#trying to push this is last day of the poll

[prick-love-for-arting]

listen I don't have a good caption for this, just vote kyouwatahaba in @hqrarepairtournament, they're so important to me

[atyourmerci]

Vengeance (500 followers celebration!!)

The boat scene we deserved ;)

♡ ♡

Summary: Abby finds you drunk, hiding away on a boat. Will you leave your girlfriend and run off with your childhood love?

Warnings: smut, MDNI, dom!abby, sub!reader, hate sex, abby being possessive, cheating (tsk tsk don’t do this), fingering, slapping, slight overstimulation, dubcon since reader is drunk but consenting

A/N: so this is the overall winning poll for the celebration so I hope you all enjoy! I don’t think I’ve ever read boat scene for queer abby so I’m like lowkey scared if this is uncharted territory lmao. Also this like loosely?? Follows what happens in g2 but I just made it gay as fuck also unrealistic for the relationship dynamic but I! Don’t! Care! Okay bye!

♡ ♡

“Thought I’d find you here,” she looks disappointed, but knowingly. Of course she would find you here, where the fuck else would you have gone, home? There was no home.

“Ya’no he’ll kill you too for just coming to find me,” slurs out your mouth, you’d be drinking since dawn perhaps. Drinking every bit you have left, not like you’d have a rainy day in store for you come sunlight.

“I’ll take my chances…” she situates herself up on the bench with her forearms lazily cast over her thighs, “how much have you had to drink,” it’s not accusatory, more of a redundant question she knew the answer to before she’d ever taken off to find you.

You take another hefty swig straight from the dirty bottle, letting the lip knock against your teeth. “Fuck off,” you throw out at her, eyes cast on the doorway she had walked through, both dead men walking now.

“So you want to tell me what happened,” now she begins to pry, all the rumors she had heard, maybe they were true, but she thought she knew you better. Once she did, when she was yours, if you could even call it that. Perhaps unspoken puppy love, a trauma bond of sorts. Whatever it was, was over, not that you ever had the decency to tell her. You were with someone else now, whether it was right or not, it was your newfound reality.

“I’m not like you…” your gaze meets hers at last, the words trail off, she knew what she had heard was true. “I couldn’t fucking do it, she was pregnant, begged for me to spare her…the kid. You don’t understand what it’s like, my morals are fucked from those people. This isn’t us. This isn’t you.”

“You don’t think I’ve been put in fucked situations?”

“That’s my point abby, this is all fucked…” you throw your hands hazardously in the air that springs droplets of the honey liquor flying out. Your feet move on their own, bringing you into an upright position as you begin closing in on her, “we are all just chess pieces in their game, when will you understand that.”

She rises out of her seat to meet your stance, she was much stronger, much more intimidating than you could ever surmount to, but the honey liquid encouragement was working overtime. “So you’re just going to run off? you can’t escape this,” her words reek of venom now.

“Come with me,” it comes out as a plea, but confident in meaning. She lets out a scoff at your attempt, shaking her head at your scheme. “What you’re just going to leave her?” She didn’t need to give a name, a further explanation, you both knew the predicament well enough.

Would you leave her?

“Yes.”

“You’re a fucking ass you know that-“ she begins to walk past you but you take grip at her muscled bicep, you feel as it twitches under your grasp.

“Abby-“ you begin to plead. She gives you one last look of adoration before ripping you to pieces.

She begins backing you into the nearest wall, pushing her hands into your chest to get you to her desired location, “no- fuck you- you don’t get to do that anymore.” She continues to dig her palms into your chest, you try to pull them off of you to no avail, on any day you’d be no match for her strength, but today the liquor only worsened your case.

“You know you’re different,” you bite at her, deepening your gaze, letting your eyes speak louder than your words could. She takes a moment to stare at you, truly wondering if you’d even meant it, if she knew the truth. “Don’t fucking do that-“ her palm grips at your throat now with no real threat as her other palm continues to dig into the flesh of your chest.

“You know it’s true abby.”

“God I fucking hate you,” she says through gritted teeth. She can barely get out the sentence before clashing her mouth against yours. She ravenous, eating you alive, digging her fingers into your soft flesh. She wasn’t allowed to have you for so long, but now, for however long she could, she’d reclaim what was hers.

Shes sloppy, mouth messy against yours as you both fight for dominance, dueling for the right over one another. While her teeth begin to bite down at your lip she brings her wavering fingers to the button of your jeans, attempting to break you out of any confines that are in her way. She rips them down off of you with no generosity as she whips you around so that your chest and palms are pressed into the wall.

You can’t see her, she wanted it that way. This was wrong, but she couldn’t stop herself. In the end you were always hers anyways.

You’re left panting into the cold wood of the walls, awaiting her punishment. Her large hands grip into your bare hips, jutting them out so they meet her completely clothed pelvis.

“Always were so pliable huh?” She taunts into the shell of your ear, making you shutter under her breath.

“I hate that you made it happen like this,” her hand swings down and lays a stinging smack into the meat of your ass, you breathe out hoarsely. “I hate what you do to me,” another smack is laid into you, this time eliciting a whine to escape your throat. “I fucking hate what you make me feel,” this time the infliction came harder than the rest, the slick now beginning to run down your thighs, aching so badly to be touched.

“Abby- please.”

Her knee comes between your own, opening them up wider for her, your slick stringing a sticky web between your thighs. Her hand snakes around your waist, without warning leaving a gentle smack onto the mound. You let out an eager whimper at the decadent pain. She rubs the wound quickly after, feeling your built up arousal in her fingertips that elicits a smug groan in your ear.

She continues to rub down your slick slit with no true target in mind, coaxing as many pathetic moans she could get at her indirection for your pleasure.

“Does she touch you like this?”

You don’t respond, brain too fuzzy to play into her antics. Another smack is laid into the soft pink flesh, hitting your swollen clit perfectly.

“Do you let her?” She says with more aggression this time, rubbing harsh circles around your clit now. You can’t help the guttural moan that comes out, “y-YES.” You should lie, but you didn’t want to know what she would do if she found out you were lying.

Her pace doesn’t falter, continuously circling the swollen bud, “does she feel better.” You pause for a moment, knowing the answer but forced with the moral dilemma of speaking it- “no.”

“I know.” Her fingers come off your clit causing a pathetic whine out of you. Her hand comes to the back of you now, her fingertips prodding at your fluttering hole, teasing the impending doom of her cruelty.

“Deep breath,” she commands of you. You pace your rapid breathing to suck in deep- when she hears the air hit your lungs she plunges her pointer and middle finger deep inside. There’s no grace, no sympathy as she beats into you. Her fingers already coated in your slick haphazardly plunging into your sweet spot.

Your screams don’t stop now, so completely full from her fingers, lust coating your eyes over white. You bite into her forearm placed next to your head to stabilize herself, teeth cutting close to the bulging veins. Her own breath beginning to falter, you can hear the faint moans trailing out her own mouth, almost completely covered by your moans.

Your walls start closing in on her fingers, she rips her free hand out of the tight enclosure of your mouth, in seconds working tight circles on your enlarged clit. The sensation of both stimulants drawing you to the edge of your climax “abby- I’m going t-“

“Tell me you don’t love her.”

She wasn’t going to make this easy, of course she wasn’t. But you’d do anything for release now. “I don’t- I- don’t!”

Her fingertips on your clit stop circling as she pinches onto it, and thrusts even harder into your hole, “say her fucking name.”

You’re screaming out, breathless, mind numb, you’d kill to finish at this point.

“I don’t love Ellie! Please!”

“Good girl now cum on my fingers,” and like that she continued, fucking into you relentlessly, fingers barely stable coated in slick at your clit.

Your ears began to ring as your orgasm took full autonomy over you, sending waves of pleasure down your pathetic structure and out through your needy throat. All you could muster out was incoherent spells of curses and the name of your capture. She took everything she could from you, never letting up till you begin to shake from the overstimulation.

Her fingers trailed from your clit to your hip, she dug her nails into the flesh there. The fingers wedged in your hole remained, gently thrusting when she felt it pulse, eliciting strained whimpers from you.

“I hate that I love you,” as she pulled her fingers out of you, leaving you there limp.

What happened before this?

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson5 @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow @a-little-bit-of-everybody

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | your first time together is…your first time

♡ fandoms; The Boy, Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2006), slashers (general)

♡ characters; Brahms Heelshire, Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt

♡ reader; gender neutral - i tried to be ambiguous but where i couldn’t be, i gave an option for both sets of parts uwu

♡ cw; sex (this is smut my friend), a little bit of implied breeding kink, possessiveness

♡ notes; what it says on the tin; you lose your virginity the first time you have sex with your stabby bf. i can only dream 😔

also, probably the last fic with a random selection of characters , i have the poll results n everything. vincent was the winner and brahms three percent behind him, so they’re being added to a-team permanently

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Brahms Heelshire

> he’s relieved when you tell him you haven’t gone that far before

> because he’s a virgin too, and probably more nervous than you are

> he’s eager though- he’s always eager when it comes to you

> he pulls you on top, grabbing your hips and grinding up on you as you kiss

> and then he urges you to use his face- fuck it or sit on it, depending on what you’re working with

> and while your hesitant, not wanting to overwhelm him for his first time

> but god, he’s a good little sub, and he loves every second of it

> after he’s made you cum, he pulls away- practically still drooling, and begs for you to touch him

> he bucks up into your hand immediately, already so hard he’s twitching

> if he lasts more than a few pumps, he flips you, seeming shy to pin you, but trying his best

> and he has to take a breather to make sure he doesn’t immediately cum inside you

> he’s slow at first, literally shaking

> and for your first time, it’s all missionary- he needs to watch your face, making sure he’s doing a good job

> and making sure he tells you how pretty you are

> he cums first, he just can’t help it- but he’s not at all hesitant to replace his cock with his fingers

> and he makes sure you cum at least twice more, using his mouth again if he needs to

> by the time you finally catch your breath, he’s already more than ready for round 2

Micheal Myers

> he’s already pushing you to your knees in front of him when you manage to tell him

> he pauses- he’s not sure what to do

> he’s always rough.

> and he’d been rough with you thus far

> he rubs your cheek softly and huffs- and at first you think he’s going to put a stop to things for the day

> until he throws you over his shoulder, giving your ass a playful squeeze in the process

> of course he’s not going to fuck you on the porch like an animal

> not for your very first time at least

> he drops you on the bed and takes his mask off

> it’s not the first time you’ve seen him without it, but it’s still special

> he teases you, hands all over your body as he carefully watches your reactions

> he has you in your undies when he finally gets impatient and goes back to his usual selfishness

> he had you get on your knees again- this time more gently coaxing, and guides you through taking him

> and for the record, there’s a lot to take

> before you have him too needy he lays you down

> you can tell this is going to be a once in a while thing, so you savor the sight of him between your thighs

> he eats you out/rims you like it’s his goddamn job, staring up at you all the while

> it’d be creepy if he wasn’t so good at what he was doing

> if you insist on missionary, he’ll let you this time

> but he wants you doggy so he can watch you take him inch by inch

> this boy has so much stamina

> you cum three times before he finally pulls out, painting your back

> you try to sit up but he doesn’t let you- he’s not done with you

> not even close

Thomas Hewitt

> something about his eyes darken when you tell him you’re a virgin

> he’d never be the one to initiate something first - he’s far too scared of crossing your boundaries to lead like that

> so if you’re telling him, it’s probably because you’re telling him you want him to take your virginity

> and even though he never believed in the Bible, or the sexist shit Hoyt always spouted

> he’s possessive, and if something about being your first is exciting. it was another part of you that’d be all his

> before you know it the man is ripping your clothes off. like literally ripping.

> he manhandles you- unintentionally, but it’s hard for him not to with your size difference

>he spreads your thighs wide apart and goes to town

> he goes down on you again, and again, and again and—

> by the time he sits up you’re already overstimulated

> but it’s his turn, and he’s eager to take it

> you can feel how huge he is through his pants, and your jaw drops when you see him

> “Tommy, that won’t fit”

> he huffs, amused through his mask and nuzzles you reassuringly

> he starts in missionary, but then he pushes your legs up into a full mating press

> he fucks into you deep and hard, going faster until you’re babbling nonsense

> he pulls your hair and makes you look him in the eye as he cums inside

> and when he does pull out, you can feel it dripping from you

> he looks at it and then up at you excitedly, and you know what he wants

> again

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (10)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: as dictated by the results of poll #6, this chapter will include stunt training, clubbing, and an accident. Plus, you've got tub anon to thank for... well... the tub scene :) Oh, and this is kind of 18+. Just a tad.

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Matt and the reader eagerly explore the uncharted waters of their budding relationship. Ewan is booked and busy with the preparation for his new franchise. Will Ewan and his darling even find time for each other, or should they just take this opportunity to let go?

The internet, ever so informative, lets you know that Ewan and Jenna’s arrangement is in its initial stages before he even calls to tell you. 

Their first interview with Josh Horowitz is immediately followed by another feature on the movie set, with the two talking about the pre-production, what they liked about the script, and their chemistry, which according to them, came naturally and did not require much work at all. It was practically the thing they had to work on the least. How lucky. 

A lighthearted reprieve came in the form of a meme that started circulating not long after their interview with Josh. In it, Ewan is caught looking like he's either malfunctioning or deep in a philosophical crisis. The internet ran with it, with captions like, ‘When you realise you left the oven on at home’, to comparing him to an NPC glitching out.

When you asked him about it, he quickly stammered that he simply spaced out. Sure. It was hilarious, nonetheless.

Your publicist Mallory had commented that soon Ewan and Jenna would be obliged to go on pap walks, something that would appear casual and separate from the confines of the project that they’re working on. Something that signals that their relationship is making it into the real world.

“That whole casual ‘just friends hanging out’ vibe they’re gonna push? It’s all part of the gig,” Mallory shared. “Next thing you know, they’ll be taking long walks on the beach or grabbing coffee in some trendy LA spot.”

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting. Even just a little. Sure, you know what the business is like. You’ve been on the same end of that deal just recently, with your own film’s PR efforts. But this arrangement that Ewan has doesn’t seem like the usual short-term fling to drum up buzz. It feels… heavy, like something that might actually stick.

“I’d be lying if I say I don’t find it all annoying, darling, but I try to look at it now as part of the job, you know?” he had said, when he phoned you one evening – his afternoon – to let you know that his stay in LA would be much longer than expected. 

You responded with, “Oh, yeah, I completely understand.” What else can you do? You aren’t together – you don’t have a claim to him, and vice versa. You thought that would make things better – easier – but you’re still waiting for that sense of comfort to kick in.

This is for the best, you would remind yourself every time a new headline surfaces. 

It’s only been a month since you last properly saw Ewan, since that night on the rooftop. In the early days, he messaged every day, called whenever he had a spare moment. But slowly, the calls have become shorter, more sporadic – chalked up to his increasingly busy schedule. Your tones have become more dispassionate – he blames it on his exhaustion, profusely swearing that he misses you so fucking much, but something feels different. 

Your job keeps you busy, with your commitments related to the new season of House of the Dragon, event appearances, and gearing up for the release of your film with Jacob. You are even invited to the upcoming Vanity Fair Young Hollywood Ball, an exclusive party to be held in New York.

And Matt is a more than welcome distraction. 

Matt, who has begun spending more time in your apartment after Ewan’s temporary move to LA. Matt, who brings you flowers that are apparently ‘beautiful, but pales in comparison to you’. Matt, who is unfailingly a gentleman, respecting your boundaries and not making a move since that time on your couch after your first date, when you told him to wait. 

He sits with you by your kitchen counter, in a disarmingly tight white shirt that leaves little to the imagination, one sturdy hand nursing a cup of coffee and the other on the small of your back to support you as you sit on the high stool, and you suddenly don’t want him to wait anymore. 

“Have you decided on what you’ll be wearing to the screening tonight, love?” he asks. 

“Why? Does it have to be pre-approved?” you playfully quip, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Ah,” he nods, smiling, playing along, “of course, of course. You think I’m an easy man to date? You’ve got to keep up with my standards, as beautiful as you already are.”

You laugh, playfully mussing his hair, and he catches your wrist before it drops back on the counter. He says, “I ask because I wanted to match you, so to speak. We’d be like two peas in a pod.”

“Oh,” you snort softly, “or you know, like Tweedledee and Tweedledum?”

“Funny girl,” he muses, before leaning forward and capturing your lips in a soft kiss, caffeinated and warm and Matty. You notice that his hand on your back is pressed firmer – he didn’t want you to slip when you leaned in. 

Charming bastard. He isn’t making things any easier… or maybe he is. 

Maybe he’s it. 

But the moment’s broken by a loud, offended-sounding meow. You look down to see Sansa, staring at Matt like he’s personally responsible for all the world’s problems.

“Hey, babygirl,” Matt croons, extending a hand toward her. Sansa, the biggest diva of a kitten, just gives him a slow blink before trotting off, clearly unimpressed.

“Calling her babygirl isn’t going to make her warm up to you,” you tease.

“She already doesn’t seem to like me,” he replies, scoffing. “Which is a shock, pretty much, how can she not?”

“So humble, Matthew.” You smile at his effortless charm, his easy personality. That’s all you seem to be doing nowadays. Matt is like your personal ray of sunshine. 

“I’ll win her over,” he declares confidently, sitting upright. “Anything for my lady.”

You roll your eyes. “How very Daemon of you.”

“Actually,” he laughs, “Daemon would probably feed her to Caraxes for being difficult.”

“Matthew!”

“I’m kidding!”

Sansa meows even louder, bounding away towards your bedroom. 

“Leave my Sansa alone,” you say, pointing at him accusingly.

He gives you a sly grin. “I will… if you come here and give me another kiss.”

Before you can respond, he slides your stool closer to his with a smooth movement, catching you off guard. You find yourself practically in his lap, his thighs pressing against yours as he waits, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Okay,” you sigh deeply, narrowing your eyes, unable to mask the smile that graces your lips. “One kiss, but only for Sansa.”

“Oh, shush and kiss me already, love.”

The film screening had been a private event, by invitation only from those who worked on the film. Edward Bluemel, Matt’s good friend, is a fellow actor marking his directorial debut with this film. For a first go, it was impressive, gripping from start to finish. Almost as much as Matt’s hand resting just above your knee, his thumb absentmindedly tracing soft circles into your skin.

Your cheeks had flushed when a particularly steamy scene came on the screen, and it might have been the nervous gremlins in your mind, but you swore Matt’s hand inched higher up your leg.

Now, on your couch, his hand is even higher. He hovers over you, his breath heavy and uneven as his fingers tease at the warmth between your thighs, so close to where you’re already aching for him. 

Maybe it was all the dirty martinis you drank at the open bar after the screening, or maybe this was a long time coming. Either way, you want him, and from the way his lips move urgently against yours, he wants you too.

It dawns on you that the tension is no longer something you can talk yourself out of.

He pulls away, and you protest with a mewling whine, your body arching into him. He nearly growls in frustration, the unspeakable sound you just made having a direct line to his hardened cock. With a gentle tug at the nape of his neck, you pull him back down to your lips, but he resists. 

“We have to slow down,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Because we’re about to cross a line that I won’t be able to hold back from, love.”

“Matt – ”

“I understand – ” He licks his lips, letting out a slow and controlled breath. “ – that you want to wait – ”

Your confession comes out slow and measured, letting him know that this is what you really want. “Maybe I don’t want… to wait anymore.”

“Say that again,” he says slowly, his eyes darkening in lust. 

“Maybe I… I want you to fuck me.”

“Maybe?” he whispers, his voice rough, practically pleading.

“Oh, just fuck me.”

That’s all it takes for him to snap.

He undresses you in record time, ripping off every item of clothing from your body with an eagerness that betrays just how hungry he is for you.

Neither of you even bother to travel to your bedroom. At some point, your entwined naked bodies slip off the couch and onto your plush carpet. 

And you have a heated… What was it called again? 

Oh right – a damn good roll in the hay. 

The water is still warm in your deep clawfoot tub, steam rising gently from the surface. You lean back, head resting against the porcelain, that blissful post-sex daze settling over you. 

Matt slides into the water opposite you, his movements slow, deliberate. His eyes haven’t left you since he stepped in, and you can feel the weight of his gaze lingering on your skin. It isn’t just the remnants of your earlier intimacy – though that heat still hummed in the air between you – it’s something more. Something you can’t name and maybe you’re afraid to, but it tugs at you all the same.

A small smile plays on his lips, the kind that made your chest tighten – half teasing, half dangerous.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, voice low and smooth.

You exhale a soft laugh, running your fingers lazily through the water, trailing small ripples across the surface. “I’m not exactly complaining, am I?”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to have second thoughts.” His tone is light, but the undercurrent of meaning isn’t lost on you.

You close your eyes, letting the warm water soothe your tired muscles, but even with the comfort of the bath, you can’t quite escape the one person lingering in the back of your mind. 

Matt isn’t Ewan, but he’s here, his presence steady, his charm disarming. He makes you laugh, makes you feel wanted in ways that are simple and uncomplicated, and maybe that’s what you need right now. Maybe it was okay to let yourself enjoy this, to live in this moment without overthinking what it meant.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Matt asks, leaning forward.

You open your eyes, catching the glint of amusement in his. “Just... thinking.”

“Dangerous territory,” he teases, reaching for your hand.

“Hmm, maybe,” you murmur, meeting his gaze. “You’re too charming for your own good, you know that?”

He chuckles deeply. “I’ve been told. But I like to think it’s part of my appeal.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Cocky bastard.”

He grins, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Takes one to know one.” His hand travels to your leg underneath the water, massaging gently.

“I’m serious, though,” he says softly, his voice taking on a more earnest tone. “I don’t want you overthinking this. We’re good, yeah?”

You nod, but there is a flicker of something else in your chest. Guilt, maybe? But Matt is right here, and he isn’t asking for anything more than what you could give, and for now, that is more than enough.

“We’re good,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

He smiles against your mouth, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. “Good,” he whispers back, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You laugh, the sound muffled as he kisses you again and positions you on top of him. You shuffle forward and discover a very obvious indication that he’s ready for round two of rolling in the hay. Or in the tub. Whatever works. 

He looks absolutely enraptured when you ride him, your motions causing tremors in the water. 

And in the sheer pleasure he gives you, surrounded by flickering candlelight and the smell of lavender, you allow yourself to let go.

The event has the industry buzzing - an exclusive event by Vanity Fair celebrating the rising stars of Hollywood. A masquerade party, the notion of which excited you to no end. You’d only read about such in books, in its medieval iterations, all poofy skirts and velvet waistcoats, the whole concept full of prestige and mystery. 

You spent days prepping with your team, the anticipation building until it felt like a living thing inside you. Your dress, a beautiful piece from Atelier Versace, fits like a glove, one side made of draped black sequins shimmering like liquid night against your skin. The theme is Midnight Elysium, and you look every bit the part - dangerous and glamourous and untouchable. 

Your makeup team did an impeccable job. Your eyeshadow resembles a swirling galaxy, a blend of silver and noir. Your lipstick is a perfect nude shade that matches your skin tone and your features.  

But then there was the mask. The final, necessary touch. Delicate black lace that settles over your eyes, framed with gold filigree and flecks of silver – sharp and ethereal at once. It was a piece of art, something you personally commissioned from a local designer in your hometown.

In a room where everyone claims to know everyone, a mask can be more than just a costume piece. It can be a weapon – giving you the freedom to be both seen and unseen. 

Stepping into the nightclub is like slipping in between worlds. Black velvet drapes line the walls, catching the glow of the minimal lighting – gold and silver chandeliers hanging like constellations. The bass from the music pulses underfoot, sending vibrations through your veins. Faces are obscured by extravagant masks, but you are able to recognise some of them if you look close enough. Milly is speaking to someone by the bar, and you remind yourself to pull her aside for a chat later. Timothee is introducing his date to a small flock of people. And Jacob is bounding right for you the moment you make eye contact. 

“There’s my leading lady,” he greets cheerfully, swooping down to kiss you on both cheeks. He’s wearing a metallic silver vest and trousers, along with a white mask that covers one side of his face like The Phantom.

“Wow,” you say, making a show of appraising him, looking at all 6 foot 5 inches of his figure up and down. “You look like a handsome disco ball.”

He laughs, the sound unmistakable even in the bustling nightclub. “And look at you! What are you, a cyberpunk witch? A sleek dominatrix?” 

“Careful now,” you warn him, “or I might just hex you into getting me a drink.”

“Coming right up,” he says, but his attention is pulled by someone calling his name. “Hold on a sec, I have to introduce you to some of my friends.” You let him lead you further into the room, and you’re swept into the rhythm of it all, moving through the crowd as if you belong – because you do. You’re slowly getting used to the weight of eyes on you, but tonight, it feels as if there’s a shadow you can’t quite shake. 

Your personal shadow in a room full of masked shadows. Your skin prickles, an awareness blooming under your ribs. In all the fuss leading up to this event, you hadn’t really bothered to check the full roster of attendees.

After several rounds of conversation, you excuse yourself for a moment and stand off to the side to take a breather. 

And then you see him.

Ewan stands across the room, a drink in hand, his black leather overcoat tailored to perfection. The mask he wears, a sharp cut of black and gold, adds a dangerous air to him. His effortlessly tousled hair sports a smattering of gold embellishments, like streaks of pale blonde hair. You take him in, every inch of him, that mischievous curve of his lips and the glint of his blue eyes underneath that mask. 

It hits you like a tidal wave, like a fucking hurricane, the longing you’ve tried to suppress for weeks. 

You shouldn’t want him this much, not when you both agreed to the break. To keep some distance. His fake romantic arrangement had made sure of that. And after everything, you knew that some separation was what you both needed. 

But seeing him now, looking at you like he’s starving… it’s enough to unravel every careful thread you’d stitched together since you last touched. You want to look away, pretend that this is just another night, that he’s just another fellow actor among the crowd. But the pull is too strong. It’s as if your legs move on their own volition, and you slowly move through the crowd, almost subconsciously drawn to him. 

He steps deeper into the shadows of the club as you approach, disappearing into one of the more secluded alcoves draped in heavy black velvet. No one will see you there. No one will know any better.

The world narrows down to just the two of you, and the music becomes a distant hum. It’s quieter, darker, and for all the trappings of the Hollywood elite, Ewan is far more intoxicating. 

“You’re here,” you whisper, half in question, half in disbelief.

But he’s already moving towards you, his eyes dark and hungry behind the mask. The air between you crackles with an undeniable need – weeks of distance, of longing, building up to this moment. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth of his body through your dress, and you so badly want to forget that this is a bad idea.

“I can’t stay away,” he says, his voice low and raw, like it’s costing him to hold back. “Not tonight.”

You swallow, your heart pounding in your chest, every rational thought slipping away as his fingers skim the bare skin of your waist through the slits in your dress. “We… we can’t,” you manage to say, but even to your own ears, it sounds weak. Oh, who are you trying to fool?

“How can I not? Fuck, how can you look like that and expect me to just walk away?”

You want to say something, something sensible, something to remind him of the stakes. But nothing comes to mind, not when his hand brushes up your arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. His other hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space between you. He dips his head down, breathing against your shoulders and your neck, taking you in like a vice. 

“Ewan,” you finally croak. “We agreed not to – ”

“I don’t bloody care,” he cuts you off, his mouth inches from yours. “We agreed to give it some time, sure, but I never agreed to stop wanting you. Besides, I make good on what’s asked of me. I play the part. I deserve to be rewarded, don’t I? And you’re the only prize I desire.”

His words hit you hard, melting any resistance you’d been clinging to. 

“Oh? So… so I’m just a prize now?”

He only smiles. “The only one worth winning.”

Before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you pull him closer and crash your lips into his. 

The kiss is hard, fierce, his mouth feverishly attacking yours. He tastes bittersweet, all hard bourbon and cigarettes. You’re certain that the lipstick your makeup artist painstakingly applied would be wiped clean off. His hands grip you harder, fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you closer, deeper, like he can’t get enough.

You break apart, gasping for breath. His lips are slick, shining in the occasional flicker of neon blue and red lights, his mask casting shadows across his sharp features.

A bright flash from the party's official photographer erupts in the corner, thankfully not pointed in your direction. Still, it momentarily shakes both of you back to reality. 

“Come with me.” His hand slips into yours, fingers curling possessively as he pulls you away from the cacophony of the club. You barely have time to react before you’re being led down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. He pushes open a door, leading you into a smaller room bathed in that same cold, electric blue. Plush seating is arranged haphazardly in the corners, but the space is mostly empty. The low hum of the bass still thrums in the distance, but it’s reduced to a faint echo. The smell gives off cigarette smoke and spilled liquor.

“Smoking area,” he says with a half-smirk, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time himself. “I think.”

“You think?” You raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs, utterly unconcerned. “Who cares? It’s just us in here.”

You shoot him a look, glancing back at the door. “Someone could walk in.”

He chuckles, stepping closer, that familiar heat radiating off him like a furnace. “It’s a party, darling. They’re probably wasted out of their minds. And besides…” He taps the edge of his mask, his eyes glinting mischievously behind the black and gold. “The masks?”

You bite your lip, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “And if someone does walk in?” you ask, arching a brow. “What then?”

He steps closer, crowding into your space, the tension thick between you. “Then they get a show,” he says, his voice playful and teasing, but laced with something darker. 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

“You can still walk away, darling,” he offers, trying to bait you when he knows full well that he already has you hooked. “Or, you can just shut up and kiss me.”

So much for giving it time. Ewan’s lips find yours once more, just as desperate, and you barely notice when he directs you to the seating, your back colliding with its velvet exterior. His low groan sends a wave of heat pooling in your stomach, and you think to yourself, this was a terrible idea. 

Your hands roam, finding the planes of his chest. He smoothly takes off his leather overcoat, revealing his bare torso underneath. The sight of it makes your head spin, and you croak unsteadily, “Ewan… not here, baby, we can’t – ”

“I know, darling,” he croons, his hand cradling your face. “I just wanna kiss you. I just want you… to touch me…” His other hand takes yours and drags it down the firm lines of his stomach, a desperate plea in his eyes. “Please, just – ”

The moment is abruptly shattered by the sound of giggling from the hallway, getting louder. Suddenly, the door opens and in stumbles a pair of girls, one of them you recognise to be Jenna. 

“Oh!” The other girl exclaims, clearly delighted by the situation she’s just walked into. She pulls off her mask, revealing herself as Emma Myers. “We found him! We finally found your date.”

Your heart plummets, right down on the liquor stained carpet.

“Hi,” you manage to squeak, getting to your feet and smoothing down your dress which had ridden scandalously higher up your thighs. “I’m – ”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Jenna says, shaking your hand, not the least bit bothered by the state she found you and Ewan in. “I love your work. I’m Jenna.”

“Oh… thank you – ”

Emma steps in, grinning. “Hi! I’m Emma. I’m such a fan.”

“Oh my god, I should be saying that to you guys!” you blurt, feeling a rush of relief at their easy demeanour. “I love Wednesday.”

They both gasp, and soon the three of you are exchanging compliments like old friends, chatting about each other's work with enthusiasm. Ewan, still seated, watches the scene unfold with barely concealed frustration. He eventually stands, shrugging his leather coat back on, and glances at Jenna.

“One of our producers is here,” Jenna explains cheerfully. “She’d love to chat with both of us.”

Right. Ewan’s her date. The word echoes in your mind, but the jealousy you expected to feel is oddly muted now. 

Ewan speaks, addressing only you, “Darling, will you – ”

“I’ve got her,” Emma declares, looping her arm around yours. “I’ve got so much I want to ask you!” Before you know it, she leads you out of the room like you’ve been best friends for years.

Ewan’s eyes stay on you, full of frustration and yearning, even as he and Jenna follow you out the door.

But you barely see him for the rest of the night.

The party is a blur of celebrities and conversations, but your mind keeps drifting back to that stolen moment in the blue-lit room. Eventually, your social battery runs out, and you slip out of the club early, unnoticed by most. 

Back at your hotel, you peel off your dress and drop onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the events of the night replay in your head. The feeling of his hands on your skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours – it’s all too much.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, snapping you out of your thoughts. Ewan One-Eye flashes across the screen.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen, but you pick up. His voice is low, almost cautious. “You left early.”

“I was tired,” you reply, voice soft. “The party was great but it was... a lot.” Mainly because of him.

A beat of silence follows, and you wonder if he's wrestling with what to say next. “Are you okay?” You can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, jaw clenched, eyes dark with worry. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say, unable to hide the tremble in your voice. 

Another long pause, with only his slow breathing on the other end. 

“I hate this,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper, the raw emotion in his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I fucking hate that he gets to have you, and I don’t… and I can’t… ” He cuts himself off, and you hear the snap of his lighter followed by his sharp exhale.

You bite your lip, your throat tight with emotion. You’ve both been so careful, dancing around each other, pretending that you could stay apart.

“I’m flying back to London tomorrow night,” you blurt out, the words rushing out before you can stop them. It feels like a confession, like you’re admitting defeat.

“I need to see you before you go.”

“Ewan, we agreed – ”

“Fuck what we agreed!” His sudden outburst takes you by surprise, and you hear the raw need in his voice. “I don’t care about the arrangement, I don’t care about the distance. I just... I need you.”

You want to tell him that you need him too. You want to throw caution to the wind and agree to being together in secret despite the false romance he has to portray to the world. But you can’t. 

“I...” Your voice falters. “We’ll see each other soon.” It doesn’t feel like enough. With a soft sigh, you add on a lighter note, “Alyna still has to kick Aemond’s ass, you know.”

A beat passes, and then you hear his tired laugh on the other end. “Right,” he chuckles softly, the sound both comforting and heartbreaking. “Wouldn’t want to keep the fans waiting for that.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, trying for casual, trying not to let your voice crack, “someone’s got to put Aemond in his place.”

“Hmm, well if that place happens to be right in Alyna’s arms, I doubt you’ll hear any complaints about the script from me this time.”

You can’t help but smile at his teasing, but it only deepens the ache in your heart.

“Ewan…” you begin, but the words hang in the air, unspoken. 

“I know, darling,” he replies, his tone resigned yet gentle. “I miss you too.”

The training room is alive with the sounds of clashing swords and laughter, but you can’t help but feel a different kind of electricity buzzing in the air. Maybe it’s just the way Matt looks at you, as you rehearse a scene where Daemon helps Alyna brush up on her sword fighting. 

You lunge forward, initiating the first move with confidence, and he counters effortlessly, the blades clashing in a symphony of steel. The practice moves are intense, each swing bringing you closer. His eyes darken with focus as he follows your movements, and for a moment, it becomes easy to forget the rest of the stunt crew in the room. 

“Nice footwork,” Matt compliments, stepping in closer. His body brushes against yours, sending a rush of heat through you. Ever since your night together, he has only been more brazen with his affections. “But you’re leaving yourself open here.” He demonstrates, his sword brushing against your side as he adjusts your stance.

“There,” he says, his voice dropping lower, “feel that?” You swallow nervously, grateful that the stunt coordinator had moved on to Harry in the far side of the room.

“I think I might be too open,” you manage to say, trying to keep your tone light.

“Maybe,” Matt murmurs, stepping back slightly but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “But I can’t help but want to close the distance.”

As you move through the choreography, you both fall into a rhythm, and almost inevitably, the fight turns into something more playful. You circle each other, exchanging faux blows and laughter, the distracting banter causing the stunt director to approach and get you both back on track. 

Next up, you have to train for Alyna’s pivotal scene where she attempts to mount Caraxes as per Daemon’s command. 

As you practice the mounting technique on the mechanical dragon, you’re hyper-aware of every movement. The crew watches closely, ready to offer guidance. You grip the handles tightly, adrenaline coursing through your veins, and for a brief moment, you lose yourself in the character, feeling the thrill of the scene.

But then it happens. The Buck jolts unexpectedly, throwing you off balance. Time seems to slow as you feel yourself slipping. You try to brace for impact, but it’s too late. You land hard, the pain shooting through your ankle as it twists at an unnatural angle.

There is a stinging sensation too, by the side of your head, and all you think is – oh fuck. The world around you fades to a blur, just as chaos erupts.

When you finally regain consciousness, the sterile scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils. Your surroundings come into focus slowly, and your heart races when you realise you’re in a hospital room. The steady beep of a monitor is the only sound, punctuated by the faint rustle of fabric.

You feel his hand on yours before your eyes even land on his figure, slumped on a chair beside your bed. His head rests on his shoulder, his grip still lightly holding your hand. His brow is furrowed in worry, even in sleep. 

You feel lightheaded, and for a moment you worry that your concussion might be worse than it is, but no. It's just him. 

Then, the sound of your movement catches his attention. He stirs, his eyes fluttering open, and when he meets your gaze, relief instantly washes over his features. 

“Love… you’re awake.”

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @onlyrealjoy @hotdismylife @thepurplecrown @just-fics-station @clarkysblog @urmomsgirlfriend1 @misfitbimbosblog (continued in comments ... )

💌 next chapter

Some notes in the margins...

Well, well, well. Yous were convinced that Matty would get the clubbing scene, helped by the red herring of his dancing video. Alas!

Is that Matty at the end there? Or a certain Mitchelly man? Hmm... one wonders. 💖

Complaints? Refund requests? Please direct your thoughts in the comments section below. I can 100% guarantee a satisfying solution. Or 70%.

Or, you know, bugger it. We're all in this together, better or worse ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[gghostwriter]

Still Alive for My Lover

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The four times Spencer brushes with death and the fifth time he's reborn to find his way back to you

Warning: angst with happy ending || [Part 2A of Death of a Love Affair; Part 2B is the sad ending]

A/n: I did a poll the other day on if I should post both different part 2s for Death of a Love Affair and posting both won so here is one of the endings--the happy one! I actually scrapped my first happy ending idea for this (I dreamt about this plot just the other night) so like a maniac, I wrote and edited it in one sitting. Also he has been through a lot so I had to choose scenes that I think would affect his psyche. Hope you enjoy!

Part one || Main masterlist || Part 2B

The first time Death came close was during an Anthrax attack

In Spencer’s quest in solving the time sensitive and nation threatening case, he made a series of misjudgments that had led him to being exposed to the chemically engineered Anthrax.

During his months of adjusting back into being single and alone, he poured all that he could to his job. No longer were the cases viewed with a clear objective mind, they all became personal. Case distance from Virginia, where you were, meant nothing. He viewed each killer a threat to your existence. In the most convoluted way, this was him protecting and keeping you safe when he no longer could beside you. 

“Hey, Reid.” Garcia softly said.

“Reid, wow, no, uh—no witty Garcia greeting for me?” Spencer joked to try and lighten the mood.

She shakily exhaled her breath. “I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are.” 

“Garcia, do you think you can do something for me?” His voice trailing off at the end.

“Anything.”

“I, uh-I know I can’t call my mom without uh—“ he cleared his throat. “Without alerting everyone at her hospital and I can’t call Y/N since—since it’s protocol and we broke up.”

She paused, nodding her head. “What do you need?”

“I-I need you to record messages for them, in case anything happens to me.”

“Oh, nothing’s going to happen to you,” she tried to be optimistic. “You’re gonna—brilliantly find out who did this and we’re gonna treat this strain.”

He sighed with a slight smile on his face. “I hope you’re right, but if you’re not, I just—I really want to make sure that they hear my voice.” 

“Ok, just give me a second.” The taps from her keyboard echoing in the background.

“Are you ready?” Spencer asked.

“Ready.”

“Hi, Mom. This is Spence. I just, um-I just really want you to know that I love you and—i need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.” His tone fluctuating from holding back tears. “Y/N, I know we broke up months ago but—I need you to know that I love you and that I’m sorry—” A shiver passed through his body, a sign of his fever escalating. “Sorry for pushing you down in my list of priorities—should have done better. I don’t resent you for leaving me and if—if this is my last message, I want you to know you’re one of the last things on my mind, Angel.” 

The thought of you finding out through the news that an FBI agent had died or worse, not finding out at all, sent him into a tailspin. You were a worrier and Spencer didn’t want you to question your judgement of breaking it off with him and drown in the not knowing, what ifs of it all. He wondered where you were at that very moment as he crept closer and closer to Death’s door. Were you wallowing still? Maybe out for brunch with your friends or a date—his breathing stuttered at the thought. He tried and failed to imagine you smiling at a faceless man in front of you, preening under your attention. Who wouldn’t? He shook his head as an effect to bring him back to the present.

The pause made Garcia panic. “Reid?”

“I-I gotta go.” 

Click.

***

The second time was when Maeve died

Spencer thought he was finally going to get it right with Maeve but it was false hope, his speculation far from the truth because Maeve—his second chance in love was dead, killed right before his very eyes. He loved her, truly did even without knowing what she looked like—not in the encompassing way he loved you, no, but Maeve still carved a space in his heart that was one filled by you. She was comfort and a healing balm for the pain of losing you.

He associated navigating life with you as something like entering a luscious forest. With you leading the way though the beautiful greenery and kind animals—a fairytale kind of love. But when you let go of his hand, the forest turned dark and the animals turned into monsters that haunt his every move. Maeve was a cabin in those woods, lighted and warm with a fireplace—a respite for his lost and terrified being. He knew what was out there but housed in her presence, he felt safe and believed himself ready to defend his newfound solace. He was wrong, the security was temporary. His shelter torn down and taken away, leaving him back out in the woods with no light or guiding star to see him through. 

Curling into himself on the floor beside his bed with ‘The Narrative of John Smith’, the copy that Maeve gifted, tucked to his chest, uncaring of the the pathogens that it can carry, a folded piece of paper under the dresser caught his eye. He stretched his hand, feeling the settled dust on its surface scatter, and pulled it into the light. Gingerly, he opened the yellowing sheet and found himself staring at your handwriting—a note that he had never seen before.

He once asked about your penchant for leaving hand written notes for him to find. You shrugged then and nonchalantly called it a treasure hunt for him to partake in. During the times passed, he’d encounter lingering, forgotten notes from you all over his apartment. In his cupboard, pushed in the dark recesses, in his rarely worn patterned coat, and slotted in between the books on his bookshelf. He thought he had found them all but here was one left unread as if it knew when to make its presence known. As if it knew that he needed a sliver of light to guide him home.

Spence,

I’m not sure if we met at the right time, but because we’re both here, let’s do our best and if there does come a time were we must part, know that I love you. I’ll love you enough until we meet again. 

His tears broke free from his battered walls and streamed down his face. He loved Maeve. He was thankful for the peace each phone call had given him and although his memory of each talk may fade into the back of his mind, the relief and emotion she had given him will linger in his chest. He slowly got up from his position and approached his beloved shelf. With one last look at his book, he slotted it within the nook and walked away.

His love for Maeve will always be there but he loved you too and he thinks he always will. And when sadness and grief comes to pull him back under in moments of weakness, he unfolds his talisman—the note—kept near his heart as a reminder. A reminder that he has loved, was loved, and is still loved. 

***

The third time was when he was shot in the neck

Fading in and out. 

In—liquid seeping into his shirt and tie.

You were the only thing he could think of. Not the case, not the team, only you.

Out—sirens blaring in a distant background.

In—Morgan’s voice calling his name.

For the first time in a long time, Spencer was terrified. He was so terrified that death had come to collect his borrowed life without having a chance to right his wrongs. Without any contact and without any way to say how much he has loved you still after all these years and months. He could probably recite how long it had been, if only he wasn’t loopy from the pain. 

Out—muffled voices all around him. 

In—a gentle sway in the ambulance as it rushed to the hospital.

He wanted to tell you how much he’d learned from recalling all his memories with you. How much you had taught him about love—a teaching he could never find in books. How love was selfless and tenacious—just like when you didn’t give up on him early on—when it needed to be. How love is fueled with respect—like how you respected his choices and demands of his career, and how love—true love, knew when it’s time to go. 

Out—streak of bright lights passing him by. 

In—professionals dressed in scrubs and white coats touching him. 

Your face was the only image settling behind his closed eyelids. He tried to remember the crinkle around your eyes when you smile, the scrunch of your nose when you laugh, or the he arch of your brows when you teased him but all were hazy, as if he was staring into a deep depth of water that rippled nonstop. All he could conjure up was your face with tears sliding down to your chin from the hurt he caused. He was deathly afraid that his last memory of you were in pain. 

Out—laying cold on the operating table.

All he could muster to repeat to himself as he faded under local anesthesia was your name. Like it was a mantra, a prayer, and his own personal saving grace. 

In—surrounded by beeping noises and fluffed pillows.

Mind still hazy when he came to, he sent a thank you to the stars. Grateful that Death was unsuccessful and to have been given an opportunity to correct his mistakes. Wishing that somehow, somewhere your paths and his would cross again and he could tell the story of all his adventures and yours, and how he has changed, hoping once again to be worthy of you.

***

The final time was during his stint in prison

He’s changed. In the dark forest you’ve left him behind, the once scared and hunted by monsters had become the hunter. The anger and agitation that simmered near the surface of his every waking moment was something he did not know how to accept. He was worried about the new him and how you’d perceive it. There were no signs of who he was before and during you. If he’d cross paths with you on the street, would you recognize him? He hoped so. Would you still accept him? He needed you to.

Along his long route back to you, he grew thorns and horns. He became decorated with wounds and scars. His talisman—your note—had aged, just like him, and had ripped along the folds. His once brilliant mind—now in a haze from trauma, memorized the words. It was your writing that grounded him while he was stuck in the cell of a mad woman’s making. The slants and loops studied and the grooves and indentations caressed with his calloused, bloody hands. 

He loved you still, very much so, but with his change, it had also mutated. What once was compared to a fairytale kind of love had now been smudged with darkness and desperation.

He felt lethal in his journey back to your embrace. Gone was the boy who felt remorse in shooting an unsub between the brows and replaced with the man who felt no qualms in killing should safety be threatened. He knew he had to talk to someone about the path his thinking had taken but instead, he entered his home with a single-minded purpose, walking straight to your side of the drawer and clutched another memento that will buoy him through the ravaging waters of emotion—your engagement ring. Looping it through a chain that he now wears on his neck and near his heart, a symbolism of his will to see things through, come hell or high water, he’ll crawl home to you.

***

And his second life started when he left the BAU

Spencer wanted to see you. Once inside the building elevator going down, he fought the urge to dial your number—regardless if it was still even yours. He needed to know. To know if you’ve moved on after all those many years apart or lived just like he did—tried but unsuccessful, always comparing and always coming up short. The eyes not as kind as yours, the smile not as radiant, and the heart not as beautiful. Was it awful of him to wish for the former? Yes, yes it was. He knew you deserved happiness and support after all the times he had let you down, knew you deserved a life after him, knew you deserved a happy ending but here he was, hopelessly wishing that your happy ending was still with him. 

He didn’t keep up with your life as much as he wanted to. The wounds of his failure and the battle scars he received along the way were still fresh. He didn’t have the right to know—a self imposed punishment. Although Garcia offered to look into you whenever he would reach rock bottom, and he’s been there a lot, he refused. By returning your ring, the engagement ring hidden underneath his shirt, you’ve taken back his privilege and he respected your decision.

You deserve better than to have him contact you without his life in order. If you’d still have him, you’d get the best of him. And so for the past six months, he focused on himself. He gained his footing in teaching young agents, he worked on his anger and made progress with his therapist, and he got to know who he was again beyond being an FBI agent. And it was as if the stars took notice of the changes and decided to reward him.

It was late into the night when he decided to make a quick grocery trip for some perishables missing in his pantry. This was out of his normal routine and he was forever grateful to the impulsiveness that took over him that night ever since. It was what led him to cross paths with the only person he had once considered home—you.

As he was entering the store, you had come out in all your beauty, struggling with one bag in each hand. Whenever he would recall this story, you’d scoff and tell him that you didn’t feel beautiful then—hair in a sloppy bun, t-shirt all crumpled, and face bare from any makeup. He’d object as no matter what the circumstance, you were always the most beautiful to him. 

He cleared his throat then. “Y/N.”

“Spencer,” you breathed out, surprise painting across your face.

“Do you need help with that?” He asked, voice cracking at the end. He thought he outgrew his shyness, time in prison does that for a person, but here you were reverting him back to how he felt when he first met you. “I’d like to walk you back to your car, if that’s alright,” he added on as he was afraid of your refusal. The parking lot was dimly lit and almost deserted. Years of solving cases has made him hyper vigilante and even if he was technically no longer a fed, his experience stayed the same. He still wanted to make sure you were safe, after all the time away.

You hesitated before nodding once in agreement. 

He smiled, letting go of his breath he didn’t know he was holding, and reached out to take your grocery purchases. “Let me get these for you, lead the way.”

The silence was uncomfortable. Years of being away from each other has made him a stranger to you and you to him.

You crossed yours arms, a sign of defense, before clearing your throat. “How’s the team?”

He pressed his lips into a straight line, not wanting to spill every little change that has happened while you were gone. “Good, good.”

Silence.

“No case tonight?”

“Uh—I only consult now,” he explained. “I went into teaching.”

Your arms dropped, a sign of openness, and you peered at him. “That’s—different. I mean, are you happy about that?”

He laughed and almost felt like preening at the care that you still had for him. “Yeah, it’s nice to have a normal schedule for once.”

“Somehow normal and you being mixed together doesn’t compute in my head,” you teased, swinging your hands in a clear sign of nervousness. He felt good—glad that he still could read your tics. How the slight downturn of your eyebrow meant you’d table the information to ruminate on it later. How the little bounce on your walk, that wasn’t there earlier, meant you were accepting of this situation. And how you slightly shifted closer to him meant you find his presence a protector. 

As he was documenting each non-verbal cues into his memory, the back of your hand brushed with his, sending a jolt of electric charge. It was as if both your bodies needed a physical reminder that the other half is back and nearby. It was as if a defibrillator had charged his black and blue heart to life once again. 

You giggled. “Sorry about that.”

It was a cold night but each laughter wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, warming his weary bones that had been lost in the dark cold woods for so long. “It’s alright,” he stated as he watched you unlock the trunk of your car. 

Loading in your grocery in silence, he shuffled ever so slightly out of the way as you closed the trunk and rocked on your heels.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. It was the only way he could prevent his hands from reaching out and caressing your pink cheeks. He didn’t have the permission to touch you yet—not matter how much he wanted to. So wanted to.

“You look—you look great, by the way,” you stammered out.

“Thanks, you too—look great, I mean,” he stated. He wanted to sing out more praises on how you’d gotten more beautiful, more radiant, and more lovely but he settled on something simple lest he scares you away with the intensity of his feelings. “Do you think could have your number? You know, just in case you’d need help with groceries again.” A feeble excuse.

You smiled. The type of smile that was once reserved for him and he wished for it to still be his. Please don’t say no, please, he realized that if you do, that will be it. That there will no longer be any saving the tragedy between him and you.

As he was starting to slide down the familiar slope of sadness, you nodded. “I never changed it.” You unlocked the driver seat before facing him once again. “Spence—”

He basked in hearing you say his name.

“—I’m different now. So you’ll have to get to know me again.”

“I’m different now, too,” and while you uttered yours as if it was an apology or a forewarning, he uttered his as a promise. A veiled promise that he was now the man that you wanted him to be after all those years.

He reached his hand out. “Hi, I’m Spencer Reid,” he hoped you’d play along.

You laughed, clearly intrigued at changes that had happened to him. Here he was, a germaphobe, reaching for a handshake to a stranger regardless of pathogens. You weren’t really a stranger, not really, but he wanted to write a new beginning. The last time was too tragic and ended with goodbyes. This time, this time, it’ll be perfect, he vowed to himself. A perfect fairytale with a happy ending that he could share with his kids with you one day. 

“Hi, Spencer,” you reached out your hand into his, engulfing yours in his tight grip. “I’m Y/N.”

He watched as you got into the car, fastening your seatbelt and roll down the window. “I’ll call you.”

“Please do, I’ll be waiting,” you whispered out before backing away from the parking lot.

And he did.

And after a few dates, he slid back the ring that once hung around his neck, sitting near his heart, back to where it belonged—back to your fourth finger where the Romans once believed a vein ran directly to the heart. Vena Amoris, the vein of love. Where it will stay forevermore, never allowing time and the outside to separate what once was meant to be. Never allowing ‘him and you’ as separate, there was just ‘them’.

[reasonsforhope]

"A record number of early votes have been cast in Georgia on Tuesday [October 15, 2024] as residents headed to the polls in a critical battleground state that is grappling with the fallout from Hurricane Helene and controversial election administration changes that have spurred a flurry of lawsuits.

More than 328,000 ballots were cast Tuesday [October 15, 2024], Gabe Sterling of the Georgia secretary of state’s office said on X. “So with the record breaking 1st day of early voting and accepted absentees we have had over 328,000 total votes cast so far,” he said.

The previous first day record was 136,000 in 2020, Sterling said.

The swing state is one of the most closely watched this election, with former President Donald Trump trying to reclaim it after losing there to President Joe Biden by a small margin four years ago, leading Trump and his allies to unsuccessfully push to overturn his defeat.

Those efforts have loomed large this year as new changes to how the state conducts elections have been approved by Republican members of the State Election Board, leading Democrats and others to mount legal challenges, many of which have yet to be resolved even as Election Day nears.

Despite the massive turnout on Tuesday, the process appeared to go smoother this year for some Atlanta-area voters who spoke with CNN.

“Last time I voted, I voted in the city and the lines were out the door. They only had like, maybe like three people working,” said Corine Canada. “So people honestly just started leaving because it was like that. Yeah, like, ‘This is too long. I can’t sit here (and) wait, I have to go back to work.’ But here, no, it was easy.”

-via CNN, October 15, 2024

[jolalibrary]

peaches n' cream

javier peña x f!reader

summary: javi brings a new fruit to enjoy at his desk...

warnings: smutish themes, mentions of smut, 100% 18+. flirting. public flirting. javi is eating fruit at his desk… an: peach won in the poll, so thank you for those who voted. a few thanks, first, all hail @pedgito for giving me nothing but fruit ideas originally. to @goodwithcheese for reasons she knows and to the lovely @thetriumphantpanda who not only named this but read it and told me it was hot. so. wc: 1.3k javi enjoys mango here (but you don't need to read to enjoy)

He’s taken it to a new extreme.

Using an intended (and conscious) choice of undoing, letting it move it around his palm. Allowing half of it to slightly roll in his large hand, while his other hand stubs out his lit cigarette, its smoky tendrils dying with its end.

Somehow, the entire time, he's able to converse normally with Steve. Not allowing his gaze to flicker to you as you pretend to assess the open case file.

You're failing. More feigning, faking. Choosing to do the utmost to show you're unaffected.

But you can hear it, that nickname.

The one he’d chosen, selected, picked. Breathed it into your ear one night, then panted and hissed it; layered it against your sweat-smeared skin while the air is stained with sex. If you think hard enough, you can feel his fingers at the base of your neck even now. Recalling easily how full, practically stuffed with him you can be when his cock slides into you, how he makes you stretch, how he makes you moan—

Swallowing, you draw a circle on the paper with your pencil. Tapping the lead. Focusing on it. Attempting to find a beat to drown out whatever other thoughts your brain wishes to conjure, when your ears tune into it.

That bite.

The noise of his teeth sinking into the skin of it; the sound of the sweetness oozing from his chosen fruit today. And it forces your eyes up. Them flicking, chin still dipped, as you unknowingly glare—head wanting to shake, to plead.

Because this game had begun so innocently, but now is anything but.

Every few days, he’d try a different fruit—something to undo you. To make you watch, force your gaze to land on him, his own attempt at torture until he managed to slide his hand between your thighs in the file room, the small kitchen, and see if he’s earned a similar effect as the mango.

Today, your body will confirm he’s ruining you.

Although, you’re not sure it had been a fair fight. Not with it being close to eight days since the last time you’d had him alone. A thing your body was distinctly aware of. Reacting instantly to the scent of his aftershave. That was without the sound of his voice, all intentionally velvet, smooth when he addressed you—making a patch appear in your underwear just from the way he'd whispered it.

He'd given you an out when he'd been as early as you. Offered the chance at a great morning. A thing you'd smirked at, told him he needed to work harder if he wanted to have you bent over at work.

You suppose you've brought this on yourself. Shouldn't have dared him, shouldn't have pushed. Shouldn't have laughed when he'd gritted his jaw and dug the base of his palm into his eye and added, aw, you been missing me, Peña?

Because now you're on the edge, wound up, back close to snapping from how desperate you feel to have his hand, his tongue, his cock. Feeling taut, twisted up, so much so that the sound of chair legs scraping on the floor grates through you. Making you jump, causing your heart to hammer against your ribs.

It’s all you can do to focus on tapping the lead against the page, leaving dots of frustration along crisp white, trying not to look, nearly succeeding, until Steve speaks again:

“There a reason y’got a peach today, Jav?”

Your gaze snaps up, attention commanded. The elephant in the room called out, acknowledged. Breath held as this silent game becomes no longer that. Your throat dries, eyes caught on the beads of peach juice that are skating down his fingers—ones you know intimately. Practically able to conjure the feeling of how they curl inside of you as you sit, clenching around nothing, shifting, twisting in your chair to cross a leg over the other as you remain very much bothered, very much aroused.

Blinking back into the room, you realise it’s just the two of you.

A dread filling, flooding your gut. Because you’re not sure how long you can hold it together, so close to asking, to begging. Expressing how needy you are, just like he said you would be when he’d bid you goodbye before he’d had to follow a lead.

You despise letting him win.

Prefer the way you keep your cards close to your chest. But, you suspect he knows, can read how your breath is harder to find again, that is sounds louder—if that’s at all possible as you watch him smile.

Leaning back, finishing one half of the fruit, the chair groans in the quiet as he rolls his hips, lifting his leg, resting his ankle on his opposite knee. Dragging, sliding his eyes up and down what he can see of you from behind your desk.

“Don’t.”

Swiping his thumb across his lower lip, eyes glowering with something unreadable. “Keep your eyes on me, hermosa.”

“Stop it.”

“Watch.”

And you do.

Unable to break your gaze. Following, practically forced to as he picks up the second half, eyes snapping to his other middle finger as he raises it, before he drags it along the centre of the fruit. Sliding it against where the pit was, intention there, clear as fucking day. It causes your hips to move on instinct as juice is forced up from the pressure, making your mouth fall open, drop, hanging. It just opens, feeling as dumb as you likely look as you press your thighs together even more intensely.

Then, he repeats the movement. And again, and again—

“Peña.”

He makes a noise, sliding two fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling around it. “Fuck,” he groans, head bent, eyes wide, large and brown, staring into you, “Almost tastes as good as you, Peach.”

You swallow. A retort dying, wilting.

It never quite appears. And even if it did, he’d have robbed it with his next step, his next move.

Dragging the tip of his tongue along the centre of the fruit, where the pit had been, his eyes on you—brown, practically filled and brimming with lust. The act and look so reminiscent of when he’s between your legs, you know it’s intentional. A message, one only you can understand. Your mind remembers those times when your fingers are grasping at his bed sheets and his name leaves like a cry from your lips.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, Peach?”

Leaning forward, elbows to your desk, you dig them in until it hurts.

Trying to keep yourself in control, in check—not wanting to stand because you’d be over there. Skirt hiked in your fingers, showing him the evidence of what he’s done, the concrete proof, before taking a seat on him, test to see how much of you can feel through his choice of pants today.

“Yes,” you hiss from between your teeth.

Elongating it, making the S’s almost roll as you almost plead with him with your eyes.

“Not like your nickname?”

“You know I do, Peña.”

Dragging his mouth against the fruit, you whine—somewhere in the back of your throat. Seeing the tip of his nose catching it, bits of peach lifting with his tongue as you try to clamp your mouth shut.

Until he repeats the motion, mouth fully latched to the fruit as he makes a noise so similar to the one he does when his mouth is on your pussy. When he’s devouring; when he’s trying to write out his name with his tongue as though he doesn’t own you.

As though you haven’t belonged to him for months now.

Your palms slam on the desk, finding yourself standing. Legs shaking, trembling. His face blanking, mouth detaching from the halved peach as lines crinkle across his forehead, eyes softer, apologies almost ready to appear.

“File room. Now.”

The look on his face is gone in a flash, forehead smoothing, lips curling into a smirk.

Not arguing, not demanding you sit. Be tormented more.

Instead, throwing the half-enjoyed fruit into the trash can as he swings his legs out from under the desk, striding behind you, heeled boots sounding for several steps before you feel his fingers pressing onto your lower back.

[pitchsidestories]

met someone II Lena Oberdorf x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1452

a/n: dear readers, the poll chose Lena Oberdorf for this oneshot, we hope you're enjoying it. 💖💖

“Lena?”, Lea sounded surprised.

“Lea, this bar sucks!”, the dark-haired woman yelled into her phone

“But that’s there all the hot lesbians are according to Georgia.”, the blonde frowned.

“Georgia is wrong. The thing is full of straight women.”, she observed with growing frustration as a group of them was laughing hysterically about a joke one of the girls had made.

“Wait, but it’s a gay bar are they all celebrating their bachelorette parties?”, the forward asked confused.

“I don’t care what they do here but they’re all here. I think I’ll go home.”, Lena replied grumpily.

To lighten up her best friend’s terrible mood the blonde suggested. “Tomorrow at my place? I’ll cook a lot of hot chocolate and then we’ll watch a stupid romcom?”

“Didn’t you do that today already?”, the brunette teased the older player.

“Uhmm.”, Lea responded awkwardly.

“I know you.”, Lena stated chuckling.

“Well, I can do it two times in a row if you don’t tell our coach.”, she answered sheepishly.

“Okay, I won’t tell him if you don’t tell him that I’m out at a bar.”, the younger footballer offered grinning.

“We’ve a deal. See you tomorrow night!”, Lea chirmed.

“Bye.”, the brunette ended the phone call. Her dark eyes wandering one last time through her surroundings. The bar had its charm, she could admit that. It had a fading elegance to it like an old diva where you could tell that the woman once was a great beauty, something with a lot of history.

The barkeeper had mentioned to her that back in the 1980s Freddie Mercury was a reoccurring guest. Probably it was a bit more colourful back in the day.

For a second Lena tried to imagine how it would’ve looked like when the British rockstar was still alive but when her eyes locked with yours and all she could think about was you. Why hasn’t the football player noticed you before?

“Uhmm hi.”, the brunette greeted you nervously.

“Hey.”, you bit your lip.

“I’m Lena.”, the stranger introduced herself. Her smile was infectious, it immediately calmed you and made you feel less awkward than you’d usually feel in front of a person you just met.

You told her your name and when added. “You’re alone here too?  There’s a lot of groups tonight?”

Lonely hearts recognized each other you thought to yourself. Especially in a crowded room where people who came alone were rare.

“Yeah, I was about to go home. But then I saw you and I thought.. I could at least try and shoot my shot.”, Lena winked.

“That’s funny because I was about to leave too until I saw you.”, you confessed without hesitation in your voice.

A smile spread across Lenas face: “Oh really? Looks like this was meant to be.“

You chuckled in response, teasing her: “Are you a romantic, Lena?”

“Not really.“, she shook her head, her smile unwavering.

“So you don’t believe in love at the first sight?”, you asked.

She tilted her head slightly: “I believe in attraction at the first sight.“

You could barely tear your eyes away from that smirk, confident and cool.

“Me too.“

Lena pointed back towards the entrance of the bar and suggested: “Maybe we should stay for another drink?”

You nodded quickly: “Yes.“

Unsurprisingly, the bar was still crowded when the two of you went back inside. Lena led you right towards the counter to two empty bar stools. She had already ordered drinks while you sat down.

“Come on, it’s on me.“, she grinned as she pushed one of the glasses towards you.

You smiled politely at her: “Thank you.“

“You’re welcome.“

You sipped on your drink. Despite its dangerously clear look, you could barely taste the alcohol.

“So, what got you here tonight?”, you asked.

“I moved here a couple of months ago. I guess I’m just looking for someone…“, Lena admitted willingly.

It was more than understandable.

“A big city like Munich can get lonely…“, you mused, absentmindedly swirling the liquid in your glass.

Observing you, she raised an eyebrow: “Speaking from experience?”

“I do…“, you replied but quickly frowned at yourself. That sounded all wrong, you weren’t lonely. “I mean I love my friends…“

“But a romantic relationship is different. I get that.“, Lena completed your thought.

You paused for a moment, not because her interruption felt invasive, but because you felt an immediate connection.

“It is.“

“I feel the same way about that.“, Lena agreed.

You lifted your glass and clinked it against hers: “Cheers to the Lonely Hearts Club.“

Lena laughed: “Who knows. Maybe we’re at the right place at the right time and won’t be part of that club for much longer.“

Your heart skipped a beat, swelling with hope that this could be more than just a last-minute flirt at a bar but your forced it to calm down.

“Do you want to go for a walk after this?”, you asked, once your heart had started pumping blood to your brain again.

Lena checked the clock on her phone and nodded: “Sure.“

“Perfect.“

Both of your glasses emptied quickly.

“Ready to leave?”

“Yes, I’m ready.“, you said as you got up.

“Let’s go.“

Lena followed you outside where you both were met with the chilly breeze of the late night.

Side by side, you started walking against the cold. Streetlights illuminated the sidewalk just enough. You watched the shadows dance across Lenas face as you walked to nowhere in particular.

“Do you like living in the city so far?”

“I do. I expected the move to be harder but.. I like it.”, she admitted. You could tell that the young woman meant it. Immediately you asked yourself where Lena had lived before. Possibly somewhere smaller and calmer.

The brunette glanced at you with curiosity. “What about you? Have you lived here for a long time?”

“Yes, I moved here for university. It felt very freeing.”, a shy smile played on your lips as you spoke.

“I can see that.”, she observed in a friendly tone.

“In Munich you can be yourself.”, you added meaningfully.

A moment of realization hit the dark-haired woman unexpectedly. “You came out here, huh?”, Lena recognized.

“I did.”, you nodded. Pictures of the past were flashing behind your eyes. The small Bavarian village you grew up in, the catholic church being the centre of everyday life and gay people were basically non-existent. When you came to Munich it felt like you were able to breathe normally for the first time in forever.

“I think I understand why this city means so much to you.”, the brunette replied.

“You were out before moving?”, you asked her although it was more an observation than a question.

“Yes, for a while. I’m a football player so everyone is very open about it.”, Lena explained blushing.

“Ah a football player.”, you smiled at her mildly.

“Oh. You don’t sound impressed.”, she stated sounding almost a bit disappointed. But from the inside the midfielder felt relived too as sometimes the only thing women found interesting about her was her job.

The Lena off the pitch didn’t interest them at all, the one who loved her friends and family fearlessly, who liked to have fun, party a little and who wanted to take care of a dog again, but knew she wouldn’t have enough time without a partner to help her.

“No, I was just wondering why your arms are so impressive.”, you countered grinning, your fingers intertwined as you kept walking.

“You’re impressed by my arms? You should see my thighs.”, she smirked.

“Can’t see them through those trousers.”, you continued the banter making the woman you felt attracted to break into a warm and loud laughter.

“Sorry that joke went a bit far for a first meeting.”, Lena biting her full lips apologetically.

“A little but I’m already liking what I can see.”, you responded truthfully.

“Oh, you do?”, the football player raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, too much honesty?”, you chuckled.

“No, I like honesty.”, she replied earnestly.

“Same. So, what if I’d like to see you again?”, you questioned bravely, your heart pounding hard against your chest.

“How about tomorrow?” That ask sounded like music to both of your ears. Like this night might came to an end but it was only the beginning for you two.

The following day Lea exclaimed surprised. “Wait, you’re bringing a plus one to our movie night?!”

“Either that or I have to cancel. And you won’t forgive me for that.”, Lena said smiling.

“Okay, you can bring her.”, the striker sighed dramatically.

“You won’t regret it.”, the brunette promised wholeheartedly. Lena got butterflies in her stomach as she thought about you.

[redhead1180]

Puppy

Pairing - sub!JJ x Dom!fem reader

Summary - JJ gets in trouble.

Words - 1.9k

Warnings MDNI - m sub/f dom, edging, cursing, cock ring, p in v, oral (f receiving), m. tied up, sex toys, SMUT (let me know if I missed any)

A/N - Finally finished the subby JJ fic from my poll last week. Sorry life has gotten in the way. I'm not sure it's my favorite, but I don't hate it.

JJ had been needy all day and by the time we got my house he was nearly humping my leg. We had been out on the boat all day with the pogues and I was trying to put stuff up in the kitchen.

“Baby” he whined coming up behind me rutting up against my ass. “Can’t that wait?”

“No, I don’t want it to spoil and you’ll want the beer cold later.” I patiently tell him.

He huffed like a petulant toddler, stomping his foot for good measures.

“I want you now” he demands and grabs my hips pulling me back hard on his hard cock.

“Did you just demand me” I turnaround eyeing him with my eyebrow raised.

A flash of fear crosses his face, “N- no b- bab- baby” he stammers

“That is not my name and you did demand me” I sternly tell him. “bedroom now, and I want you stripped of all your clothes”

“Mo- Mommy, i-“

“No, bedroom now” I cut him off. I turn back around not waiting for him to acknowledge and put away the stuff. I hear him shuffle off as I put away the rest of the items. I grab a glass filling it with ice and some rum, and make my way to the bedroom. I walk in and JJ is naked, sitting at the edge of the bed, sitting on his hands. I don’t say anything and walk to nightstand and put my glass down. Then I strip off my shirt and shorts leaving me in my bikini. I saunter over to the closet.

JJ moans from his spot, but doesn’t say anything.

“You better not be touching yourself” I holler out from the closet, “I will know.”

I grab our toy box and come back into the room. JJ looks at me like a little puppy, eyes begging, still sitting on his hands. He is shaft standing straight up, red and looking very painful. I look at him pitifully.

“oh baby, that looks painful” I coo as I come to stand in front of him. I take his face in my hands and kiss him gently, before pressing into my tits. JJ groans and ruts his face in my tits for a bit, kissing softly.

“That’s a good boy” I praise him. “Now crawl up the bed and lay out for mommy.”

He gives my breasts one more kiss before sliding up to the bed into position. I grab the rope or of the box and walk to one hand. I know JJ had to hate the fact he taught me how to tie knots and now I used them on him. I tie both hands to headboard in a poachers knot, then doing the same to his feet.

“Mommy why” he whimpered.

“You demanded me, I can’t let that slide baby boy” I said calmly, looking at him with my bottom lip pushed out. I went back to the box and pulled out the blindfold. “Now remember, no cumming until Mommy says, and let me know when you’re close”

“Yes, Mommy, but please” he begged “I wanna see you”

“You won’t have to wear it the whole time” I promised as I tied it on. I grab the cock ring from the box and gently place it on him. He bucked his hips against my hands, and I teased his cock for a bit.

“Oh sweetie, you have the prettiest pink dick I have ever seen” I praised as I slowly stroked him, pressing my thumb against the tip, spreading his precum around. Then I abruptly stopped, causing him to his buck his hips and cry out in frustration. I slapped his thigh and then grabbed the remote for the cock ring.

“Stop that, be glad Mommy is being so nice” I growl. I grab my glass taking a nice swig of my drink before grabbing an ice cube.

I rub the ice cube along JJ’s lips, he gasps, I trace his lips with it and then moving it down to his chin. I run it down his neck and to one nipple, rubbing it over and over till his nipples could cut glass. Then I did the same other one, making sure both get the same attention. From there, I run it down over his rock-hard abs and down his happy trail.

“That feel good, puppy?” I ask teasingly smiling.

“Mhmm” he moans out.

“You’re such a good boy for me” I praise. I turn on the cock ring to the lowest setting. JJ cry’s out, bucking his hips up.

“Fuck baby” he gasps out.

I grab the riding habit from the box and slap his dick. He whimpers out.

“What’s my name, puppy?” I demand, slapping it again. He bucks his hips hard and squirms, whimpering the whole time.

“Mommy, sor- sorry, mommy” he stammers. “Mommy please”

“What, puppy, what do you want?” I coo to him. I turn up the ring another setting while soothingly rubbing his cock.

“Mommy, please I need to cum” he begs pathetically.

“Hmmm, no not yet. Your punishment isn’t done.”

I reach up and take off the blindfold. He blinks a bit, before focusing on me. His normally ocean blue eyes are nearly completely black. I grin at him and lean down and gives him a searing kiss. I reach down and gently stroke his vibrating cock. He groans in my mouth, taking everything he can from the kiss. It’s a wet sloppy kiss, teeth clashing against each other, biting lips and then I sit up. He chases my lips till he can’t anymore, then slams his head back down and grunts, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. He knows better than to say or do anything. Knowing I won’t let him cum, but edge him for hours.

“Watch me puppy” I say I gently stroke his cheek. He opens his eyes and looks at me, tears on his lashline. I reach back and grab the vibrator and set it beside me.

“What’s that for?” JJ asks, eyeing it fearfully.

“Just watch Mommy” I gently insist.

I reach up and untie the strings behind my neck, letting it fall down, then untie the back string. Letting my bikini top fall and land around his neck. My breast released fall down and jiggle a little. I rub and knead them for a minute. JJ groans, pulling at the ropes on his hands. For the moment I let him squirm and pull at the ropes. I rub my stomach before reaching my hips and untie the strings on each side, allowing the bikini bottom to fall off and flatten. I raise up just enough to pull it off and throw it.

I move up to sit on his chest and grab the vibrator. I lean back enough so JJ can see my pussy right in front of his face. He whines pulling at the ropes.

“I wanna touch, please” he begs between gritted teeth.

I ignore him and run the vibrator over my wet, soaked pussy, making him watch. I gasp from the sensation, JJ moans. I slide it thru my folds, rolling my hips, soaking his chest in my arousal. I feel him began to thrust his hips behind me, looking for friction as the cock ring vibrates around his dick.

“Mommy please,” he pleads quietly, “I won’t do it again, just please untie me and let make you feel good.”

“Hmm,” I ponder “Have you learned your lesson?” I ask as I put away the vibrator and slide down his abs. He hisses from pleasure.

“Yes, I promise I’ve learned”

“I don’t buy it.” I hover him and slam down on cock, making him jerk his hips up and cry out. I turn up the cock to near the highest setting and bounce up and down. JJ moaning and whimpering, thrusting his hips as hard as he can in his ropes. I feel him twitch inside me.

“Mommy, I’m gonna cum” he pants out.

I turn off the ring and pull off him, before he can cum. JJ screams out in frustration and bucks his hips wildly. I lean up and give him gentle kisses on his cheeks and forehead.

“This doesn’t happen when you’re a good boy.” I taunt in his ear. I continue to edge JJ for another hour or so, until his tip is nearly purple and he is crying and begging me to let him cum.

“Oh puppy, you’re doing so good for me,” I praise. “You want me to let you cum?”

He vigorously nods his head and whispers “please” over and over.

“Ok, you eat Mommy out and make her cum, and then I will let you pick how you want to cum. You can fuck my tits and cum on my chest or,” I pretend to ponder, “I will let you cum in Mommy’s pussy”

“Pussy” he hastily says. I chuckle as I remove the ring and position over his face.

“Now be a good boy and make Mommy cum.” I demand.

I lower myself down and JJ licks my core from hole to clit, making me moan. I grab the headboard as he latches onto my nub, licking and sucking till I am rolling my hips. I untie him and his hands immediately grab my thighs pulling me down harder as he pushes his tongue into my hole and fucks me with his tongue.

“Fuck” I moan out, grabbing and pulling JJ’s hair to get him closer. He lets go of one thigh and, none to gently, shoves two fingers into my pussy and sucks my clit. I gasp out, pulling his hair harder and grinding down on him. He groans, the vibrations making me cry out.

“I’m s’close” I pant as I ride his face and he fucks me with his fingers. JJ curls his fingers hitting my sweet spot and bites down on my clit. I scream out as I fall over the edge, my release spilling all over JJ’s face as he slurps up every last bit of juices that I released. He licks and kisses me through my high and I eventually slump down and fall to the side. He raises up to look at me, his mouth and chin slick with my arousal.

“Was that good, Mommy?” he asks smirking.

“Yea puppy, Mommy’s very happy” I pant, he grins like a Cheshire cat. Not having the energy to ride him now, I lay back and spread my legs.

“You can fuck me n-” and before the words leave my lips, JJ is on top of my sliding his cock in my pussy.

Seeing how I edged him for so long, it didn’t take long, and JJ was cumming inside me. He collapsed on me and I wrapped my legs around him and slid my arms around his neck. He rutted up in me, still lost in his euphoria, whining into my chest.

“You’re such a good pup for Mommy,” I praised as I kissed his forehead and ran my fingers thru his hair, scratching his scalp as I did, making him hum. We laid there for a bit, while I petted and praised him.

“C’mon, baby, let’s get you cleaned up and got to sleep”

I led him to the bathroom and cleaned us up, before heading back to bed and laying down. I rolled on my side and JJ buried his head in my chest and curled up to me like a koala.

“Sleep now puppy” I murmured before we both fell into blissful slumber.

Tagging some moots:

@juniebugg @princessmaybank @haven247 @echo-at-the-pond @kraekat29 @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @drewstarkeyslut @drudyslut @blueicequeen19 @moremaybank @rafesc0kewh0re @pankowperfection @lovesickbrat @babygorewhore

[misfitgirlwrites]

Alastor Having A Crush On You/How Would He React?

Since the choice of writing all three won my poll, I'll start with this one because it was in second place! Next is Lucifer!

Here is my first contribution to the Hazbin Hotel fanfic dump, please call me MG, and may we all enjoy our obsession together 🕺🏽

CW: none!

You could know of Alastor before the appearance of Hazbin Hotel or you could be hearing of him for the first time when you decide to walk through those hotel doors.

He wouldn't pay you any mind at first, just like any other sinner residing in the hotel. After a while though you'd pique his interest a bit. It could be something you said that he overheard, or something you do that he just so happened to catch that day.

It would make him pay more attention to you, but you wouldn't notice right away. It'd always be convenient situations; everyone being in the same room and he decides to stay longer than usual. Joining conversations with you and Charlie would have when talking about the hotel.

You always had unique ideas to try and get the hotel traction, and they amused him.

After a while, he would start talking to you on his own.

This would confuse you at first, since you two haven't really had any real conversation outside of anything hotel-related. It seemed Alastor decided he wanted a bit more than that.

You certainly didn't mind it once you could tell he was genuine with this interest. It started from small conversations as you passed each other to nightly talks at the bar that would last for hours.

Alastor would grow to really enjoy the routine of seeing you everyday. Soon, you wouldn't be seen without him close behind.

He would let you accompany him when he would usually spend the time alone from everyone else.

The first time you initiate physical touch would be when he starts to focus on his feelings for you. One day, you'd ask to hug him, and he'd agree much too quickly for his own liking.

After he hugs you once, please expect more of them. In private, he would 100% just cuddle you close to him but will deny it if you bring it up.

Alastor knows he has some sort of feelings for you but will refuse to acknowledge it for a while.

Because let's be for real? This guy? Having a crush on someone? With Vox attempting (and probably succeeding?) to watch him 25/8? Simple math states that's called a weakness.

Alastor wouldn't have many choices. He could cut interaction altogether, but that certainly wouldn't benefit him that much. He wouldn't have any worries, sure, but he'd miss you, and he knows that.

And he's never denied himself anything before if he wanted something so why start now because of potential bumps in the road? Especially bumps he was sure that he was more than capable of handling.

Alastor still wouldn't openly express any romantic feelings right away but his time spent with you becomes a regular occurrence.

He would so go to Rosie and talk to her about you (they're besties, don't you love it?)

She'd most likely be the one to call him out on his crush and push him to actually do something about it.

THAT is when he'd actually "fuck it" and decide he does in fact want you :)

It wouldn't be anything grand, but the bastard has such a way with words, so it's certainly romantic.

A tad bit possessive but 🤸🏽‍♂️

He simply can't help himself when it comes to you~

Requests are open! If you'd like to be tagged in future Alastor or Hazbin Hotel content, please let me know! My asks and DMs are open to all! 💚

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

How To Adapt To Fire (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, death/gore, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, fade-to-black, nudity, suggestive descriptions, dirty jokes, etc.

A/N: Taglist is full.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Johnny watches you slap another news clipping to the board he’d bought you for thirty-two dollars and twenty-three cents, tired eyes blinking slowly. Standing in his apartment’s living room in his boxers and an oversized shirt, he’d woken up to the sound of muttering, and it had been just that for the last week. 

When he’d allowed you to live in his spare room until you could find a new apartment building to call your own, he didn’t expect you there to be so much grumbling. Like a little bug in his ear—not that he minded all that much. At least, if you were that bug.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” you groan, running a hand down your face. “How did he find me? How did he know I already knew so much about the case?”

He, the arsonist.

Your entire building had been a total loss—and, sure enough, the lock had been busted off of your apartment door just like the scene of the fires that resulted in casualties. You had been targeted, and it wasn’t just an accident. There was intent there; a threat. 

Stay away from me, or else. 

Johnny had sighed long when he read that in the report he’d gotten his hands on—there was no way in hell anything was stopping you except…well, except yourself.

While he had envisioned one day potentially asking you to move in with him, he hadn’t expected that to happen so soon. Certainly not before the first fucking date. He hadn’t even gained the courage to ask you out yet, and here you were—pajama pants polling at your ankles and Johnny’s baggy sweatshirt loose around your shoulders. The Scot stands with the heat of sleep and attraction on his skin. 

He tried not to stare, really he did, but the way you looked in his clothes was too much of a distraction for his own good. 

The man clears his throat, face burning. 

“I’m beggin’ you to give it a rest, Dearie. At least five minutes.” Johnny sighs. “It’s not healthy.”

He doesn’t think he’s seen you shed a tear over your apartment—about your belongings. In reality, he was taken aback by it. Soap wouldn’t have blamed you at all…but you just seemed angry. It worried him, but the emotion was well within your right to hold. Just as it was within his right to try and keep you from rushing into danger.

“Not now,” you grumble. “Not until I know how he found out my room number.” 

“You aren’t exactly unknown.” The fireman walks closer to your standing form, hand moving up to scratch at his back as he gunts. “Mostly everyone who would care to look into your career knows about you. It wouldn’t be hard.” 

Johnny moves his vision over the board, pausing before he licks his lips.

“...They’ll be needing me in today, Hen,” he breathes. 

Your lips tighten, and you glance over quickly to find blue eyes already looking. Snapping your attention back to the board, you push back against the burn of your face.

“It’s your job, I’m not going to tell you not to go in.”

“If you need me here, then I can—”

“John,” you interrupt, shaking your head with a heavy frown and turning his way. “No way. Go in.”

Johnny’s serious face doesn’t lessen, and you’re struck with how often those lines on his face are becoming commonplace.

You wouldn’t say that you were taking this well. 

Forcing yourself to work; making your mind push back at the deep pit that seemed to be growing. Everything you’d worked for—everything you’d had. Gone. Up in smoke.

Two people had died in that inferno, and you can’t help but put that on yourself. 

Fingers going up to tap at your chin, your attention goes back to the board, the heavy weight of bags under your eyes from lack of sleep. You’d tried to re-write what you had in your notes as well as you were able, but there had been a reason for making a physical board in the first place. 

Johnny watches you, his brows tight and his fingers twitching. Sighing, he fixes his feet and lightly places a hand on the back of your spine, blinking quickly your eyes dart over before the tension begins to bleed from your muscles. 

Your gaze begins to soften, but your voice is still a light firmness. “Stop that.”

The man blinks. “Stop what?”

“Stop being all…” You huff, sagging into his hand. “You.” 

Johnny pushes a chuckle, shifting to stare at you fully and letting the smirk move over his lips. His fingers move along your back, rubbing tiny circles as the room goes airy—how quick it was that you could fall into this sense of attachment. To anyone outside of the apartment, it would seem the two of you were in a strange relationship, and that would be true to some extent. 

Your face heats up, and Johnny’s large palm flattens. He moves and presses his nose into your hair.  

“Now what’s that supposed to mean, then?” He grunts, and you can feel his flickering smirk as clear as day. 

Leaning over into him, you sigh, glaring at the board as your heart patters. 

“It means you’re distracting me.”

Johnny hums, thumb moving up and down over the knob of your spine.  “Talk to me,” he mutters. “Let me help, aye?” He blinks slowly, face hot and his lungs palpitating in his chest. The man cared about you so much—his heart ached for what you’d been put through. Losing a home like that. 

Your lashes flutter, a near purr emitting from your throat at the hypnotic movements of Johnny’s grip. Like a damn harpy, he was digging his claws into you; it had been happening for months. Of course, you’d let him touch you—how could you not? Even his sense of courage and justice was something that let you know his character, his honor. 

This case was just as important to him as it was to you. 

“Go,” you mutter, shifting your head so that you can stare at him. Johnny’s visage pulls back, his stubble moving with the worried angle of his lips; his skull tilts, almost like a dog cocking its snout. “We can figure something out later—if I get you fired I’d finally gain a conscious.” 

Johnny sighs, looking you up and down. “...I’ll be making dinner tonight. Just,” he breathes, and as his hand leaves you, your body fights the instinct to shiver. “Wait for me, Bonnie.” 

You take in the closeness between the two of you—how your bodies melt into one another as if on instinct. Something was startling about how easy it was to live in the same apartment as Johnny. It had almost been too easy. Sharing food, blankets, and looks.

Your eyes follow after Soap as he brushes your cheek with the back of his hand before turning and walking back to his room, bare feet padding over the floor. His legs move, small burns and scars all over before your vision travels up the broadness of his back; the stretch of his arms as he brings them up with a groan to itch at his head.

Licking your lips, the sight is enough to quiet your mind. Seeing how, like water, his clothes morph into the swell of his thighs and the…your face bursts into fire, and your head snaps away. 

Clearing your throat, you blink quickly and try to re-focus on your board of suspects.

—

Johnny tightens the belt over his waist, huffing softly as he walks into the fire department’s bay door—passing the red trucks and patting the dogs as they come up to mob him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, the clicking of little claws tapping over the concrete floors and the panting of hot breath. “Good to see you too, little rascals.” 

The fireman looks around the area, seeing some of the boys mulling about doing repairs or fixing up the slight mess. Johnny motions a hand when he’s greeted, and before long he’s entering the main hub of where he wants to go—the kitchen. 

Grabbing a cup, the Scot’s intention is to get some water before settling into his desk and diving into something that can take his mind off the woman living in his apartment. Licking his lips, Johnny gets momentarily lost in the remembrance of your skin—your determination. 

He’s angry. Angry that someone’s done this to you; had disrupted your life so violently. A question was stuck swirling in his head as he began hearing the murmuring from the walk-in pantry. 

What would have happened if you hadn’t been with him that morning? 

“What do you mean ‘that was you?’” Johnny’s fingers freeze around the rim of a glass, blinking into his own smaller reflection. Brows furrowing, the Scot’s head swivels to the kitchen pantry and the barely cracked open door and the voice that emanates from it.

For some reason, the stagnant air after that sentence makes Johnny’s spine straighten. Blue eyes stare blankly, and fingers twitch as the same voice starts again.

“I thought you said it was over?! That the last one was,” a strangled word, a fast inhale. “We had a fucking deal.” 

Heart slow in his chest, Soap stares the longer this seemingly one-sided conversation goes on. There was something off—the words seemed hurried; panicked, even. It wasn’t the usual emotions you had when having a talk with someone. 

Taking a steady step back, the Scot remembered how fast your pulse had run when he had you at his chest a week ago—the fast slam and the whites of your eyes on full display. Even if you didn’t confess it to him, Johnny knew you’d been afraid of the fire. Fearful. He knew you weren’t sleeping. 

Maybe the fireman was being paranoid, but anything that he didn’t understand made his hackles rise like a feral dog—certainly with you, technically, under his watch now. Everyone was a potential threat. Face stiff, Johnny begins walking over to the pantry with nearly silent feet, boots softly flattening to the tile floor.

Stopping outside of the door, his ears hone in. 

“This isn’t right! There’s a difference between what you do and what I do! We stuck together, but this is it. I’ve covered for you—I’ve tried to smooth everything out, but this isn’t something that I can look past anymore. She wasn’t even involved yet!”

Johnny’s lips tighten, his eyes burning through the barrier until he lifts his hand and settles it loosely on the doorknob, not pushing even as the thin material shifts minutely. The alarms in his head were going off, and he didn’t like that. 

Muscles tight, the Scot moves a bit closer, shoulder just beginning to touch the wood before—

Kurt Matthews, one of the rookie firefighters, shoves himself through. 

Johnny strangles a gasp as the two men nearly collide with one another, only shoving out, what he hopes to be, a casual call of, “Hell’s bells. Careful there, Kid.”

The man’s wild eyes lock on him, stumbling back before Soap’s hands move to grasp his arm, a dark phone held lightly in Kurt’s hand. Johnny looks at it silently before he forces a blank chuckle. “Sorry, then. Was going to get some bread—you know how it is, eh?” Kurt looks frazzled, a sheen of sweat over his face; eyes tiny. “The boys never fill up the bread box after they finish a loaf.”

“What?” Matthews quickly mutters, before shaking his head and waving a hand. “Yeah, right, whatever.”

He swiftly moves past the Scot, brushing shoulders. The mohawked man’s nose pulls in, and blue eyes watch the disappearing individual. 

Johnny’s throat swallows down saliva. 

Kurt Matthews smells like gasoline.

—

You hear the sound of the TV and sniffle, pushing the heels of your hands into your stinging eyes. 

It wasn’t a question as to why you had waited until Johnny left to let yourself feel the hopelessness that was sinking into your chest—you were surprised you lasted that long, though. Tiny tears dribble out over your cheeks, but you fight them with a growl. 

“Keep it together,” you sigh harshly. “C’mon, keep it together.” 

Your heart jerks when the front door of the apartment opens, and you’re quick to stand up from the couch where you had been sitting, clearing your throat as Johnny’s call echoes. 

“Just me!” 

You divulge immediately into your hurried sentences, waving a hand. The shake in your voice is obvious. “I have some of the names I remember writing down—it isn’t much but I—”

“What happened?” Johnny’s hands capture your face in a swift second; he isn’t even out of his work clothes before he’s over and touching you. It’s like he teleported over at the slightest hint of distress, not even a moment of hesitation. “Whoa, hey, hey,” he breathes a bit slower, softer. “What’s this then, Bonnie?” 

Delicate movements of his fingers scrape your flesh, thumb running as blue eyes come into focus. Your lungs tighten up again at the sight of tense worry—Johnny’s face all hard with the lines of his forehead and the narrowing of his eyelids.

“Let me see,” he utters, tilting your head up so the brightness of your eyes is visible to him; the wetness of your flesh. “Hey, now.” 

The man’s attention goes up and down on the off chance this is physical pain instead of the internal kind. But he knows better than that. So, Johnny stuffs down the hunch he had about the man in his own ranks and places all of his concern on you and your bitter tears. 

Even when you try to grumble his worry away.

“It’s just stupid tears, MacTavish,” your voice cracks as he drags you to him, curling his arm behind the stretch of your shoulder blades in an addictive display that leaves your nose sniffling again. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Quit it,” the Scot pleads. “Jesus, Pencils,” he sighs, arms trapping you in just like before. “Just let me hold you, yeah? I swear, you’ll make my heart burst ‘fore I get you to admit you’re feeling something.”

Your glossy eyes flinch into a weak glare. “I’m not that emotionally constipated, jackass.” 

Johnny’s breath moves over your scalp.

“You sure about that?” Your face goes to an annoyed sheen, and from the soft rest of Johnny’s chest, you look over at him. He’s trying a light smirk, but his eyes are still serious. 

Letting yourself melt into him, you take in his scent and the heat he offers you, surrounded by the remnants of his life and future—this apartment that offers you a reprieve. 

You close your eyes and let your hands shift up to grab at Johnny’s shirt slowly, your heart gradually easing. Unaware of the soft gaze watching every second; his own grip tightening.

“...You’re like a dog,” you whisper, tears drying. “Always running over.” Your pause lays out a beautiful scene. “I like it.”

Johnny’s cheeks flare to a bright red. He clears his throat, glancing away from your face. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“Hm,” you hum, shrugging and nuzzling your nose into his pulse. You hear it racing. “Up to you, I suppose.” 

The man laughs, chest jerking. 

The silence that falls after is like a blanket—settling thickly over the space as the last of your sniffles finally halt. You didn’t like crying; not in front of others. It was easier to just push through it, but Johnny’s presence made you soft, at the same time you can’t tell if that’s good or bad. But it did make your fear lessen, and maybe that was something you couldn’t overlook. 

You tighten your hold on his waist, and he grunts, glancing down at you as his gut swirls. The man’s half-lidded eyes flutter, fingers flinching along your clothes. The room gets warmer, or maybe it’s just him. 

“I guess,” you begin under your breath, voice muffled by his skin. “I could use your help. Officially.”  

“Ooo,” the Scot whispers. “‘Officially’—look at that.”

You huff, lips pulling up. 

“Well,” the man mutters, chin resting on top of your head as the sun outside begins to dip lower. “‘Officially’ I have some information that my Bonnie little boss might like to hear.”

Your smirk grows wider, your heart hammering faster as your pulse moves with fire. 

“Oh?” Your nails drag his sides, and you feel Johnny’s breath hitch, a low purr emanating from his chest. 

“Oh, aye,” a hand grips your chin, dragging you back until you’re once more blinking into his gaze head-on. His finger pets your flesh, your breath puffing out as he stares down at you. He swallows down the nervousness in the back of his throat, the urgency that instinct pushes away in this moment of anticipation as he watches your face. “But I’m having a moment, it seems—can’t think straight.”

“Why’s that?” You lick your lips and see cobalt blue follow them.

“Because this Hen in front of me has been a damn tease since I’ve met ‘er.” 

Any snappy reply is cut short before it even can fully register in your head, and all thoughts halt the second his firm mouth is on your own. 

You gasp, but there isn’t an ounce of yourself that pulls back, not when Johnny’s fingers play at your shirt-hem, or even when your own slide under his clothes. You don’t pull back when they hit the floor—don’t pull back when your bodies follow suit. 

A dance of fire and ice moves with the writhing of flesh and the passing of heavy kisses; panting breath. Grunts and groans as if every pass of lips and teeth is a knife into supple skin. Tense legs and flexing arms—dragging fingertips digging into every latchable dip even as the dead of night grows longer. 

It’s only after every desire has been satiated that you finally utter about the finer details of this mess. 

Johnny’s hands move down your bare back, slipping to grip your waist and drag you into him as you sigh. Your thigh lifts to rest over his hip, leg hanging uselessly over as it brushes the ruffled sheets as lips find your neck, tiny nips and passes of skin mixing as your eyes flutter. 

The fireman makes a noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat, hand sliding to hook under your kneecap, caressing. 

“So attentive,” you murmur, and your fingers run through his hair, itching at his mohawk as the longer strands slip through. Johnny burrows closer, nose pushing your head upwards as he kisses the space where your neck connects to the underside of your chin. 

He chuckles smoothly, stubble scraping along as you shiver at the sensation. The hard press of his pecs shove into you, and you lightly breathe; fingers twitching.

“How are we feeling?” Johnny grunts in between his worship.

“Energized,” you grin, half-closed eyes shimmering. 

The man smiles widely, grip sliding downward slowly as he chuckles. “Yeah?”

“Not like that,” you groan, shoving his hand away as he laughs, rolling onto his back and folding his arm over his eyes. 

“Ah,” Johnny’s chest jumps with his amusement, itching at his bare abdomen for a moment. “Worth a try, then.”

“Dog,” you roll your eyes. “You’ve had enough of a fill.”

“That’s all up to opinion, Dearie.” He smirks, peeking at you as your face heats up.

Shoving at his shoulder, he laughs again and pushes up, hands melting into the mattress beside your head as he looms above you as a large wall. 

“I’ll never have enough of a fill when it comes to you and your wet c-”

You snap a hand to his mouth, covering it as you glare openly, sneering. “Finish that sentence and you’ll never have me in this bed again.”

Johnny’s glinting eyes stare from above your hand, and you feel his smile as clear as day as his face stays stuck close to yours. 

A teasing kiss is leveled on your palm and you roll your eyes, pulling away to lightly push at his forehead. The Scot lets you shove at him, and you sit up fully as he grunts and rests his back on the headboard. 

Shifting your body, you straddle his lap and grasp his chin.

“A few hours ago,” Johnny’s eyes are blown, and you feel his touch on your hips. He hums in question, barely listening above the squeeze of your legs. “You were going to tell me something—a lead.”

“Was I?” The fireman breathes, licking at your finger as it goes to rest on his bottom lip. 

You cock your head with seriousness and a level of amusement in your gaze. “You were. Tell me.”

“You need to work on your pillow talk, Pencils.” Johnny sets a sloppy kiss on your collarbone and sighs. 

There’s a moment where you both stare into one another, and the gravity of this begins to set in once more. Carnal desire and feelings aside, there was always an edge to the both of you—this need to be seen through whether for some sense of justice or care. 

“Kurt Matthews—rookie fireman,” Johnny grunts, looking away for a quick moment. “Heard him speaking on the phone, got a bad feeling ‘bout it that I can’t place. Might be nothing, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t tell you.” 

“Kurt,” you breathe, brows pulling in. There’s a long pause. “Kurt Matthews…that sounds familiar.” 

Hopping off Johnny, the man groans softly, a slightly needy look following after as your bare body slips away. He knocks his skull against the headboard, side-eyeing your backside as you hurry off to your board. A light smirk makes itself known before your voice snaps him out of his memories. “Stop looking at my ass, MacTavish!”

His face goes beet red as he grunts, quickly snapping his eyes away. 

You wrap yourself into one of the blankets that was on the couch, letting it hang off of your shoulders as you snatch one of the papers on your mess of information. 

“A fireman,” you mutter to yourself, finger running down names and brief descriptions. “An inside job? No, that would be…” Your eyes spark to life as Soap shuffles in, running through his hair. “That would be one hell of a story.” 

Attention locked in, your eyes instantly stop on your own chicken scratch—the name at the bottom of the page. 

Kurt Matthews. Witness to fire on the fifth; one dead. 

“Off duty? Or not hired yet?” You ask, lips tightening. “Why was he at the scene? Johnny,” your curious voice calls to him, and he slips up behind you, flattening his front to your back. You lean into him, showing him the paper. “When did he get taken on into the department?”

“Month ago,” Johnny’s face pulls, frowning. A name catches his attention, and he tilts his head. “Why’s Duncan on there?”

Your attention moves to the scribbled title. Johnny continues as you read, your stomach sinking. 

Duncan Ballard. Employee of Warren Electrical. No involvement.

You wave a hand. “He has nothing to do with this case. That was back when I was looking into the money laundering—”

“They’re cousins.” 

Your body twists, face confused. “What…?”

Johnny blinks, glancing at you and then back to the paper, he vaguely gestures to the two names. “Duncan and Kurt—they’re cousins. Met him at one of the department cookouts. Strange bloke, but I never thought much about it. Just thought he liked the profession a bit because Kurt was getting involved.” 

You stare at him, a million thoughts dashing from behind your eyes. “Duncan was the man I interviewed about the Warren Electrical case. He was cleared by the police,” you stutter, looking to the side. “He was the only employee of the company that didn’t confess or implicate someone else. There was no evidence to…”

You trail off before your spine tightens. Your body pushes itself out of Johnny’s hold, rushing to his computer and opening it like a bat out of hell. 

“Give me the name of one of the fire victims.”

The Scot watches after, hurriedly forcing out, “Mike Lane.”

An article pops up—one that you hadn’t written but that another journalist had. Warren Electrical Employee Exposes All. 

“Another,” you breathe, eyes stuck on the screen.

“Kit Cannon.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

“Johnny, one more.”

“Hadden Taylor.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

Your throat closes for a moment before you force out in the middle of Soap easing out another name, still not sure where you’re going with this. “He’s trying to kill off anyone who snitched.”

Johnny pauses, coming over to look as he thinks—as he looks over the articles you show him with a grim face, he tilts his head.

“Even then, why were you a target? All you did was interview him. And why now?” 

“He knows I have all of the resources,” you begin. “If anyone can catch him, it would be me—I interviewed him when he was in temporary custody. It would have seemed like he didn’t have a choice unless he wanted to keep his appearance of innocence.” 

Your mind struggles through the potential answers. “But you’re right—why now? Is it because of the trial coming up? And how does this connect with Kurt?”

“He smelled like Gasoline when he walked past me,” Johnny adds, rubbing at his chin; itching at his scar. He spares you a look, mulling over the words that he’d heard in the pantry. “...I think he’s trying to cover his cousin’s crimes with his own. Make it seem like they’re all a part of one damn scheme.” 

“He’s the one going for the abandoned buildings,” you agree, nodding a few times, looking over into Johnny’s eyes. “Kurt Matthews and Duncan Ballard. Okay. We have our leads.”

Before the Scot can speak on it, you’re rushing past, grabbing clothes from the floor and shoving them on. His face moves in, confusion overtaking his building shock. 

“What are you doing?” You shove into your pants, not sparing a look before you button them. 

“Get dressed, we’re going out.”

Johnny’s left in the middle of the room, naked, watching after you with a slack-jawed expression of disbelief. 

“...What?”

—

You hang up your phone with one of the many people you know in the city, dropping it to your side as you and the fireman stand in front of your car. You have an address for Kurt’s home—not one for Duncan, but that can happen later. With what Johnny had said not moments before, Matthews was expressing hesitation. Go for the weaker link first. 

The streets are lit up. It’s still night out but the long hours are beginning to thin into morning; it can’t be later than three AM. Vehicles rush past, and, occasionally, people walk to wherever they are off to. The city never sleeps, just as you don’t. 

“Woah,” Johnny grabs onto you before your hand can latch onto the driver’s seat door. He waves his other hand and stares at you heavily. “We can’t just go into this with our dicks in our hands, Bonnie.”

“Thankfully, I don’t have one of those,” you huff. “That’s why I keep you around.”

“That isn’t,” Johnny sighs aggressively, shaking his head. “I’ll not have you in danger. We need to pass this along the chain.”

“The chain,” you grumble, “hates me. We’re the best bet right now.” Raising a brow you point a finger under his nose. “If I recall, you asked to be involved.”

Johnny frowns heavily, looking unimpressed until he takes a deep breath. He rasps out, “You’re lucky you’re damn near a goddess—”

His phone goes off in his pocket, and not a second later, he’s answering as you mess with your satchel. Taking out a piece of paper, you try not to show how much his little comment made you want to float into the air, giddy, nearly, as you write down Kurt’s address sloppily. 

“MacTavish,” Johnny grunts out, turning slightly away. 

You open your car door, but a hand moves out and keeps it closed enough to a point where you can’t slip inside, you pout and Johnny raises a brow as he listens. Your eyes notice how his jaw clenches, and he lets off an aggressive sigh like a boar when he registers the words being said from over the line. 

Your heart drops when you watch his shoulders sag, hips moving as they situate themselves.

“Right. I’ll be over.” Cobalt eyes snap to yours when the call ends, deathly serious. “One of the boys had to run out tonight during his twenty-four-hour—family emergency. I was on call for him.” 

You open your mouth to speak. 

“No,” Johnny points at you, digging out his own keys from his pants as he backs up. He shakes his head. “No—you’re not going alone. Don’t even ask it, Pencils.”

Your loud scoff echoes. “I didn’t even mention it!”

“You fucking thought it,” he grunts, glaring. “Get your pretty arse back inside the apartment and we do this together tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes,” you wave a hand, stepping back onto the sidewalk as the Scot moves to his vehicle only two cars down, sarcastically monologuing. “All naked and waiting to be ravished by your brutish body. Whatever will I do without you, my brave firefighter?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Soap mutters to himself, and just as he unlocks his car and opens the door, you’re there at his side. A light kiss is pressed into his flesh, and he freezes. 

“Be safe,” you mutter, and he melts—tension loosening. He smirks and glances over, carefully grabbing your face before connecting his lips to yours with a low groan.

“Maybe you should be naked and waiting for me—”

“Go!”

Johnny chuckles against your lips. “Keep your head on for me, Pencils. I’ll be back soon, and we can find the fucker that did this, eh?”

As he gets into his car and drives away, you watch after him and bite at your lips. And then as he turns the street corner, you jog over to your car and slip inside.

—

The home was run down.

It wasn’t a place where you would want to raise a family, and neither was the neighborhood. In fact, barely anyone seemed to live on this street, and even if there were entire rows of houses, there weren’t even any lights on—nothing illuminated the streets except the lamps, and you were parked under one with your satchel in your lap. 

Experience didn’t mean you never get nervous.

You feel the clamminess of your palms as you flex them, replaying Johnny’s words in your head over and over. You knew the house was here, so, you could always just…come back later. There was no harm in it. 

Yet, your eyes narrow, and your rage builds. 

This fucker was related to the man that burned down your apartment building—was potentially covering for him so you wouldn’t break the case on Duncan killing off the snitches for Warren Electrical’s schemes. But all because of an interview with him? All you’d done was sit down with the guy; why did he feel the need to track you down? Breaking into someone's house and lighting it up with matches was personal—incredibly personal. 

Duncan had given you a warning to keep away, and you hated warnings with a fiery passion. If anything, it had just set you on his ass more. 

“Okay,” you huff, and reach inside of your satchel, flicking on the recorder you stuffed inside and stating your name, age, and important information. 

And then you open the car door and exit. 

Speed walking to the door, you look down the dark streets and hunch into yourself, the calls of crows and the wind moving the overgrown grass. Cracked concrete hits the ground as you kick pieces away, and at the two steps leading to the front door, you think that perhaps this might be a bad idea.

Bad ideas are what make good articles.

You hum, face innocent. “Johnny’s gonna fucking kill me.”

Knuckles raising, you send three firm knocks into the paint-speckled wood, and wait. And wait.

And wait. 

Your face tightens, your legs shifting minutely as the seconds draw long. A part of you is somewhat relieved until you hear a small creak just when you’re about to walk away. You freeze, and your eyes move slowly to the glass of the side window in a gradual glance. 

Your eyes lock onto a face staring back. 

Gasping, your foot takes a rapid step backward, but before you can rush away, Kurt rips open the door and pleads in a tiny voice as he grabs your arm. You flinch, raising up a heavy fist. But his words stop you from sending it forward.

“No! No, you can’t be here!” Your eyes blink rapidly, stuttering through your initial panic.

“What?”

“Leave!” Kurt snaps, eyes wild. “While he’s still asleep—he can’t see you here or he’ll—” There’s a splash of liquid and you shout. Kurt lets go of you quickly as he looks down at himself as his clothes get flooded from behind. 

The sharp smell hits you before your ears twitch to the sound of a lighting match. 

Kurt screams, snapping around as you fall backward off the steps, slamming into the ground with a panicked flinching in your lungs. A large shadow stands in the doorway. “I didn’t say anything—I didn’t—!”

Kurt Matthews goes up in flames, and in the fire and the rabid screams of sizzling flesh, you’re left shouting in pure fear. Duncan’s familiar face was illuminated by an orange and red inferno and he watches you blankly with a box of matches in his right hand.

You run off so fast, your heels get kicked off in a flurry of a chase.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[latenightdaydreams]

König x Reader Forbidden Love (fem)

Poll story!

MDNI🔞

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, unhappy marriage, cheating, p in v, unprotected sex, angst

1.9k word count

💔

.

.

At 2 am you wake up and head into the shower. Today is your last day home before your seven-month deployment and you hate to admit you’ve been looking forward to it. While other soldiers might love their time home, you don’t. It’s all stagnant, the same mundane life you try to run from. You step out of the shower to see your husband, Jon, standing there brushing his teeth. He looks over at you and smiles.

In an attempt to hide your body you snatch your towel off the hook and wrap it around yourself, giving your husband a weak smile in return. You quickly walk past him into the bedroom, gathering your uniform while leaving behind a trail of water. Jon pokes his head into the bedroom to watch you, assuming your attitude is just nerves.

“Jon, can I get some privacy?” You say stomping over to close the door in his face.

Once you're dressed and your hair pulled back in a bun, you go to the kitchen with your bags. Jon sits there smiling weakly at you while he watches you sit to lace up your boots. He hates to see you go, being your highschool sweetheart, he’s never spent time away from you before you joined KorTac.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Me too.”

You stand and so does he. His arms wrap around you in a tight hug, making you feel guilty for your lack of feelings. Being forced to marry him from a young age, you feel as if you’ve grown out of him. He was what you needed when leaving your abusive childhood home, but now that you’re stable you realize it was never love; simply survival. Yet, here you stay. There is an odd sense of loyalty, as if you owe him for helping you get to this point.

“I should go.”

“I love you.”

“Me too.”

The fifteen-hour flight seemed to drag on, putting your feet down on the ground was a welcomed feeling. Out of the corner of your eye you spot König, looking at you through the eye holes in his sniper hood. For a moment the gaze lingers before you turn your head and continue on your way.

It’s the middle of the night as you toss and turn in your cot, unable to sleep. The first night in a new place always gets to you. In the darkness you look over at the woman that is sharing the tent with you, she’s fast asleep. Letting out a deep sigh, you get off of the cot and leave the tent.

The moons brightness is dulled by a cloudy night, a few shining stars peeking through. Tall grass sways in the wind as your eyes roam. Unconsciously you turn and look towards König’s tent before looking away and letting out a deep breath. After a second thought, you walk away and head back to your tent.

König takes a deep drag of his cigarette watching you walk away from his tent with a smirk. He pushes off of the tree and begins to walk towards you, letting a puff of smoke slip from between his lips. His eyes trail over every inch of your body as he approaches you.

“Can’t sleep, Liebling?”

“Jesus Christ!” You jump and turn around when you see him, letting out a small laugh.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” König chuckles lightly.

You watch as he tosses the cigarette to the ground, stepping on it before walking closer to you. “I saw you were looking for me.”

“I—”

“I was waiting for you, follow me.”

König grabs your hand and walks you to his tent. While he tries to appear relaxed, his heart is pounding in his chest. It’s been too long since he’s seen you, since he’s been able to taste you. He scans the area to make sure no one sees the two of you together, standing guard as he opens the flap of the tent and lets you in.

You enter his private tent, but before you can say a word König scopes you up into his arm and lifts you up. He pulls his hood off and tosses it to the floor, leaning in to kiss you deeply. He holds you ass cupped in his hands, squeezing the supple flesh as his tongue slips into your mouth. Your lip’s part, accepting his tongue as he carries you to his chair and sits down.

“I’ve missed you.” König says as he pulls back, letting his hands rub circles over your hips and rear.

“I’ve missed you too, König.”

“Why did you ignore me earlier today?”

“There were a lot of people around.”

“Ja? That doesn’t mean we can’t talk.” His hands slip underneath your shirt and begin to touch your warm flesh. “I was a little upset, I won’t lie.”

“I’m sorry.” You move your hands to cup his strong jawline.

“Don’t be sorry. I have you now.”

König lifts your shirt up and pulls it over your head, he begins to kiss your neck down to your cleavage. His hands slowly wrap around your back, unhooking your bra and allowing it to fall off your body slowly. He takes a moment to look down at your breasts before leaning in to kiss them, his mouth eagerly finding your hard nipples.

While his mouth suckles at your breasts he continues to undress you, undoing your pants and letting his hands slip underneath the waistband. He stands you up to pull your pants down, his lips leaving your breasts and trails down your abdomen. The strong smell of your wet cunt hits him as he pulls down your black panties.

“You look even better than I remember.” König says as he leans back in the chair and pulls off his shirt, undoing his pants to release himself.

“Do you have a condom?”

“Since when do we use condoms?” König tilts his head as he stares at you curiously.

“I- like just in case.”

“I don’t have any. I only have sex with you, and you said we won’t use them.” He reaches out and grabs your arm pulling you to him.

You go willingly towards him and straddle his lap. The heat from his erection adiates underneath your lap as you rock your wet pussy back and forth on his length. He’s right. You said no condoms because you wanted children, but now you’re second guessing it. Could you really break up a nearly two-decade long relationship?

“Where’s your mind?” König whispers as he kisses your neck.

“Right here.” You lie.

You adjust yourself and reach between your legs to position his cock right up against your entrance. His lips linger on your neck as he waits for you to lower yourself, his cock throbbing slightly with need. After waiting, you sit down on him; sinking down slowly but completely on his long shaft.

“Oh, fuck y/n.”

König’s hands move down to your hips, assisting you in your bounces. His eyes lower and lock on to your breasts as they jiggle with each little motion you make. The sounds of pleasure that leave him come out in a melody matching your rhythm.

“Whose pussy is this?”

You don’t respond as you continue to move, your hands on his shoulders with your nails digging in and leaving red marks behind on his pale skin. All you want to do is focus on how good he feels stretching you out, closing your eyes and just trying to tune his voice out. That is until he grabs your jaw in his massive hand, forcing you to open your eyes and face him.

“I asked, whose pussy is this?” His voice is more of a low growl when he asks the second time.

“Yours.”

The usual blue color of his eyes is replaced by his blown-out pupils, completely lost in the moment with you. “Gut, good girl.” König lowers himself in the chair and leans you forward against his chest as his hands grip you. He thrust up into you, rapidly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You gaze back into his eyes as your eyebrows pinch together, your body becoming overwhelmed with the need to orgasm. The sound of your sopping wet pussy swallowing him up radiates in the small space of the tent. König’s body quickly becomes sweaty, his breathing heavy as he tries his best to hold off on his own release until you do.

“König.” You whimper.

“Oh- y/n. I love you fucking pussy.”

“Please, harder.”

König stands, shocking you. Your eyes open wide as he quickly turns and places you on the chair. He grabs the back of the chair and use it to balance himself as he slams into you, watching your face as it slowly crunches up.

“Cum for me, cum on my cock!”

“Fuck!”

You squirm, each thrust of his cock sends a powerful burst of ecstasy throughout your whole body. The begging and whimpers turn into a mumble of nothing as your pussy clenches around his cock. König closes his eyes for a split moment before looking back down at you, pushing himself all the way in causing you to cry out softly. He throbs, releasing deeply in you.

König tilts your face up so he can kiss you, keeping his cock inside of you while he calms down. Every time he cums inside of you, he uses his cock as a plug. In his mind this only ups the chances even though you haven’t been pregnant yet. Yet.

Once you both clean up and get dressed, you reach down to pull your boots back on. He hits on his little nest on the floor, he’s too big for a cot so he works around it. You’re distant, more than usual. It worries him, but he’s trying to act calm.

“Where are you going so quickly? Don’t you want to snuggle?”

“I’m tired.”

“So? Sleep here.”

You look up at him and let out a soft sigh. “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We could get caught.”

“So?” König leans forward, not used to this defiance from you. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, König.” You snap at him.

His eyes widen, not expecting you to get so angry at him. For a moment he just waits and watches you. He stands and walks to you, grabbing your waist, and pulling you back to sit on his lap on the ground.

“König!” You sound annoyed with him as you try to stand up, but he won’t let you go.

“Please, please talk to me. Don’t act like this after all this time apart.” His voice sounds defeated in that moment. He can’t bear to speak out loud that he’s fearful of you growing tired of him, of this. You’ve become the most important person in his life. Losing you isn’t something he’s ready for.

“I don’t know. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Talk to me. I will try to help.” He’s desperate to not be rejected.

You turn and look at him with a small frown. If only it could be that easy. There are a million thoughts rushing through your mind. Is a future with him even realistic? “Not tonight. We should really sleep.”

Reluctantly, he relaxes his hold on you. Logically he knows that he can’t force you to open up or stay here with him. While he wants to, he can’t. He watches with sad eyes as you stand from his lap without so much as a goodbye kiss.

“I love you, y/n.”

“Me too…” You say softly to König before leaving his tent.

[effetsecndaires]

— 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤.

PAIRING | manjiro sano x fem!reader.

CONTENT WARNING | smut, pregnancy, bonten timeline.

NOTE | I know the pregnancy trope isn't everyone's cup of tea and I could see it with the poll, but I had to make a decision 🥲 enjoy! wc: 1,2k

“You’re upset.” Mikey whispered, his voice slightly muffled against your damp hair. "Talk to me."

"I'm not upset." you spoke lowly, staring at your knees that poked out of the water.

Mikey tucked some of your hair behind your ear, placing a lingering kiss to your temple.

"Don't lie to me."

One of his hands moved to rest on your stomach, his thumb beginning to trace random patterns on your bump which was growing more and more each day. You sighed in response to his touch, closing your eyes.

"You know why I'm upset, Mikey." you eventually answered, allowing yourself to relax a bit more in his arms, straightening your legs underwater as the warm water relaxed your muscles.

You remained quiet for a moment then opened your mouth as if to speak, only to pause again. Mikey kissed your cheek to encourage you and after some time, you collected your words.

"I'm just scared." you admitted quietly.

Mikey frowned, waiting for you to continue. "I'm scared that one day I'll wake up to a call from one of your men telling me that you’ve been arrested, injured, or worse. I'm scared that one day i'll have to raise my child alone because you've been taken from me." you explained, releasing a shaky sigh. "I'm just sick of living with the fear that every day we spend together might be the last."

Mikey placed a finger under your chin as you spoke, making you look at him. He wanted to say something but you cut him off before he got the chance.

"You've been playing with fire ever since you pushed Draken away all those years ago. He was the only one capable of keeping you on the right track." you said, marking a pause as you stared into his tired eyes. "You're digging your own grave Mikey, and it's only a matter of time before someone puts a bullet in your head." You snapped, freeing your chin from his grip and turning your head to stare at the water again.

Silence fell over the room at the mention of Draken, a soft sigh leaving Mikey's lips while you closed your eyes again to try to rid your mind of the toxic thoughts.

You eventually broke the silence after a moment, swallowing to hold back the lump in your throat. Your hand came to rest on your belly, hoping to feel a kick from your baby to bring yourself some comfort.

"I'm sorry." you mumbled, choking up. "I... I shouldn't have said that. It's just, I don't know what I'd do if—"

"Shh." Mikey interrupted your rambling, a quiet sound of surprise escaping your lips as he guided your jaw and leaned down to kiss you. When you parted from the kiss, a tear had rolled down your cheek. "It's alright." Mikey murmured. "Nothing's gonna happen to me. I promise."

"Let's run away, Manjiro." you said,completely dismissing him and turning slightly so you could look at him, reaching out to place a hand on his cheek. "Let's move to Europe, or America. Somewhere new. Away from trouble, away from everything we know. Just you, me, and the baby." you begged.

Mikey inhaled deeply. There's a chance he was getting frustrated with this conversation, but you didn't care. You had every right to be upset, scared even.

"You know that's not possible." he said, his right hand trailing lower down your stomach. You were about to protest but Mikey cut you off with a kiss, probably to shut you up. You sighed against his mouth and jerked slightly in surprise as his hand dipped between your legs, his middle and ring finger finding your clit and rubbing it in circles. He set a slow, sensual pace, his main goal being to relax you. Almost out of instinct you spread your legs until your knees hit the sides of the tub, granting him easier access.

"Now be a good girl and stop worrying so much, hm...? I know what i'm doing." he murmured, your soft whimpers and sighs of appreciation prompting him to continue. You began to squirm, your hands gripping onto his arms. "I won't get arrested, I won't get injured, I won't die. You're not getting rid of me anytime soon."

You know he's lying. Mikey doesn't have everything under control like he claims he does — far from it. He's exhausted. He's sad. He's distant. He's only saying this because he wants to be done with this conversation and he doesn't want you to worry.

You released a shaky breath, reaching behind your shoulder to tangle your fingers in his silver hair, deciding not to say anything. You gasped when he slipped a finger inside of you, his thumb simultaneously flicking the bundle of nerves between your thighs.

“So beautiful.” Mikey whispered to himself, pushing in another finger. You began to squirm, the movement causing you to slide a few inches down into the water. "Do you have any idea how long I've dreamed of seeing you pregnant?” Mikey whispered in your ear, pausing to take your lobe between his teeth and nibble gently, “To finally see this beautiful bump. I can't wait for it to be all big and swollen from my baby growing inside of it."

“God— Mikey.” you breathed out, your hips instinctively lifting as his fingers rubbed calculated circles into your clit.

“Fuck, say my name again.”

You did as you were told, his name leaving your lips in a whimper. Mikey's free hand moved upwards and cupped your breast, his thumb toying with your erect nipple. You arched your back further, your lips parting as you panted and moaned, the water beginning to splash over the edge of the bathtub. Mikey's erection was pressing against your back, the friction caused by your squirming making him groan.

"Don't stop," you cried out, grabbing his arm that was wrapped around your body and digging your nails into his skin. "Oh fuck, Mikey, right there," you moaned loudly, your eyes fluttering shut as the pressure built up in your belly, your walls clenching around his fingers. Your hand fisted in his hair and you tilted your head to kiss him, muffling your moans that were getting louder by the minute. He pumped his fingers and rubbed your clit until you were a whimpering mess underneath him, begging and pleading for him not to stop, as if he would anyway.

“Come for me, princess. Wanna make you feel good.” He whispered softly against your lips. You moaned loudly as your orgasm took over, your back arching away from his chest and legs spreading as far as they'll go while Mikey pumped you through your high, never relenting until you slowly came down.

He eventually removed his fingers, using them to circle your clit a couple more times before bringing his hand back to your belly and kissing the side of your head lovingly.

The sudden absence of sound left your ears ringing, only heavy panting and the gentle pitter-patter of waterdrops touching the water filling the air. You started to relax again in Mikey's arms, you body thoroughly spent.

The two of you stayed wrapped up in each other for a while despite the water having turned cold, enjoying the rare moment of intimacy you were currently sharing, not wanting to let go just yet.

[ashen-char]

take my pure 🔞

ship: max fox (better things) x gender neutral reader (reader has a penis bc of the g!p request but i kept it gn bc the other request used "they")

warnings: explicit smut, losing virginity, reader has a penis

summary: max is more than happy to be your first - to ensure that your first time is perfect, to show you how good it can be.

word count: 3700+

notes: knocking out a few requests with this one. g!p request here, and requests for reader's first time w max here and here. g!p won the poll so i hope to write things like this more often for you guys! ALSO written as a happy bday gift to my 100th follower <3

Max has done her best to be patient with you. Respectful of the fact that, yknow, you're inexperienced. That you want to take things slow. You're not the type to rush into stuff headfirst like Max is. You know she's done more, that she wants you. It's kinda sweet how she asks you if you're OK even if you're doing something as simple as making out, just because she doesn't want to scare you off. 

"Hey, babe?" Max asks you one day, while you two are cuddling on her bed. Her hands stroke at your stomach, fingers slightly grazing down and playing with the waistband of your boxers. "I was thinking, like... what's the farthest you've ever gone with someone?"

Your eyes widen with the question since it seemed so out of the blue. Then again, Max always said what was on her mind, be that normal or not. "Uh, well, we've made out a bunch, obviously," you tell her.

"Right." The way she pauses lets you know that Max wants you to keep going, that you haven't answered what she wants to hear.

You keep your eyes on Max's, watching if she's at all uncomfortable or jealous with the answer. You want to be honest, but not make her upset. "Besides that, I guess me and my last girlfriend... touched a little. Like, under the bra. She tried to cop a feel of my junk once, but I shut that down." You frown at the memory. The rest of that hang-out was awkward, and you felt bad, but you weren't ready. You don't regret standing your ground though.

"Just under the bra, huh? That's it?" she teases. It's like Max knew you were getting in your head, because one of her hands comes up and cups your face. You lean into it. Turn your head and press a kiss to her palm.

Your arm goes to pull Max in, wanting her closer. She relaxes you. You've never really had that before. Past relationships were all filled with nerves and uncertainty. Max makes everything feel obvious, especially with how confident she is, even when she messes up.

"I kinda regretted moving away back then. Like, it felt good," you admit. "But no one else had ever touched it but me, so I was a little too nervous to go further." That moment didn't feel right. Now you know that it was because your ex was the wrong girl. She wasn't as awesome and right for you as Max.

Max giggles softly, pressing against you and letting you pull her against you. "Not lame at all, babe," she assures, her hand moving lower, tracing patterns on your abdomen. You resist the urge to flex, knowing she'll tease you for trying to impress her. You can't help how nervous she still makes you. How cool you want her to think you are. "It's... cute, actually. Makes me feel special, you know? That I'll get to be your first."

First. It used to be a daunting thought. Exes pushing you, saying it wasn't a big deal, telling you how excited they were to eventually take it. Like your body was something fun for them to experience. But not Max. She likes the thought because it proves how much you, the person not the body, trusts her. You think it might be fun, with Max. Because of Max. It makes you want to push through those nerves.

She looks up at you. You recognise that look in her eyes, how they sparkle with mischief. "...what's going on in that pretty head of yours?" you ask, wary but playful in tone. You poke her cheek and laugh when that makes Max laugh as well.

"You've never gone under my bra," she says.

The thought of Max's... well. You flush at the thought, the image of it, like your brain's stopping you from even thinking of her chest. Bare. Would her, uh, you know, be as pink and tender as her lips?

You really need to get over it. They're just words. You've seen Max's breasts before - seen them when she'd tease you by sending you nudes, or the couple of times she's changed in front of you because "she really doesn't care, just stay" in Max's words. You never really let yourself look, so sure that you'd stare and pop a boner or something. And pictures don't do them justice.

Max gives you little time to prepare. With two hands, she takes hold of yours, and, with a gentle tug, brings your hand under her shirt. "Go up when you feel ready," she says. Her eyes are fixed on yours, but she closes them when she leans in and sweetly gives you a kiss. It's then when you let your fingers splay open, reaching up, releasing a shaky breath when you feel it. Soft. Malleable. 

You squeeze, and she moans and, fuck, you feel the blood rushing down between your legs. This is when alarm bells would ring, telling you to move away before she feels your semi. But not with Max. Maybe it would be overkill to say you feel completely ready, but you don't feel scared at least. Spurred by your excitement and the feel of her soft tits in your hands, you begin to massage and explore, watching how Max reacts. Her shivers, her moans, her whimpers.

"Are you sure this is your first time?" she huffs out, as you're switching from one to the other. "You're too good at this."

"I- uh-" You don't know what you want to say. Nothing really. At this point, you're tenting your boxers something fierce and hoping Max doesn't tease you about it. "I'm not really doing anything. You feel good," is what you end up landing on, proud when you don't stutter too bad.

You feel her nipples pebble under your touch, how your palm grazes over it and it makes Max bite her lip and mumble out a "fuck".

When you don't freak out and let her know it's getting a bit too quick for you, her thumbs slip under the straps of her tank top. "You can take it off, if you want, babe," Max offers. You know there's no bra underneath, and you think you might die if her perfect tits were suddenly out, so you appreciate the warning.

"Honestly, I like where my hands are," you say. Admitting that peeling her tank top off would make you actually combust in your pants is too embarrassing anyways. "But I want to see you."

You watch as she strips her shirt and your heart thumps like it did the first time because she's just that gorgeous. Her pale skin is pretty. Her nipples are as pink as you imagined, but there's a tinge of red now, like they're begging to be touched. The beauty marks that pepper her upper body look like constellations, and you've spent a non-zero amount of time fantasising about kissing them. So you do. Max's breathing is getting heavy and you can feel it in how her chest rises and falls, can feel her heartbeat against your lips.

You don't know how long your face has been buried in her chest for. At least ten minutes if you had to guess. Max's perfume smells so sweet on her skin, and when you lick around her nipple like that, she squirms and grinds down on your lap. You almost can't believe you're feeling so comfortable right now. There's no instinct telling you to move away, to not let her feel your bulge. In fact, it feels so good.

"So, does that mean you're ready for third base now? Or maybe even a home run?" Her voice is teasing, but there's a hint of need behind it. Max wants you inside her and it's a thought that makes you groan.

"I think... yeah," you breathe out. "I wanna go further."

Max's eyes light up at your words. She can't believe you're giving her this, trusting her enough to let her see you, all of you. She's been dying to touch you, to explore every inch of the body that she loves being held by. She sits up, straddling you, her hands already reaching for the hem of your shirt.

"I thought you'd never ask," she teases, pulling your shirt off and tossing it aside. Her fingers trace the lines of your muscles, admiring the way your body responds to her touch. She can feel your heart pounding in your chest, can sense your nervousness. But she also sees the desire in your eyes, the want.

Her hands move to your belt, unbuckling it slowly, her eyes never leaving his. She can see you swallow hard, your chest heaving.

Max is grinning, enjoying the power she holds over you. "It'll be good. You'll love this, baby, trust me." In smooth, practised motions, she undoes the button on your jeans, then your zipper, her knuckles brushing against your hardness. She can feel you throbbing, eager for her touch.

"I do trust you," you say. With a groan, you hide your face against her, burrowing at the spot where her shoulder and neck meet.

"You're so big, babe," she whispers, her hand slipping inside your boxers, wrapping around your length. Max bites her lip, looking up at you with wide, eager eyes. She can feel your thickness in her hand, can barely wrap her fingers around it. "You're pulsing in my hand." Max sounds delighted.

"Shut up," you grit out, face probably burning red with all her teasing. It's all you can do to remember to breathe.

"Uh huh." She strokes you gently, feeling you grow even harder in her hand. Up and down the shaft, twisting at the head. You can't believe a girl is touching you. Not only that, but she's doing it in a way that you've only done to yourself in the privacy of your room, like Max knows just how you like it. "Do you like that, baby?" she asks, her voice soft and sweet. Encouraging. It makes you squirm.  "Do you like me touching you like this?"

Fuuuuck. "Ugh." Your hips jerk up, making a slick sound as you fuck up into her hand. "Yes."

After a while, when you're fully hard, Max starts making her way down. She kisses her way down your neck, your chest, lips exploring your body as her hands continue their tantalisingly slow up and down. She can feel you tense beneath her touch, but you don't stop her. "What are you-?"

"Shhh, baby. I just want to do something for you. It'll feel even better. Pinky promise."

She reaches your waistband, her fingers hooking into the top of your boxers. She looks up at you, checking in, making sure you're still okay with this. You nod. The sight of Max on her knees in front of you is fucking wow and the thought of saying no doesn't even cross your mind. Not like this. Not when your breath coming in short gasps and you just want her mouth around you.

"OK. Thank you for trusting me, baby," she whispers.

Your hands... you don't know what you're doing with them, don't know what to do at a time like this. It's not like you came over expecting to get blown today, so you didn't exactly look up the best etiquette for this. On her head seems like a safe option but also so lewd that you can't bring yourself too. "Of course," you say. "I love you. I-I trust you."

She smiles, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your stomach. "I love you too."

A deep breath in. You can do this. Max says you'll love it, and God, if you haven't imagined her mouth on you hundreds of times. She tugs your boxers down, freeing your erection. She says something to the effect of "oh, hello!" when it pops out, smacking you in the stomach cause you're just that fucking hard right now.

Max gasps when she finally sees it, her eyes widening in shock and awe. "Oh my god, baby," she breathes, her hand wrapping around the base, her thumb and middle finger not even able to meet. "If you told me you were packing all this, I might have done this sooner."

"Max..."

"I know, I know." Max laughs. She can see you blushing, can see the vulnerability in your eyes. Max smiles, running her finger along your length, feeling you shiver beneath her touch. "You're doing good," she tells you, then licks her lips. "Now can I taste it, baby?" she asks, her voice soft and pleading. "Please?"

When you nod your consent, Max leans down, her tongue flicking out to lick the tip of your cock. She hears you gasp, sees your hips jerk slightly. When she's taking you into her mouth, just the head at first, you wonder if you've ever felt anything so good. It's warm. Crazy intense. Your hands stay on the bed, clutching at the covers, fisting it so you don't do something stupid like scream or cum right there and then.

She sucks gently, her tongue swirling around you.

"Aa-ah," comes the broken moan out of your mouth. Don't cum, don't cum, shit.

You're growing harder in her mouth than you even thought possible, the head hitting the soft palate at the roof of her mouth. There's too many textures, too many sensations. You cling onto the knowledge that this is Max doing this to you. For you. Whichever. Your caring, sweet, always clingy Max. You cling to the fact that she's probably loving this right now, if in a completely different way than you are, loving that you're letting her have this part of you.

She pulls off the slightest bit, just enough to speak, looking up at you. "Is this okay, baby?" she asks, her voice soft. "Do you like it?"

You nod, your eyes clamped shut. If you look down and see your dick in her mouth, there's no saying what you'll do. "Y-yes," you stammers. "It's amazing."

"Well, I'm glad, baby," she says. You can hear the smile in her voice, can feel her hands rubbing up and down your thighs to calm you down. "Tell me if this gets too much, alright? I'm gonna do a little more."

Nodding, you give her the OK.

A little more turns out to be a lot at once. Max returns to that steady rhythm, her head bobbing up and down. With the way her tongue is swirling, you might not have recognised that she's goimg each time. Until finally, you hit something, and you feel her gag slightly.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"No, no, I'm fine," Max doesn't let you finish. "I want to."

She pulls back, taking a deep breath, before trying again. Biting your lip hard, you feel how Max relaxes her throat, taking you deeper this time, her hands gripping your thighs.

You're panting at this point. She must feel you growing closer, feel your body tensing. Her hand strokes the rest of your shaft, the bit she can't get in her mouth.

"No," you get out. You want to last, you want to make sure Max enjoys this as much as you are.

Now it's Max's time to apologise. She immediately pulls off, her eyes big and apologetic. "I'm sorry, God, I should have know that was too far, babe."

Instead of letting her think she was in the wrong, you lean down to kiss her. "No, you didn't do anything wrong," you murmur, even if it's hard to speak right now. Her shoulders are tense, worried, and you rub them. "I just didn't want to cum yet," you admit. You feel ready. You feel good. And it's all Max's doing. "I think I want... I want to be inside you."

Her eyes widen. Eventually Max nods, understanding, and scoots up to lie back on the bed. She reaches behind her to unbutton her shorts, sliding them and her panties off in one smooth motion. She wiggles out of them, leaving her naked and exposed. Her pussy is wet, her nerves making her ache for you. When she spreads her legs, inviting you in, you feel your mouth go dry.

"Come here, baby," she says, patting the spot next to her. "You're going to be so good, you know?"

Nervous isn't the right word. Excitement, maybe. You don't want to fuck this up, but at the same time you know Max wouldn't bedgrudge you if you do. Maybe she'd laugh, or playfully complain, but even if you bust a load right now she'd probably rub your back and tell you that you did good.

You gulp. "I don't know how to..."

"I know, baby. That's kinda part of it." Max leans in, pressing a soft placating kiss to your lips. "No one knows how to do something the first time. All I want is for you to be comfortable, OK? We don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Nothing you don't want to. That helps.

Max takes your hand again. This time, she brings it between her legs. Lets you feel around, not judging how your fingers clumsily explore her pussy.

Knowing that you're going to put it in and feel all this, wet and warm and tight, around your cock makes your brain fry. 

"Do you feel how wet I am?" she whispers. "I'm gonna love it. Just let me guide you in. You can't mess this up."

You keep your eyes fixed on Max, letting her keep you as calm as you can be in this situation. Her hand, still unable to wrap around your girl, directs you to her entrance, replacing your fingers with your cock. Your heart is pounding in your chest as she lines herself up with your head. For the first time, you feel a woman's soft folds around the tip of your cock. An inviting heat practically begs you to take her, to shove yourself right in, and you can't help but shiver at the sensation.

"Max."

"Shh. Slow," she whispers. "Just push in slow, feel how I fit around you. Take your time."

You do as she says, pushing in slowly, her warmth enveloping you. Your body screams at you to move faster. Inch by agonising inch. Your hands let go of the sheets, reaching to grasp her, holding Max by the hips now. At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do to stop Max from sucking you until you came. But now, with half of your shaft buried inside her and Max's hand still wrapped around your base, you realise how close you still are. How bad of a decision it was to not wait until you calmed down a little, because fuck, you think you're going to blow.

Max's nails dig into your shoulder, and she takes a deep breath. Her shaky "oh God" makes you moan, clutching at her hips tighter to hold on to your sanity. Luckily, it seems like you both need some time, so no one complains when you stop about halfway inside her. Max slowly adjusts to your size, and you're adjusting to the fact that you're inside of someone for the first time and it feels like heaven.

"Do you like this, baby?" she asks, her voice breathless. "Do you like being inside me?"

"God yes," you groan out. You can barely even recognise your own voice, thick with pleasure. The tight heat, the softness, it envelops you and you can't help but bite your lip as you tell yourself over and over to not cum yet. Even without moving, her muscles are clenching around you, and it's so intense that it's overwhelming.

"OK, baby," she pants, after a while. You're calmer now. At least, you hope so. "Now you can move." 

So you do. You sink in slowly but surely, taking it all in. Once you're fully inside her, you freeze for a moment, unsure of what to do. Max, however, is not. She wraps her legs around your waist, her heels digging into your back, and begins to move her hips, grinding against you.

Max guides you, showing you how to thrust, how to set the pace, how she likes it. She likes it when you swivel your hips, but hates it when you change up the speed too much. When her hips gyrate, she wants it deeper. You're a fast learner. Every thrust makes her moan, and you're just following Max's lead. Trying not to lose yourself in it. Her soft moans are the sweetest reward.

Max wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you closer, encouraging you. 

"You're doing great," she says, her eyes locked on yours. "Just like that. Keep going."

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes locked with Max's. This is it. You're making love to the love of your life, and you can't believe how good it feels. Max's slick walls slide against you, gripping your cock with every roll of her hips. You begin to mimic her movements, use what you've learned.

Max lets out soft, needy whines, her body arching to meet your inexperienced but eager thrusts. She's taking in every inch of you, her pussy stretching and contracting around you. Her eyes roll back in her head.

"B-baby, please," she calls out, "cum for me, cum inside me. I want to feel it."

"Close. Wait for me," you groan, your body trembling.

And then, in a wave of pleasure, your body jerks. It feels like a bolt of lightning, a shock to the system. Your cock pulses deep inside of Max as you spill your seed deep within her. Max lets out a loud moan as you fill her, her body shuddering as her own orgasm washes over her. Her pussy clamps down tightly around you, milking you dry as she rides out her climax.

Together, you two lay there, panting. "Oh my God. That was amazing," you say, before laughter takes over you. Nothing's funny, but there's too much joy, too much happiness to not let out. She joins in, until you're two giggling messes cuddled up in the sheets, basking in the afterglow. She whispers sweet nothings into your hair, telling you how proud she is of you, how lucky she is that you let her experience your first with you.

[baxndaid]

rick sanchez x reader

headcannons or something idk i like old men read my stanford x readers here too x <- POLL AT THE END !!

- you’re probably a family friend, you come over every once in a while to supervise morty and summer while jerry and beth try to rekindle their failing marriage

- you do a horrible job because the kids always end up sneaking out with their grandpa to kill some god or something absurd like that

- your oblivious, rick isn’t necessarily cold towards you, just indifferent

- he would rather be elsewhere than in the living room talking to some random person that beth insists on having in her house

- one day you catch them sneaking out and probably hide inside of the trunk of ricks car(?) because curiosity killed the cat or something like that

- the cars system would probably inform him that he has an unexpected visitor and your caught red handed, now inside the passenger seat with morty and his grandfather

- awkward would not be enough to describe what that whole journey was

- rick would berate you for being so stupid, telling you that you had no survival skills getting into strangers cars like that

- morty sat in silence, disappointed that he couldn’t go to “boob world” or whatever he called it

- you see, you’re a professional glazer

- it’s not even unintentional like you’re genuinely super impressed by this guy what the fuck do you mean he’s fucked a planet?? crazy work me next

- he decides to keep you around to stroke his ego, it’s refreshing to have someone who’s not always busting his balls about morality and space laws

- and having someone as attractive as you worship him like a god sounded good to him

- after a while he’ll definitely enjoy your company but pretend he’s super cool and suave , pretending that he’s not excited to spend some time with you

- morty gets a little concerned at the fact that his grandpa has taken a liking to you, with with beth

- they know what he’s like, he’s brash and cold one minute, and a little normal the next

- they eventually give in though, they’ve never seen him so calm before, maybe you’ll change him and his chaotic ways

- (you can’t and you won’t)

- he’s super distant when he realises he might have genuine feelings for you, it’s not like him at all to feel all mushy

- truth is, he’s lonely, he’s sad, he’s afraid that things won’t work out, something bad happens to you etc, then he’s back to being lonely

- yeah he’ll probably be a little mean to you at first, to try and scare you off

- doesn’t work, so he gives up with the sass

- definitely builds you little trinkets and machines now and then

- you have no time to mow the lawn? he’s going to build self mowing grass for you (it’s a little sad)

- always stuck in traffic? he’s tinkered with your car and now whenever you drive by a traffic light it’ll always be green (so many casualties)

- too cold today? he’s going to discreetly push the sun a little closer to the earth, juuust a smidge

- he definitely butt dials you when he’s drunk only to cry on your lap until he sobers up and then pretends nothing happened, if he tells you anything particularly sensitive then your memories about it are going bye-bye

- it would take a lot for him to confess, for real

- normally though you’ll probably find a bunch of voice mails from him, he sounds rough and panicky, like he’s about to die in some stupid mission (you could always near morty crying in the background)

- he’ll tell you that he loves you, and that you make him forget about how much he hates himself

- forget about that though because in the very next voice mail he sounds normal again and is telling you to ignore what the last message said

- do not ignore it pls

- do something subtle but nice, like bake or cook him something, or buy him a new lab coat, anything

- he’ll probably get the hint soon

[be-missed]

Furniture Shop

Tara Carpenter X Fem!Reader

(picture not mine)

Summary: You and Tara went to IKEA to buy some suitable furniture for your new apartment to fit in with your fun activities.

Warning/s: Smut. Strap-on. Minors dni!

A/N: So, from the poll, Tara won. So here we go, hope you like it. I'm gonna use a different POV, so please tell me if you like this kind of wordings or the ones that I have been using for better service <3. A short one (?). Please lower your expectations, I feel so dumb.

Masterlist

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"Try to bend forward" Tara told you as you now check the 3rd show room for the kitchen section.

"I don't know, it's a bit high for me, and I bet you can't reach me by then" you teased Tara with a laugh that made the other girl gasped.

"You just did not say that Y/N." Tara answered with a fake annoyance in her voice "Well I think we can lower it down right?" Tara said while finding a way if the both of you can just cut the excess wood so that it will both fit your height.

"Baby, let's find another island bench, we are just on the third room anyway." You said while patting Tara's head like a defeated puppy, "But I really like the color scheme of this one baby." Tara said.

"Come on now, if we can't find any, then we will buy this one." You said while kissing Tara's forehead which makes her pout but starts to follow you in the next showroom in which where a living room is set.

You sat down on the middle of the sofa and taps the empty seat on your right and said, "Babe, try to sit down." Tara looked at you with curiosity not knowing what you are planning not until you fakely tossed your phone into Tara's feet.

Tara almost went ahead and grab your phone not until you stopped her hand and you slowly bent your knees and spread Tara's thighs. Which surprised Tara, so now she is sitting on the sofa, her leg spread wide, and you between it, kneeling.

"Hmm..." you stated, "This is is a nice height and a perfect angle when I get to blow your strap." Your statement made Tara's blood rush to her face. You stand up and dusted your knees to look more for other things that you can buy. But that was shocking for Tara, because that was the first time you said that you'll gonna blow her with the strap-on ever since you have ever started dating.

"Come on tomato head we've got a lot of furniture to try on." you said while wearing a smile of victory knowing that you made Tara flustered.

But the only thing that was on Tara's head was "We should get home before we make a scene."

---

"FINALLY!" Tara exclaimed as the both of you finished to screw the last part of the side of the kitchen island that the both of you bought from IKEA four days ago. "I was waiting for this moment, finally." Tara then looked at you with a naughty smirk.

"Can we rest for tonight? My arms got so tired from lifting all these woods" you said while you try to find some mercy in Tara's eyes but your girlfriend was so determined on having you tonight.

Tara steps towards your directions slowly and reaches the side of your face with her hand. She caress it that made you sink into her palm and that relaxed your neck that gave her a lot of space for her face to nestle in.

Tara leaves small kisses into the side of your neck until she reaches your ear and bit your lobe, "Sweetheart, you won't be needing you hands for tonight I promise you."

Tara then anchors her free hand to your waist then started to pepper wet kisses into your neck that made you grab the back of Tara's head and slightly pulled her baby hairs when she is leaving a mark on your pulse point.

Slowly, Tara directed you to your new sofa, not getting off of each other. Tara was now standing in front of your sofa while she slowly pushes you down into your knees. You didn't notice your position as you were so drunk and drowned with Tara leaving marks on your neck.

"Did you think I forgot what you said when we bought this sofa?" Tara said with a sly smile on her face while sat down on the same place you told her when you were shopping for furniture.

Now, you were the one with a tomato head, your blood was now rushing to your cheeks which Tara held and said "Hey, relax baby" putting butterfly kisses throughout your face "We don't need to do this if you are not comfortable" and looked at you directly.

But you were Oh so ready for this day, you have been researching on how can you give the best head to your girlfriend with the dildo on but still giving her pleasure. You were just scared because you don't know if you'll give a good head, no, the BEST head that Tara will ever receive throughout her lifespan. That was your goal, to be the best.

You looked at Tara with determined eyes and kissed her lips passionately, "Thank you baby, but I want to do this." You said while Tara gives you an encouragingly nod.

You started to untie the sweat pants that she was wearing that made the strap swing, you were like a teenager who just saw a dick for the first time, which you are, because you have only been with women that do not explore when it comes to sex, so you were only used to fingers, tongues, and a couple of vibrators.

Tara then encouraged you to put the strap on your mouth when she started to gather your hair and made a pony with her hand "Come on, baby show me what that mouth can do."

You started to lick the head and stride your tongue down to the base. Tara looked at you with so much lust in her eyes that made you wet. Tara wants you to go on your own phase and trust her, if it was for her, her strap would be down your throat any second now with how dirty you lick her whole strap.

After quite some time, lubricating the strap, you then tried to fit the head of the strap in your mouth, slowingly lowering your head to almost fit the strap inside your watering mouth. And Tara then was pleased to see you try to swallow it as a whole.

You tried to really swallow Tara's strap bobbing your head up and down for a couple of minutes trying different angles which made Tara twitch from her seat and tighten her hold towards your hair.

You reached for the base with your right hand that made Tara tug your hair which made you let out a whimper "Nuh uh, baby, you'll only be using your lovely mouth. I remember you were using it pretty well snarking at me the other day." And with that you put both of your hands behind your back that made Tara buck her hips into your mouth that gagged you because holy shit, you being so helpless made her more even horny, she was now fucking your mouth and you were also surprised with you ability to just swallow Tara.

She then pulled the strap around your mouth and pulled you into the kitchen.

"Bend over." Tara said using her tone that you know you can't fight with, and that only made you more wet, imagining if Tara can fuck you like a sex toy and pound you hard while you were bent over pleading for a release.

Tara lowered your sleeping shorts and palmed you through your underwear, "Looks like I don't even need to tease you for tonight baby, you are soaking." and bunched your underwear to the side.

Tara snaked her right hand in front of you inserted her hand into your underwear and started to put pressure, starting with slow big circles from your clit to your drenched whole that made you grinding you ass to the strap. It just made you more wet and you started to release soft moans that encouraged Tara, "Beg."

One word, Tara dropped that one word you were wishing to not hear for tonight. You were so shy to beg for Tara when you two have sex, so you just wait until Tara gets soft to you and fuck you senseless, but tonight, you feel that it's gonna be different.

Tara then started to guide the strap with her left hand onto your slit, dragging it along your wet folds, while her right hand started its journey in groping your breast. Tara just made it harder for you.

You let out whimper after whimpers until Tara aligned the strap and started to slowly enter you. That just made you slump your body into the kitchen island and grabbed the edges until your palm hurt. "At last, Tara's gonna fuck me" You thought, but Tara left the entire length of the strap outside and the head was only inside of you.

"Beg, or I would leave you hanging like this and trust me you wouldn't like to sleep all wet and bothered aren't you." Tara whispered to your ear and started small slow circles with your clit and that made you moan.

"Tara..." You said, and Tara started to move her hips, inserting and taking out the head, "Come on, baby.." Tara said, soothing you back. A second pass and you feel Tara pulled the strap out and that made you panic, trapping Tara's hand with your thigh.

"Please" you almost screamed, you looked back at Tara with her eye brows raised, waiting for more words to come out of your mouth, "I need you, so bad... right now." and bit your bottom lip and Tara said "I know you can do more baby" and grasp your ass with her right hand and continuing the circles on your clit that was now going faster.

"Tara please, I can't take it anymore... I need you please baby" you said with and that was the last straw for Tara, "See, that's not hard isn't it" and slowly inserted the strap inside you that made the both of you moaned.

Tara started a slow rhythm, trying to build you up, you felt a sting on your ass and you realised that Tara just spanked you, and you should feel angry, but that just made you so wet that you even moaned.

"Look at you taking me so well, not so shy anymore huh?" Tara taunted you and you just moaned with how the head of the strap be hitting every right place that your own fingers can't.

The slapping of your skin echoed throughout the whole flat and it made you even hornier. Tara slowed down, and said "Be a good girl and fuck yourself" Tara snaked her left hand in front your body and lifted you up holding you up through your neck.

You started to bounce yourself from Tara's strap which Tara really enjoyed seeing you flex your back so much. "Harder, please" you silently whispered where Tara obliged.

Her left hand started to tighten around your throat and her right hand started to move fast around your clit "I know your close, come on baby." Tara encouraged you more.

"Fuck baby... Tara-" You said while you pinch your nipple to apply more pleasure "I'm close baby... please" You pleaded, that came out so smooth in your tongue.

"Fuck... Come Y/N, don't hold back, cum baby" With Tara still thrusting her hips into you, you moaned Tara's name loud enough to let your neighbors know that your girlfriend be fucking you really good. After a few second past, you feel Tara pushed the strap into you and she came with a moan, whispering your name again and again while she slump down your back.

---

"Shit, this apartment is amazing you guys" Sam told the both of you while she explore the cupboards in your kitchen and seeing the different appliances that you also bought.

You were leaning into the kitchen island bent as like your position last night, as you happily look at Sam appreciate your home.

"Yeah, we tried to really follow a color code so that we can have a theme for our home" Tara said entering the kitchen and placed herself behind you until Sam situated her eyes in the both of you.

Sam looked at the both of you disgustingly "Really, you two planned on fucking in the kitchen?" noticing that the kitchen island was so perfect for the both of you.

You and Tara burst out laughing, "What do you mean we plan, we already did" Tara said while sticking her tongue out to tease her sister.

"What the fuck" Sam quickly went out of the kitchen and into the living room, she was so grossed out on how freaky the both of you. Tara saw Sam was about to seat and said "Oh, I won't seat on that spot if you know what I mean."

Sam hurriedly gathered her things "You know what, I won't be coming to your house not until I see you both sanitize your own shit." Sam then went out the door and made Tara laugh.

"Stop teasing your sister babe" you exclaimed and Tara replied "I can't help it, it is true though" and just pulled you in for a kiss.

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A/N: I hope this satisfy your expectations. I tried writing in this kind of POV. Comments and suggestions are appreciated, hope you enjoyed. Not proofread.