#when he's not under the weight of it all for a few minutes

[fieldofdaisiies]

Hold Me In Your Arms, I Need Your Love

Azriel x Reader; just a little comfort fic for Azriel, no warnings.

You knew it the moment you opened the door. You knew that he needed to be in your arms tonight, to be held, but what you didn’t know was how broken he truly was after that mission. How much the mission he had been on had destroyed him and shredded his heart apart.

Azriel stumbles through the door, blood—hopefully not his own—still coating his hands and his Illyrian leathers. "Y/N, I…" he begins, but his voice breaks, his strong mask shattering the moment his arms wrap around you and he pulls you close.

You curl your own arms around his broad torso, holding him gently. His whole body is trembling, shaking so hard you can feel it in your bones. "It’s alright," you whisper against his neck, your palms placed gently on his back. "I’m here. I got you."

He clings to you as if you are his lifeline, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. You can feel the weight of his pain, of what he has experienced, and it breaks your heart to see him like this. You hold him tighter, hoping to offer some comfort, some comfort in the midst of his anguish. You become his anchor, a place of comfort, all the strength he needs to keep going and fighting against the demons in his mind that have formed during the mission. 

Minutes pass, but you stay there, wrapped in each other's arms, the world around you forgotten. Slowly, his trembling begins to ease, his breathing becoming more even, as if your presence alone is enough to calm him down. 

You feel a small hint of relief bloom in your heart and press a gentle kiss to his temple, murmuring soft words of comfort, letting him know that he is not alone anymore, that you are here for him, with him.

And only after another few minutes, you decide that it's alright to step away. Only as much as is needed to gently guide him to the couch, supporting him as he walks, never leaving his side, his weight heavy on you.

"Come here,“ you tell him as you help him sit down, ensuring he is comfortable with his large wings. Azriel lets himself sink into the cushions, his shoulders slouching as he lifts his gaze to you.

"Should I run you a bath?“ you ask softly.

"I would just like to lie down. Can I bathe tomorrow?“ Azriel asks, his voice so terribly hoarse and you nod. Of course, it would be alright.

"But at least, let’s get you out of these." Carefully you help him slip out of  his jacket, easing it off his shoulders, the fabric stained and stiff with dried blood. You will wash it for him tomorrow.

Not because you are the female and some of the Night Court citizens still think it’s a female’s duty to do so, but because you want to. You want to help him and be there for him and not let him be reminded of his mission again once he has to wash his clothes.

You place the jacket on the floor behind the couch, before you crouch down in front of him and unlace his boots, then slide them off and set them aside as well. 

Next you unbuckles his belt—it’s something that would always make him make a dirty remark, or at least smirk. Not this time. Tonight he only smiles weakly as he watches you remove his belt. 

"Now, you may lift your hips for me, Az,“ you tell him with a small, and tiny mischievous smile, knowing it will ease the tension a little more. It’s something he has said to you too many times already—always under different circumstances however. 

Azriel hums lowly as he follows your lead and a bit of colour returns to his face, to his cheeks. You help him out of his trousers, always mindful of any injuries. When he is left only in his underwear, you brush your fingers over his skin, making sure there are no too big wounds that need to be taken care of immediately. But he seems alright, except for a few, small scratches there’s no injury on his body. 

For a moment, you have to leave him alone, Azriel’s empty eyes and his pout following you all the way to the bathroom where you collect a basin of warm water and a soft washcloth. 

You dip the washcloth into the basin, wringing out the excess water, then you move the cloth over his exposed skin, making sure all the blood and grime is washed off, your movements calm and deliberate.

Carefully you clean his arms, his scarred hands before rinsing the cloth again, making sure it remains clean as you continue on to his face, his hair. 

As you wipe it across his cheek, and brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, you ask, "Do you want to talk about it? The mission.“

Azriel gives his head a soft shake, and catches your hand. He brings it to his lips and kisses your palm. "Not yet. I just want to be here with you, Y/N. In your arms.“

Sometimes he can’t talk about the missions or the job he had to do immediately. Sometimes it takes him hours, or even days to process everything and of course, you give him this time. You want him to open up and talk to you, but you would never push him or force him to do so. He should always take as much time as he needs.

You dip your chin in acknowledgement, then dry his skin with a soft towel, before you have to leave him alone again for a bit to dispose of the dirty water and cloths.

When you return to him, you notice he is already fighting against his sleepiness, his lids fluttering closed every now and then. You quickly wrap a soft blanket around him, tucking it gently around him, always mindful of his wings and as you sit down beside him, you pull him to you. 

"I’m so glad to have you back, Az," you whisper against his now damp hair, pecking the top of his head quickly. "I missed you.“

Azriel snuggles into your chest and blows out a long breath. "You have no idea how much I missed you, my love. And how much I needed this."

You gently brush your fingers through his hair before you shift on the couch, so he can lay down on top of you, his face softly pressed against your cleavage.

“Every night I thought about you, about wanting to hold you in my arms, wanting to fall asleep with you in my arms.” 

Azriel is normally not one to talk much, so when he does you know he really means every little word he says, wants you to hear and know it. You know he often wants to make up for the time missed, the time you could have spent together hadn’t he been on a mission, although you always assure him that he doesn’t need to make up for it. That he doesn’t need to apologise–it’s his job, his duty, and you would never blame him for it.

“I did too,” you honestly tell him, letting your fingers dance down to the nape of his neck and even further down between his shoulder blades. You will massage his back tomorrow, you tell yourself when you feel the tension in his muscles.

“But now I have you back and everything is good.”

He hums and his breath is warm against your skin, tickling you a little. 

Moving your hand up again, you gently run your fingers through his hair. With a loud sigh, Azriel nestles more into you, his breathing slowing as he begins to drift off. The large Illyrian is not a light-weight but having him rest or sleep on top of you is simply a wonderful feeling, one you would never want to miss. It’s like a tight embrace, a big and warm hug and you love it.

You can feel how his body begins to relax more and more as he gives himself to the peace and comfort you provide him with. Finally he can calm down. 

And so he does, slowly falling asleep on top of you, your hands still caressing his hair.  And right before he truly enters the land of dreams, his eyes already tightly shut, his lips on your skin, he mumbles, “I love you, Y/N. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to … me…”

->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @cadiawrites @bookishbroadwaybish @tele86 @fuckingsimp4azriel @kissesfromnovalie

[greengoblinswifey]

Forbidden Flame II

pairing— dad’s best friend!nicholas chavez x fem!reader

summary— sneaking around was thrilling, but back in LA, reality hit hard. when nicholas insisted your relationship couldn’t be more than sex, you pulled away but when he saw you entertaining another man at his party, jealousy took over.

warnings— age gap(reader is 19, nicholas is aged up to be 40), praise kink, sir kink, oral(m&f receiving), fingering, degrading kink, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare, slight angst, confessions, possessiveness.

a/n— last part?🤭either way i’ll write other dbf!nicholas content.

Part I

The next morning, at the resort, your dad had felt guilty for ditching you two the night before, so he insisted that the three of you spend the day together. You went along with it, but it made sneaking around nearly impossible.

At the beach, you watched as Nicholas and your dad played soccer, just like they used to when they were younger. The sun glistened off Nicholas’ tanned skin, his muscles flexing with every move. You tried not to stare, but it was impossible. He looked good. Too good.

The moment was broken when a guy approached you, flashing a cocky grin. “Hey, beautiful. You here alone?”

Before you could even respond, your dad was at your side in an instant. “She’s not interested.”

Nicholas was right there too, his expression unreadable, but you caught the clench of his jaw, the way his hands balled into fists at his sides. Unlike your dad, you knew his anger wasn’t just protective—it was possessive. You saw right through him.

That was the moment it really hit you. If your dad ever found out you had a boyfriend, let alone that boyfriend being his own best friend—if he even suspected—you’d both be screwed. It wasn’t just a bad idea. It was dangerous. There would be hell to pay.

But that didn’t stop you.

For the rest of the trip, your dad barely let you out of his sight, still on edge after the catcalling incident. Sneaking away with Nicholas became a challenge, but you managed sneaky moments—a heated kiss behind the cabanas, his hands gripping your ass in the pool, his fingers tracing the inside of your thigh under the dinner table. It wasn’t enough, but it had to be.

Now, back in LA, everything felt different. The rush, the secrecy, the thrill of almost getting caught, it was gone. And for the first time since you first let Nicholas fuck you, you felt the weight of it all.

The house was quiet, almost eerily so. No more crowded beaches, no more women distracting your dad, no more excuses to slip away with Nicholas. Your dad was at his company, and Nicholas, you had no idea what he was doing.

You sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter, your phone in hand. The silence was suffocating.

Then, as if on cue, your screen lit up.

Nicholas: Home alone?

Your stomach flipped. You hesitated before typing back.

You: Maybe. Why?

He responded immediately.

Nicholas: I’m coming over.

Your pulse quickened. You barely had time to process his words before the doorbell rang a few minutes later.

When you opened the door, Nicholas stood there, looking impossibly fine in a fitted black tee and jeans. “You just let strange men into your house when you're alone?” he teased, stepping inside before you could even invite him.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please.”

Nicholas smirked, shutting the door behind him.

The air between you was heavy, silence settling as you stared at each other. It was the first time you’d been alone since coming back, and now, with no one watching, no risk of being caught—

“You miss me?” he asked, voice dipping lower.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I saw you two days ago.”

Nicholas took a step closer, tilting his head. “That's not what I asked.”

“Did you miss me?” you asked, not looking away.

His hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him. “You have no idea.”

Your breath hitched. This was wrong—reckless—but you didn't care. You had already decided, no matter the risk, you weren’t going to let Nicholas go.

And as his lips hovered over yours, teasing, daring you to make the first move, you knew sneaking around would be impossible to resist.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his head down in a deep kiss. It was a culmination of built up tension and your pure need for him. As the kiss somehow deepened, his hands went under your ass, lifting you up and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist.

His lips then went to the sensitive spot on your neck, a moan leaving yo as he sucked. You could finally moan freely, there was no one to hear you.

“I missed those moans,” he said between nipping, as he rested you on the kitchen counter.

“And I miss that big cock.” He chuckled at your words and went on his knees. Your hands tangled in his dark hair as he slipped off your shorts and your underwear in one swift motion.

“Wet already?” he teased.

His head dipped before you could even answer, tongue gliding across your wet folds. He worked with precision, dark eyes looking up at you as his tongue focused on your clit. He flicked and nipped gently at it, his movements having your legs shaking and he barely started.

“Missed tasting your pussy so fucking much,” he growled.

Your toes curled and your back arched off the counter, his tongue’s assault having you on the brink of an intense orgasm. He abruptly slipped two fingers inside you, scissoring and curling them, his mouth practically engulfing your clit.

“N-nick, I’m gonna—”

Unable to finish your sentence, you squirted in his mouth and all over his fingers. He took you through your high, slurping your juices like it was the only thing that quenched his thirst. When he was satisfied from how much he made your legs shake, he stood up and pulled you in for a wet kiss. You savored the taste of yourself on his tongue, moaning into his lips before slipping off the counter and falling to your knees.

“My turn,” you smiled up at him.

His large hand caressed your cheek as you pulled down his pants swiftly along with his boxers. His hard cock sprang free, slapping against his abdomen and already leaking pre cum from the tip.

“Missed this big, hard, thick cock so much,” you teased, taking him in your hands.

“Fuck—you’re so dirty. Be a good little slut and suck it,” he urged.

You stroked his cock with both hands carefully, looking up at him with big doe eyes. Slowly, you took him into your mouth, stroking what you couldn’t fit. He took ahold of your pigtails, his jaw falling agape as you took him deeper and deeper.

“That’s it, princess. You’re so good at this,” he groaned.

His praises willed you on and you went faster, taking him deeper as you went, using as much tongue as you could. You were a sight for sore eyes, pre cum and saliva dripping down your chin and soaking your chest, mascara beginning to run down your cheeks. His hips slowly thrusted, the head of his cock repeatedly hitting the back of your throat. Your hands massaged his balls and you felt them tighten under your touch.

You paused briefly, taking him out of your mouth. “Cum down my throat, please sir.”

His hips bucked and with a deep guttural moan, he came down your throat. You stroked him as he came, drawing every last drop of his cum from his cock.

“Oh my fucking God. You’re a dream, a fantasy come to life,” he panted. He pulled you to stand, his lips capturing yours in a sloppy kiss that left you breathless. He practically sucked your tongue, tasting himself before pulling you into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist once more, grinding against his hard cock.

“I need you so fucking bad, Nicholas,” you whined.

“Oh sweetheart, I need you more. Never had a pussy this good, this fucking addictive.”

He impaled you on his cock, taking your breath away. He stilled inside you, walking up the long flight of stairs to your room. As he entered, he placed you on the bed, hovering with his cock pulsing inside you.

He began moving with harsh, deep strokes, the headboard slapping against the wall as he did. With every thrust, you felt him hit your g spot and your cervix in a way no one else ever had. In a way no one else ever could. His gaze locked on yours, eyes lust blown and filled with desire as his cock dragged across your pulsating walls.

“You’re all fucking mine. Every single one of your holes is mine,” he growled, tone filled with possessiveness.

“Yes, sir. All yours,” you croaked out.

He ripped your top, finding you without a bra and swirled his tongue over your nipples. His thrusts became faster, feeling your pussy clench around him from the pleasure.

“Keep going, just like that,” you moaned, your pussy clamping around him tightly.

He bit down gently on your nipple then reached between your bodies to rub your clit and that was enough to tip you over the edge. He stared into your eyes as you fell apart beneath him, your pussy soaking his cock.

“That’s a good girl. You like how a real man fucks you? Yeah?”

You nodded your head, tears prickling the corner of your eyes he continued rubbing your clit.

Swiftly, he flipped you on top of him, his cock still buried inside your aching pussy.

“Ride me. Show me how much you love this fat fucking cock. Show me how much you crave your dad’s best friend’s cock,” he murmured.

He leaned against the headboard, bucking his hips as you began bouncing wildly.

“So obedient. That’s it, ride your cock.”

Hearing him refer to himself as yours had you feeling something you’d never felt before. Maybe it was the reassurance that there could be something real, something serious between you—whatever it was, it left you aching. In response, you lifted your hips higher, slamming yourself down on him so he could feel how deep he was inside you. He let out a breathy moan, clutching the sheets below as his eyes averted from your tits bouncing to his dick disappearing inside your pussy.

“You like how I ride you, baby?” you asked, your pussy grinding against him.

“I fucking love it,” he panted. “And if you keep that up, I’m not gonna fucking last.”

Those were exactly the words you wanted to hear. You leaned down, putting one of your tits in his mouth and he squeezed your ass while he sucked. He thrusted up into you, meeting your bounces, the angle making him reach even deeper inside you.

“Oh God—I’m gonna cum, you’re fucking me so good,” you cried.

Your body shook on top of him as you creamed and soaked him. He gripped onto you as though you were his anchor, moaning deeply as ropes of his warm cum spurted deep inside you.

“You feel fucking amazing,” he moaned, holding you down as every drop of his cum went inside you.

Your body went limp on top of him as he slowly thrusted. He pressed kisses on the top of your head, his hand caressing your ass.

You both winced as he pulled out, his cum oozing from your pussy. He pulled you into his arms as you lay on your side, his gaze locked with yours.

“You did so well for me princess, are you okay?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead.

You nodded, smiling tiredly.

Nicholas lifted you effortlessly, his hands firm and careful as he carried you to your bathroom. His touch felt different, less rushed, less frantic. He wasn’t just touching you, he was taking care of you.

The warm water cascaded over your skin as he bathed you, his hands gentle as he lathered soap over your shoulders, down your arms, across your back. He didn’t say much, just focused on you, and you found yourself watching him. The way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the way his fingers traced over you with a gentleness that contradicted the strength in his grip.

Something stirred in your chest—something deeper than attraction, something more than lust.

Did you actually like him?

You weren’t sure if it was just the sex, the secrecy, the way he made you feel. But you wanted more. If that was even possible.

The thought sat heavy on your tongue, hesitant, unsure, but you still asked, voice quieter than you intended.

“Would we ever—I mean, could we ever be something more? Something serious?

Nicholas stilled, his hands pausing against your skin. Then, after a beat, he let out a soft chuckle—low, almost amused, but there was something sad beneath it.

“You know that’s not possible,” he said gently, rinsing the soap from your skin.

You went quiet, frowning slightly.

He sighed. “Your dad is my best friend. And you’re young—you’ve got your whole life ahead of you, so much to experience. I wouldn’t want to hold you down.”

You wanted to protest, to tell him you didn’t care about any of that. That all you wanted was him. That he was the only experience you’d ever need, that he was exactly your type, and that you didn’t want to be with anyone else.

But all you did was nod.

And even though the warm water was still running, you couldn’t ignore the cold ache in your chest.

When he finished, he wrapped a towel around you, drying you off with the same care before handing you one of your oversized sweaters. You pulled it on, the fabric swallowing you as you climbed back into bed, curling up beneath the covers.

The air felt different now. At least, to you.

Nicholas leaned against the doorframe, watching you for a moment. “I was thinking we could go out for lunch,” he said. “Maybe hang out at my place after, I’ll show you a few scripts.”

You shook your head. “I’m tired.”

He studied you for a second. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” you said. “I just need to catch up on sleep.”

Nicholas nodded slowly. “Alright.”

You pulled the blanket higher, barely looking at him. “Lock the door on your way out.”

He lingered for a moment longer, like he wanted to say something, but then he left. And as the door clicked shut behind him, you exhaled, pressing your face into the pillow.

You had caught feelings for him. For your dad’s best friend. And he’d just told you that nothing could ever come of it.

What was the point of continuing then? It was a losing game. If you kept seeing him, kept touching him, kept wanting him, you’d only fall deeper. And the feelings would never be returned.

So for the next few days, you ignored his calls. His texts. You needed space—needed time to push him from your mind.

But that didn’t last long.

The next weekend, Nicholas’ team threw a party at his mansion, and of course, you and your father were invited.

You took your time getting ready, picking out a dress that hugged your body in all the right places. Maybe it was petty, but if Nicholas was going to act like you were just some girl who’d eventually move on, you wanted to remind him exactly what he was trying to resist.

When you arrived, Nicholas was the first to greet you at the door.

His eyes raked over you, staying a second too long, but his expression remained unreadable.

“Glad you could make it,” he said, but you caught the tension in his voice.

You offered him a polite smile, nothing more. “Thanks for the invite.”

Then you turned and walked away, leaving him alone with your dad.

And you didn’t have to look back to know he was watching your ass as you went.

The party was in full swing, music loud, lights low, drinks flowing. You were seated on a plush couch in the corner of the room, a guy you’d just met sitting far too close. His hand rested on your thigh, fingers tracing patterns against your skin. You didn’t move away.

You could feel Nicholas watching.

His gaze was heavy, burning into you from across the room. He was standing tense, drink in hand, pretending to listen to whatever conversation your father was having, but his eyes never left you.

You laughed softly at something the guy said, tilting your head back slightly, resting it against his shoulder in a way that was entirely too familiar. The same way you used to rest against Nicholas after he wore you out, breathless and satisfied.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

And it worked.

Because the next thing you knew, Nicholas was striding across the room, jaw clenched, eyes dark. He didn’t stop when he reached you, didn’t acknowledge the guy sitting beside you—just grabbed your wrist and pulled you up from the couch.

“We need to talk,” he said, voice firm.

“Uh—” The guy looked between the two of you, confused. “Dude—I mean, Mr. Chavez.”

Nicholas didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at him.

You didn’t protest, letting him lead you through the house, past people too drunk to notice, down the hall until he shoved open a door and pulled you inside.

The door shut with a click, and you crossed your arms. “What the hell was that?”

Nicholas ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I’m sorry.”

You frowned. “For what?”

“For what I said before,” he admitted. “I know it affected you.”

You searched his face. “Then why did you say it?”

“Because I’m used to pushing people away,” he said, voice quieter now. “Because I was scared—of losing you, of losing my best friend. I thought it was easier to end it before it got too complicated."

You held his gaze for a moment before exhaling, shaking your head. “No one has to know, Nicholas. But, you were right.”

His expression flickered, like he wasn’t expecting that.

You took a step back, leaning against the dresser. “You were right,” you repeated. “I have my entire life ahead of me. So much to experience.”

His jaw tightened. “No.”

You let out a soft laugh. “No?”

“Yeah,” he stepped closer, closing the space between you. “No. I take back what I said.”

You looked up at him, brows raised slightly.

“You think boys your age know how to treat a woman?” he asked, voice low.

You swallowed, but didn’t answer.

He stepped even closer, backing you against the dresser now, hands bracing on either side of you. “You think they know how to make you feel good?”

Heat crawled up your neck.

His eyes darkened. “You think they know how to make you squirt and scream on dick like I do?”

Silence.

He smirked slightly. “That’s what I thought.”

You sucked in a breath, your mind racing, your heart pounding in your chest.

Nicholas tilted his head, watching you carefully. “I don’t care what happens,” he murmured. “I’m not letting you go.”

You blinked up at him.

“You’re mine,” he said. “You’re not going to give me that pussy and then take it away.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his words.

He gazed at you, then arched a brow. “Say it.”

Your lips parted. “I’m yours.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good girl.”

You exhaled shakily, still trying to process everything, but Nicholas was already stepping back, his face returning to that unreadable expression.

“Now,” he said. “Go back out there and tell that kid you’re not interested.”

You hesitated.

Nicholas lifted a brow. “And tell him you’re only into older men.”

Your stomach tightened. “Okay sir.”

His smirk widened slightly. “Good girl.”

Then he opened the door, stepping aside to let you walk ahead of him. You did, feeling his presence right behind you as you both reentered the party.

But just as you reached the crowd, the moment shattered.

Your father spotted the two of you and waved Nicholas over.

Nicholas let go of your hand immediately.

And just like that, everything snapped back into place, the secrecy, the sexual tension, the unspoken heaviness of it all.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Tags: @blackynsupremacy @hoffmansgirl @nicholaschavezslut69 @chavezwifeyy @nicholaslut @iamsebastiansstan @makebanks

[sirxlla]

Better Late Than Never

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

Warnings: Fluff 🥰

Prompt: He's always late but you're understanding. (request: @nesting-dreams )

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

If there was one thing that stressed Dick out, it was trying to balance his work, life, and sleep schedule in the limited time that was twenty-four hours. There wasn't even remotely any pressure from you, even if he felt there was; he's a goddamn superhero; The guy is busy, of course, he is. No matter how many times you tell Dick that it's okay, he just won't remove that weight from his shoulders.

Date night...Oh, you were so excited. You got cleaned up real spiffy, the dress, the heals, the makeup, and the lingerie you sneakily had under your dress on the off chance he actually had the time or made it cause, let's face it, Dick always makes time for that, your sex life is awesome even if it was quick some times. The things he often struggled with were the things that took longer, the talking and dates, and such.

Thirty minutes had passed by and the waiter asked if there was gonna be someone else to which you politely reminded him yes there is. The waiter was being rather annoying as he kept trying to make sly comments about not keeping you waiting and how he'd never do that. You rolled your eyes in your mind but smiled.

"Well, I appreciate it but I have a boyfriend." You said as politely as one could considering how rude and frustrating this man was being.

"What boyfriend? I don't see him and you could do so much better..." The waiter boasted he was unattractive in looks but even more so in his continuing attitude, so when even though Dick showed up out of breath and covered in sweat, it was a relief.

"Just on time." You smile as you looked at Dick even though he and you both knew he was damn sure not on time.

"Just on time, it's been forty mi-" He stops as you give him a look to help him become aware of the situation, to which he clears his throat.

"Yeah, you're right, Baby," Dick says with a smile as he slightly dead-eyes the waiter so he gets the message. Thankfully the waiter gets it even as he looks at Dick judgementally cause of his clothes.

"Hey, I'm so sorry; I- the bat bike broke down, and I ran the rest of the way here. I- I promise, I didn't forge-" Stopped by your hand, reaching across the table to gently fix his hair.

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Honey. You know that."

"But I- I should have been on time."

"Yeah, Shame on you. I nearly melted into a puddle like the Wicked Witch." You teased trying to distract him from his worries.

"I mean, that would be awful; that would not be how I picture that dress on the floor tonight." He quipped as he almost forgot his worry.

"Exactly, so it's good when you arrived at all." You smiled and grabbed his hand across the table to calm him.

"I just hate that I do this over and over." He looks into your eyes as he talks, worry in every single bit of his being, in his tone and shoulders, in his eyes and his fast heartbeat.

"Dick, No one is putting pressure on you in this relationship, just you. Okay? I get busy too, I get it. Okay?" You nod as you ask hoping he'll understand a bit or it'll at least curb his fears for the night. He nods and another sever approches, a woman.

"Sorry, your other server stepped out." She smiles as she speaks.

"Oh, thank god." You and Dick say that same time on accident before you both try to apologize.

"No, it's nothing Garrett's a complete asshole." She whispers before getting your drinks and leaves to give you a few minutes for the menu. A bit passes, and she comes back and hands over those drinks and gets your orders. She grabs the menus and she's on her way.

"You sure you're not ma-"

"Richard, if I hear about it one more time."

"I just-"

"No. Take a deep breath and look into my eyes. Does this look like someone who's upset?" You asked and forced him to look up at you with a bit by gently guiding his chin. His anxiety melted with that one look into the depths of your eyes, the layers of love, compassion, and care in them calming his worry.

"N- No."

"You're right. I'm not, so don't think I am okay. Don't ever think I am? I could never be upset with you for saving lives and kicking ass. I know what I got into when I got with you, and what I got is a badass boyfriend who I couldn't imagine was real like you've been plucked from my sweetest dreams."

"Cheesey...That was cheesy." He quips as he tries to tear up. "Like ten pounds of different flavors." He looks up trying to dry the tears by making it seem like he's looking at the light. He takes a breath and realizes his anxiety is just getting bad.

"If I ever lost you, I'd go mad." He states and kisses your knuckles, rubbing his pillowy lips across them to calm himself.

Your food arrives, and shortly after eating and on the way home, he also begins to realize he was just hungry as well, and that was contributing to it. He offered to drive your vehicle home since you had a bit of wine which, of course, you said yes. He kept his hand in yours reminding himself to add this to the list of moments in his brain to remind himself of when he gets anxious or worried.

You looked gorgeous, and he kept glancing at you, realizing you fell asleep at some point, and his heart swelled. He parks the car shortly after when he arrives at the manor. Dick can't bring himself to wake you, so he carries you inside. He gets you to the room; he knows he should wake you so you don't sleep in your makeup, but he just can't make himself.

Dick lays you down and undoes the buckle straps on your heels, gently setting them down. He unzips the dress and peels it off you only to be met with the lingerie, which causes him to let out a verbal but quiet "Damn it."

He smiles and undresses before heading to shower to rinse off the sweat residue. Dick wanted nothing more than to go to bed, but he wasn't tired, and this insomnia was kicking his ass, so he got on his laptop and scrolled around for a while looking at things from suit upgrades to engagement rings, before feeling tired enough to cuddle up against his sweet girl.

Masterlist

Send me prompts if youd like. 💙

[daryltwdixon]

Joel Miller x Reader Creature Comforts

Just a little somethin' fluffy with domestic Joel, no outbreak, reader likes trash reality tv because I like trash reality tv

Summary: Waking up to your period wasn’t the start you wanted, and by the time you get home, you’re completely wrecked. But Joel already knows exactly what you need.

God, the sun was so fucking bright. Had the sun always been this damn bright in the mornings?

You groan softly, squeezing your eyes shut against the glare pouring in from the window. As your body slowly drags itself out of unconsciousness, you take inventory of the awful ache in your body.

A deep, angry gnaw twists in your lower belly, sinking like a lead weight into your stomach. You feel bloated, uncomfortable, like your insides are waging war against you. Your thighs ache as if you’ve walked twenty miles in your sleep, and the dull throb behind your eyes tells you that a headache isn’t far behind.

Hang on—what day is it? The third week of the month?

Ah, shit.

You exhale slowly, trying to ignore the discomfort. You’d have to get up soon, but for now, you let yourself lay there, clinging to the last few minutes of peace before the day officially starts.

The bed is warm, safe, the heavy blanket pulled up over your shoulder, and underneath it, a strong, muscled arm is wrapped around you. Joel’s arm. His hand is tucked snugly between your ribs and the mattress, holding you close in that unconscious way he always does. He’s pressed against your back, face buried in your hair, his breaths slow and deep.

You envy how well he sleeps. Like nothing in the world could wake him. But he deserves the rest—the long hours he puts in with his brother on job sites take a toll, even if he won’t admit it.

You shift slightly, trying to get comfortable again, but the movement disturbs Joel just enough that he makes a low, sleepy noise against your shoulder. A second later, his alarm blares from the bedside table.

Joel groans, shifting to reach behind him and smack the clock silent. The second the noise cuts off, his arm tightens around you again, pressing you against his warm chest. His lips brush your cheek, then your neck, then your ear as he rasps, "Mornin’ pretty girl."

You just groan in response, curling inward as a fresh wave of cramps rolls through your stomach.

Joel nuzzles into you, inhaling the smell of your sweet shampoo, "What’s wrong, baby?" His morning voice is thick and husky, the kind of rough warmth that would normally turn you on, if you didn’t currently feel like absolute shit.

"Think it’s that time," you mumble, pulling your knees up toward your chest.

Joel exhales a quiet oh and rubs a slow, steady hand over your hip. He doesn’t say anything else, just remains there, solid and grounding, until you force yourself to sit up and drag your legs over the side of the bed. His hand stays on you until you stand and shuffle toward the bathroom.

The second you pull down your underwear and see red, you let out a defeated sigh.

Yep. Knew it.

Reaching into the cabinet under the sink, you rifle around until you find your stash of tampons, wincing as you do what needs to be done. You quickly brush your teeth and brush through your hair before heading back into the bedroom.

Joel is awake now, standing near the dresser, tugging his jeans up over his hips. You linger in the doorway for a second, watching him, admiring the way his muscles shift under his tanned skin. His chest is broad with tufts of dark curls, his shoulders strong, but it’s the soft familiarity of it all that makes your chest ache a little—this is home.

When he finally notices you, he yanks his shirt over his head and rounds the bed, meeting you in the middle. He leans down, pressing a slow, warm kiss to your lips, his hand brushing over your hip.

"You feelin’ alright?" he murmurs when he pulls back just enough to search your face.

"Terrible, actually," you admit, stretching your arms above your head before dropping them to your sides. "But I’ll manage."

Joel frowns slightly. "Maybe you should stay home today—"

"Please," you scoff. "If jobs let women stay home for their periods, feminism would’ve won the war by now. But alas. We still live in a man’s world."

Joel huffs a short laugh, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his messy dark hair. "Guess you got a point."

You rise up on your toes, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. "Love you."

He squeezes your hip gently before stepping back. "Love you too, baby. See you later."

And with that, you drag yourself through the rest of your morning, bracing for the long, miserable day ahead.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

The day drags on like molasses, slow and miserable, every minor inconvenience feeling a hundred times worse than it should. By the time you finally push through the front door, exhaustion drapes over you like a second skin. Your limbs ache, your head pounds, and the dull, persistent cramping in your stomach hasn’t let up once.

Joel is already up from his seat in the dining area before you can even drop your bag, meeting you in the entryway. He leans down, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead, his hand resting on your cheek as he murmurs, "Hey, baby."

You manage a tired, "Hey," in return, leaning into him for a brief moment before pulling back with a sigh. "Gonna hop in the shower."

Joel studies you for a second, eyes flickering over your face, probably noting the slump in your shoulders, the way you’re gripping your stomach like it physically hurts to move. But he doesn’t argue—just gives a small nod and lets you go.

The shower is scalding hot, just how you need it. The second the water cascades over you, you exhale, tension slipping from your body, though the cramps still linger like an unwelcome guest. You take your time, letting the steam soothe some of the ache in your muscles, scrubbing away the stress of the day before finally stepping out and pulling on your comfiest pajamas—soft, worn fabric that makes you feel human again.

When you pad downstairs, hair still damp, the first thing you notice is the smell of tea.

You blink, pausing in the doorway of the living room. Joel is sitting on the couch, legs stretched out, one arm draped over the back, looking like he’s been waiting for you. The coffee table in front of him holds a steaming mug, your favorite kind, and next to it, a little bag of your favorite candy.

"Where’s Sarah?" you ask, surprised that she isn’t posted at the kitchen table, working on homework like she usually is by this time of the evening.

"Sleepover," Joel answers easily, glancing over at you. He tilts his head toward the couch. "Come ‘ere."

But before you can take a step, your eyes flick to the TV screen, the bright colors catching your attention.

"You did not," you say, disbelief heavy in your voice, but a smile stretches over your lips.

Joel picks up the remote with a casual flick, pointing it to the television, "Dunno what you’re talkin’ about."

"Didn’t peg you for a Love Island guy, Joel."

"'S cause I ain’t," he grumbles, pressing play. The intro music kicks in—upbeat, familiar, pure trash TV gold. The instant serotonin it brings almost makes you forget how miserable you felt earlier.

A slow grin spreads across your face. "You secretly love it," you tease, stepping closer.

Joel sets the remote down and holds his arms out, palms settling on the side of your thighs when you approach. "Would you just sit down, please?" he gripes, but his hands are already guiding you onto the couch between his legs.

“Fine,” you sigh, making yourself comfortable as you lay back against his chest, “But don’t pretend like I didn’t see you watching last time. You had opinions!”

Joel exhales through his nose, tucking his chin slightly against the top of your head. "I did not," he grumbles, arms winding securely around your front as you settle into him.

"You did," you insist, smirking as you sip your tea. "You even called that one guy a dumbass."

Joel huffs. "That’s ‘cause he was a dumbass. Who the hell goes on a show like this and don’t even know how to hold a conversation?"

You laugh, the sound muffled against his chest. "See? Opinions. You care."

"Just ‘cause I think these people are a buncha’ morons doesn’t mean I care," he argues, but his fingers are already tracing slow, absentminded circles against your hip, the kind of comforting touch that makes you melt a little deeper into him.

"Sure, sure," you murmur, settling back against his chest with a sigh of contentment. The steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body, the weight of the blanket over both of you—it’s exactly what you needed after the day you had.

The episode plays, and within minutes, Joel is making little noises of disapproval under his breath, shaking his head at the screen like the contestants have personally wronged him.

"Boy is dumber than a box a’ rocks," he mutters as one of the guys kisses a girl he’s not even coupled up with.

You grin, tilting your head up just enough to look at him. "Uh-huh. But you don’t care, right?"

Joel glares down at you, but there’s no heat behind it, just that familiar, quiet fondness that makes your chest tighten. He shakes his head, pressing a slow kiss to your temple before muttering, "Just shut up and watch your damn show."

You smile against his chest, letting your eyes slip closed for a moment as you whisper, "Thank you, Joel. For all this."

His arm tightens around you. "Ain’t nothin’, baby. Got you."

And with that, you let yourself sink into him, the ache in your body dulling just enough to finally let you breathe.

[artsninspo]

002 | Richmond Inc.

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

⇚ 001

♠ authors note: hi! wow, wow, wow - the first part of this is doing so well. thanks to everyone who has liked, commented and reblogged. a few notes firstly- I've changed the POV . Our OC is Lorence Cole commonly referred to as Cole professionally, no worries though she’s very much a black woman.

♠ summary: Terry Richmond is still keen on recruiting Lorence for the open directors position within his security firm. Her stellar results during both tactical and physical trials makes her a top candidate but his reputation is in the way of her eager acceptance of the offer.

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Lorence Cole (Black Fem OC)

♠ word-count: ~1.5K

⌖ - Richmond Inc. Training HQ

Second to being in the presence of the Boss, tactical day is my second least favourite part of my job. It’s not that I’m a pacifist but the idea of pulling the trigger and striking a human being in a vital artery is the last thing I want to be doing. Securing my ear protection I let the rounds go being as precise as possible so I can leave sooner than later. This training is proactive and preventative for agents like me who never see the more violent side of the field. It's a necessary evil. A team is only as strong as their weakest link and if shit ever hits the fan I never want to be the person left behind who can't carry their own weight.

“Hey Cole join our competition” a couple of the guys call as I pack up the firearm.

“No thanks” I respond. “Wouldn’t want to make you boys look bad.” I add playfully and they all laugh telling me my comment is wishful thinking. The Boss is huge on being proactive. Since its inception Richmond Inc. has only lost one employee while on assignment. That was while he was being a hero and not doing what we were trained to do. I move onto a larger weapon and look through the scope taking the stationary targets down one by one before heading  on to the moving targets course. This one is a simulation, kind of like virtual reality but it feels real. It’s a culmination of all of our training, unfortunately us women are required to perform it twice. Once with heels and the other time in footwear of our choosing. My score is satisfactory and I relax after finishing the tactical portion. I take a short breather before I head to finish the physical training. Some of the field agents come out to place the weighted vests and ankle weights on me before I’m forced into the pool. Stay afloat for twenty minutes or cross the length of the pool twice. I manage the crossing with difficulty before I’m pulled up from the up edge. It’s the track that sees me next. I dry off as much as I can before making quick work of the three miles within the time constraints. When I’m finished I take my time in the sauna before changing. I get dressed and make myself presentable before emerging from the facilities. I’m gonna need an energy drink and a coffee to make it through the rest of today. Chatter gets my attention and I find the Boss standing in front of the exit. I look for another exit to avoid any interactions. I curse myself again for finishing so quickly - I wouldn't have if I knew he was in town.

“Lorence, of course you’re top twenty” A familiar voice shouts, blowing my attempt at discretion. Still, I smile at the sight of my mentor wearing a proud smile. Joel taught me everything I know about passing both the tactical and physical trials, lord knows I was bottom ten when I first joined the firm. “Rich told me you declined a director position. Why would you do that? You have everything it takes.” He asks discreetly. Unlike the Boss Joel is generous, kind and patient. He spoiled me with his easy going temperament. If it were a director position under him there’d be nothing to discuss. I’d sign the dotted line in a heartbeat. The possibilities of how ugly this job can become would be my only worry and not verbal abuse from time to time.

“I’m not good under pressure” I mutter.

“Yeah fucking right. How many times have you talked us out of a bind?” Joel asks like a proud father figure. His greatest leadership quality is that he likes to see others shine and knows how to get the light out of them. “More than half of us in the field aren’t as smart as you. Negotiate. The Boss isn’t above reason and always puts the company first. I can put in a good word.” Joel offers.

“It’s not that I’m smarter, it's that none of you guys listen. I’m not interested in Joel” I respond jokingly.

“No, your testing proves you’re the right one for the position” he says.

I sigh. “I enjoy my life, okay?”

“What, sitting on an overpriced couch? Spending hours cooking for one?” Joel teases and I glare at him while he has a laugh at my expense.

“Come on, try the winter circuit - it’s lowkey and easy to get your feet wet. You can shadow me. $750k to do what you can do in your sleep” Joel says being a salesman.

“What? Do you get a commission?” I tease.

“No, I'll get my best agent back.” Joel says.

I take a deep breath in and weigh my options. “I have one condition before I seriously consider it. If you don’t think it’s possible then drop it”

“What” Joel asks, brow raised and ready for a challenge.

“I deal with you and not the Boss” I tell Joel who seizes up. His brows bunch like it's the most ridiculous request. Confusion covers his expression, most of why people become directors is for the position's proximity to Mr. Richmond. It's worth his weight in gold. “You know I make mistakes in the beginning and he’s an eagle eyed freak who blows up on people. I don’t do well with that. If you can take the tirades for me I’ll consider the promotion” I explain and understanding settles into his expression. He nods looking down dimples settling into his cheeks.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Joel laughs shaking his head side to side.

I’m not at all amused. “It’s my line, it’s my condition. I like peace” 

“Are you being this insane for praise too or just criticism?” Joel asks, patronizing me.

“Both are fine with me, they can trickle down through you” I shrug and the hulk himself comes over looking down at his tablet. Black cashmere sweater, silver watch, grey cargos and a fresh trim. Stop it, I scorn my thoughts as he joins us.

“Impressive results Cole” Richmond says.

“Thank you, Joel taught me everything I know” I confess and Joel gives me a half smile.

“She’s a quick study” Joel says, throwing a compliment back my way.

Richmond continues scrolling on the tablet before pausing. He looks up with visible concern. “Monitors show significant distress while shooting.”

“Pacifist” Joel smiles looking from me to the Boss. “Unless bugs are involved. No bodies, no blood” Joel explains.

“Hmm” Richmond says, tapping on the tablet.

“You’re virtually fearless though” he says, continuing to scroll like I'm not right in front of him.

“Exactly. An unreasonable amount of disregard for her own well being but tremendous concern for others. It’s what makes her one of one” Joel says, being exactly the kind of sponsor I’d want under any other circumstance.

“I see,” the Boss nods, looking at me. I hold his gaze for a few seconds before turning back to Joel.

“Well Joel I hope you know you’re getting nothing for that flattery. I’m heading home. Mr. Richmond” I interject nodding in the Boss’ direction to cut the conversation short. It’s like a part of me knows observing Richmond from afar is fine but up close it’s hard to forget I'm in the presence of someone absolutely lethal.

“Drive safe” Joel responds and I nod.

“You too, thanks” I force a smile heading out the front door and into my car where I take a few deep breaths. When I pull out of the lot I see Joel and Richmond in conversation and cringe internally. The agent in me says suck it up and take the position but every other part is warning bells that say stay away. Just the thought of one of his full metal jacket tirades makes me shudder in place. Maybe that’s what was required of him in the army but it doesn't inspire people like me who want to do good. I don’t need anyone telling me what an idiot I am after I make a mistake I know better than anyone else. I was sick for a week when one of my proposed exit routes was subject to a traffic jam. I was the head logistics navigator and spent the next thirty minutes covering my ass to save the clients. Although everything went off without a hitch I demoted myself. Joel was generous but no amount of consolation minimized the fact that I shit the bed. I ran another 10 assignments at a subordinate rank before I felt comfortable at head rank again. The margin of error for director’s is less forgiving under certain circumstances. Gaining intel and filtering for what's necessary is no small feat the success of every project is on your shoulders and so are everyone else’s fuck ups.

New directors are routinely on the Bosses bad side and that's a place I never want to be.

authors note: thanks for reading 🖤 sound off in the comments on if you think Lorence is making good or bad decisions in regards to her promotion and how we think Mr. Richmond handles her terms 💭 cant wait to see what you all think!

don't forget to ❣ Like, ❝ Comment, ↺ Reblog ☑vote on the polls taglist deets & FAQ's here - ✮ join taglist ✮

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[malk1ns]

january 27 @ sharks, 2-1 loss

SIGHHHHHHHHHHH. short one today, game was boring sid was boring geno was disappeared i simply had nothing to wring from this one for a plotline. sorry! hopefully they start delivering again soon.

Sid stumbles across the Sharks’ walk-in photos when he’s scrolling Twitter after he wakes up from his nap, but before he has to get dressed and ready to leave for the arena.

He hasn’t talked to Macklin all that much. The league pushed him and Bedard together for promos as much as possible last season, but for whatever reason Macklin hasn’t gotten the same treatment; they chatted at media day in early fall, but that’s pretty much been it. He’s kept track of what’s going on in San Jose, though, just like he does with all highly-touted draft picks.

He’s noticed the way Macklin and the other rookie have latched onto each other. It’s good, to have someone who’s in the same boat as you when you have the weight of an entire franchise on your shoulders. Sid thinks his rookie year would feel a lot less bittersweet in his memory if he hadn’t been quite as alone as he was.

The pictures of Macklin in a jersey with ‘SMITH’ emblazoned across the back makes him pause, though. The expressions on their faces are familiar.

It’s been almost 20 years now, but to Sid it doesn’t seem like all that long ago that he was blushing and giggly over a crush on a teammate. He remembers how it felt, like he had some big secret that was practically bursting its way out of his chest.

The way Celebrini and Smith are looking at each other looks exactly how Sid remembers that feeling.

In bed next to him, Geno snorts into his pillow, groaning as his alarm starts to chime softly. Grumbling, he slaps at his phone until it goes silent, then rolls over and buries his face into Sid’s neck with a whine.

“You could have kept sleeping,” Sid scolds, tossing his phone to the side in favor of wiggling around until he can pull Geno into his arms. “You don’t have to be at the rink until puck drop basically.”

“Mmmm,” Geno manages in reply, mouthing at Sid’s jawline. “Want to go with you. I go see trainers before, maybe.”

Sid extracts one arm so he can grab for his phone again and check the time. “We can maybe wait another ten minutes,” he murmurs, rubbing his palms down Geno’s warm back. “Hey, I love you.”

“Я тоже тебя люблю, лапочка,” Geno sighs, going boneless under Sid’s touch.

It’s a rare day that Sid seriously thinks about calling out sick like a regular employee, playing hooky and spending the day in bed with his boyfriend. Today, though, with the California sunshine streaming in through the window, he wishes he could type out a message to his boss that he’s under the weather and let Geno’s warmth ease him back to sleep.

It’s probably okay if they take the second shuttle to the arena today instead of the first one, Sid reasons, letting his eyes slip shut. Just a few more minutes.

[silentsneezes]

in regards to your essential oils post: i am absolutely interested and i think i can safely say others would be too 👀 if you want to write if you definitely should

i hope this is worth the wait anon! here's 1.7k of j/ayce being helplessly allergic to essential oils

cw for talk about chronic illness/disability and mess! it's mostly just spray, but after the line "There’s a few moments of silence, broken only by Jayce’s desperate gasps" there are some more descriptions of mess

On a good day, there’s little to nothing Viktor can’t manage with a cane and the occasional break to sit down. He’s proven most undercity doctors wrong just by living past 25, and yet both he and Jayce understand the importance of the Hex Core. It’s their biggest breakthrough yet, their closest glimpse of magic aside from Jayce’s rune bracelet. 

Still, it’s not enough. Viktor knows it’s not enough to rely on the half baked mystery of natural runes. So he does what he can. He drinks enough water, he attempts to sleep consistently, he’s even taken up stretching for God’s sake. You may be asking “why now?”, to which he would answer “Jayce.”

Jayce has done everything for him, would do anything for him. So even if Viktor gave up years ago, he refuses to sit back and allow Jayce to watch him bide his time. He’s trying, damnit. 

Today, that effort entails using a new combination of essential oils Jayce purchased— a tasteful mix of eucalyptus, rosemary, and chamomile. Viktor has always denied such simple pain relief techniques, finding it to be more bothersome than it is effective. Except Jayce is nothing if not persuasive and he insists on indulging in buying expensive oils and herbs for his partner– it doesn’t help that Viktor is head over heels in love with him. 

Viktor doesn’t even want to know how much this new batch must’ve cost, but he will admit it seems promising as Jayce begins massaging it over his back. Viktor is laid face down on the cot in the lab, his arms pinned by his sides as Jayce straddles him from behind. Jayce is careful not to put any unwanted weight on Viktor’s hips or bad leg, propping himself up on the edges of the cot cautiously. His legs are bent at the knees, forcing him to rest his ass against Viktor’s– the first few times he’d massaged Viktor, Jayce asked for reassurance that he wasn’t too heavy or causing any pain every few minutes, but by now he’s figured out which position works best. 

Jayce’s hands work over Viktor’s upper shoulders, his thumbs rubbing little circles over the especially tense knots. Viktor emits quiet noises of pleasure as Jayce kneads his fingers into the sore sections of his back, taut and misshapen due to his brace. His spine bends awkwardly at the center, having contorted into an abrasive arch over the years. Still, he looks perfect in Jayce’s eyes. Every notch of his spine, pressing against his skin and accentuating his thin frame. Every mole and freckle gone unnoticed by his previous lovers. Every scar left along his back from the metal brackets of the brace chafing or cutting his porcelain skin. It’s all beautiful. 

Occasionally, Jayce will lean forwards and press a kiss to Viktor’s back, intermixing the massage with a gentle affection. As he does so, Jayce feels a buzzing sensation begin to work its way from the back of his sinuses up to the tip of his nose. He raises a hand, rubbing the bothersome appendage against its backside. Unfortunately, he gets a whiff of the strongly scented oils coating his palms. Fuck. 

Jayce’s breath catches in his throat, a vocal hitch forcing its way out, “hhHH-” Jayce places one hand on the small of Viktor’s back, steading himself so he doesn’t jostle Viktor at all. 

“Are you okay?” Viktor murmurs at the touch, half asleep under Jayce– it isn’t uncommon for him to fall asleep when Jayce massages his back. Jayce nods wordlessly before remembering Viktor can’t see him, “Yeah, f-hhih-fine…”

Jayce’s hands continue working over Viktor’s shoulders, but his mind remains distracted by that tantalizing itch dancing through his nose. It forces his nostrils to flare every so often, his eyes beginning to water with every hitch that catches in his chest. Viktor can feel every minuscule movement Jayce makes, suddenly feeling wide awake as he registers the little hitches. 

Unfortunately for Jayce, the buzzing worsens, and those “little hitches” are quick to turn into full on gasps, “hhHH-uh… hhheh-hhHHngh… hh’uUHH’ hHHHHRSCHHHEw!” 

Jayce barely turns his head to the side in time, the spray of the expulsion narrowly missing Viktor’s exposed back. His body shudders over Viktor’s, his thighs tightening their hold around his partner ever so slightly. 

“Bless you,” Viktor murmurs, feeling his abdomen fill with a swirling heat. Jayce rubs his nose against his shoulder, wrinkling the appendage and sniffling, desperate to subdue the continuous itch, “Shhsorry- did I get you?”

“No,” Viktor answers simply, humming as Jayce’s big hands begin their work again. Viktor waits, listening with rapt attention to every little shift in Jayce’s breathing, hoping the sneeze wasn’t just a single expulsion. 

A minute later, Jayce stupidly leans down to press a light kiss to the mole on Viktor’s upper left shoulder out of habit. As soon as his nose nears Viktor’s oil-covered back, it twitches. He takes in a desperate, “hhHHH-” before snapping forward with no other warning, “hhHGSSXCHHHew!ugh…” Jayce’s head is forced down as he convulses with the expulsion, his nose briefly pressing against Viktor’s shoulder. 

Viktor shivers as he feels the spray cast upon his bare skin, intermixing with the dampness of the oils. He swallows a moan as Jayce’s nose makes contact with his back, only heightening his arousal. He can feel Jayce’s weight shift, a bit more pressure being applied to his ass as Jayce is forced to change positions. 

Jayce’s eyes widen as he realizes the sheen of spray left on Viktor’s skin, blushing crimson and stuttering to apologize as his breath hitches again, “oh god VhhhViktor I’m s-hhH-so hhuHH- so sorrhhhHRRSXCHHh’uh!” 

Never has Jayce been hit by an allergen so intensely, having thought he had no allergies until this very moment. But the itch ravaging his nose is evidence enough to prove him wrong, causing him to hitch and whine. He can’t even raise his hands to cover or attend to the twitching appendage, knowing they’re both coated with the essential oils. 

“hhHhhngh- ehhhhHh- huh’hhHHEH-“ Jayce builds up to yet another sneeze, his hands now holding Viktor’s waist tightly in an attempt to keep some semblance of control, “hhHZZSXCHHuh’hh!”

The sneeze mists Viktor’s skin again, causing arousal to thrum throughout his body. It doesn’t help that he can feel Jayce’s hips buck against his ass with every expulsion. He muffles a moan into the cot’s surface, his body alight with desire. 

Jayce buries his nose against his own shoulder, berating the appendage as best he can without the use of his hands, “hhhuhh-ngh’uh,” Jayce’s breathless hitches are audible despite his efforts to suppress them. 

‘Foolish’ Viktor thinks upon hearing Jayce’s attempts at suppressing the build up. Viktor of all people knows just how loud Jayce’s hitching can get, having toyed with inducing his partner on many occasions. 

“hhHihH- Vik I’mhhh-I’m ghhehHgoing to sn-hhhHPDTSCHhew!” Jayce once again mists Viktor’s skin, his hands holding onto Viktor’s waist in utter desperation as the sneeze tears through him. Jayce stays bent over, not bothering to straighten up as he feels his breath catch haphazardly again. 

There’s a few moments of silence, broken only by Jayce’s desperate gasps before, “hhHHGGDZSCHh’uhh!” Jayce freezes as he feels a string of mess trail down his upper lip. Before he can move to catch it, it falls onto the nape of Viktor’s neck, causing the pinned man to shudder. Viktor doesn’t bother muffling his moan this time, his imagination running wild at the sensation of the mess against his skin. 

Jayce is quick to clean it up, gently swiping his fingers over the wet splotch and cringing at the sensation of the snot against his skin. He wipes it on his pant leg, murmuring a stuttered, broken apology, “sorry, I thinkhhhI’m hhHHallerghhHiHH– HHRRXSCHHeWw’huh! snNDFF- allergic.” 

At this point, Jayce’s thighs are pressing tightly against Viktor’s hips in order to maintain his balance, his big hands cupping Viktor’s bare waist. With every expulsion, Viktor can feel Jayce’s fingers grip his sides as the sneezes rack his body. 

The fact that Viktor can’t even see Jayce just makes him all the more aroused. Of course he enjoys watching Jayce sneeze, finding his expressions utterly enrapturing, but being pinned face down is equally as exciting; it leaves some of the experience up to imagination, allowing Viktor to picture his partner’s appearance while feeling every movement atop him. 

It doesn’t take long for Jayce to recognize that he’s not going to stop sneezing, unable to do anything but blink away allergic tears as sneeze after sneeze tears through his strong frame. After a little, Viktor shifts, signaling for Jayce to move off of him. Obedient as ever, Jayce attempts to do so, nearly stumbling over as he dismounts his partner. 

Once he finds his footing, Jayce looks at Viktor in utter disarray. His eyes and nose are streaming, a sheen of mess trailing down his upper lip, his nostrils flaring, his eyebrows knit together in a constant pre-sneeze expression. He holds his hands out in front of him helplessly, unable to tend to his nose. 

Wordlessly, Viktor stands and pulls Jayce into a kiss, taking his partner by surprise. Jayce melts into the kiss once his initial shock at the affection dissipates, reminding himself that Viktor finds his disheveled mess of a state hot rather than disgusting. Jayce has one arm draped around Viktor’s waist in support, his other hand tangling itself in his partner’s hair. He finds himself momentarily relieved as his and Viktor’s tongues dance along with each other.

Unfortunately for Jayce, the itch’s temporary dormancy is over. He takes in a desperate, quick inhale, his lips still pressed to Viktor’s, “hhHH-” before shuddering with a wet sneeze, “HHGGSXCHHew!” Jayce blushes crimson as he feels the spray of the sneeze intermix with the kiss, but his embarrassment is forgotten as Viktor moans, deepening their embrace. 

By the time Jayce’s allergies finally die down, it’s safe to say Viktor’s pain has been tended to… though not how the couple had initially intended. 

“You know,” Viktor murmurs lazily as he sits beside Jayce on the cot, “I now see the value of those essential oils you insist on purchasing.” He grins coyly at Jayce, watching his cheeks flush in response to the slight taunt.

[andromeda-pleiades]

Just Trust Me

WORD COUNT: 1,828

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Back by popular demand ٩(◕‿◕)۶, I've decided to make this a 6 part series.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

The morning light seeps through the blinds, casting soft golden streaks across the bedroom. Simon’s arm is draped over your waist, his slow, steady breathing pressing against your back. You keep your eyes shut, feigning sleep, listening for any sign that he’s awake.

Minutes pass before he stirs. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder before rolling out of bed. You wait, forcing yourself to breathe evenly, until you hear the shower turn on. Only then do you dare to move.

Downstairs, the scent of coffee fills the air, but something feels off. Simon moves too quietly, his footsteps deliberate. When you enter the kitchen, he’s already at the stove, humming softly—yet the sound feels more like an act than a habit. He glances at you, eyes scanning your face, before flipping an omelet onto your plate.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he muses, taking a sip of his coffee. “Not feeling sick, are you?”

You shake your head. “Just tired.”

He nods but doesn’t look convinced. His fingers trail across your wrist as he sets down his mug, a slow, almost idle touch—but it lingers. Every word, every gesture, feels like a test.

After breakfast, Simon settles in the living room with his laptop. His presence in the house makes your skin itch, but you keep up appearances, waiting for an opportunity to be alone.

Hours later, Simon finally steps outside to take a call. You move quickly, slipping into the office and grabbing your phone. Your fingers move with purpose, typing in the search bar:

How to leave an abusive relationship safely.

You hit enter. Nothing happens.

The page doesn’t load. You frown, refreshing it, but the screen remains blank. You try again:

Shelters for domestic abuse survivors near me.

Still nothing.

Confused, you navigate to your browser settings, clicking through menus until your stomach drops.

Search history linked to external device.

Your hands go cold.

You scroll further, heart pounding as you see the timestamps. Every site you’ve visited, every search, every desperate late-night inquiry—Simon has seen it all.

The room tilts.

Your mind races back through the past few weeks. The way Simon had made little comments—“What made you think of that?” “That’s an odd thing to look up.”—hadn’t been coincidences.

He had known.

He had always known.

Your breath comes faster, chest tightening. You can’t even look up how to leave. There is no safe way to plan this.

A shadow moves in the doorway.

You whip around, shoving your phone under the desk as Simon leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. His expression is unreadable.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Just—just checking something for work.”

Simon’s lips twitch, almost amused. He steps closer, reaching out, and for a horrible second, you think he’s going to take your phone. But instead, he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You know you can always come to me, right?” he murmurs. “If something’s on your mind?”

The weight of his words presses against your ribs. You nod. “Of course.”

He smiles. “Good girl.”

He leaves the room, his footsteps slow, deliberate. You don’t move until you hear the front door open and shut behind him.

Then, and only then, do you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding.

That night, after Simon falls asleep, you try again.

This time, no Google searches. You open a notes app and type instead:

He’s tracking everything. I need a way out.

You go to delete it—but before you can, the text disappears.

Gone. Erased.

A cold chill races down your spine.

Frantic, you type again.

Can anyone see this?

It vanishes the moment you press enter. Like you never even wrote it.

Simon doesn’t just see your searches. He controls what you can say. What you can keep.

You stare at your phone, fingers trembling. There is no way to look up an escape plan. No way to even write things down.

You are trapped.

You stare at the dark ceiling, heart pounding, as Simon breathes evenly beside you. The weight of the realization crushes down on you, pressing like an iron vice against your ribs.

If you’re going to get out, you can’t rely on your phone. You can’t rely on the internet. You can’t even rely on your own thoughts staying private.

You’re completely, utterly alone in this.

But then… an idea.

Kyle.

Kyle. The only person who might help. Unless... No. He wouldn't be working with Simon. Would he?

You close your eyes, willing your breathing to slow. If Simon is watching for any change in behavior, you can’t let him see the shift in your mind.

So you do what you’ve done so many times before. You bury the fear deep.

You pretend.

You smile in your sleep.

And you start planning in the only place he can’t reach.

Inside your head.

The house is quiet. Simon left fifteen minutes ago, his departure punctuated by a kiss to your forehead and a murmured, “Be good.” Now, you’re finally alone.

You move quickly, slipping into the office and shutting the door behind you. Simon’s desk is organized with clinical precision, but his laptop sits open, the screen dimmed in sleep mode, as if he expects to return soon.

The desktop screen glows to life, requiring a password. Your stomach clenches. You try the basics first—birthdays, anniversaries, military references—but nothing works. Frustration bubbles under your skin until you pause, recalling a memory.

“Captain always said to keep it simple,” Simon had once mentioned, laughing over beers. “Overthinking gets you caught.”

You type the name Tommy and hit enter.

The screen unlocks.

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to focus. If he’s monitoring your phone, there’s no telling what kind of security he has on his computer. But this might be your only chance.

Rows of folders are scattered across the desktop. One catches your eye immediately: OpSec_T141. Your pulse quickens. Task Force 141—Simon’s unit.

You open it. Rows of files populate the screen, names and numbers blurred together in a flood of information. You skim past mission reports and encrypted documents until you find something chillingly familiar.

Your name.

A lump forms in your throat as you click it open. Detailed notes spill across the screen. Timelines. Psychological assessments. Weaknesses. Preferences. Even things you’ve never voiced aloud—your tendency to hesitate in confrontations, your instinct to placate instead of fight.

It’s all there: your schedule, your habits, your fears. The photos are the worst—images of you at the park, at the grocery store, sitting alone on the couch. Your breath turns shallow. He’s been watching you far longer than you realized.

You bite back a sob, forcing yourself to keep reading. One section stands out, labeled Emotional Vulnerabilities. You skim it, horrified. Every private fear you’ve ever shared with Simon is laid out like a blueprint.

Prefers to de-escalate conflict.

Struggles with confrontation.

Easily guilted.

Tendency to freeze under stress.

Your mind flashes to past arguments, to the moments where he’d twisted your own emotions against you. The times he made you feel irrational for doubting him. The way he always knew exactly what to say to make you stay.

Every interaction, every emotional response, cataloged like a case study.

You scroll further. There are other names. Kyle Garrick—Gaz. A woman you don’t recognize. You click on her profile. At the top, the file name reads:

Price’s Woman.

Your stomach churns. The picture attached is grainy but clear enough. A woman with dark, tired eyes, standing beside a man just out of frame. Price.

You click through the notes. The similarities to your file are eerie. Psychological breakdowns. Manipulation tactics. Control strategies. The last entry is chillingly abrupt.

Status: Secured.

Your hands shake as you snap photos of the files. A sudden noise outside makes you flinch. You hurriedly close everything, heart pounding as you return the laptop to its original state.

When Simon walks through the door minutes later, you’re already seated on the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone.

He smiles at you, easy and warm. Too easy.

“Miss me?”

You force yourself to smile back.

The weight of your discovery presses heavy against your chest. Simon isn’t acting alone. Price trained him for this.

You were never supposed to find out.

Dinner is quiet, the soft clink of silverware against porcelain filling the space between you. Simon’s gaze lingers on you more than usual, studying your every movement. You keep your expression neutral, offering small smiles, playing the role he wants you to play. Inside, your mind races with everything you discovered earlier.

“So,” Simon starts, setting down his fork. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Your fingers tighten around your own utensils. “What is it?”

His smile is easy, affectionate. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, elegant box. “A gift.”

A cold weight settles in your stomach. You force yourself to keep your hands steady as you take the box and lift the lid. Inside, nestled in black velvet, is a delicate silver bracelet. The design is simple, understated—something you might have picked for yourself.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, running a finger over the smooth metal. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker with satisfaction.

“I wanted you to have something to remind you of me while I’m gone.” He leans forward, brushing a kiss against your temple. “And something to keep you safe.”

Your throat tightens. The implication is clear. You turn the bracelet over in your hands, pretending to admire the craftsmanship while discreetly searching for anything unusual. It doesn’t take long—there, near the clasp, a barely visible indentation.

A tracker.

You swallow down the nausea rising in your chest. Of course, Simon would frame it as protection, as a sign of love. But this is just another layer of control.

You force yourself to look at him, let warmth seep into your voice. “Thank you, Simon. I love it.”

He beams, taking your wrist and fastening it for you. His fingers linger, thumb grazing over your pulse. “I love you too.”

The words feel heavier than usual. You smile back, keeping the mask firmly in place.

Tonight, you decide, you won’t just endure this. You won’t just wait. You’ll start pushing, subtly, carefully. Testing the edges of the cage he’s built around you.

You tilt your head, letting your expression shift into something thoughtful. “When do you leave?”

“Next week,” he says, studying your reaction. “It won’t be long.”

You let your smile falter, just slightly. “I’ll miss you.”

Simon’s eyes soften, and he reaches for your hand. “I’ll miss you too, sweetheart. But you’ll be safe. You’ll be here.”

You nod, feigning acceptance. But inside, something shifts. He wants you to stay in place, trapped under his watchful eye. That means your time is running out.

You need to act soon. And you need to be careful.

[loveesiren]

𝙼𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝙲𝚛𝚢

Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon) x Reader

a/n: hehehe I was thinking about this time I had sex on acid and I needed to write something. First Jiyong fic so I hope you like! also, disclaimer: in no way shape or form am I trying to convey that GD is like this or uses any sort of drugs. This is purely fiction. Also, if you use any sort of drugs, please be smart and safe. Not all trips are like this so please don't go out trying get this experience 😭

synopsis: Y/n and Ji-yong had been best friends for years but their relationship reaches a new level when they get the chance to try something new.

warnings: drug use (LSD), tripping, smut, fluff, sex under the influence

wc: 3k

“Have you ever done it before?” you asked, holding up the small baggie between your fingers. Inside, two tiny, rainbow-dipped squares of paper rested delicately against the plastic, shimmering under the dim glow of the living room light.

Jiyong glanced down at them, his dark eyes reflecting curiosity and just a hint of hesitation. “No. Have you?”

You shook your head, lips curling slightly at the thought. “Dae gave them to me. On the house—said it was the coolest experience she’s ever had.” You tilted your head, studying Jiyong’s expression. “She said it makes everything… I don’t know, awesome.”

Jiyong sat cross-legged beside you on the couch, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared at the tabs. “I’m down if you’re down,” he finally said, his voice lighter, reassuring. He was your best friend, after all. If anyone made you feel safe trying something new, it was him. “I still have a few days off. It won’t last that long, right?”

“Dae said about twelve hours,” you reassured him. “Give or take.”

He hummed, eyes flicking up to yours before a slow grin stretched across his face. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Your stomach fluttered with nervous excitement as you tore open the bag, handing him one of the delicate squares before pressing your own onto your tongue. It tasted like nothing, dissolving slightly as it settled in your mouth.

“She said to let it sit for a while,” you murmured, pressing it between your gums as Jiyong followed suit. A few seconds of silence passed. “What should we do while we wait?” you asked, shifting your weight on the couch.

Jiyong shrugged, scrolling through the seemingly endless options on the TV. “Wanna watch a movie?”

You nodded, curling into the couch cushions as he finally settled on Alice in Wonderland. “If we’re gonna trip, might as well watch something trippy.”

You chuckled. “Good choice.”

As the film began, the room grew darker, the screen’s colorful animations painting both of your faces in a kaleidoscope of hues. Time felt like a strange, stretchy concept—minutes turning into moments, moments into lifetimes. The warmth of Jiyong’s body beside you felt grounding, yet the anticipation of what was to come kept you buzzing beneath your skin.

Then, about an hour in, it hit.

Your head lolled against Jiyong’s shoulder, jaw slack as the screen in front of you twisted and twirled, every color dripping down into the next. The walls breathed in tandem with your heartbeat, the air itself shimmering like static. You blinked slowly, watching as the ceiling seemed to ripple like the surface of a pond.

“Hey, Ji…” Your voice came out in a whisper, reverberating in your own ears like an echo in an endless canyon. “D-do you feel anything?”

Jiyong exhaled, long and slow, before answering. “I feel… something.” His voice wasn’t just sound—it was silk, a melody that wrapped itself around your skin like a warm ribbon.

You shivered, mesmerized. “Say something again.”

“Something?” he teased, turning his head to look at you, but the way his voice moved—like liquid honey pouring into your brain—made you gasp.

Your gaze locked onto his, and you swore his pupils had swallowed the entire galaxy. “Whoa, your pupils are huge,” he murmured, amusement flickering in his smile.

“So are yours.” You reached a hand out to touch his face, but as your fingers moved through the air, they left behind colorful, trailing echoes—shimmering ribbons of pink, blue, and gold that lingered for seconds before fading. “Oh my god,” you giggled, stretching your fingers again just to watch the colors dance.

Jiyong laughed, his voice vibrating through you like the strumming of a bass guitar. “You have, like… a pink aura,” he said, eyes fixed on you. “Like strawberries.”

Your lips curled into a grin as you stared at his neon-green hair, the strands pulsing and swaying as if they had a life of their own. “Your hair is moving.”

His eyes widened, and he ran his fingers through the strands. “No way.”

You nodded enthusiastically. “It’s alive. I think it’s trying to tell me secrets.”

Jiyong burst out laughing, throwing his head back against the couch. The motion sent a ripple through the air like a soundwave, and you giggled in response, feeling the vibrations of his laughter deep in your chest.

“I think we’re tripping,” you finally admitted, voice laced with wonder.

Jiyong sighed, a dazed, blissed-out grin on his face as he stared up at the ceiling, where the paint swirled in hypnotic patterns.

“Cool,” he breathed, utterly amazed.

Everything felt limitless. The walls of the penthouse no longer confined you; they simply melted into the fabric of your existence, expanding outward into the endless night. A sudden, undeniable urge pulled at you—you needed to see the city, to feel its pulse beneath your skin.

Slowly, you forced yourself up from the couch. The warmth of where you had been sitting clung to your skin, and for a fleeting moment, leaving it felt like stepping away from a cocoon of safety. A shiver ran through your body, but the sensation was electric, exhilarating rather than chilling. Your bare toes sank into the plush shag rug of Jiyong’s living room, the fibers so impossibly soft that they sent tingles up your spine. It was like walking on a cloud, each step sinking into bliss.

You glanced down at yourself—just a tight tank top and black panties. When had you stripped down? The thought flickered through your mind like a shooting star—there and gone in an instant, unimportant in the grand scheme of this moment. The only thing that mattered was now.

A soft gasp left your lips as your gaze drifted toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Seoul stretched before you, a sea of twinkling lights dancing like a mirage in the distance. The sight was breathtaking, the city pulsating with life, its energy calling to you like a lover’s whisper.

“Wow…” The word barely escaped your lips as your feet carried you toward the balcony.

Behind you, Jiyong’s fingers skimmed over his phone screen as he added songs to the queue, and the soft hum of bass-heavy dubstep filled the room. The vibrations seeped into your bones, thrumming in sync with your heartbeat. The sound wrapped around you like silk, and without thinking, you let yourself sway to the rhythm, your long hair cascading down your back like liquid gold.

You had no idea that Jiyong was watching you.

From his place on the couch, he was entranced. The way the city lights framed your silhouette against the dark sky made you look ethereal, almost unreal. Your body moved with the music, effortless, hypnotic—like a dream unfolding before him. His cigarette burned between his fingers, forgotten as he watched you sway in the cool night air.

You lingered outside, though time had become meaningless. What felt like moments stretched into eternity, and when you finally drifted back inside, leaving the wide balcony doors open to let the night breeze in, the clock on the wall read 2 a.m.

The music had deepened, the bass vibrating through the walls. You couldn’t stop yourself from moving, couldn’t help the way your hips followed the rhythm as you floated across the room.

Jiyong was still watching you.

You caught his gaze—hooded eyes locked onto you like you were the only thing that existed in the universe. He sat sprawled out on the couch, legs spread lazily, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His black silk shirt was unbuttoned, exposing the intricate tattoos scrawled across his body. The dim city lights made his neon-green hair look like it was glowing.

“Ji, come dance with me…” You giggled, your voice carrying like the melody of the song playing in the background.

He smirked, the sight sending heat straight through your veins. With a final drag, he stubbed out his cigarette and rose to his feet, stretching his arms above his head before making his way toward you.

Jiyong took your hand, fingers lacing with yours as he twirled you effortlessly. “This is so cool,” he murmured, voice a velvety hum in your ear. His head rested against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as his hands found your hips and pulled you flush against him.

The sensation was intoxicating. His touch, his scent, the warmth of his body pressing into yours—it sent shivers of pleasure down your spine.

“Love you, Ji…” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, but they felt so natural, so right.

He lifted his head, strands of electric green falling into his eyes as he looked at you—really looked at you. “I love you, Y/n…”

Your breath hitched.

Something shifted.

This wasn’t just Kwon Ji-Yong—your best friend, your partner-in-crime.

This was your soulmate. The one you had loved for so long, but had never found the courage to say it out loud. But now, here, in this euphoric haze, the connection between you burned so brightly, so intensely, that you needed him. Not just his presence. All of him.

And he knew.

You didn’t need words. The way your eyes locked, the way your lips parted slightly, the way his hands gripped your waist just a little tighter—everything was understood in that instant.

Jiyong leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, and the moment they connected, fireworks erupted inside you. The world around you dissolved, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on yours, his tongue moving in perfect sync with yours. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him impossibly closer, and he groaned against your lips, deep and desperate.

Your knees gave out, but he was there—always there—catching you, holding you steady. His lips never left yours, only breaking away briefly to whisper against your mouth, “Can I take you to bed?”

The words sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

“Please,” you breathed, voice laced with need.

A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. He took your hand, guiding you toward his bedroom.

The king-sized bed was draped in silk and velvet, rich shades of crimson and black casting the perfect contrast against the moonlight spilling through the windows. The scene was beautiful—a reflection of the moment itself, dark and intimate, heated yet soft.

Jiyong turned to you, his fingers tilting your chin up before pulling you into another kiss—deeper this time, more possessive. As he walked you both toward the bed, his silk shirt slipped from his shoulders, pooling on the floor. His tattoos stood in sharp relief against his golden skin, and for a moment, you could only stare—dazed, overwhelmed, hungry.

The second your back met the sheets, you were in heaven. The fabric was cool against your flushed skin, sending a shiver up your spine, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of Jiyong’s body hovering over you. His lips were everywhere—trailing over your face, your jaw, the column of your throat. They whispered over your collarbones, traced the curve of your shoulders, dipped lower to explore every inch of you he could find. His kisses were slow, reverent, as if he were worshiping you with each press of his lips.

“Mmm… Ji…” His name spilled from your lips in a soft, breathy whisper, a sound that sent a jolt of pleasure through his veins.

Jiyong grinned against your skin, his mouth just above yours, teasing. “Say my name again.”

You barely hesitated, your fingers tangling in his hair as you murmured, “Jiyong…”

A soft groan rumbled from his chest. The sound alone made your body ache for him. He rested his forehead against your sternum, letting himself linger there for a moment, savoring the way your heartbeat raced beneath his lips. Then, slowly, he hooked his index finger under the fabric of your panties, tugging lightly.

“This okay, baby?” His voice was hushed, thick with longing.

That one simple word—baby—sent butterflies fluttering through your stomach, warmth blooming deep inside you.

“Yes,” you breathed, arching into his touch. “Keep going…”

He smirked, pleased by your desperation, and helped you out of your shirt, his fingers ghosting over your skin as he discarded the fabric. He took his time, trailing kisses downward, each touch of his lips sparking tiny electric shocks that ignited beneath your skin. His mouth traced a slow, tantalizing path from your collarbone to the swell of your breasts, down your stomach, lower still.

Your breath hitched when he hooked his fingers into your panties and dragged them down your legs, his touch featherlight as his fingers brushed your thighs. The cool air sent goosebumps across your bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire smoldering in Jiyong’s gaze as he took you in, drinking in every inch of you like you were something sacred.

He placed soft, wet kisses along the inside of your thighs, taking his time, savoring your taste on his lips. The teasing was agonizing. Each press of his mouth sent waves of anticipation pooling between your legs, leaving you squirming beneath him.

Your own hands roamed over your body, desperate to do something, anything, to ease the ache. And then, finally—finally—his lips brushed over your clit, the first touch so delicate, so excruciatingly slow, that your whole body shuddered.

“Oh, god…” you whimpered, throwing your arms over your face as pleasure coursed through you like liquid fire.

Jiyong groaned in response, gripping your thighs tighter as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe over your dripping core. His tongue moved with purpose—soft, languid strokes at first, building into something more intense. He explored you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every moan, every breathless plea that fell from your lips.

Your body writhed beneath him as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, his tongue dipping inside you before sliding back up to that sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking, sucking, teasing in ways that made you tremble. The pleasure was overwhelming, your body tensing, ready to snap.

“Fuck, Ji… I’m gonna—” You gasped, hands clutching the silk sheets.

But just as your orgasm coiled in your stomach, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and aching, the loss so sudden it was nearly painful.

A whimper of protest left your lips, but Jiyong was already climbing back up your body, his lips ghosting over your skin, soothing you with each kiss. His hands fumbled with the zipper of his jeans as he kissed his way up your neck, over your cheek, finally capturing your lips in a heated, dizzying kiss.

“I want you,” he murmured between kisses, his voice husky, needy. “I want you to cum with me inside you.”

The words alone sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins.

He finally rid himself of his pants, and in that moment, both of you were fully bare, bodies pressed together, skin to skin. The heat of him, the weight of him, the way his body fit against yours—it was intoxicating. Overwhelming. Perfect.

Jiyong cupped your cheek, searching your gaze. “Is this okay, baby? Can I make love to you?” His voice was breathless, almost nervous.

“God, yes,” you whined, pulling him down into another kiss.

He smiled against your lips, then slowly—so agonizingly slow—he pushed inside of you, inch by inch. The stretch was delicious, a perfect blend of pleasure and pressure, and your eyes fluttered shut as you adjusted to his size. A low, guttural groan escaped Jiyong’s throat, his forehead dropping to yours.

He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze. The sight of you—lips parted, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide with pleasure—made his stomach tighten. But when he noticed the glassy shimmer in your eyes, his breath hitched.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, concern flickering across his face.

A soft, adoring smile graced your lips. “Yes… yes. I just—” You exhaled shakily. “I just love you.”

Jiyong’s heart clenched, and his expression softened into something breathtakingly tender. He pressed his lips to yours, slow and deep, before murmuring, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this…”

And then he moved.

His thrusts were slow, deliberate, filled with an aching kind of passion that sent pleasure rolling through your body in waves. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, gasping at the way he stretched you, filled you. The sensation was intoxicating—the friction, the heat, the way he fit inside you like he was made for you.

Your nails raked down his back, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer, deeper. His pace quickened, his breath ragged as he lost himself in you, in the way your body responded to his every move.

He looked down at you, his eyes dark with awe. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your lips. “Oh God, Y/n… You’re so beautiful. So pretty you could make the stars cry…” he whispered.

His words pushed you over the edge.

“Fuck, Ji—I love you, I love you!” you cried, your whole body trembling as pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave. A single, warm tear slid down your cheek as your release shattered through you.

Jiyong groaned, burying his face in your neck as he followed, his body tensing before he spilled inside you, his fingers lacing with yours as he held onto you through it all.

The moment stretched, warm and golden, neither of you wanting to move, to break the connection. He didn’t pull out right away, simply resting against you, his head on your shoulder, his hand still gripping yours. You felt whole. Complete. “I love you…” he whispered.

When he finally slipped out of you, he rolled to the side, still holding you close, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. Both of you were a euphoric, breathless mess, your skin slick with sweat, hearts still hammering in unison.

Silence stretched between you, comfortable and warm.

Then, softly, Jiyong murmured, “Do you wanna take a shower? With me?” There was a slight nervousness in his voice, as if he wasn’t sure how to ask.

You smiled, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Yes.”

And as he pulled you into his arms, leading you toward the bathroom, you knew—this was only the beginning of something you’d been yearning for for years.

I don't have a taglist for GD yet so I'm just using my T.O.P/Thanos tag list. Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed! :)

Tags: @kaylieiskrazy04 @fr3akyyg1rll @heuningpie @sapph1r3x @moondooll @tranquilty @noharaaa @mariaxman @dear-satan @infinetlyforgotten @staryscorner @blu-brrys @come-as-you-are-111 @nicklet94 @vamplivivi @3mma-lovely

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[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

I saw some discourse on Twitter about how some players who didn’t get minutes in the game were sulking / not having a good attitude during the celebrations and that it was disrespectful to the team because they should be celebrating regardless. Thoughts ?

okay, first and foremost, football is a team sport, it's not about any individual player. we win as a team and we lose as a team. but culers are being so nasty and dramatic online, as if keira and ingrid haven't been major parts of our champions league victories over the past few years. 🙄

yes, i agree that titles are team accomplishments and should be celebrated by the team collectively. regardless of whether they played 90 minutes or helped in training, it's all cumulative and to me, each player counts towards achieving these titles.

having said that, there's way too much complaining and overanalysis of body language going on in the fandom. ingrid and keira are not exactly mapi or kika levels of exuberance, even on a good day 😅 so to call them sulking or having a bad attitude is a stretch, in my opinion.

honestly, keira is and always has been a complete professional for barça. when it comes to lifting the trophy, we see the younger players goofing around with it and we forget the weight that it carries to do a trophy lift and that's something keira declined to do in the moment, which is understandable given that she didn't play all that much. remember when alexia was injured, she would often pass along cup lifting duties to the other captains, who played in the finals.

and ultimately, i look to the example of alexia, who all throughout last season, when she was being experimented in different positions at the beginning of the season until her supplemental knee surgery through to the finals at bilbao, always put the team first when it came to titles. but she also gave space to those who won the finals to exhibit their euphoria and not overshadow the celebration. 🙏

personally, i think fans are being super dramatic. i can probably count on one hand the number of times walsh and engen have been "euphoric" in their celebrations. the most i've ever seen ingrid celebrate was after the champions league final and even that was pretty tame. not everyone celebrates in the same way 😂

there are all too many culers who are ready to turn on any single player after any perceived "grievance." and let's not forget all the shit people said about alexia before her renovation last season and the analysis of her "sad" faces during those matches.

either way, the "long faces" did not diminish or cause any harm to the rest of the team as some of these commentators are claiming because there was plenty of euphoric celebrations yesterday. so no, people need to chill out and stop hating on players for any rhyme or reason! 😤

pere is under immense pressure and finally got the first win under his belt. and he has to be reading all the criticism online and from other parties, so i don't blame him that he's so happy. 🥳

people are weirdly critical of pere for doing some of the exact same things that his predecessors did. but i think because it affects their favourite player this time around, then suddenly he's the devil. i don't see it as so black and white 🤷‍♀️

[massy2ly]

Jojo, please, stop. Who hurt you, dude?

I can’t do it anymore. I need a minute, a long one. But honestly, I’m holding onto a fragile hope that THK flipped the infamous episode 11 curse to episode 10. I can’t survive another Wednesday of heartbreak and tears. Just… let them get married in peace. I’m on my knees here, begging.

Also, I’ll share more later, but I need to say this now: To those getting insecure on behalf of Style or thinking Fadel is still in love with his ex… take a breath. Do you have any idea how much love it takes to still hold onto someone—clinging to their words, their hope, instead of believing you don’t deserve what they’re offering you? If I were in Fadel’s shoes, I’d despise myself for even wanting that happiness with Style, knowing an innocent man I once loved died because of his association with me, and the one I am currently obsessed with is under the same risk. I say "association" because it wasn’t Fadel’s fault, but the tragedy followed him and touched his ex, too.

Fadel’s love for Style is deeper than we can fully understand. As much as we've seen, there’s still so much Fadel has kept locked inside, out of fear and hesitation. But I believe in episode 11, we’ll see him let go of that and open up. He loves him so much that despite all the guilt, grief, and fear, he still chose to trust in Style’s strength, devotion, and hope. It only took a few minutes for him to give in, and in that time, he realized that trusting Style was worth every ounce of his pain. The way he couldn’t speak for a few seconds, scared and frozen in place as he took in Style’s face before breaking down and asking him to leave. The way he gaze at him—mesmerized, like he can’t believe someone as perfect as Style could love him that much. The way he clings to him, like Style is his lifeline. The way he folded so quickly because as selfless as he is, he just can’t let go of Style. He knew he wouldn’t be able to, and that’s why he asked Style to do it for him. Style is Fadel’s weakness, his strength, his new reason for living, and the love of his life. There’s no question about how he feels.

As for Style, y’all better brace yourselves once my long minute ends. I’ve loved him from the start, and right now, I’m feeling everything for him to an unhealthy degree. It’s a hard position for him, no doubt, but when you love someone as much as he loves Fadel, their pain, their tears, their needs will always come first. Style is emotionally intelligent enough to understand why Fadel is so shattered. As he said, he gets why Fadel’s been closed off. He understands the weight he carries and gives him the space he needs to grieve. He doesn’t doubt for a second that Fadel loves him, and he knows that, once he has the time to process, he’ll stop holding back. That love will come flooding out, just like it did by the end of this episode.

[rwbyrg]

Me everyday thinking about how Ruby would get Oscar to laugh really hard when the latter is too deep in his own emotions to express anything, and it'll mostly involve her trying to be silly or cracking a bad joke.

This boy would laugh so hard even if it's not particularly funny if only because it's an effort made by her specifically, I love these two so much I wanna I wanna scream into a pillow!!!!!!

Oscar has laughed so rarely since his first appearance and all of it has been really reserved...

I think about The Little Prince story and how one of the most important parts of his character, one of the things that lingers with the aviator the longest, is the prince's laugh. And I have to wonder if we'll ever see him actually smile so big or laugh so freely at some point. I have to wonder how Ruby would feel getting to see him so unburdened for once? I think if anyone could get him to laugh like that, she stands a pretty good chance.

[whateveriwant]

Good evening, I can't stop thinking about Simon going brain dead as he fucks you :)

Like, just imagine. You're on your elbows and knees as Simon's hitting it from behind, when suddenly you feel something wet land on your back. You know it's not him finishing given the fact that he's still buried deep inside you, so you look back over your shoulder to see what the hell that was you just felt.

And when you turn around, the sight that greets you is one for the ages. There's Simon, eyes unfocused and glazed over, mouth hanging wide open in the most fucked-out expression you've ever witnessed. He looks like he's never had an intelligent thought in his life; like he's been reverted back to a primitive brain, whose only drives are to eat, breathe, and fuck.

As you watch him rut into you like a sex-crazed animal, it's then you spy the source of the mystery liquid dripping onto your back. There, dribbling steadily from Simon's ajar mouth, flows a thick stream of drool. It leads down from his bottom lip in long, viscous ribbons, landing and settling itself along the curve of your spine. If he even notices (which, by the look on his face, he's too far gone for such higher-order thinking processes) then he doesn't care. He just lets his spit pour freely from his open mouth, like some kind of wild beast that's got its eyes locked onto its next meal.

Simon is so mentally checked out that he can't even hear you as you gently say his name. No, all he can think about – all his shriveled little monkey brain can focus on at this moment – is how fucking good you feel around him and how fucking badly he needs to fill you up.

When Simon does finally cum, he can only manage a garbled string of grunts and groans that doesn't even come close to resembling human speech. After three, four, five thrusts as deep into you as possible, his whole body is shaking, and his trembling limbs give out.

He collapses on top of you without a second's consideration of his size, pinning you to the mattress beneath his warm, heavy frame. You can still feel him drooling a little as his face comes to rest in the crook of your neck, the mess on your lower back getting smeared between your bodies.

It's hard for you to breathe being trapped under Simon's weight like that, so you try lightly tapping him on the head to ask him to roll off you. Unfortunately, I'm afraid it's no use trying to gain his attention right now. You're going to have to give him a few minutes to collect himself, love.

The poor guy just fucked himself stupid, after all.

[mommynott]

Thin Ice

Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Your friends drag you to a hockey game, but halfway through you lock eyes with Theo. You can’t help but feel a strong pull toward him. Deciding to shoot your shot with the player.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, Chars 18+, Hockey AU, flirting, tons of tension, explicit language, hockey!theo, dom!theo

A/N: Starting this series for my babe @amiableness I hope you enjoy it because this is just the start! Also BIG shoutout to my girl @westcanaan82 for the hockey!theo render. Definitely go Check out her page because she makes me DROOOOL

The arena was packed, and the noise was overwhelming as you sat in your seat, begrudgingly dragged there by your friends. You were scrolling through your phone, totally uninterested in the game unfolding before you.

But then… it seemed out of nowhere. A tall and muscular figure on the ice caught your attention. Fuck he’s hot. It was player number 13, Theo, whose piercing eyes were fixed on you through his helmet.

You felt a smirk growing on your lips before he nodded his head up at you and skated along the ice. Shuffling a puck with his hockey stick with ease. The game going on. Fuck maybe this game isn’t too boring. You held your phone in your hand but your gaze settled on him on the ice. Suddenly gaining an interest in this sport.

After he shot a puck into the goal he pumped his fist in the air but you swore he looked over at you. Throwing you a flirty wink. And trust me, he fucking did. At this point, Theodore was trying to show off for you. Hoping he would get your attention. Craving your attention.

The game ended, and his team had won the match. But after all the eyefucking you two did you wanted to stay back in hopes to see that same player. “I’ll catch up with you guys later!” Your friends gave you a knowing look while they walked out. You slowly moved around the now quiet arena.

A few minutes later, you started to feel defeated, thinking he must’ve left but that’s when you heard a low and deep Italian accent. “I noticed you in the crowd…Seemed to be pretty glued to that phone of yours.”

Bright cherry red painted across your cheeks as you turned around. Quickly tucking your phone away in your purse, you gave the hockey player a small sheepish smile. “Uh…Yeah, sorry…It’s just not really my thing I guess.”

But when your gaze settled upon the player, he wasn’t in the same gear from on the ice. Oh no. he was now in a tight under-armor top, showing off his muscular and toned torso along with a pair of black sweatpants. Freshly out of the shower, his brown locks clung to his forehead. The smell of his body wash was rich and intoxicating as it wafted all around you. Fuck me.

“Not your thing, huh? What is your thing then?”

Theo asked, his taunting tone hinting with flirtatiousness. Feeling the way your heart skipped from his words. His deep voice. Fucking hell. You hesitated for a moment, your fingers anxiously playing with the rings you wore. “I don’t know…Reading…Movies.”

Replying to the Italian, he ran a hand through his wavy hair, slicking it back and giving you a charming smile. “A reader. Interesting….” Theodore said in the same teasing tone before sticking out his hand and you matched him, giving your own and shaking it. The second your hands met, a spark pulsated through your body.

“Nott. Theodore Nott. But you can call me Theo, Cara.”

The charming accent rolled off his tongue smoothly as you both exchanged names. You crossed your arms over your chest, shifting your weight to one leg. Bringing your confidence out. Something you always had. “Anyways…What’s interesting about me reading?” You asked, giving him a bratty little grin.

Theo cocked an eyebrow, scoffing under his breath as he took a step before you. Eyeing you up and down fully. “Ah, I’m not sure. Just interesting…What do you like to read?” He questioned as he casually leaned closer toward you.

You tried to focus but his voice, his words were so smooth it sent little shivers down your spine. "Umm… mostly romance— Stuff like that." You mentally chastised yourself for sounding so fucking cliche. He seemed very interested in you…Maybe even so much so that you could get some hockey player action.

Theo gave you a lazy smile and your heart fluttered, feeling the tension building between you both. "Romance, huh? That’s fitting." You raised an eyebrow, confused. What the fuck was he on about? “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, leaning even closer towards you. “You look like the romantic type….Soft…sweet— Y’know?.” Your cheeks burned again. Was he flirting with you? This couldn’t possibly be real. This was something out of the novels you’d read.

“Oh— Thanks I guess?” A sea of giggles freed from your lush lips. The same ones Theo’s eyes were burning into now. He stalked toward you as you walked back until you were pinned against the white brick wall of the ice rink.

He carefully took a strand of your hair, wrapping it around his pointer finger while his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “Can I get the pretty girl's number, hm?” He asked, remaining not only charming but… cocky. Drawing you to him even more.

It seemed that your confidence exuded his own to creep out. But fuck did you like it. A confident man like this? Damn. “Huh…I’m not sure. Can you?” Teasing him right back you subtly bit your lower lip to fight back the giggles that wanted to escape from within.

“Fuckin’ tease. Isn’t that right?”

Theodore now pinned both of his hands above your head, practically towering over your tiny frame. “Perhaps just a little bit…” Breathing out your words, your gaze danced along with his ocean eyes. Feeling your heart thump hard against your chest.

“I like a tease…A challenge…” His tone now held something of mischief, giving him a different vibe. And fuck, your whole body was fucking feeling it. “Yeah?” You asked, bringing out more of your sultry tone, keeping your lips slightly parted as you glanced down to his own.

That was it. Theo was going to come in hot. Make his move. Smash his lips to yours. But just as he was millimeters away from ravishing you a loud shout was heard. “—Nott! Back in the locker room!” His fucking coach. What a cock block. Theo rolled his eyes and cursed in Italian under his breath.

“We aren’t finished here…” He replied to you lowly, throwing up his pointer finger to his coach. He reached into his pocket. Pulling out a pen and taking your arm. Feeling the tickle of his scribbling, He wrote something on it as you sat there dumbfounded.

Once he was done, you scanned over your forearm. In sloppy handwriting was written his number followed by “Text me, Tesoro ;)” giggling at his little winky face as you nodded your head.

With that, he walked off with his coach to the locker room. That night you got home thinking of everything and anything that could have happened if his damn trainer didn’t interrupt you two. That’s when you decided to send him a flirty yet risky text…

Ahhhh the start of hockey!theo 🏒🥅⛸️

Really hope y’all enjoyed im too excited to continue on with this au! ATP I have so many and STILL have some In the back of my mind help lol

As always asks and requests are open my sweet peas 💋

Divider pinned in my masterlist🌙

[nochepsicodelica]

NSFW

Toji waking you up with soft kisses and gentle caresses at almost two in the morning because he wants to (prone) bone you. You hum in question of all his touching, and he leans in close to your ear to murmur what he wants. You shake him off and close your eyes, trying to fall back asleep, but he interrupts you again and again with his relentless pleads. "Please, mama?" "I'll be so gentle. Please?" "Please, pretty girl?" "Baby, please?"

You roll over onto your stomach with a tired sigh and a mumble of, "Do what you want to me. I'm staying asleep."

He loves you so much. For much deeper reasons than sex, but this is definitely a peak 'my girl is the best' moment for him. With zero hesitation, he sits up and removes his minimal sleep attire—his boxers. He pulls the blanket off your lower body, revealing your legs, and lifts up your shirt, exposing even more of you.

"Oh, baby," he says, voice low as his hands keep moving. "Hiding all of this under that enormous shirt." He rides his hands down your waist and over your hips, before tugging your underwear down and off. He leans forward, and he truly meant it when he said he would be gentle with you. He slid into you as carefully as he could. He coos at you when you squirm and whimper at the intrusion, pacing himself as he molds his body into yours. He turned into a weighted blanket for you, making up for the actual blanket he peeled off of you once he lies down.

He mumbles breathy appreciations into your ear, in the form of praise and actual gratitude, as he rolls his hips into you.

"So pretty and soft. So fucking perfect, baby," he says, ending it with a needy groan. You could fall asleep comfortably with all the rocking if it weren't for the stimulation being offered below. You made your fair share of sound, and Toji loved it despite the fact that you told him that you would be sleeping. You let out a few muffled whimpers, some gasps and shuddered exhales. Nothing extreme because he's not blowing out your back. It feels more like a form of love making.

When he cums, he's groaning and panting into your ear, sloppily kissing the side of your face while squeezing the life out of you in his arms, like he has the most severe case of cuteness aggression. He just lies there for a minute, wondering if he should make you cum, too, but within the time it takes for him to bounce back, you're dozing off again. He sighs, contentedly, his needs satisfied by you, as always. He presses one more kiss to your temple before he crawls off of you and heads towards the bathroom to fetch a towel to clean you up with.

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (141 x fem!reader, live together)

Beside you, Kyle is the first to wake up in the morning. He’ll pad towards the kitchen, enjoying the sight of you making your morning drink silently, before moving to stand right behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he grinds he bulge lazily against your ass. He just wants to feel your warmth, how nice your soft flesh press against his cock.

“Just want to feel you, baby. It’s so cold out here.” He’ll unabashedly slip his hands under your pajamas shirt, kneading your breasts and tugging at those sensitive buds, forcing you to stop brewing your drink because you might spill the liquid.

Kyle just want to get an orgasm from you, a gift for you two morning birds, he claims before succumbing to sleepiness and tuck himself back under the duvet, fully content with being the first man making you come undone everyday, and sleeps in 5 more minutes.

You know Johnny will drag you into the shower with him whenever he comes back from his morning jog. You chide him before he engulfs you in his embrace, lightheartedly calling him a stinky man and shush him to go shower first.

So his solution is hug you despite your protest, then pull you inside the bathroom together, stripping off your pajamas and his sports wear impatiently before jumping into the shower with you.

“We’re both stinky now, jus’ thought ye might need a shower too.” Johnny grins when you glare at him, shamelessly pretends he’s just ‘looking out for ye’ while his hands traveling across your body, groping and preparing you for his cock with his hard dick prodding at the small of your back. He’ll never hurt you, but as soon as you’re wet enough for his girthy shaft, he’ll pick you up, stretching you deeply and completely with the help of your weight, groans and growls at how good you are, how your precious pussy takes him so good, ignoring Ghost’s noise complaint coming from the other side of the bathroom door as he fucks you fast and feral, making you unable to care about suppressing your moans and cling onto him, let him keep scooping you in his arms and thrust into you till he empty his balls in your good little cunt.

Finally getting Kyle and Johnny pass out from the alcohol, John and Simon manhandle them back to the bedroom before entering the living room again. 00:13, a glance at the clock telling you it’s late in the night, but it’s just the start for the three of you. Retrieving a bottle of fine rum, John seats you between him and Simon, thighs touching with theirs as you all sip on the wine and chat quietly. “The boys will chug the rum like it’s some cheap beer, they can settle with those just fine.” John chuckles lowly and comments on the awful taste and drinking habit of Kyle and Johnny.

“Those bonkers will stick to your side the whole day and complain if they find out, old man.” Simon chimes in after huffing out a laugh at John’s words.

You snicker along with them, feeling fully content and relaxed with squished between two of your lovers, joking about the other two men you loved while the rum flows smoothly down your throat. Soon your composure slips after few nips of the wine, whining cute and groggily as Simon ravish in the kiss with you, tongues dance and tangle with each other in a slow pace, let him drink down all your syrupy moans and coos in rare gentleness, so John can slickens up your pussy with his lips and your juices, making sure you can accommodate their fat cocks later, and you can’t expect or plead him to sink his cock into you already until him and Simon can see your juices dripping down your soaked folds, praying them to fill you up.

The two men will treat you so well, worshipping their dearest girl in the world. Simon’s fingers and lips are always on you when John squeeze his fat tip into your entrance, gliding in and out slowly and heavily, so all those spongy spots of yours that can make you chant his name like a mantra aren’t missed out. When he put a load in you with a husky groan, passing you onto Simon’s lap and let you lean back on his chest, he’ll plant tiny kisses on your shoulder, murmur about how they love you—will protect you and keep you safe and sound—against your skin. Simon allows him to indulge in the heat and tightness of your pussy, grunting and praising you as he fuck John’s cum back inside you, making sure you take each drops of John’s seeds, like the reliable lieutenant he always is for his captain. The base of his length has formed a creamy froth the time he nips down slightly on your shoulder to muffle his moan, drenching your messy cunt with every bit of his release. “Atta girl.” His croon is added with John’s soothing voice “Yeah, been so good for us, princess.”

They both pick up the glass once again to finish the remaining rum, with you already drifting between your slumber and consciousness, listening to their small chatters as your own lullaby. You don’t know when they’ll finish drinking, or if one of them will nestle their cock inside your pussy again, just to feel your walls clenching down subconsciously, but you let yourself slip into a dream, because they’ll take good care of you, always do and always will.