#the it crowd x reader

[lilacgaby]

prohero!katsuki, who on his day off just wants to run some errands with his wife and daughter.

the only problem? your daughter hates the hoodie he has to wear to cover his hair and keep the paparazzi off of you three.

she'll always get upset in his arms, pouty and whiny as she tries to pull off the hood and expose his glorious hair to the world.

he'll do everything he can to soothe her in other ways, boop her nose the way he does before she goes to bed, bounce her around in his arms, give her a kiss on the cheek. it was really funny for you to watch your buff, tall husband panic more over making your daughter happy than beat literal villains.

but none of it works. you've just grabbed the orange juice when you notice katsuki scouting the area for others, when he pulls off his hood, immediately making your daughter giggle with glee.

he plays peek-a-boo with his hair, it keeps her entertained as you finally finish up the shopping, grabbing katsuki's protein powder and the baby treats that he'd snack on with her.

you pay, with katsuki's black card of course, and walk out the store, him holding her in one arm as he holds your hand, caressing it with his thumb.

mission success, until his daughter is finally within reach to pull off his hoodie, almost summoning the media as you're suddenly swarmed with journalists and cameras in your faces.

baby- 1 katsuki- 0

similar read!

[tojisun]

ex-husband price fingers you in front of the mirror because you said your cunt does not miss him and he’s here to prove to you otherwise.

he has you on his lap, your legs thrown over his thighs, exposing your pussy to yourself. all the lights are turned on, of course they are, because how else will you see how wet you are for him?

he starts with one finger—a pretence of your virgin days, back when he had to break you in for his thick fucking cock—and is pleasantly surprised when you can barely fit in three.

john muffles his snort on the crook of your neck.

“new boyfriend’s too small, he can’t even stretch out y’r cunny, huh, sweet thing?”

“sh-ut up,” you mewl, toes curling in pleasure with his thumb circling your clit. “s’none of your—ah!—businesssss—fuck john! john like tha-! like tha-!”

he laughs again as he strokes deep in you, and croons, “y’sure do know how to inflate a man’s ego, huh love?”

you can’t even snipe back, your mind buzzed with nothing but the intense euphoria burning in you, your eyes still trained onto your wet and dripping cunt, and your mouth open for a soundless scream as your pleasure builds, ready to break, so close to tipping—

but john stops.

he stops.

“no-!” you sob, thrashing, squirming on his lap, breaking eye contact from the mirror to try and see him from behind you. but john just squeezes your jaw, making you turn to the mirror again where your eyes meet his through the reflection.

he’s flushed, his eyes narrowed in his own twisted enjoyment.

“not yet,” he says, commanding. unyielding.

you hiccup, feeling so caught in his dangerous games again.

it’s like you never left.

[vampiefemme]

smut! 18+ below, minors dni.

thinking about ellie accidentally sending you a video of her fingering herself.

the video preview is completely dark, so you have no clue what to expect when you click the play button. you assume it’s another one of her rants - lately she’s taken to sending you clips of herself complaining about her family, work, politics. she’s sent a few videos of her trying new foods while completely obliterated on an edible, too, which you’re kind of hoping for. her eyes look so pretty all droopy and red, and she has the cutest laugh when she’s high.

but oh, no. this is… nothing like that.

you’re lounging in bed, head propped up against a pillow, when you get the notification from ellie and click to your text thread. you hit play on the video, watching with a furrowed brow as the camera moves from darkness - the forest green fabric of ellie’s duvet, you realize - to reveal her room. and it’s a familiar sight; you’ve been there a hundred times. but that’s where the familiarity ends.

because this new camera angle shows ellie naked from the waist down.

she’s flushed, her cheeks tinged the faintest shade of pink. her chest rises and falls in a quick rhythm; the light catches on a smear of wetness on her inner thigh, and you realize with a flutter in your belly that she’d been going at it for a while before she’d pulled out the camera.

“okay, fuck,” ellie pants, her voice a bit tinny through the speakers of your cell phone. she lifts one muscled thigh to her bed, which she’s standing before - right in front of the camera. your mouth goes dry as your eyes flicker over her body: heather grey tank riding up her toned hips, the faintest sheen of sweat on her chest, her thigh flexing as she spreads herself in front of the camera.

“i got close beforehand so i wouldn’t… didn’t wanna be nervous,” she says, avoiding eye contact with her phone. “but i’m - wait. why the fuck am i talking? you’re not supposed to talk in these, are you?”

blood rushes into your cheeks, warming your face until you feel like your skin is about to burn off. you should probably stop watching, shouldn’t you? you should click out of the video, pretend you never opened it in the first place. this is clearly not for you to see.

but you can’t look away.

ellie reaches her hand between her legs, and your stomach warms with arousal. there’s a flutter between your legs that leaves you squeezing your thighs together, seeking pressure.

“oh god,” ellie mutters as her fingers play in her own pussy, the lewd, wet sounds echoing. she slips a finger inside of herself, then two, her eyes fluttering shut as a string of curses leaves her lips.

she starts to pump her fingers, the heel of her hand pressed to her clit, and your breath catches in your throat when she looks up at the camera. you know she’s not really looking at you this way, but you tense up regardless. the look in her eyes is sultry, lustful, hungry.

there’s a growing damp spot on your underwear.

ellie’s getting close; her brows are pinched together in concentration, and each of her moans is more ragged and high-pitched than the last. beneath the thin fabric of her tank, you see her abs tense with her impending orgasm. you bite your lip until you’re sure you taste blood.

she comes with a shuddering cry, bicep flexing as her hand stalls between her legs. strands of auburn hair, darkened with sweat, cling to her freckled forehead. she lowers her leg from the bed and stands upright again, still panting. she reaches for the camera and the video ends.

you’re still staring wide-eyed at your phone when a series of texts come through from ellie.

oh my god

please tell me you didn’t see that

holy fuck i’m an idiot

i’m so sorry

i did not mean to send that to you. holy shit i’m sorry

your chest tightens with sympathy - you can imagine how panicked ellie is on the other line, how utterly ruined her post-orgasm bliss must be.

you type out a quick response: it’s okay. give me a second to reply, alright?

finding a convenient place to prop up your phone, you hook your thumbs over your underwear and tug them off, leaning forward to press record on your phone.

read part two here!

[snail-noodle]

Lovestruck shadow milk cookie, my beloved 🥰💌

[pearlessance]

Three's A Crowd

Tommy Miller x f!reader x Joel Miller

Summary: Tommy's new girlfriend is awfully sweet. When Joel finds out she's got a big appetite that only he can fill, he decides to satisfy the craving. Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, threesome, praise, seduction, age gap(20yrs), size difference, oral sex galore, unprotected sex, photos taken during intercourse, mention of sending nudes, throat bulge, usual smut antics NOTE: i'm not sure if this is actually any good considering it was writen in just a matter of days because i was inspired by the new promo, gabriel luna the man that you are 😵‍💫😵‍💫 !! MASTERLIST [crossposted to AO3]

 Joel Miller knows his brother like the back of his hand. 

Which is why it’s not surprising when Tommy lets him in on the details about his secret new girlfriend. Secret—because you’re the daughter of their most consistent client. 

At first, Joel tells him how stupid it is to risk the company like that. It’s irresponsible to put on the line their biggest cash cow just to fuck around with the only daughter of the man that funds Miller Contracting through the winter. And then there’s the fact that you don't exactly fit Tommy’s type.

A rich girl with an even richer daddy compared to all those wild girls from Tommy’s previous female fixations? It doesn’t line up. It makes no sense in Joel’s head. 

Even as his brother tries to explain, “I didn’t go after her. Not at first. She came onto me.”

Joel’s got one hand on the steering wheel and the other propped on the open window of his truck as they drive home from a particularly exhausting day. He furrows his brows and asks, “Don’t you think that’s a little suspicious? You sure she actually likes you and isn’t just tryin’ to get her daddy’s attention?”

Tommy snorts. “Even if she was, I wouldn't care. You ever met a girl that loves to suck cock before?”

“Jesus Christ—”

“An’ I mean love, Joel. Not like. Love.” There are stars in his eyes and he knows it’s a serious matter but Joel can’t help the laugh that escapes him.

He thinks it must be high praise coming from his brother who goes home with a different girl every other weekend. “That good, huh?”

“Better than good.” 

And he knows Tommy’s got a one-track mind, so there’s really no use fighting it. So he just says, “Be careful. Don’t go gettin’ caught 'cause the business will pay the price.”

Tommy agrees and Joel lets it go. Doesn’t think about it again, even when Tommy cancels their plans to go out that weekend in favor of your company.

Well, not until he’s standing in your kitchen going over blueprints with your father, that is. 

Joel tries not to glance out of the floor-length windows in the kitchen to the backyard. He tries not to look at the movement in the pool that repeatedly catches his eye. And he tries, really fucking hard, not to allow his attention to linger on the way that white bikini rests so snugly against your chest, or the way your wet hair cascades down your back and sticks to your smooth skin, or the way his cock twitches in his jeans when the impressive swell your ass shakes as you pull yourself up and out of the pool.

He understands his brother a little better when he sees you, Joel thinks. Understands why he’s willing to risk such a high-profit opportunity for the chance to see you underneath him. 

Your father leaves the kitchen to find an old set of blueprints to compare to the new ones, and Joel begins to panic as he realizes this is the moment you decide you’re done swimming. 

When you open the door to the kitchen the hinges creak. Joel takes note of it. 

Water drips onto the white tile floor, the same quick rhythm as the thumping of his heart against his sternum. You cross the kitchen and open the fridge door without even looking at him. 

But Joel certainly looks at you. Can’t help but to, really. You’re like some decadent display as you break the seal of an icy bottle of water and begin to take long, slow drinks from it. Your lips are plush and swollen and Tommy’s words reverberate in the back of Joel’s head. 

You ever met a girl that loves to suck cock before?

“Thirsty?”

He nearly chokes. Joel knows you’re likely just being hospitable. Kind, even. But he feels like he shouldn’t be speaking to you, not when you’re close to naked and dripping wet. And if not because of your father upstairs, then certainly because of his brother’s affinity for you. So, despite the way his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth, he says, “No, thanks.”

Joel turns his eyes back to his blueprints, folding the corner once, twice, trying to focus on anything but the weight of your stare.

If you notice his unease you ignore it as you slide up to the counter beside him and peer down at the layout of your father’s newest home renovation. You’re so close he can feel the heat of your skin, can smell the chlorine in your hair. “Hm,” you say. “This is for the guest room?”

“Bedroom D,” he corrects.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You turn away from the blueprints, spine resting against the marble countertop in favor of studying him instead. “You’re Joel, right? Tommy’s older brother?”

There’s no sense in lying, Joel thinks. Though he does consider it for a moment. “Uh…yeah,” he says. And then he clears his throat and nods, repeating a little more firmly, “Yeah.”

Your stare is so hot against his skin, eyes unabashedly roaming down the column of his neck. He shivers as your attention lingers on the small sliver of his chest that’s revealed thanks to his decision this morning to leave one of the buttons on his flannel unsecured. You’re standing so close to him now that a drop of chlorinated water falls from the ends of your hair and onto his arm.

Joel feels the cool liquid slide down his too warm-skin, melting as if it were ice, heating to the temperature of his blood that sings in his veins beneath your scrutinization.

He watches your tongue slide over your pretty bottom lip and his breath catches in his lungs. “Hm,” you say again, the sound a little fonder this time. “I see where he gets his good looks from.”

It’s been a long time since someone flirted with him so openly. Even longer since someone your age even took a second glance at him. And even though he knows, by the rule of his own morality, that you belong to his little brother…Joel can’t deny the giddy feeling it elicits in his chest. Can’t deny that he likes your attention, either.

“Found them,” your father suddenly says, bounding down the stairs with folded blueprints in his hand. 

Joel clears his throat and you take a small step away from him, but otherwise seem unphased by the intrusion. He tries to ignore the lingering buzzing beneath his skin, tries to shake off what remains of the electrified energy you’d created.

You greet your dad with a kiss on the cheek and tell him you’re going out tonight. Your father asks with who, and you glance past him, staring only at Joel as you say simply, “Just a friend.”

And he knows you’ll likely be at his little brother’s apartment within the hour. Thinks about preparing himself for yet another of Tommy’s cancellations of guy’s night but this time there’s no frustration on Joel’s part. 

Because he doesn’t blame his brother at all. If anything, he understands a little better now. Understands why getting drunk with Joel at a bar is a far less tempting activity than spreading those pretty thighs of yours. Understands why he’d rather stay home than go out, especially if you’re there in his bedroom on your knees for him. 

His assumption is confirmed later that night when he gets a text message.

Tommy: Have to cancel again. Sorry, something came up.

Joel knows exactly what ‘came up’ and decides to put on an old western movie to distract himself instead.

But when he lays in bed that night, the image of you in your bikini surfaces in his brain and makes a home there. He tries for an hour to get himself to relax enough to shut it out, to just go to sleep.

Eventually, though, he realizes there’s no fucking point in trying. And even though you’re in his brother’s bed and your father’s blueprints are sitting on the kitchen table downstairs, Joel Miller takes his cock in his hand and has the best orgasm of his life. He thinks about your smooth skin and supple curves, thinks about the way that single droplet of water felt against his skin, thinks about your pink tongue and the way you looked at him with such insatiable hunger.

It’s a secret Joel decides he’ll take to his grave.

He tries not to think of you after that. Tries to keep his distance from you, from your house in general. Joel’s not a man who enjoys technology but opts for emailing your father instead of meeting with him to avoid another post-pool incident.

Tommy finally makes it to guy’s night two weeks later but he’s glued to his fucking cell phone. Joel tries to make conversation, tells him about upcoming projects and opportunities for contracts, and mentions that this summer has been their most profitable yet. But Tommy only nods every so often. Giving Joel a stupid, uninterested, “Yeah, for sure,” or “That’s great, Joel,” or “I don’t know, maybe.”

There’s no salt to his words, no meaning other than oblivious agreement. And it starts to anger Joel because Tommy’s been distracted by girls before but never like this. Never so much so that he can’t sit and have half a conversation with his brother. Eventually, he lets out an annoyed sigh and says, “If you’ve got somewhere better to be you can just fuckin’ go, Tommy. Jesus Christ.”

The irritation seems to finally get his attention. Tommy locks his cell phone and says, “She’s sending me pictures, distractin’ me, I’m sorry,” but there’s a stupid ass grin on his face and Joel can feel the insincerity radiating off his brother.

Joel rolls his eyes and waves down the bartender for the check. 

“No, no, okay,” Tommy insists, setting his phone face down on the bar top. He shoos the bartender away and says, “Okay, seriously, you’re right. I’m sorry.” It’s a little more genuine this time, and so Joel decides to meet his brother halfway.

“You really like her? S’that what this is?”

That smile returns to Tommy’s face, eyes glossing over in a mystifying way. He must, because Joel’s never seen him like this before. “We’re not even together,” he says.

Joel’s brows furrow. “What are you talking about? You spend every weekend with her, you might as well be.”

“Believe me, Joel, I’ve tried, man. She’s…I don’t know how to explain it. She doesn’t want anything serious. Doesn’t wanna be exclusive or nothin’ but isn’t fuckin’ around with anyone but me. I just…” he shakes his head and his eyes widen and Joel can see the awe in them. 

“So she’s acting like you,” Joel supplies.

It makes Tommy laugh. But the more he explains, the more Joel starts to believe it. “She’s so sweet but that girl is insatiable. Just wants to fuck and have a good time and that’s it. Doesn’t care about much else.”

“I’m not sayin’ you shouldn’t have fun, Tommy, but don’t let her consume your whole life. Get some space every once in a while,” Joel says. But he understands the infatuation, understands exactly how enticing your company would be. 

He leans in close, one hand wrapped around his whiskey glass and the other tapping the back of his phone. “Those pictures…she’s taking pictures in the shower, Joel. For me. An’ you wanna know what she just told me the other day?”

Joel knows what’s coming next. Knows Tommy’s about to clue him in on something Joel has no business knowing, but he can’t fight off his curiosity. “What?”

“Said her biggest fantasy is a threesome with two guys. Told me, and I quote, that she wants to get fucked while she’s got my dick in her mouth.” He makes a sound of disbelief but there’s this grin on his face that lets Joel know Tommy’s biggest fantasy is to be with a filthy girl like you.

Joel just shakes his head.

But the image his brother paints lingers in his brain for days.

In fact, he’s still thinking about it during his next meeting with your father. Thinking about the fact that you’re up in your room, fantasizing about getting fucked by two guys at once when your dad suddenly says, “I’ll be out of town for a couple of weeks, I hope you don’t mind I gave my little girl your phone number. Just in case anything goes wrong. It won’t, but I hate being so far away while she’s here alone. I’m sure you understand, being a father and all.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to respond, unsure how to explain how terrible an idea that is, so he says nothing. Just nods stiffly and begins discussing the renovations for the ensuite of bedroom C. 

Less than a week later, Joel gets a phone call from an unknown number, and his gut sinks because he knows it’s you. He debates on ignoring the call but then begins to worry that something’s actually wrong and puts himself in your father’s position. Thinks he’d be furious, had it been Sarah, if she’d called someone for help and they’d ignored her. 

So, he presses his cell phone to his ear and says, “Hello?”

“Joel? Hi, sorry, I know it’s kinda late. Do you think you could come over really quick? I need your help.”

“Help? With what?” It doesn’t really matter, he thinks. Because he’s already lacing up his boots, phone held to his ear with his shoulder.

“I locked myself out,” you explain. “My dad’s out of town for work and I didn’t grab my key before he left. You have a spare, don’t you? For the renovations and stuff?”

Joel can’t help but wonder where you’ve been for the last few days. Someplace you wouldn’t have needed to come home, it seems. “Uh, yeah, I do,” he says. “I’ll be there in a minute. Hang tight.”

He finds you standing on your front porch with a backpack slung over your shoulder, your phone charger in your hand, and a look of relief on your face. “Thank you so much,” you immediately say. “I swear I never forget my key but I was distracted this time.”

Joel unlocks the front door for you and lets you inside. He lingers on the threshold, saying, “No, it’s fine. No worries at all.”

“Come inside,” you insist, and he can feel the bad decision from a fucking mile away.

“Really, it’s fine. I’ll just—”

“Please,” you interrupt. “Are you thirsty? Hungry? Let me make you something to eat before you go. It’s the least I could do.”

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. But he does.

Joel nods, unable to resist you and how pretty the word please sounds in your mouth. He follows you into the kitchen, lingering at the island counter as you drop your bag onto the floor next to the stairs and immediately plug your cell phone into the extra outlet he’d placed into the backsplash per your father’s request during last winter’s renovation. You look over your shoulder at him as you open the refrigerator and ask, “You like grilled cheese?”

“Uh, yeah. I do.” He sits in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the way you move as you prepare the bread and heat up a cast iron pan. Eventually, he finds the courage to ask, “You…uh…were you at Tommy’s?”

He watches as your cheeks redden the smallest bit. But there’s no shame in your voice as you answer simply, “Yes, I was.”

“Figured you’d tire each other out eventually,” he teases.

You laugh softly, and the buttered bread sizzles as you place it into the pan. As you lay the slices of cheese on top of it you explain, “Wasn’t like that. I’m home for the weekend so Tommy can talk to you, actually.”

It surprises him to hear it, in truth. “Me? What for?”

You flush an even deeper crimson. “Uhm…I think it’s better that you hear it from him,” you say.

Joel’s mind wanders to a million places as you dig out a spatula and flip the grilled cheese. But then a terrifying thought strikes him and Joel suddenly asks, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Ew, no,” you say with a laugh. “Believe me, Joel, I like creampies just as much as the next girl but I’m not irresponsible about it.”

This time, it’s his face that warms. Joel swallows hard and sits on the barstool at the island, trying not to think about your inadvertent admission, trying not to imagine it, to imagine how fucking good it would feel to—

“Here,” you say, placing a glass plate in front of him with a perfectly crispy grilled cheese cut diagonally. He’s thankful for the distraction, thankful to convince himself the watering of his mouth is from the food in front of him and not the thought of how you would taste on his tongue.

“Thanks,” he says simply, trying to massage some of the tension from his shoulders. It had been a long day on the job site and he’ll admit to himself only that a grilled cheese and the sight of a pretty girl certainly feels like a treat.

You seem to notice his discomfort and ask, “You okay?”

He nods and takes a bite of his sandwich. It’s the most delicious thing he’s ever had and he tries to hold back his moan to no avail. When he looks over at you, you’re wearing a satisfied grin that only widens when he says around another mouthful, “This is incredible.”

As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, you step up behind him and place your hands on his shoulders. Joel opens his mouth to stop you, to tell you this is wrong, inappropriate—but then you kneed your fingers into the tender muscle, and his eyes flutter closed. 

All argument leaves him as quickly as it appeared, and all he can manage to say is, “Jesus Christ.”

Your quiet giggle is the cutest thing he’s ever heard. And Joel knows he should be thinking of his brother right now, knows he should be thinking of your father, thinking about the fact that you’re just a young woman, twenty years separating the two of you…but all he can focus on is the way your hands feel on him.

They’re warm and soft but clinical in their pursuit, thumbs pressing hard into the muscle that brackets his spine. Your delicate fingers feel like heaven, bringing relief he never realized just how badly he needed.

You slowly massage down his back, pushing against the knots, working them free. When you get to his lower back, he groans when you slip your hands beneath his navy t-shirt. You’re touching him with no barrier and it steals the breath from his lungs.

Never in his life has he wanted to be touched by someone so badly. Never in his life has he enjoyed the feel of another person’s skin against his so much. Your thumbs dig into the sore muscles, working the tension out.

You lean in so close that he can feel the heat of your breath against the shell of his ear as you say, “Will you take your shirt off?”

He’s thankful you’re standing behind him, however. Because it means you can’t see the way his cock stiffens in his jeans.

The words are tempting and seductive and wrong, he knows. He looks back at you and the heat in your eyes takes him off guard. The angle has his mouth so close to yours you’re sharing the same breath.

It’s then he knows just how badly you want him. As much as he wants you.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you say. While you speak, your fingertips trace soft patterns into the skin of his lower back.

Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he does it anyway.

You step away from him only long enough for Joel to grip his t-shirt at the back of his collar and pull it over his head, laying it on the marble countertop.

And then you go back to your ministrations as if nothing changed; massaging the tension from his muscles, starting low and working your way back up to his shoulders this time. But it is different, Joel knows. Because he can feel the heat of your skin against his and his heart rate picks up, a different kind of tension filling him instead.

But it feels so fucking good that he doesn’t ever want you to stop.

So, he eats what remains of his grilled cheese. Lets you work the tightness from his bones, trying not to hiss in pain when you touch a particularly tender spot in the center of his back. You lighten the pressure there and begin building back up to it slowly, bringing him to heights of euphoria he’d never known existed.

When he wipes the crumbs from his hands and pushes his now empty plate away, Joel knows he should stop you. But he doesn’t, because he can no longer find a reason good enough to say the words. He lets you dote on him in a way he doesn’t deserve and soaks it up while it lasts.

And when you press a sweet, chaste kiss to the top of his spine, Joel feels the energy shift but doesn’t say anything then, either.

Because he likes the way your lips feel against his skin. Even more so than your soft hands.

You do it again, a little higher this time. You kiss the back of his neck and he shivers. He realizes you can see the goosebumps that break out across his skin, because he can feel the smile on your lips as you press another wet, open-mouthed kiss to the junction of his shoulder.

Joel’s cock has never been this hard, he thinks. He’s never wanted someone so badly, has never been so incapable of making the right decision as he is at this very moment.

His breath comes fast and labored as you press yourself to him. You’re not wearing a bra beneath your oversized t-shirt, and he can feel your pebbled nipples against his back. Your hands move forward, circling his abdomen, sliding up and over his chest. He knows he should stop you now, knows this is the beginning of something he can never come back from.

But the two of you are all alone in this big empty house, and how can he deny you? He doesn’t have the strength. Not then you slide pretty, delicate fingers over his soft stomach, through the dark curls that disappear into his jeans.

Your hand is slow in its pursuit but still adamant as you palm the bulge in his jeans. Even through the thick denim, the feel of your hands on him makes him shake. He cock throbs with each gentle stroke, each small movement. “You can tell me to stop,” you tell him. “Is this okay?”

He can’t bring himself to say anything, but the moan that escapes him is answer enough. He places his hands on the edge of the counter and straightens his spine, getting a full view as you undo the button of his jeans and lower the metal zipper at an agonizingly slow pace.

And then you’re slipping a hand inside his jeans, below the elastic band of his boxers, and all thoughts eddy out of his head. He can think of nothing, nothing as you begin to stroke him. Your hands are small, barely fitting around his cock, but you make do with what you have and it’s more than enough.

You pull him out of his jeans completely, and it’s a sight to behold, seeing his cock in your pretty hands. He tries to catch his breath as you pull one of your hands away for a single moment. And when it returns, your fingers are sticky with webs of spit.

This time, when you wrap your hand around his cock, you’re able to stoke him a little easier, the added lubrication allowing for freer movement. You move slowly at first, hands grazing from base to tip.

He watches with reverence as you familiarize yourself with him. When a bead of precum forms at the tip of his cock, you use your thumb to add it to the sticky wetness already in your hands. Joel can feel the smile on your face as you continue to press desperate kisses to his spine, and he knows he won’t last long like this.

Watching you stroke him with both of your small hands, watching you take care of him like this…it’s too much. It’s too fucking much.

So he closes his eyes. Lets himself sink into the moment with you instead, listens to your pretty whimpers as you press your tits against him. He wants to reach around and slide his hand between your thighs but knows better, knows that this is already bad enough.

You tighten your hands around his cock, squeezing a little harder, and he feels his end begin to build at the base of his spine. “Fuck.”

“Does it feel good?”

He tries to breathe slowly, tries to draw it out. But you pick up your pace, stroking him a little faster, and Joel can’t stop the groan that escapes him.

“You make me so wet, Joel,” you whisper against his skin. “I think about you and touch myself sometimes, thinking about how fucking big you are, how good it would feel to have you touch me…how good you’d feel inside of me.”

Your filthy words bring him to the brink. Joel fights it, doesn’t want to finish so fast he embarrasses himself. He wants to see the look on your face, wants to fuck you right here on this kitchen counter that he built.

Joel clenches his fists instead. Stays stone still because he knows if he moves an inch he’ll be giving into these desires. Knows a single shift in position would have him pulling your shorts down your thighs and licking your pussy until he makes you cry out for God. 

But it’s not his place.

It’s not his fucking place, and you’re not his fucking girl.

So he doesn’t move.

You do, though.

Joel tries to catch his breath as you pull away from him, the absence of your touch leaving him cold and wanting. But then you’re nudging your way in front of him, in the small space between his knees and the island, and then you’re lowering yourself to the marble floor.

You ever met a girl that loves to suck cock before?

Slowly, you run your hands over his jean-clad thighs. You look up at him through your lashes and he feels a little like he’s being worshipped.

And when you lean forward, pretty, soft tongue licking the underside of his cock, Joel can’t keep his hands to himself. His resolve withers, and he threads his fingers through your hair but is careful not to rush you.

He lets you take your time, lets you swirl your tongue over the head, lets you taste every inch of him to your heart’s content. And when you finally take him into your mouth, cheeks hallowed out, creating a tight seal around him, Joel’s head falls back in bliss.

You savor it, relish in it, swallowing him down inch by inch. He hits the back of your throat and still you keep going, choking on him, nose pressed against the hair below his navel. With each pass, you begin to bob your head, tongue smoothing over the sensitive tip. You set an insatiable rhythm, drool sliding down your chin.

It doesn’t take him long. His hands tighten in the hair at the nape of your neck and he breaths out, “Fuck, fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna-”

Your watery eyes meet his and the adoration in them sends him over the edge. Joel finishes at the back of your mouth, your fingernails digging into the meaty flesh of his thighs almost painfully, but you take everything he gives you and swallow it down.

It’s the sexiest thing he’s seen in all his life.

When he finishes, Joel strokes your hair affectionately and you smile up at him with his cock still in your mouth. It makes him laugh, and he realizes how soft and sweet this moment feels. How easy it is. How he never wants it to end.

Slowly, you sit back and begin to stand to your feet. Your lips are swollen and red and glossy, even when you wipe the spit off your chin with the back of your hand.

You cross the kitchen, grab your phone, and make your way to the staircase. “Thanks again, Joel. Can you lock up on your way out?”

He doesn’t understand how you can feel so casually about this. Doesn’t understand how you’re likely texting his brother as if Joel’s cock wasn’t just in your mouth, as if the taste of his release doesn’t linger on your tongue. 

The guilt doesn’t set in until he’s in bed that night. He can’t sleep, because he knows he has to say something to Tommy but knows, too, he’ll likely pay the price of a right hook in reparation. 

At three in the morning he sends a text to his brother; Come over in the morning. Need to talk. Important. 

Joel doesn’t sleep. He lays in bed and thinks of you, as he so often does these days. Thinks about how uncomfortable it’s going to be to tell his little brother that he indulged himself in the pretty little thing he’s been spending all of his time with. He decides he’s just going to say it outright, tell him the truth without beating around the bush, and immediately apologize for it afterward.

Because he is sorry, Joel thinks. Not sorry that he did it, but sorry that it’s hurt people in the process.

How can he come to regret the most gratifying sexual experience of his life? It’s a comfort, to hear some of Tommy’s words echo in his brain. 

We’re not even together.

She doesn’t want anything serious.

It’s like she just wants to fuck and have a good time and that’s it.

Joel hopes his brother feels a similar way. Tommy’s never once indicated he’s ever wanted to settle down with a woman, but…something sits in his gut and twists up his insides. Because as much as he wants to deny it, Joel knows this…knows you are different. What Tommy feels for you is different.

He’s drinking whiskey by ten in the morning for no reason other than to calm his nerves.

And Joel’s thankful for the liquid courage when Tommy finally pulls into the driveway at noon. He comes barrelling through Joel’s front door with a scowl on his face, and for a second Joel wonders if his brother already knows and is here thinking Joel had every intention of keeping this secret of yours.

But when he speaks, Tommy doesn’t seem angry. Just…concerned. “What’s up, man? Pretty ominous text to wake up to. Where’s Sarah? She alright?”

Joel shakes his head and raises a hand between them. “Sarah’s fine, she’s alright,” he says quickly. “Staying with a friend this weekend. Sorry, I guess I should have mentioned it wasn’t a life or death situation.” 

For Tommy, anyway.

With a slow nod, Tommy’s shoulders slump and he drops himself onto the couch. “Alright, then. That’s good. I was worried, came haulin’ ass over here.” It’s then he notices the tumbler in Joel’s hand, half filled with amber-colored liquid. “You good, Joel?”

He takes a seat next to his brother and tries to recite the speech in his head. But nothing comes out. Joel opens and closes his mouth once, twice, and then finishes off the whiskey in his glass.

Tommy’s patient, for what it’s worth. He lets Joel adjust in his seat three different times, saying nothing while he tries to find the courage he’s been building for the last twelve hours.

“I…I, uhm…I have to tell you something an’ I…” Joel shakes his head and squeezes his jaw. “Alright, look. I…did something.”

A quiet, curt sort of laugh leaves Tommy. “I know what happened last night, Joel. She already told me.”

It surprises him. Not that you told him, Joel can’t fault you for that considering he’s presently trying to do the same thing. What’s surprising is that Tommy seems relaxed about the whole situation. Relieved, even.

A million different questions surface on the tip of his tongue, but only one comes out. “What?”

“It’s alright, man,” Tommy says, laying a comforting hand on Joel’s shoulder.

“You’re not…mad? I don’t understand. I let her—”

Tommy’s mouth stretches into one of the widest smiles Joel’s ever seen on his brother’s face. “It was good, huh?”

Joel doesn’t know if saying yes is a good idea. Doesn’t know if a simple three-letter word is sufficient enough for the things you made him feel with that pretty, pink tongue of yours. 

But it seems his thoughts are written plainly on his face. “Fuck yeah, it was,” Tommy says with a laugh. “She called me right after you left her house last night. Told me everything. She makes a mean grilled cheese too, doesn’t she?”

Try as he might, Joel can’t seem to wrap his head around what’s happening. Can’t seem to process his brother’s ease, his indifference. He tries to put himself in Tommy’s place but knows that if it was his bed you slept in for the last week, Joel would be furious to learn you’d wound up on your knees for someone else.

But if that someone was Tommy? His own brother?

Maybe that’s why it’s different. Because Joel would never do something to hurt his brother intentionally. And he knows, too, that Tommy would never do it to him, either.

He trusts his brother with everything in him. There’s not another soul on the planet who knows him like Tommy does. So, surely, he knows that what you and Joel did wasn’t born of malicious intent, right?

“She’s a sweet little thing,” Tommy says quietly, as if they’re sharing a secret. “But that mouth on her is somethin’ else. She’s a talker, through and through.” There’s pride on his face as he speaks. “Said she felt real bad, runnin’ out on you like that, but she’d gotten so wet from just goin’ down on you that I could hear it through the fuckin’ phone, Joel.”

Though he tries not to, Joel begins to wonder what would have happened if you’d stayed, if you hadn’t disappeared so fast to take care of the ache that had settled between your thighs.

It would have been only fair, right? You helped him. He would have helped you.

“She wanted me to talk to you about something, anyway,” Tommy says.

He’d nearly forgotten that you’d mentioned the same thing last night in all the chaos. It piques his interest, because what on Earth could you need Tommy to ask him?

But his answer comes quickly when his brother says carefully, “You remember a couple of weeks ago when I told you what her biggest fantasy is?”

A threesome.

Joel’s standing from the couch and shaking his head before his brother gets another word out. “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind, Tommy?”

“Joel, just listen—”

“Listen to what, man? You got any idea what you’re askin’ me right now?”

There’s a smirk on his face as he stares at Joel from the couch, looking just as comfortable as if they were having a normal conversation about what they should eat for dinner. “I’m askin’ you to fuck my girlfriend,” he says.

Somehow, the word girlfriend surprises Joel more than the rest. It’s the very first time he’s ever called anyone his girlfriend. “I thought you weren’t together.”

Tommy shrugs. “Call it what you will. Does it really matter?”

“Yeah, Tommy, it does matter. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have feelings for this girl. Tell me this doesn’t mean anythin’ to you, that doing somethin’ like this wouldn’t fuck it all up in a minute.”

He shakes his head. “Can’t lie to you, brother. ‘Course she means somethin’ to me. That’s why I wanna give her everything she wants. And she wants you too, Joel. Is that so bad?”

Joel sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots.

For a second, a single second, he considers it. Thinks about how any price is worth it for a single night with you, to hear the sound of your moans, to feel your warm breath against his neck again. He’d bet you sound real pretty, all filled up with him.

“Don’t trust anyone else to take care of her the way I do,” Tommy says. “No one but you.”

It’s too much. It’s way too much to ask of him.

“You’re insane, Tommy,” he says, grabbing his whiskey glass from the coffee table and escaping to the kitchen to refill it. He wishes he had something a little stronger.

He’s not surprised when his brother follows him to the kitchen. Tommy leans against the archway and says, “You can say no.”

“Good, 'cause I’m sayin’ no.”

Tommy laughs, but Joel thinks there’s no joke to be found. “Just wanted you to know the offer’s there and she’d jump at the opportunity. Y’know, if you change your mind, that is. Ask her about it, if you wanna.”

“I won’t.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, not tryin’ to push it or anything. You know how to get ahold of me.”

And then his brother retreats, leaving Joel with nothing but his whiskey and his thoughts.

Thoughts that run rampant in his brain. Filthy images of you beneath him, back arched in pleasure, pretty mouth hung open just wide enough for Tommy to slip inside.

How terrible would it be, really? Tommy might have impulsive tendencies, but he seems so sure of this. And if there’s not an ounce of jealousy in his brother, so much so that he offers you to Joel like some sort of prize…maybe there won’t be the repercussions Joel’s afraid of.

Maybe it’ll be as Tommy says. Maybe it would just be a good, safe way to give you what you want, to indulge your wildest desires. 

And it would certainly be an indulgence for him. Just feeling your hands on him had brought Joel bliss like he’d never known. He can’t imagine how much higher he’d feel if he could taste you, if he could finish deep inside of you and not at the back of your throat.

It takes twenty minutes of pacing in his kitchen and another ten of shaking the nerves from his hands before he picks up the phone and calls you.

“Hey, Joel. I was just thinking about you.”

“S’that right?”

“Mmhm. Did…did Tommy talk to you yet? He told me he was going to this morning.” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. He did.”

A strange sort of silence stretches on. He can hear your hesitance and realizes you’re just as nervous as he is. “And? What did you…what did you say?”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell you he declined the offer. Not when it was a no mostly out of fear and unease. “You wanna tell me how this is gonna work?”

You snort and he can almost see the playful smirk on your face. “I think you know how it works, Joel.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, but can’t fight off the smile that climbs onto his face and makes a home there. “Brat.”

“Hm, I think I prefer the term princess.”

Joel laughs but thinks the name is real fitting. He can see why Tommy likes you so much—can understand why he wants to give you everything it is that you desire. Everything about you is so playful and carefree and innocent. You’re just so sweet. A tooth-rotting confectionary. 

“I don’t know how it’ll work,” you finally say. “I’ve never done something like this before, but I know it’s what I want.”

Your conviction is reassuring. Both you and Tommy seem certain that this is the path you want to take, no unease to be found within either of you. But it’s not the physical that worries him. It’s…everything else. “An’ what happens if it becomes something more? Sex is just sex until it isn’t.”

He can hear the smile in your words as you ask, “You worried about catching feelings for me, Joel Miller?”

“I’m bein’ serious,” he insists. “Tommy feels somethin’ for you. I know it and I think you probably do, too. I don’t want to do this and ruin what the two of you have been workin’ on.”

“You won’t ruin anything,” you insist. “And if…if things do get…complicated, then we’ll just take it day by day. No use in worrying about something that might not happen, right?”

It’s such a naive way of thinking. Joel wishes he wouldn’t have said no so quickly. Wishes, too, that you were a little different. Maybe if you weren’t so sweet, so tempting, he wouldn’t be so worried about ‘catching feelings,’ as you’d put it.

Your voice is quieter as you say, “For what it’s worth, Joel…I like you, too.”

By the end of the phone call, you manage to convince him to consider it. To genuinely give the idea a shot, to weigh all the pros and cons. You promise not to be disappointed with either decision and though he knows the whole thing has been your idea, Joel believes you.

Several days later, Joel stops by with the intent to fix the creaky hinges on the door to the pool. But the moment he steps into the kitchen, Joel forgets all about the task at hand because he can hear your moans echoing through the house.

He follows them like a moth to a flame.

The door to your father’s bedroom is wide open. And in the center of the king-sized bed, covered with gray satin sheets, is you and Tommy.

Tommy’s turned away from the door, but you’re looking right at it. Looking right at Joel, as you bounce in his brother’s lap. When your eyes connect with him, your pace only picks up, your moans only grow louder.

Joel watches, frozen in time, as you chase your release. Tommy swirls his tongue around your pebbled nipple, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake. You thread your fingers through his hair and moan his name but you stare right at Joel.

He can’t breathe. Has suddenly forgotten the process of inhalation. He’s seen you in your bikini but never like this, never completely bare. You’re beautiful, Joel thinks. Beautiful in a godly way; a woman the poets write for, a woman the sculptors display in cathedrals.

You reach a hand between your bodies, circling your clit and arching your back.

The thought doesn’t even cross Joel’s mind that he should leave, that he should give the two of you some privacy. It feels right that he’s here. 

You grind yourself on Tommy’s cock and give Joel the sweetest, most innocent smile as you say, “It’s so big, you’re so deep. God, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

Tommy grabs at the soft swell of your ass, lifting you just to slam you back down onto his lap. “Yeah? Gonna cum all over this dick, princess?”

I prefer the term princess.

No need to wonder why, Joel thinks.

“Mmhm, yes, yes, right there.”

“Can feel her gettin’ all messy,” Tommy says. “If I knew you’d get this wet ridin’ me in your daddy’s bed I would’ve said yes weeks ago, pretty girl.”

Joel knows the reason you’re all worked up has nothing to do with the location and everything to do with his eyes on you, but he stays silent. Stays still.

Even as he watches you fall apart on his brother's cock and soak the satin sheets beneath him. Even as Tommy does the thing that Joel’s been dreaming about every night for days, filling you up with his release. 

He doesn’t linger. He doesn’t fix the creaky hinges, either.

Joel barely makes it back to his truck before he’s reaching into his jeans to stroke his cock, right there in the driveway in broad fucking daylight.

It only takes a few quick tugs before he covers his hand in sticky ropes of cum. He tries to catch his breath, wiping the mess you’ve made of him onto his jeans and driving home ten over the limit. Before he makes it inside to shower and change, Joel sends a text message to both you and Tommy that reads; Okay. I’m in. My place. Friday night at ten.

He tries not to think about it too much. Tries to go on about his work week like normal, going through the motions of making dinner each night and taking Sarah to school every morning with Tommy in the passenger seat.

They don’t talk about it, though Joel can sometimes feel his brother staring at him a little too long as if there’s something he wants to say. But he doesn’t. They don’t bring it up until after Joel drops Sarah off at her friend’s house for another weekend-long slumber party. 

Tommy says, “I’m gonna take her out for dinner. Do you want to come with us? Could help break the ice a little. Loosen you up.”

He agrees, and instead of going home, they pick you up from your house. You’re wearing a pleated blue skirt that’s a little too short, but Joel thinks you look like something divine. Tommy helps you up into the truck, and everything starts to feel real the moment you’re sitting between them. Joel behind the wheel, Tommy on the passenger side.

You look so small in the center of the cab, surrounded by two brothers who possess nothing but longing for you. Like pretty prey caught in the clutches of two predators.

Joel has to readjust himself in his seat when you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. Sweet. “Missed you,” you say. “You look good. You both do.”

He doesn’t comment on the fact that they’re both still in their work attire; dirty blue jeans, sun-faded t-shirts, and muddy boots. He’s surprised to hear your appreciation, considering how put together you always seem to be.

But maybe that’s the appeal for you. The blue-collar archetype. Your daddy probably expects you to marry the son of one of his friends, just another rich boy.

If he could see you now…

Tommy slides his hand to the inside of your thigh and squeezes. “You hungry, princess? Let’s get you somethin’ to eat.”

As much as he hates to admit when his brother’s right, dinner works wonders for Joel’s nerves. The three of you talk the entire time; you tell Joel about your friends and the subjects you’re studying in that fancy college you got into on a full ride. It’s not the one your father wanted you to attend, but it’s the one you wanted.

Even though he knows Tommy has heard it all before, he lets you and Joel have this moment. He sits beside you and smiles at you as you speak, eyes glued to the side of your face and full of adoration. Joel realizes then that he thinks his brother might be in love with you.

He gets it. Thinks it must have been a real easy fall.

Tommy slots himself in the conversation naturally. The two of you clue Joel in on some of your inside jokes and it doesn’t feel weird at all. He doesn’t feel left out like he’d worried he might be, and he doesn’t feel jealous when you steal bites from Tommy’s plate because you steal things from Joel’s, too.

It’s easy. Nothing feels forced, no conversation out of place.

Halfway through the meal, you switch sides of the booth and sit next to Joel instead. You lay your head on his shoulder and he holds your hand beneath the table and it feels right. Tommy smiles at the two of you and carries on with his story as if the dynamic you’ve created has existed for years and not just hours.

When it’s time to go home, Joel finds that his nerves have completely vanished.

Tommy offers to drive. And he’s thankful for it because it allows him to focus on just you.

You take Joel’s hand and lay it in your lap, palm open. He shivers as you trace the lines in his hand. You ask him, “How are you feeling?”

And the answer comes to him easily. “Good,” he says. “Better.”

“Told you,” Tommy says, one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh. “She’s a real good girl, Joel. Always does as she’s told.”

Even though the sun is setting below the horizon, he can see the crimson that stains your cheeks and it brings a smile to his face. “S’that right?” He takes your chin gently in his hand and forces you to look up at him. “You a real good listener, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, she is,” Tommy answers wistfully. “Why don’t you g’’head and give Joel some sugar, princess.”

You lean into Joel’s side, pressing a kiss to his jaw. It feels good just being close to you, holding you in his hands, but when you touch him, it’s something else entirely. An uncontrollable desire, an unfamiliar sort of decadence.

Joel cradles your face in his big hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone, and gently presses his lips to yours. It’s soft at first, a tender curiosity. He kisses you again, a little more heated this time, and when he flicks his tongue across your bottom lip you grant him access as if it’s second nature. 

His tongue explores yours, tangling together, invading your sweet mouth. Joel thinks you taste a little like honey and a whole lot like fortuity. If you had asked him ten years ago if he’d ever imagined he’d be in this spot, tasting the inside of his brother’s girlfriend’s mouth, Joel would have said it was a delusional thought. 

Yet here he was, cock stiffening in his jeans from something as simple as a kiss. Like he’s some teenage boy, experiencing a woman for the first time.

But it is his first time experiencing you, and Joel knows that’s what makes all the difference. 

The kiss turns sloppy and desperate. And when your panting breaths turn to moans, Joel realizes Tommy’s hand on your thigh has disappeared beneath your skirt.

It surprises him, the magnitude of the moment. Joel would have thought he’d feel jealous somehow, envious that his brother’s touching you and he’s not. But there’s nothing but satisfaction to be found. Joel likes to see the dark look in your eye, likes to see your breath hitch in your throat.

He takes your legs and spreads them wide, draping your thigh over his, giving his brother more room to touch you.

“What do you think, brother? Think we should give her what she needs before we even get home?”

Your face is so close to his that your breath fans across his spit-covered lips as you say so beautifully, “Please, Joel.”

A smirk finds its way to his mouth. “You look so fuckin’ pretty when you beg, sweetheart,” he says. “S’that what you want? Hm?”

You nod frantically, eyes pleading.

“Hold your skirt up, baby,” Tommy instructs. And you do as he says without question, fabric bunching around your hips. 

Joel can’t deny the pleasure he finds in discovering you’re completely bare beneath. Even from his spot in the passenger seat, he can see how glossy your pussy is with arousal, desperate to be touched by both of them. “Oh…look at that, Tommy. She wants it bad, doesn’t she?”

“Always does, brother. Needy little thing. S’why she needs the two of us,” Tommy says. His fingers trail lazily over your slit, a teasing caress. He presses his index finger against your clit and makes a satisfied hum, a sound that comes from somewhere deep in his chest. “Can feel your heartbeat right here, princess. Tell Joel what you want.”

“I want him to touch me,” you say, a little bit breathless. “Want him to make me cum while you kiss me. You taste so good, Joel. You make me so wet.”

The words don’t sound filthy or obscene in your voice, despite how vulgar they are. Joel squeezes your jaw in his hand and delights in the way you grin when he says, “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Wanna see the look on your face when he fills you up with his fingers.”

You’re so pretty, Joel thinks. But it’s nothing compared to the way your pupils dilate as his brother stretches you open. Your lips part and Joel takes the opportunity to crush his mouth to yours, to taste the sweetness you possess. 

He drinks up your moans as Tommy sets a steady pace between your thighs. Joel grabs the back of your knee with a rough hand and spreads your legs further apart. He can hear how wet you are, can feel the goosebumps as they form down the column of your throat.

Joel pulls away from your spellbinding kiss only to catch his breath. “How’s it feel, baby? That feel good, hm? Tommy takin’ good care of you?”

“Yes, yes—mmm—fuck. His hands are so big, feel so fucking good,” you whimper. One hand is clutching Joel’s shirt, holding on for dear life, and you move the other to rest on his cock. You gently knead it over his jeans, and he wonders if you can feel just how hard he is for you.

It doesn’t take long until his brother has you trembling. Your thighs shake and a crease forms between your brows as you chase after the relief you seek.

He kisses you again, tongue brushing against yours, and when you breathe Joel’s name into his mouth he knows what you need before you even ask. 

Slowly, experimentally, Joel’s hand on your knee travels upwards. Over the soft skin of your thigh, taking it all in, savoring you—and then his fingers are circling your clit while Tommy’s are shoved deep inside of you, curved to hit the perfect spot, and you come undone within seconds. 

“Oh, God, Tommy, I—”

“I know, baby, it’s okay. Go ahead,” he says, giving you full permission. 

The words are the last thing you need to reach the full height of euphoria. You’re reduced to a trembling mess in his hands and Joel thinks this is so much better than his dreams. Better than standing in the doorway, watching you, wishing he could hold you.

“That’s it,” Joel praises. “There you go. Bein’ so good for us, sweetheart.” Wetness coats his fingers as he continues to circle your clit until your breath stutters in your chest. He kisses you hard as Tommy’s rhythm begins to slow, eventually stilling completely. 

You wince as they both pull their hands away from you at the same time, a synchronized movement. 

Tommy pulls the truck into Joel’s driveway and chuckles as he looks at you, skirt still hiked up around your hips, limbs boneless. He strokes the side of your face and kisses your hair. “You’re alright, princess. We’re just gettin’ started.”

Joel climbs out of the truck and adjusts your skirt, holding you with an arm around your waist to ensure your balance until both feet are on the ground. Tommy comes to your side and slides his hand into yours, handing Joel the keys.

While he works to unlock the front door, Joel can’t help but smile at the sound of your sweet giggles. He looks over his shoulder to see his brother kissing your neck and grabbing your ass, and the two of you look so infatuated with one another that it’s intoxicating. A magnetism he can’t help but be drawn to, a warmth he wants to embrace.

The minute you walk in the door you’ve got your hands on Joel again. You slip them beneath his t-shirt and he’s thrilled to give you what you want. He pulls it off over his head, discarding it on the back of the couch, and lets out a pleased sigh as you begin peppering wet kisses over his chest, down his sternum, fingers grabbing needily at his skin. 

Tommy stands behind you as you lower yourself to your knees between them. He runs his hands through your hair lovingly and says, “Show him what you do best, baby.”

You smile up at him and it takes Joel’s breath away. He’s never seen someone so pleased to please him, never felt this wanted in all his life. The metal of his belt buckle clinks against the button of his jeans as you undo them, pulling down his zipper in a way that’s familiar to you now.

When you pull his cock out, you wrap one hand around it and guide the tip to your mouth. He’s so hard already that he aches, but the feel of your soft tongue on him grants him ease. You lick every inch of him, an indulgent sort of torture. And then you’re swallowing him down, creating a tight seal with your plush lips.

Your mouth feels like heaven, Joel thinks.

“Look at the way she’s got her legs pressed together,” Tommy murmurs, thumb caressing your temple gently. “Gets so turned on with a dick in her mouth she just doesn’t know what to do with herself.”

“We’re gonna take care of that for you,” Joel says, cupping your jaw in his hand. He shifts it a little lower and can feel the outline of his cock through your throat as you swallow him down, gasping for air you never once ask for. “Gonna take care of everythin’ for you, sweetheart.”

Pleasure coils around his spine, a vise-like grip that threatens to end this night well before he’s ready for it.

Tommy grabs a handful of your hair and draws your head back. Strands of spit still connect you to him and drool runs down your chin. It’s the most pornographic thing he’s ever seen. Tommy laughs and says, “I know, brother. S’almost too good.”

Joel knows it should be a strange thing to hear, but it feels innate. He helps you back to your feet and pulls your shirt over your head while Tommy unzips the back of your skirt and slides it down your legs.

You turn and wrap your arms around Tommy’s neck and he lifts you up in his arms like it’s second nature. Joel supposes it is—the two of you have had a whole lot more practice together than he has. Tommy starts towards the stairs, heading towards Joel’s bedroom, but you let out a whine and reach out for him.

He can’t deny how warm it makes him feel, seeing you all wrapped up in his brother but still reaching for his hand. The smile you give him the moment he touches you makes his heart constrict in his chest. It’s such a soft, intimate moment, and Joel can think of nothing but your conversation on the phone last week.

You worried about catching feelings for me, Joel Miller?

He wasn’t a week ago. But now…? Now, he’s not so sure.

Tommy lays you down in the center of Joel’s bed and the sight of it pushes away his anxiety. You’re so beautiful with your hair splayed out behind you, an angelic sort of halo. The thought crosses his mind that you might have always been meant to exist in his bed.

It feels like second nature to crawl over you, to let his hands roam over your chest, your ribs, your hips. Joel follows each caress with a kiss, mouth following the echo of his hands. He sucks a bruise into your hip, ensuring this moment is real with physical, tangible evidence.

When he gets to the crease of your thigh, Joel sits up and spreads your legs wide. “Look at that,” he whispers. Tommy’s pulling off his worn t-shirt and working on his jeans but pauses long enough to appreciate the sight of your pussy, glossy with arousal and what remains of your first release. “She’s so fuckin’ pretty, ain’t she?”

“Yeah, she is,” Tommy agrees. “Taste’s real pretty, too.” He leans over and presses his mouth to yours, a messy, needy sort of kiss. You whimper as Tommy asks, “What d’you think, princess? Think Joel should get a taste? Hm?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. “I want it so bad, Tommy, please.”

“Want it, huh?” Joel slots himself between your thighs, his mouth an inch from where that ache resides. “Maybe we should make her wait a little longer, Tommy. Make her wait ‘til she needs it.”

“No, no, please,” you cry. You buck your hips, trying to find reprieve, but Joel’s hands on your waist hold firm. “I do, I do, I need it, Joel, please, please.”

He looks to his brother to make the decision. Tommy’s got a wicked grin on his face as he watches you writhe on Joel’s sheets. “Think you’ve been real good today. But don’t go forgettin’ your manners, princess. When Joel licks that pretty pussy of yours, you better say thank you.”

The moment he slides his tongue through your slit, your spine bends, arching off the mattress. Your shoulders slump and your breath comes fast. “Oh my god,” you moan. “Thank you, Joel, fuck.”

He tries to give you the same tentative treatment you’ve given him; tracing every inch of you with the flat of his tongue, memorizing the sweet taste, sucking your clit into his mouth. He can feel it pulse with need, and Joel understands the fever.

Your thighs clamp down around his head but Joel doesn’t mind. He just presses his mouth against you harder and flicks his tongue a little faster.

“Tommy,” you whimper. Joel looks up to see your chest heave with each shaking breath. You reach out for his brother with trembling fingers.

“I’m comin', baby,” Tommy says softly. “Don’t you worry.” The mattress dips beneath his weight as he kneels beside you. He cradles your head in his hand, supporting your neck while he eases his cock into your mouth. 

It’s the hottest thing Joel Miller has ever seen in his fucking life.

You grind yourself against his face and he supplies the friction you seek. Arousal coats his facial hair, enveloping his senses in nothing but you. Your moans, your taste, your scent—you, you you. He thinks he’ll never want it any other way but this.

Tommy guides your mouth with a hand wrapped in the tangled strands of your hair. He fucks your face and you whimper around his cock like there’s nothing else in the world that could ever compare. He smiles down at you and says, “You’re gonna make her cum, Joel. Can you feel it? Get’s real sloppy when she’s right there, right on the edge.”

Joel groans against you and focuses his mouth on your clit, giving him just enough room to slip a finger inside you to massage that sweet spot.

You stretch your arms above you and fist your hands in the sheets. When you reach the summit, Joel can feel it on his tongue, can feel your pussy tighten around his finger, can feel your thighs shake around his head.

Tommy pulls your head back, giving you a moment to breathe as another orgasm surges through you. Your moans echo in Joel’s room, the prettiest-sounding symphony he’s ever heard. “Good fuckin’ girl,” Tommy praises, just as breathless as you. “Bein’ such a good girl for us, baby.”

Joel doesn’t relent, doesn’t stop licking your clit until you’re giggling and twisting in his hands at the overstimulation. You sound so satisfied, so happy. It pleases him to see the elation on your face. When he finally pulls away, Joel snakes his arms beneath you and pulls you up to your knees. “So good,” Joel agrees. “But she’s gonna give us another one, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

All you can do is nod and it makes both brothers laugh.

“She’s usually got so much to say,” Tommy teases. “Think we’ve got her fucked dumb, brother.”

“That’s alright,” Joel whispers. “We’ll do all the thinkin’ for her, hm? Take such good care of this sweet little pussy. Turn around, baby. On your hands and knees.”

You do as he says blissfully, ass arched beautifully on display for him. Tommy maneuvers himself in front of you and you take him in your mouth on instinct. Second nature, habitual.

Joel positions himself behind you and slides the head of his cock through your slit. “This what you want, sweet girl? This what you dream of?”

Leaning back, you stroke Tommy with your hand and look up at him as you answer Joel’s question. “Yes,” you say. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I saw you. Knew I needed you, Joel. Knew I needed you both.”

“Three’s a crowd, princess,” Tommy says. “But I think I like this one.”

Joel’s inclined to agree. He pushes into you slowly, sighing in contentment at the gratifying tightness. You’re so wet, so warm. “Goddamn, baby,” he groans, gripping the supple flesh of your ass to keep himself tethered to earth, to keep himself grounded. 

Tommy holds your face in his hands, smoothing his cock over your lips. “Oh, she likes it, Joel,” he says. “Should see her face. Can I take a picture, baby? So Joel can see how happy you look with his dick all up in your guts? Hm?”

The words are crude but Joel can feel you tighten around him as Tommy speaks. “Mmhm,” is all you can say, sticking your tongue out to lick the underside of Tommy’s cock.

He reaches over to the nightstand where his cell phone sits. Tommy angles his phone just right, and the shutter echoes in the room as he takes his photos.

Joel pushes into you real slow. And when he’s buried to the hilt you let out a gasp and hold onto Tommy’s thigh for support, balance wavering. “It feels so fucking good,” you say.

Tommy takes a couple more photos, tries a couple of different angles. But Joel thinks no image will ever beat the one in front of him.

He watches your pussy stretch to make room for him, watches you soak his cock, desperate for it. Tilting his hips forward, Joel sets a steady pace, easily finding a rhythm that has you moaning out his name. 

Satisfied with his work, Tommy sets his phone back on the nightstand in favor of the filthy exhibit before him. He guides his cock back to your mouth, groaning at the feel of your tongue. 

Joel thrusts into you and feels that coil begin to form around the base of his spine again.

You’re moaning around Tommy’s cock and he’s smiling like there’s no place else he’d rather be. Joel understands that, too—because he thinks you’re the most perfect girl that could have ever stumbled into their lives. “S’this what you needed, princess? Needed us both, hm? Dirty little girl.”

“Our girl,” Joel muses, captivated by the way you squeeze him as he says it. He fits so perfectly inside you, like you were made for him, made for this. “Stretchin’ her out so easy, brother. Sweet little pussy’s just cryin’ for it.”

Tommy’s head falls back and his hips stutter. “Just like that, princess,” he praises gently. “Yeah, shit—gonna swallow it all like a good little girl, ain’t you?” 

You make a sound of approval at the back of your throat. Joel can see you look up at his brother, cock-drunk and starry-eyed, and he feels his chest pull tight with a strange sense of pride.

Joel slows his pace just a little, long enough for Tommy to take what he needs from you, for you to focus on just him. And then he’s breathing hard as he holds your head still, nose pressed against his navel. His shoulders draw tight and then gradually relax as he spills his release at the back of your throat. 

When Tommy pulls out of you, his cock is covered in spit and cum but you do as he says, dutifully swallowing it all up like the perfect girl you are. And you even clean any remaining mess with your tongue, licking it up with sweet reverence.

He’s close—so close it aches, but he wants you to give him another before this is other. Wants to make it worth your while, wants to know how it feels to make you cum while he’s buried deep inside you. 

You arch your back and press your cheek against the mattress, looking back at Joel from over your shoulder.

Tommy moves to your side, smoothing your hair out of your face with one hand, and then he slips the other beneath you and circles your clit with skilled, deft fingers.

The response is instantaneous. Joel can feel your pussy pulse around him, sees the strain on your face as you fight the pleasure. You say his brother's name like a prayer shrouded in ecstasy.

But Tommy just shakes his head. “Nah, princess. Ain’t up to me this time. You gotta ask Joel permission.”

He doesn’t understand at first, this almost silent communication between the two of you. But then you say, “Joel, please. Please please, I need to cum so bad, it feels too good.”

You sound so fucking pretty, begging for him like that. “Been so good…I think you’ve earned it,” he says gently. “Go ‘head, sweetheart.”

Tommy continues to circle your clit as you clench around Joel’s cock, uttering quiet praises in your ear. 

You tighten around him and Joel’s right there, right there—and then you say, “Cum with me, Joel, please. Cum with me, I wanna feel it.”

And it sends him over the edge. His name in your mouth, begging him to fill you up. He buries himself so deep inside you that there’s no telling where he ends and you begin, and it’s the best orgasm he’s ever had in his fucking life. 

You shudder beneath him and Joel leans forward, pressing his forehead to your spine. He thrusts into you until the last drop, giving you all of it, giving you everything he has to offer.

As you come down, Tommy pulls his hand from beneath you and combs his fingers through your hair. He’s got that stupid grin on his face, but Joel’s not sure he’s ever seen his brother this happy before. 

The three of you just lay there for a moment, saying nothing, unmoving, basking in the afterglow. Joel’s not quite sure how he’s meant to navigate this, not sure what he’s supposed to say or how he’s supposed to feel about the fact that the best sex he’s ever had was with his brother’s little girlfriend. 

But he does know how to take care of a woman. So, he does. Joel eases himself out of you and disappears for only long enough to find a washcloth, wet it with cool water from the bathroom sink, and grab an icy bottle of water from the fridge. 

When he returns to his bedroom, Tommy holds you in his arms while you speak to him in a hushed tone. It worries him a little, truthfully.

So when Joel sits on the side of his bed to clean the light sheen of sweat off your forehead and the mess between your legs, he asks, “Everythin’ okay?”

“Everything’s good. So, so good,” you answer easily, giving him one of those honeyed smiles.

Tommy takes the bottle of water from Joel’s hand and breaks the seal. “Drink,” he says, passing it to you. And you do, listening so obediently.

But the moment your hands are free again you say, “Joel? Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he says. And he means it. Whatever it is you need, whatever it is you want, Joel wants to give to you. He’s come to understand his brother in this, too.

“Do you think you’d want to…I don’t know. Maybe we could do it again?”

He laughs. Genuinely, truly laughs, because Tommy’s been right this whole time. You’re insatiable.

But you quickly amend your words. Saying, “I mean, not…not now. But maybe…maybe I could stay? For the weekend?”

Joel finds the thought of you leaving at the end of the night an unbearable one. And he knows he’ll likely feel the same once Sunday evening rolls around, and he’s not quite sure what that means for him or you or Tommy…but maybe it’s not something he has to worry about today. 

He kisses your forehead and says, “‘Course you can, sweetheart.”

And then you’re reaching for him again, urging him beneath the sheets. You lay your head on Joel’s chest and drape your leg over Tommy’s hip, and you look so at ease, so peaceful that his heart constricts at the sight. You’re so good, so sweet, and Joel thinks he’d do anything to keep you happy.

Later, as your soft snores and shallow breaths fill the silence, Tommy playfully kicks Joel in the shin and says, “Ain’t no use tryin’ to talk yourself off the ledge, brother. Easier to just enjoy the freefall. Take it day by day.”

Joel thinks his brother might be right. Thinks that this might get complicated and messy and dangerous…but for now, for today…he’ll savor the sugary sweetness while it lasts.

[moechies]

tsumu - nii ❤︎ cw cest

“s-s so creamy, ‘tsumu-nii.”

“yeah? you like it ?”

“mm . .”

you slobber around the tip of atsumu’s cock, strings of spit dribbling down the heavy shaft. one hand wraps around his heavy base , the other around his blushed tip accompanying your mouth.

you’re crouched in between his spread legs , only seconds ago when you had asked your nii-chan for something unfamiliar .

₊˚⊹ ❤︎

“can i suck your cock, nii-nii ? please !”

“no honey. y’gonna hurt yourself, you don’t know how t’do it. next time , okay?”

“but— “ you protest with a petulant whine.

“i said no. y’really need nii-nii to repeat himself?”

“i’m sorry..” you mewl.

he’s so mean. you had only wanted to help , since he had complained about the raging hard-on he seemingly ‘couldn’t get rid of,’ struggling and squirming in his spot on the couch. frankly, it was bothering you too.

you just want what’s best for your nii-chan.

you lean against his chest, his arms enveloping the small of your body , but he feels a tiny pang in his heart as he watches you pout, upset at his rejection.

he sighs and you look up, “okay fine. wanna try makin’ nii-chan feel better?”

he swears he sees your eyes light up.

❤︎ ⊹˚₊

“n-nii nii, i really like it.”

“y’makin’ nii-chan feel so good baby. don’t hurt yourself now.”

“won’t..” you whine at his constant reminders.

you kiss against his tip, tasting his creamy pre on the plush of your lips. you have yet to take him down your throat without instruction ; you know he was likely to scold you if you had.

he runs his fingers through the soft of your hair , soft pats to the top of your head.

“gorgeous sis.”

you blush at the compliment , eager for more. you place the tip of his shaft against your tongue , soft suckles to the sensitive tip.

“ah.. shit . ‘s perfect for nii-nii.”

you rub your thighs together when he grunts , hand crawling back into the bed of your hair with a gentle tug.

“wanna learn how t’make nii-chan feel even better ?”

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Y/N: Why can’t you just be honest, Slender? The reason why you don’t want me going to town alone is because you are terrified I’m going to meet someone. You’re always sabotaging my dates!

Slender: That is ridiculous! Every one of your dates I’ve been on, I’ve been the perfect gentleman!

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “IN THE IMAGE OF YOU.”

— #. synopsis. all in all, the entirety of what was meant to be said, thoroughly snuffed out by a stuttered curse is hastily stifled in favour of carefully processing what he’s currently being greeted with, once again. little shit that dared to impulsively walk upon an important moment meant to be properly spent with himself, and of course— it’s you of all people responsible for that result. well, not exactly you— but, still you. 

— #. content warning! dub-con, anal fucking, degradation, brief mentions of past bullying entailing physical abuse, coercion, implications of medical malpractice, doctor harper behind the scenes, former bastard or not— neurosurgeon male whitney, amnesiac male reader and some actual pining on the blonde’s part.

— #. word count? 5.2k — longer than initially intended.

— #. what is it this time, asher? : “pretty sure you’re not supposed to trust the filthy doctors in this town, including your ex-bully. better luck next time. this one is for my dear shoku, @shoknsfw.”

Though, perhaps the very last of things Whitney would’ve predictably expected there to be, patiently awaiting for him at the end of the day, would be— well, this thing. Not that he necessarily knows what the actual fuck ‘this’ is, but he’s getting the slightest idea that his boss is as fuckin’ insane as he had initially thought of him to be. Or others, in the past, have repeatedly warned him so of, too.

Sure, he’s not a mindless moron and he remains acutely aware of the shady rumours carelessly thrown around here and there amongst the nosy patients, accompanied by that fuckin’ Sydney profusely muttering out against his boss. Some incoherent tangent, he — himself, wouldn’t genuinely understand either way, fuck. Still, this.. This wasn’t in the goddamn job description nor did he ever truly expect it to be cuz’ there’s no way in hell he would’ve so easily accepted a simple offer such as this one. Seamlessly roping him into another one of his sick experiments, notably those involving others without their spoken consent, and would’ya look at that? 

Naively fell for it this time without sparing the slightest thought as to why — doctor Harper of all people — would be in potential need of his gracious help. Idiot, ever heard of that freak selflessly askin’ for one’s hand in a time of desperation, openly expressing his innate admission to defeat? Real funny, huh? Not so fuckin’ funny when he’s awkwardly left to deal with this complex issue within his own working hours, said time originally meant to be taken as a mere moment of solitude, of some much-needed tranquility in exchange for his gruelling hours tirelessly spent in good efforts, now solely ruined by this unfaithful encounter. 

Okay, cutting the entire crap up— it was originally intended to be spent miserably jerking off alone in the middle of his office like some crude loser. Not that he’d ever truthfully admit it to anyone, this.. otherwise unhealthy habit or perhaps, addiction he’s progressively took on due to the sheer amount of stress burdening him as a surgeon, weighing upon his slouched shoulders everyday. It’s— It’s not like it’s fuckin’ bad! Coping mechanism or whatever, it beats the stinking scent of nicotine faintly lingering on the material of his coat, a hint of the godawful smell, repeatedly going out for a ‘quick’ smoke whenever things gradually took its toll on him to the point it’d annoyingly kept him from getting some precious shut-eye at night. Like he possibly needed more on his already, busy and stuffed plate too, of all times. 

All in all, the entirety of what was meant to be said, thoroughly snuffed out by a stuttered curse is hastily stifled in favour of carefully processing what he’s currently being greeted with, once again. Little shit that dared to impulsively walk upon an important moment meant to be properly spent with himself, and of course— it’s you of all people responsible for that result. Well, not exactly you— but, still you. 

See, the tentative peering of your gaze, quizzical cock of your head noticeably tilting to the edge of the doorway to openly display your shared confusion at his presence, the same way he, himself, is not entirely amused by your sudden pop-in either. “Hello— Oh, you’re not mister.. Harper, are you?” Stupid fuckin’ scanning of his slouched frame sat atop the creaking, wooden chair audibly squeaking throughout the otherwise narrow room and— god, why do they build these things so damn loud?? Not the point here, y’a moron. 

Sputtering out a cuss out of pure habit because sure, he’s a professional doctor now or should be notably referred to as such, however, doesn’t mean he’s about to fully give out on his old, habitual gestures. Nearly had a heart attack at the ripe age of twenty-one due to your sheer incompetence and, ah— he’s becoming like those old folks repetitively reprimanding younger people for their lack of care and attentiveness or.. something. Fuck, either way, therein lies the single question in his mind; what are you, of all people, precisely doing here? In the staffs room of all places? 

“Shit, you scared me..” Huffing out annoyingly at your unwanted arrival or maybe, it is a good coincidence that he’s luckily granted with a long-awaited reunion with one of his memorable victims in high school. Fleeting days he had long since pushed past by then, but.. he’s not entirely against the mere idea of sneakily revisiting that foggy era solely for the sake of recollecting those notable, cute expressions you’d make, all scrunched up and flustered.. Spurred on further by the fuckin’ sounds of yours too, in the narrow stalls of the bathroom and, fuck— Enough of that, gotta get to the point one way or another to initially receive a reply to his beckoning curiosity itching to be answered. “Why’re you even here? What? Got an appointment with Harper or somethin’? Well, he’s not here and I don’t know where he is, so either you come back later or just—“

“An appointment? No, no. I just was supposed to put these— here, and— Sorry, was I not supposed to come here?” Plainly interrupting him with your oddly.. formal way of speaking. Since when the fuck do you even speak like that again? Last time he’s checked — which was years ago— you’re not exactly the eloquent type like that goody-two shoes Sydney nor overly polite like Robin either. You’re just. Fuck, well— you’re you with a hint of defiance. Not this. Whatever this is.

“..No, this is the staffs room. I don’t see why the hell you���re even here to begin with. Do you need something? I’m sort of in the middle of my break right now.” He grunts in return, visible scowl appearing upon his sharp features to then, thereafter, dissipate entirely when met with your confused face to his gruff response.

Right, right. Supposedly obligated to keep up with all that polite etiquette crap which he miserably fails to do so in the face of your presence. How your pathetic, little self comes and numbly reduce him to the rebellious bully he previously once was truly fuckin’ messes with him. Because, there’s no goddamn way that your reaction towards him, after all these years— after every shitty thing he’s done to you, especially the whole sucking off thing — would be so minimal, right?? Or has he become so unrecognizable in the span of just a few years that you, yourself, don’t precisely know who he, in fact, truthfully is? Surely, a slight shift in his usually messy, ruffled hair now mildly slicked back to intently follow hospital’s policies and a pair of glasses isn’t that major of a change, is it? 

Unless you’re as stupid as he had thought of you to be, blatantly ignoring that minute detail of forcibly shoving his every homework and assignment on you too. Hah, funny. Even funnier is that blank look you absentmindedly regard him with, as if you’re not quickly getting the fuckin’ hint that he’d like some alone time now. Real fast on that area, aren’t ya? Slut. Get on with it already.

“Huh, I could’ve sworn I got the right room though..” Your subtle head shakes and spared glances around to anywhere but him shouldn’t be so damn cute to him. Fuck, he sure as hell would like to redirect your precious attention to him only. Like a petulant child secretly throwing a tantrum for the lack of importance currently being given to him here. 

Arms expectantly crossed across his broad chest, foot idly tapping against the tiled floor below in a pure display of his ever burgeoning impatience. “Well? Answer the question. Do you need something or not?”

“Um, well— yes. Mister Harper told me to put these here and gather a sample from.. someone.” Mister Harper? Why’re you even.. referring to him as that, unless.. Hesitancy lacing your tone as if he isn’t carefully hanging upon every lull within your voice, ah— how he’s actually missed the lilt of it during the excruciatingly long lessons of math class being boringly taught to by that.. one teacher. What’s their name again? Right, River. Something like that. 

“Um.. I’m sorry, have we.. met before? Are you Whitney, by any chance?” Promptly blurting that out of the blue, puzzling gaze deftly meeting his as his own eyes immediately widen in exchange. Finally recognized him? Is that it? Was about damn time already and he’s not one to particularly lie in situations such as these ones, right? More like he desires to hungrily drink in the mere sight of your face, the slightest flicker of recognition amongst your softened features when reality fully settles in. 

That meek demeanour you’ve adopted so abruptly towards him does irk him however, to say the least. Never really been the timid type nor the likes when it came to him, if anything, you’d openly be opposed to his every cruel method of tormenting others. Hell, he’d know it— he’s grown familiar with your childish antics by now despite the warping time easily slipping past his tight-held grasp. Hah, knows it better than anyone else when it comes to you, as cheesy and downright ironic that might appear to others. A bully cheekily aware of their victim’s peculiarities and this, right here, is bound to take its due course.

“Yeah, that’s right. That’s me. Long time no see, huh?” Clicking his tongue in this unadulterated need, itch meant to be satiated— fuck, in utter disbelief that he almost called you by that old nickname once again. Slut. As much as he’d like to dumbly feign ignorance considering the circumstances at hand, that this is the most uncomfortable way you could possibly reunite with someone of your high school days— he knows better than to do so.

Continuing on further, maybe as an idle distraction for the aching hard-on fervently twitching against the front of his trousers, hopefully concealed enough by his slouched posture or otherwise awkward angle from below here. Wouldn’t want you taking notice of that, would he? “So, are you going to tell me what’re you actually doing here or not? I’ve got things to do and only staff are permitted to enter this room.” Skip the formalities goddamnit and just get to the fuckin’ point! He’s got one to rub out here and the annoying, pretty face he’s used to stupidly jack off to, in high school — suddenly appearing before him out of nowhere — isn’t necessarily helping matters here either!

“Oh— I see, so that means you’re.. the guy that—” Jesus Christ, he’s uncertain whether to sarcastically repeat your dumbfounded expression in a snarky remark or simply shut himself up in favour of awaiting for your next move. Though, of course, you promptly do the honours for him in return to the affirmed confirmation to your confused questioning. And truly, nothing could’ve properly prepared him for the next set of your unpredictable actions as your peering gaze soon shifts to that of unbridled shock at the sudden discovery of his identity — to then, take on that oddly bright glimmer within your eyes. Little scrunch of your nose, ah fuck— shouldn’t be so cute — as if carefully processing this newfound fact, innocent tilt and frown ever so slowly creeping up to the corner of your rosy lips in a pure display of perplexity in face of this.

“Excuse me, sir.. But I really need to do this real quick, if you don’t mind.” Why’re you suddenly settled atop the barely dusted ground, on your knees and— and, fuckin’ looking so goddamn methodical for?? Blatantly discarding the mere fact that you’re also, brazenly acting like a complete stranger in this instant, impulsively throwing yourself onto him — whether it’d be with open arms invitingly welcoming you or not — openly placing your oddly cold palms against his sides, practically clinging upon his frame for no reason whatsoever other than.. God, actually why’re you fuckin’ tugging at the hem of his— his pants, right now?! Fumbling at his zipper, hastily unbuckling his belt with a light jingle to irresponsibly sprawl across the tiled floor.

“H-Hey! Wha—What the fuck’re you doing??” Blubbering out, in sheer, utter shock when his legs should’ve notably been begging him to move, kick you away like some other stray cat uselessly pawing at him in one of the deserted alleyways, yet his feet remain firmly planted onto the floor — paralyzed even, reeled off his initial tracks as this naturally plays out to the likes of a.. cheap, porno film. 

Y’know, the ones he’d absently flip through whenever work drew on a bit too slowly for his tastes, randomly picked the nearest magazine idly displayed on his side and there you go; Bunch of freaks fuckin’ bringing shitty porn in a sacred place, namely the clinic he dutifully worked in. Ain’t that funny? Not that he can’t similarly sympathize, he’s just as much as a pervert as those lustful patients, just better at concealing it.

Oh, who’s he fuckin’ kidding? Conceal? Like the painfully evident hard-on visibly twitching against his boxers, soaking wet patch of sticky pre-cum darkening the shade humiliatingly bare for your eyes to calmly take in. Feathered breaths wistfully close along the outline of his aching dick insistently throbbing in response to the puff of heated air blown out— god, way too fucking close for his tastes. Yeah, he’s known you for being surprisingly crude at certain times, specially when you’d actually readily obey to his orders in math class like sloppily sucking him off, messily coating his cock in a layer of translucent spit underneath the wobbly desk while slobbering all over his fat balls as he made no effort to stifle his guttural groans, but— but, damn.. Thought you would’ve left those slutty tendencies long behind you after those few years, slut. Guess he’s thought wrong and been disproven once again.

“I’m taking a sample as I promised mister Harper that I would. Now stay still for me, it’ll just take a second — a couple minutes, to be exact if all goes well.” Mister Harper this, mister Harper that, he’s got half a mind to curiously question you as to what’s up with the unnatural, formal name calling because since when did you refer to the local doctor in town — partially known for being a freak by a limited bunch, though few actually made it out to tentatively whisper out the tale — as Mister?? Which, his main objection should logically be plainly getting you off of him, but with his arms hanging limply at his sides, instead settling upon reluctantly tugging at the silky strands of your hair, he’s not making much progress to say the least.

“S-Sample?? Sample of what— fuck! Get your hands off my fuckin’ pants before I report your ass to security!!” Preferably, he would’ve unavoidably settled with knocking the lights out of you— still, is a tad bit too far lest he wants to get fired from his prestigious job — ah, since when is being a surgeon tirelessly worked to death exactly seen as an accomplishment again? To hell with this, he should’ve been a smuggler or some shit. 

“I need a sample of your semen, so you just gotta keep still for a second.” As you assertively claim your reasoning for this all which still makes no sense, by the way— why the fuck would you or should he say, doctor Harper need his fucking jizz in the first place anyway? “What was it again.. Need to stimulate this part of your dick till you climax, correct?” Alright, now you’re just being too clinical with your wording, shivering into your touch, the delicate trace of your supple fingertip running along the curve of the veiny underside of his shaft nearly enough to have him push aside the unbelievable logistics of what this is inevitably leading to.

Beyond that puzzling rambling, a tinge of disgust lurches in his heart, towards himself for being unable to lay the slightest hand on your angelic face due to how adorable you appear in this moment. Pretty, stupid fuckin’ pretty boy, god. Said it twice cuz’ that’s just how pretty you are to him. Despite literally forcing him to be naked from the waist down against his will, okay— not fully convinced about that last part. This is playing out too well like one of his depraved fantasies, you, all obedient and pliable, pushing him to his withering limits. 

And if your insistent, albeit nonsensical explanation is meant to supposedly soothe his frantic panic and bewilderment of this unfavourable situation, then that’s immediately thrown out the window as your invasive hands shamelessly strip him down to basically nothing, save for his boxers that’s also— ah, fucking shit.. swiftly being chucked down too. Muttered curses and maybe, the meanest swears and insults that would’ve put a seasoned sailor to shame, aimlessly falling upon deaf ears. After all, he’s but a man, is he not? So, don’t fault him for his body to instinctively experience a natural reaction when a pretty mouth is so stupidly close to his bare cock, springing free of its unbearable confines to then audibly slap against his toned stomach, smear the already present, pearly pre-cum along the curve of his tummy with a sigh. Fuck, he’d just about pin you down and fill you to the brim right then and there, as if.

So what’s stopping him from doing so anyway? 

Clearly, you’re asking for it, if not in the weirdest of ways. Cleanly popping his leaking cock between your too soft lips, outwardly hissing at the wet warmth he’s sought to crave late at night with his sheets haphazardly thrown aside to give way to his fat, drooling cock frustratingly squeezed in the cup of his palm. Red, hot tip dribbling out thick globs of pre-cum along his tense tummy, arm lazily thrown over his face to stifle his ever growing curses of dissatisfaction. Not enough though, not fucking enough— because nothing truly beats the squishy, tight insides he’s come to secretly cherish, if not take for granted, of his stupid, little slut. An addict is what he is, pathetically yearning for the chance to at the very least, indulge himself once more in that sickly, tight heat one last time, just one last fuckin’ time, god. Upper lip curling upward at the sheer thought as he miserably drives himself to shoot his spent seed, messily splattering along his stomach to then paint his chest white in the same crude manner. What a fucking sight, huh. Whitney, former bully in the making, stained in his own cum cuz’ no other bitch does it for him much like you do.

But, as often spoken by most— old habits die hard, do they fuckin’ not? It’s instinct on his part, so you really shouldn’t cruelly place the fault onto him when he’s practically manhandling you on the squeaking bed instead, usually meant for carefully inspecting sickly patients and the likes. New purpose found, he guesses. “Fine, you wanna do this then? I’ll give y’a my fuckin’ cum you’re so desperately askin’ for, you whore— so, don’t start crying now.”Crinkly, thin, barely translucent sheet of paper laid atop the surface, audibly shifting underneath your sudden weight. Thought you had him beat? Well, guess what? He’s kept you snugly stuck beneath the heel of his foot during the entirety of high school, so what’s the goddamn difference if he does it now as older adults? 

Just.. a slight change in the way it’s done and, you wouldn’t mind, would you? By the looks of it, familiar squeaks he’s recurrently heard, partially muffled by the thumping blood hurriedly rushing to his head— and fucking south too, though that doesn’t need to be said twice, y’know. Heaving groan at the feel of his bare cock already instinctively rubbing himself against the outline of your own, cute cock incidentally stuck in your pants. Collective, shared gasps slipped out in tandem with each full rub of his twitching length smearing a sticky mess across the patched outline of your shorts. 

“Fuck.” Cute. Unconsciously cursing to himself at the welcoming warmth your soft body provides when encompassed by his own bigger one— know how much he’s missed ya all this time? Pawing hands that he somehow can’t manage to keep to himself when you’re around, and it’s not his fault, really. Zeroing gaze descending downwards to where your leaking cock rests so cutely against your tummy, fuckin’ asking for it, aren’t you?

Did ‘mister Harper’ make you wear those all-too tight, fitting shorts to accentuate your plush thighs or somethin’ too, huh? Prepped you all up and pretty for him? Speaking of that freak, he’ll make note to visit the little cunt later once he’s done with you, either punch the lights out of him or reluctantly thank him for the opportunity made by him— maybe both, actually. Far too busy in greedily inhaling the dizzyingly sweet scent exuding out of your frame, no matter how weird that may seemingly appear to others. Comfortably tucking his nose in the crook of your neck in favour of mindlessly humping himself stupid between your forcibly spread legs to actually catch the slight tilt of his glasses slipping downwards, on the verge of falling forth before coincidentally caught by your fumbling hands slicked in sweat. Aren’t you so helpful? Gotta hand it to ya, your preventive action merely spurs on this creeping idea in his disgusting mind, itch meant to be satiated as he coldly dotes a single, rather simple order upon you. 

“Put ‘em on.” He simply grunts out of the blue, gaze fixated on the quiver of your bottom lip, ah— fuck. He’d like to suck on it and stain it sticky with his cum and spit, give it a little bite while he’s at it too, watch it prettily bloom red beneath the sharpness of his teeth. Would look so cute like that, wouldn’t y’a?

“Huh?” Wide, puzzled eyes confusingly blinking back at him cuz’ isn’t it obvious what he’s asking for? He wants you to slip on those pair of glasses, his glasses, to be exact. 

“I said, put ‘em on.” Even if the gesture itself, despite not being that big of a deal brings a certain, feverish heat to his cheeks as it’s sort of intimate for a man like Whitney to be willingly shoving his property onto another, generously sharing it with you his own possession like the glasses he routinely wears to work everyday. Useless to repeat himself any further, but like a good boy, you abide to his crystal clear instructions— shakily placing the rims onto yourself, breath immediately caught in his throat at the sight of your averting eyes stubbornly set downcast to avoid his piercing gaze boring a hole into your flushing face. 

God, you’re way too cute for your own good, aren’t you? Something— something about you wearing those— his glasses, to be exact, has his mouth dumbly hanging open, palms eagerly pawing at your supple legs, tender flesh beneath his grasp that’s so fuckin’ delicate it might as well break, decisively ripping your shorts down to display your soft, wanting hole for his awaiting, throbbing cock. “W-Wait! Don’t look!”Cutest squeaks he’s ever heard as your palms instantly cover your puckered entrance and cock like that’ll actually stop him from repeatedly slamming his entire length inside your fragile body, openly snarling at your measly attempt to hide your wet and ready hole from his prying eyes greedily drinking in the pretty sight that greets him in return— etch it to memory if he could and oh, he will. Whether you want it or not.

“Fucking shit— and you act like you don’t want it. Don’t go lying to me when you want it just as bad as I do.” It’s a bold admission on his part, yet he remains intricately aware that he’s the one who’s right here, isn’t he? Hand raising upwards to meet your face, hopefully untouched by that other freak’s claws or he might as well bust his face in too. Calloused thumb uncharacteristically tender in its strokes along your blazing cheeks. Little, heated sighs of apparent relief once you’ve eased into the blonde’s abnormally soft touch to then, suddenly morph to a rougher form as his fingers harshly dig in the softness of your cheeks, forcibly keeping you in his hold so that he may direct your gaze to his own figure towering over yours. Bitten lip meant to fuck, loudly sighing at your annoyingly cute face accompanied by his smudged glasses resting atop your nose. “Look what’ya do to me, gettin’ me all hard and shit, and then you suddenly wanna back out now? No fucking way, slut. I’ll give you what you want— I’ll give you my fuckin’ cum, so keep still for me.”

Not a heeding warning, but a command which you should notably be listening to, by the way, if you’ve retained any foggy memories of the shit he’s cruelly had you endure back in high school. Plush thighs firmly pinned against your chest, full view of your tight, little hole, ass and balls to appreciatively take in for the briefest of moments. Ah, he’s missed this so goddamn bad, y’know? Directly lining up his pulsing cock head dribbling out fat globs of pre along your entrance, relishing in that curled, wide-eyed expression of yours, parted lips he’d like to just shove his slippery tongue into— fuck. Either mixed with utter fear or maybe, actual, shared desire for this as much too, that he’ll settle upon it being both for the sake of his sadistic mind. You wear fear pretty well, don’t’cha think? 

So much so that he can’t help, but precariously crane his head over to fully paint the sight to mind like the prettiest of pictures he’s ever been graciously blessed to witness. “Pretty.” He muses inwardly, subconsciously, without the slightest sense of awareness of the overly soft praise he’s just given you. Too fuckin’ busy in cutting himself off as the slippery wet tip of his fat cock so effortlessly slides in your tight hole with ease,  no sense of handling you with care when you’ve been such a damn tease about it too— because ah, fuck— know just how long he’s been waiting for this opportunity? Fucking, slicked walls instinctually clamping down around his throbbing length, hissing at the burning stretch of your hole gradually accommodating to the girth of his cock. Muted whines, fluttering lashes wet with bubbling tears threatening to spill forth, pink tongue discreetly peeking out to delicately lick away at the sheer proof that he’s potentially hurting you, or maybe not. Looks more like you actually enjoy having a fat cock up your ass— your ex-bully’s too.

Conflicted between the helpless babbles the sharp, punishing snap of his hips flush against your backside draw out from you and the scrunch of your features undeniably spelling pleasure. “Fuck— hah, fuck.. D-Don’t look at me like that. I’m fuckin’ giving you what you’re asking for, aren’t I?” God, he looks just as dumb as you right now, head thrown back, eyes automatically rolling to meet his skull from just how goddamn nice it is to be snugly stuffing your whorish boy hole full of his twitching length— fuuuuuckkk. Golden locks of hair unceremoniously tumbling forth to conceal the strained expression etched along his face, biting of his bottom lip and the sharp puffs of air endlessly being exhaled out of his hanging mouth. Palms locked upon your slutty waist, practically using your lithe frame as though you were a squishy flesh light— which, by all means, you definitely beat the actual feel of it, shit, only your stupidly warm hole would’ve gotten him this dizzyingly high off of the wet sensation enveloping his cock. Only stupid, little, ol’ you— really. 

Frustratingly gritting his teeth at your feeble head shakes despite the full-on body shudders of your quivering legs held— no, fucking raised high, feet resting atop his shoulders mainly used as a means of support. “N-No— ah, don’t l-like it. Uh, I don’t like it—” Alright, keep telling yourself that then, with your fists decisively clenched upon your chest, rosy, pink nipples evidently erect in the cooling air of the closed room. Hard cock cutely bobbing up and down in times with each of his sloppy thrusts accompanied by the squirming bulge of the outline of his cock fully sheathed in your slippery warm insides, protruding against the flesh of your tummy. ‘Don’t like it’ my fucking ass, you’re about this close to cummin’ hands free from your old bully’s cock harshly shoved up your hole. 

And truly, he’d be nothing more than content to aid in that— it’s where your rightful place has always been, hasn’t it? Glasses somehow not clumsily knocked off your drooling face, smudged with the heated huffs steaming up the air. Within arms reach, in his unrelenting grasp that his self-deluded mind has dumbly convinced Whitney of so. ‘Course, why wouldn’t he have thought so of it earlier? Dotting smile, lashes prettily staring back at him with a rosy flush adorning your cheeks. Outstretched arm gleefully welcoming him in— your fucking husband in, to be exact in that matter. Wouldn’t you be so kind to carefully reach for his worn coat, seamlessly slip it off his taller frame as you dutifully greet him like a caring husband should? Timidly reward him for the tireless efforts he’s put in after a long, torturous day of work. Pouty lips lovingly tracing his jawline, your soft palms he’d wish for nothing more than to constantly cling upon his body everyday, every second actually — comforting warmth he’d fervently seek out and easily find when you’re so tenderly embraced within his arms. 

It’s stupid, so fucking stupid that it’s that single thought that merely drives him to the edge. Whitney, fuckin’ him of all people to be experiencing such domestic thoughts, never been much of a family’s man or so others predictably think so of him, but— fuck, would it be so damn bad if it were you instead, happily greeting him at the edge of his doorstep every day— for the rest of his godforsaken life?? Devotedly stuck to his side? Yeah, hah. Actually, he’d like that a whole lot, really. “God, ah— fuck— fuck, cummin’— hah, fuckin’ cumming inside you, ‘kay?” High-pitched whine, all too soft to be a sound belonging to the blonde’s parted lips, stuttered curses at the slight twitch of his full length noticeably quivering deep inside your slutty hole. Hot, white spurts of his sticky seed uncontrollably squirting out of his fat cock to messily stain your insides tacky with his cum— ah, shit. Really is no better than that fucker after all, is he? 

Still, he can’t go letting your weeping cock miserably go neglected, can he? Thumb insistently nudging at the flesh of your pouty lips, snidely grinning at your reluctant obedience as your shakily part your mouth open for the spit coated digit to slip in. “Good boy.” Haven’t cum yet, have you? Well, that would be too bad if he were to cruelly leave you be as you are, though good thing Whitney has changed for the better, right? Previous bully reformed and all that— thanks to society, right? 

Oh, who’s he kidding— hah. Change? Progress slipped way off the second his gaze landed upon your all too nosy one in his office. 

You look better with his cum lodged in your hole, wobbly lips and tear stained cheeks anyway.

[rueclfer]

Can I get a gentle reminder smau with Shigaraki? And maybe with a little excerpt of him checking in on us 👉🏻👈🏻 love your writing, but don’t feel inclined to do this request if you don’t want to :)

ily u r sweet yes u can get some of this soft n tender shiggy

gentle reminder // tomura shigaraki

“keep track of your shit.” tomura says once more, tossing your pill bottle onto your bed, right next to your figure hidden beneath the mass of blankets.

“you see a bottle of pills that looks kinda important, that you know i left in your room since last week and you don’t think to at least notify me?” you huff, peaking your head out.

“i dunno.” he shrugs. “you leave shit in my room at the time. think i have half your closet on my floor.” 

you tightly clench the fabric of the blanket up over your nose as heat spikes up to your ears.

tomura doesn’t need an invitation to make himself comfortable in your bed. you feel the shift of the mattress underneath you and hear the rattle of the pills as he shakes it in his hands.

“so this tiny ass pill” he lays on his back, one hand behind his head, the other holding up the small orange bottle to his eyes. “is the one thing that keeps you together?”

“unfortunately.” you sigh, pulling the blanket down under your chin. “can you pass me one?”

you watch him carefully shake out the small pale pill into the palm of his hand. he returns the stare as you swallow the pill dry, returning your head down onto your pillow.

“feel better?” he sets the bottle on the nightstand.

“no.” you laugh at the naivety. “gonna take a little to get used to them again.”

“what do you need then?” he blankly stares at you. “‘cause you can’t do this for another week.”

you two lock into a staring contest while you think for a moment. 

what do i need?

you feel like shit. you haven’t taken a proper shower in a few days. you haven’t really eaten anything. your throat is dry. this migraine is pounding its way out of your skull. this is the most you’ve spoken to someone in a week.

“maybe just stay here.”

it takes him by surprise- you see the shock in his eyes. 

sure you’ve messed around a bit (a lot), but you’ve never asked him for any sort of warmth and comfort. this is new territory for the both of you.

tomura fully turns on his side and inches a bit closer to you. he’s scared to touch you, so he just invades your bubble a little bit more than he usually would. your breaths intertwine in the stuffy air of your bedroom and you see the room slowly grow dimmer as the sun sets.

“is this helping?” he whispers.

“yeah.” you close your eyes, fingers reaching out to rest on top of the back of his hand, lighting tapping over his fingers. “thanks, tomura.”

“just don’t be stupid and forget again.” he sighs, switching your hand positions, his now firmly laying flat over yours.

“maybe it’s all a ruse to get you in my bed.” you tease.

“not that you need a ruse. it’s you. i’m always available.” he scoffs. “idiot.” he quickly adds on.

tomura’s glad the sun was almost set at this point. you wouldn’t be able to see his growing flushed face and chewed bottom lip as he continues to stare at your slight smile, and tousled hair from laying in bed all day.

he’ll make a mental note to make it a habit to stop by your room and remind you to take your meds from now on. he doesn’t realize until now that this piece of solitude in each other’s presence has been something he’s been craving, almost like an insatiable hunger. 

tomura scooches closer now, letting himself in the cocoon of your blankets. you accept him in between your arms, letting him rest his head against the crook of your neck.

“thank you, tomura.” you mutter against his hairline.

“yeah.”

[mochinomnoms]

Two's Company, Three's a Crowd, and Six is a Riot

OB!Boys x Reader

Synopsis Malleus and the others were never really sure what to expect from you. After your involvement of the last six overblots, they all hoped that you wouldn't get into any more trouble.  Wishful thinking, on their parts. But honestly, how else were they supposed to react to the 6 different versions of you from the future?! All of them claiming they were married to one of them in their future?!  Is it a delightful surprise? Yes, though most of them won't admit it. But now they must discuss, which timeline are they currently in, and who gets to stake their claim in your heart? Perhaps it's time to take advantage and learn from their respective ‘You’, specifically how it is they managed to woo you and bring that potentiality into reality. Now if only they could find you, current, time-period you, and put some new learned skills into practice… OR A freak magic accident replaces you with six potential future versions of you that 6 of your friends married. Now they learn a bit about, you, themselves, and their future, all while trying to bring the current you back to present-day.

An interactive story, choose how you want the next chapter to go!

ao3 link

spotify playlist

[cw] - sexual humor, minor character death

[tags] - humor, time travel, fluff, mild angst, happy ending

Chapter List:

i. Thievin’, stealin’, takin’ what’s not yours

ii. The sweetest tart in the red tyrant’s feast

iii. Royal consort to the wild usurper

iv. The merchant’s most precious treasure

v. A desert flower for the schemer’s heart

vi. The beautiful tyrant and her muse

vii. Persephone and the watchman’s worship

viii. Temporal mischief of the heart (yours in particular)

ix. Home is where the heart is

x. Malevolence and his briar rose

[ryescapades]

I am so hopelessly in love with Narumi 😩❤️ he’s such a dork

Could you maybe do Narumi taking us on a date please 🥺👉🏽👈🏽 it would be so cute to see him fumble over his words tryna be all tough while he’s hiding how much of a simp he really is.

a/n: was planning on posting this tmr but since its 500 followers day today, i gib yall narumi as a present 🫴 tqsm anon !! i hope i did your request justice tho

the fact that you’re dating narumi gen isn't a secret in the defense force, per se. it's just that you never really flaunted your relationship because the two of you aren't the type to overdo the pda that much.

though you'd argue that gen would immediately stick himself to your side if he so much as catches sight of you in his peripheral. but nevertheless, the most you two would be doing out in the open is just narumi wrapping an arm around your waist as you explain to him about the findings you'd made that day, professionalism still bleeding out of your mannerisms.

intimacy behind closed doors and away from prying eyes is always the sweetest, you'd learned (read: narumi just doesn't want people to see how much of a putty he'd been reduced to whenever he's with you. he has a reputation to uphold, after all).

hence seeing him suddenly and openly asks you out during office hours kind of brings everyone to an immediate stop.

"hey. get ready in ten."

that's all he'd said, after bursting through the operation room door and marching to where you're currently working. you try not to cringe at the way the other officers in the room stare curiously and in interest at the two of you.

"excuse me?" you blink. narumi repeats his statement, making you gape even wider in disbelief. "gen, i'm still working. and you're..." you quietly trail off, eyes questioningly roving over his figure that's still clad in his numbers weapon 1 suit.

he only stands straighter, the looming bayonet in his hand is held carefully so that it's not bumping against the tables and shelves around him. by his stubborn stance, you know you're not winning this one.

and thus, you find yourself at a small family restaurant in the nearest neighborhood located in the inlands of koto city, shoulders brushing together as you sit beside narumi who is now dressed in the usual defense force uniform (you guys will eventually have to go back to work in a few hours, sadly).

"you know... we've been together for months. why do you look like you're taking me to our first date?" you say out of nowhere, mindlessly staring as plates upon plates of delicious food are being served in front of you. your mouth waters at the sight.

oh, forgot to mention how red your boyfriend has been for the past thirty minutes. he barely even looked at you ever since the two of you left the headquarters, opting to hide his eyes under the foggy grey of his bangs.

narumi seems genuinely triggered by your question. "h-hah?! i don't look like that! what the hell are you talking about?! maybe you just couldn't stop looking at me because i'm so good-looking, huh? i knew it!" he gloats, trying to play it off but his hand grips the chopstick so tightly you're worried they might snap in halves.

"gen, i could feel you hesitating to hold my hand one too many times when we were walking earlier." you point out with a teasing smile, sending him into a frenzy of offended swears as you secretly eye the way the tips of his ears are tinted pink.

a wave of emotions rush through you as he continues to grumpily denies your claim, your chest suddenly feeling tight with how fast your heart is beating.

narumi's ramblings stop when you reach a hand out to tenderly hold his face, the other moves to run through his hair back to reveal the beautiful pair of rouge eyes that you've grown to love. "there’s my baby." you giggle.

it's like someone has turned up the dial on his internal embarrassment thermostat to maximum, his insides are almost set ablaze at your loving gaze. "w-what are you saying, you—!" blood shoots up to his cheeks, painting the soft skin a pretty shade of red.

saving himself from further humiliation, narumi pulls away from your touch and bites out, "start eating or i'll finish everything so you won't get to eat at all!"

you take note of the small adorable pout on his lips, and that each one of the food he shoves onto your plate is your favorite kind.

©🅁🅈🄴🅂����🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism with Reader: Subway Stumble

Jake, Gun, Goo. G/N. Super short and a lil fluffy.

With a screech of the subway's brakes, you stumble off balance, face planting straight into the chest of your companion. For most, it might have been a soft landing, except the wall of hard muscle makes it anything but. You look into his face-

Jake Kim chuckles, and you immediately scrunch your nose.

"Don't-" you warn, but it's too late.

"Falling for me?" He grins, toothy and pleased, chuckling at his own cheesy line and you roll your eyes, giving him a gentle elbow in the stomach.

"Shut-" 

Your retort is cut off when you stumble again at the train lurching forward. Jake's hand darts out, cobra quick, steadying you, pulling you closer, and resting on your waist.

He leans down, voice low, tone amused, breath hot in your ear. "Careful, Y/N."

Gun Park raises an eyebrow, smirk on his lips.

Lauding his own superior balance over you. His body completely still, feet planted firmly, unaffected by the swaying of the train.

You throw him a withering glare, which you thought worked well... until you trip once more into him.

"Stop that," he snaps, exasperated at your poor form. His hand whips out, grabs on to yours. "Hold on-"

You blink a couple times at your hand in his.

"And stay still."

"Watch the suit!" Goo Kim grumbles, having to hold himself back from shoving you off him.

A designer suit is a designer suit, can't have it all wrinkled by (Goo's own face wrinkles at this)- public transport.

"Your suit looks ridiculous," you spit back, eyeing up his ostentatious two piece with distaste.

"You would think so,"

"Whatever-" The train lurches and you stagger forward, unable to stop the momentum, preparing to hit the floor with a thud-

Until you feel a tug on the back of your clothes, and you're yanked sharply back and upright.

"Careful, cupcake." Your blonde companion smirks, not foregoing his leash on you.

[moodyvoid]

You and the League of Villains are at a wedding and the bride tosses the bouquet. Your competitive gamer boyfriend, Shigaraki, runs through the crowd of women and catches it, then looks around like “What do I win?!”

[ylangelegy]

hear me out: seokmin as a participant in the selection, a competition for the princess' hand in marriage.

seokmin would be from the 'artist' caste of society. he gets by as an in-demand actor-slash-musician, but his prosperity still depends on his desirability. his future is in a constant precarious balance— will he have enough for food and rent tomorrow? will they still love him when he's no longer as young as he is now?

when you announce your plans to hold a selection, a part of seokmin knows that this is his chance to advance. to live a comfortable life, to never have to worry about money again.

another part of seokmin can only think of you. the queen-to-be, the crowned princess. he's not a fool who will claim love at first sight, but he thinks about the time, years and years ago, when you had once smiled at him in a crowd of thousands. and, oh. what he'd do to be the reason behind that smile again.

seokmin is selected. the palace advisors are required to choose one or two 'lower' caste boys to give the illusion of hope, to make it seem like it will be an even playing field. he's the perfect choice. easy on the eyes, used to entertaining. initially, none of them think he'll really make it.

seokmin knows he has to compete with thirty-four other boys to win your heart. he knows that being chosen is just the start. for a moment, he doubts getting himself in to this whole thing— until he's given seven minutes to speak with you before the competition kicks off. they all have seven minutes, an chance for a one-on-one. here is how he spends his:

seokmin ungraciously blurts out that you're a lot prettier than he remembers. he tries to recover by explaining that incident where he'd seen you, before, on a parade float. his face burns with shame as he changes the topic by asking you about your day. you manage to squeeze in one or two polite, getting-to-know questions about him ("what type of music do you sing? what's your family like?") and he stumbles through his answers.

seokmin is convinced that the whole thing was a train wreck. but, just as he gets up to go, you say softly, "i remember you, you know."

you're still as royal as ever, still sitting tall and straight. proud and serene. but there's a hint of a smile on your face. suddenly, seokmin is ten again— the parade, the crowd, the sun in his eyes. and you're grinning at him now, the same way you did back then.

"you bowed, back then," you add, and seokmin forgets all of it. the competition he's supposed to be in. the money that awaits him if he sees it through. his own damn name. because he had bowed, had traveled on with the rest of the parade once he'd caught your attention. you remembered that. you remembered him.

what is he supposed to do with that information? what is he supposed to say? the seokmin of present day can only do one thing. he folds in to another curtsy, as clumsy and deep as it is when he first did it. when he comes back up and sees that your smile has gotten imperceptibly wider, he thinks, oh, i'm in trouble.

[borntoyearn]

ghost has difficulties falling asleep. the only times he finds himself drifting off instantly, is when you're talking to him. it sounds rude, but your voice is so soothing to him. your voice literally lulls him to sleep.

you're both tucked into bed. he's so sleepy, so tired. you would do anything to have him be like you– to have the ability to lay his head on his pillow and knock out in less than five minutes. unfortunately, his thoughts keep him awake, but he thanks whoever is in charge for your presence.

you're laying on his chest, eyes closed. your right hand on his left ear, fingers running over it and on his lobe. usually this would help, but he needs to hear you.

"love?"

"hm"

"you awake?"

"mm-hm"

"talk to me."

"m'kay"

you scoot up and invite him to lay on your chest instead. you tell him about the book you've been reading. how it made you cry. how you wish it would have ended differently.

soft snores begin to escape his lips...a little drool too. you smile and kiss his forehead. you'll definitely be making fun of him tomorrow morning.

[erwinsvow]

𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲

summary: you're obedient to rafe, and he's starting to realize how much he likes that.

word count: 1.2k

now spinning: cruel world by lana del rey

author's note/warning: rafe does things to you with his gun. this might be dark!rafe which is just.. rafe <3

Rafe gets a thrill when you’re obedient to him without him having to do or say anything at all.

It starts off small. Holding onto your wrist for a second too long. When he does that, you turn around to look at him. Then it becomes a habit, looking back at him for permission to walk away, to leave. He presses a kiss to the top of your head before he lets you go. It’s been so long, so many months and so many kisses, you worry he’s upset with you if you don’t receive it.

He’s conditioned you, in his own little way. Everyone notices it. His father tells him to treat a nice girl like you better. His friends laugh about it when you’re not there. He used to laugh too, but now he doesn’t, and he gives anyone who still mentions it a glare. 

Because this is his new high, and he doesn’t have to chase it, doesn’t have to pay for it. You’re devoted to him, and it’s getting worse and worse. He begins to wonder how far you’ll go, how much you’ll stretch the boundaries of right and wrong for him. 

He’d promised to leave you out of it, out of everything that’s going on, but his own curiosity got the best of him.

You’re lying in his bed, half-asleep and completely fucked out the first time he asks you. Sometimes he’s a totally different person with you, soft and gentle, and sometimes he’s more like himself. 

“If someone wanted to hurt me,” he starts, chin resting on the top of your head and hand tucked safely with yours, “what would you do?” 

“Hm?” you moan sleepily against his chest. You’re out of it, he knows because he’s the reason why, but he really wants an answer. Rafe gives your cheek a little slap, demeaning, the way he knows you like. Your eyes jump open.

“You heard me, kid. What would you do?”

“I-” you start, and then stop. You’re thinking about what to say. He doesn’t interrupt, because he knows you're using your little brain to figure out what answer he wants to hear. 

“Hm?” he repeats, mocking. You don’t notice.

“I would do whatever it took to make sure you were okay,” you say, pressing your hand flat against his chest, right over his heart. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The next time is a few months later. You’re still clueless, maybe a little less than before, but if you know something, you don’t admit it. He’s been testy with you, he knows, but you’re relentless in your mission to make sure the two of you are okay—that he’s still okay.

He’s pacing in his bedroom, running a hand over his buzzed hair, while you sit on his bed with your legs hanging off, watching silently. If you’re thinking anything, you don’t say it. His gun rests against his back, tucked into the waistband.

For a second his shirt lifts, and you stare at the black metal with big eyes. He catches you looking and you shift your gaze in a second, without him saying a word. So obedient, even when you’re scared.

“Rafey?” you ask quietly. “What’s going on?” He turns in an instant, squatting down before your legs, hands gripping your knees.

“What’s going on? What’s going on is that it’s happening. Remember when I asked you what you’d do if someone tried to hurt me? Remember?” and you nod fervently. “Well it’s happening now, kid.”

“Someone’s trying to hurt you?”

“Everyone’s trying to hurt me.”

“Not me, Rafe, not me,” and you sit up straighter, pressing your hands against his arms and holding on tightly. “I would never hurt you.”

“I know that, baby, I know. But I have to protect you, protect us both.” You know how Rafe gets sometimes. He worries too much, you’ve finally decided upon, that was it. The reason he was like this, he just worried too much, about protecting you and doing right by his family, his father. He had too much going on, too much responsibility for one person. That was your way of justifying everything. Your boyfriend didn’t do anything wrong, he never did.

“You will. I know you will, you always do, you always protect me.” There’s your obedience again, clicking in and telling him everything he wants to hear. The best part is that he knows you mean it. 

“That’s right, kid. I do.” He takes the gun from behind his shirt, brandishing it before you. If you’re scared, you don’t react at all. You look at him with your big, wet eyes and your thudding heart like you’d do anything if he asked. Pick up the gun and shoot someone yourself if he wanted. It makes his dick hard just thinking about it. “I have to use this, sometimes, to do it. To make sure no one can hurt you. That’s just how it is.” 

You move gingerly, clasping your hand around his and the gun, eyes locked on his own the whole time.

“I know. I know you’re doing it for the right reasons.” The two of you stay silent like that for another few moments, before your quiet voice fills the space again. “Rafe, no matter what you did, I would never blame you.” Your head shakes a little like you don’t understand what you’re saying. “I would never leave you. I would never hurt you.”

“I have to use it, baby, I don’t have a choice. Y’know these people, they don’t listen, no one, you have to show them you’re serious, and this, this is how serious I am.”

“I know,” you repeat, eyes fluttering between the gun and Rafe, back and forth. 

You’re looking at him like this because you like how he’s talking. The serious, scary way he means every word he’s saying, that he would kill to protect you, hurt someone else to make sure you’re okay. It doesn’t make you scared, it makes you fall deeper in love. Someone willing to risk everything for you. You want to prove that you would do anything for him too.

“I knew you’d understand,” he says, eyes fixed on the way you’re running your tongue over your lips, biting the button while you stare at his fingers wrapped around the grip. 

He’s a little surprised, but still, not quite fazed, when you end up squirming in his arms not even ten minutes later. Your skirt pulled up and panties kicked aside, your pretty new shirt ripped down the middle to free your tits in the easiest way possible. 

Rafe has one hand squeezing your tits and the other balancing the gun, holding it in place while he fucks it in and out of your cunt. He knew you were obedient, but even this is beyond his imagination. When you finally come, the wetness from your cunt shining on the black of his handpiece, he makes a show of licking it off. 

You’re his now in every way, even if you ever change your mind. You know you won’t.