific) inspection.

You remove your gloves and run your fingertips from his broad shoulders to his hip bones, watching his dick twitch at the attention of your hands.

“I think you’re perfectly…healthy, Captain,” you tell him, your eyes landing on the glorious thickness he’s been hiding in those briefs.

Howzer props himself up on one elbow, turning just enough to ripple more muscles like a statue carved of some ancient god from another galaxy.

“Your turn,” he drawls, gesturing with his finger toward your underwear, and you shake your head.

“Oh now that’s just not fair,” he crows, climbing back down off the exam table and putting his hands on your hips, changing tactics.

“Do you want me to take them off for you?” he gives you a half-smile, his eyes blazing a path from your bare breasts to the fabric between him and his goal.

You nod slowly, pushing your hips just slightly forward as he dips his thumbs in the band around your waist.

“I need to hear you say it,” he says quietly.

“Please take them off,” you try to whisper, but it comes out like a whine. He looks into your eyes expectantly, wiggling his thumbs but not moving his hands any more than that.

“Howzer…” you groan. “Please.”

“That’s better,” he pushes your underwear to the floor and runs his hands back up your legs as you step out. “Isn’t it?”

He kisses you again, softer this time but no less hungry, pulling you back with him onto the exam table. He wraps his arms around you until you’re flush on top of him, nipping at your lips and running his hands all over your body, seeking friction by pressing his hips up into yours…

“Would you like to ride me, sweetheart?” he rasps, his erection pressed against your hip, his heart pounding in his chest against yours. “Because I’d like nothing more than to see you get on top and use me however you want.”

You know your face must look like you’re in pain, the need for him so strong it feels like your heart could stop. You move your knees apart and brace yourself, letting him help you to a more upright position, crawling back until you’re hovering right above him.

You look into his eyes as you guide him to your entrance, inhaling shakily as you feel the tip slide past your resistance, shoving your knees farther apart and dropping slowly to take him deeper. His eyes practically roll back in his head the farther down you go, groaning low in his throat when he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

The two of you stay very still for a long moment, just breathing while you both adjust. When you start to move on him, he looks up at you heavy-lidded and reaches up to grope your breasts, moaning a bit as you sink your fingernails into his shoulders trying to find a rhythm you both like. You roll your hips and grip him good as you do, filthy curses escaping his swollen lips with every thrust.

Howzer lifts his knees slightly to support you, gripping your hips tight as you ride him hard, forgetting every reason you shouldn’t be doing this as you lose yourself to the feeling of him inside of you as his hands explore your ass.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to fuck you like this?” he asks roughly, one hand gripping your ass, the other running up your back to grab a fistful of your hair. You shake your head, unable to form cohesive thoughts as you move on him faster, your need for him only increasing the harder you fuck him.

He sits up suddenly, spreading his legs and bending his knees, wrapping his arms around your lower back and staring right in your eyes as he fucks you right back.

You run your hands through his hair, rubbing the fuzz where his head is shaved and crying out as he hits the perfect spot while holding you this close.

“Since day one,” he rasps. “I’ve wanted you like this since I first met you. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about taking you right here, just like this…”

He grunts as you clench around him, wetter than ever and panting his name, blissfully close to him making you cum in his lap right on your fucking exam table.

“Fuck me, Howzer,” you beg him, all sense of propriety lost in the lustful haze clouding your brain and flooding your body with heat. “Please just fuck me.”

“No, baby,” he denies you. “I want this to last.”

“But I’m so close,” you whine, pushing him down on his back and riding him harder.

He moves his hand from your hip to press his fingertips to your clit, not bothering to move them with how quickly your hips are rocking, and your head rolls loosely on your neck as your back arches. You bite your lip to keep from screaming as he drags the orgasm right out of you with his lazy fingers and his ridiculously perfect cock.

“Howzer, I can’t, I’m gonna…” you whine, and he pulls himself up again, locking eyes with you as he feels you hit your threshold, a strangled moan slipping out of you as he keeps you close while you cum.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes as you start to slow your movements to a near-stop, “Are we done already?”

“Sit up,” you tell him, climbing off of him and the table, kneeling and watching him swing his legs over the side.

“Am I already due for another exam—” he chokes on his teasing remark as you take his leaking dick into the tight wetness of your mouth, rolling your tongue underneath him and hollowing your cheeks.

“Fucking Maker,” Howzer groans, his hands instantly tangling in your hair, hips bucking toward your face. “You keep that up and I’m not going to last much longer either.”

Your only reply is to bob your head, taking him deeper toward your throat with each motion, using your hands to grip what can’t fit inside your mouth.

“Oh sweet fuck,” he growls, turning into an absolute mess as you stare up into his eyes while you suck him off. He doesn’t know where to put his hands and he’s trying so hard to let you do what you want, but you can feel him throbbing and you know he’s ready to lose it.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know where you want me to cum, but you’d better decide fast,” he rasps, his eyes squeezing shut.

You keep him in your mouth, but pull back just enough to swirl your tongue around his already-sensitive tip. He groans and shoves his dick deeper in your mouth, yanking your head back by the hair as he loses control. He cums down your throat with a series of grunts and moans your name when he’s finally finished. You swallow every drop, content to lick him lazily until he groans and tugs on your hair to make you stop, guiding your face back up to his.

“You’re mine now, I hope you know,” he growls in your ear, his scarred cheek pressed to yours as he does.

You nod in agreement, feeling his fingers slip between your legs again as he kisses you gently at first…

But you make sure to call him “Captain” when he makes you cum the second time, with nothing but his tongue.