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peachesofteal · 4 months ago

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Simple Math / Part Fifteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader AO3 - 4.7k words Tags: 18+ mdni, nurse!reader, hospital setting, domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt, anxiety about sex. PTSD. Tiny bit of a panic attack. Tiny smidge of Simon's past if you know where to look. Comfort. Cockwarming. Barebacking, anal fingering, masturbation, praise kink, daddy kink. Basically the guys fuck while Bunny watches.

You’ve been having dreams about the hospital.

It’s always the same one.

You’re running a code with an intern and a fleet of baby nurses. No one is moving as fast as you are, no one is following direction. You’re on fast forward, they’re on rewind.

Every time, the dream starts and ends the same way. For some reason, you can’t see the patient’s face. You work on them for what feels like hours, and then only once it’s been called does the mental block disappear, you look down-

To see yourself.

Intubated. Bruised and broken.

Dead.

“Bunny.”

“Hmm?” You glance up across the counter, feeling the focus of Simon’s eyes before you see them.

“Everything alright?” Pen babbles ‘moremoremoremore’ while making the sign at the same time.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He mimics Penny’s sign, and then gives her a yes, spooning more yogurt into her mouth.

“You’ve been standing in the same spot for the last ten minutes, staring into your coffee.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry… I’m just a little… scatterbrained this morning.”

“Still having that dream?” It’s been a week and a half since it started, and a few days since you finally confided in Simon and Johnny it was bothering you. “Do you think it might be related to going back to work this week?” You shrug.

“Maybe? I don’t know… I’ve never dreamed of working on… myself.” His jaw flexes, and then he sighs.

“I’ve been thinking…” Penny squawks, demanding the attention of the room, and you pull some blueberries from the counter and put them on her plate. “My therapist is taking new patients. I don’t want to push you before you’re ready, but I’d like you to consider it.” The grimace slides onto your face without preamble. Sure, you’ve considered therapy in the past, but it’s a risk. Mandated reporting, paper trails, everything you don’t need.

“I don’t need therapy right now.”

“You have PTSD.” He says point blank, and you blink. Your mind fractures, little pieces twisting and turning, trying to knit together a larger picture.

“No- I- I’m not… it’s…” You’re a medical professional, don’t you know what PTSD looks like?

“It’s hard to see, in yourself.” Simon senses the confusion and tries to soothe it away, cool balm on a burn.

You suppose he’s not wrong. It’s not unrealistic, you having PTSD, but you’ve never been confronted with it. Never been forced to face the truth.

No one’s ever known you well enough, to see.

It stings. It stings for some reason, and you don’t know why.

“I’m sorry.” He stands, moving around the counter to stand in front of you. “I want to help you, bun, but I should have approached that differently.” You shake your head, relenting into the steady hand at your back, and tip your face into his chest. The confrontation of the truth aches, but there’s comfort in Simon’s touch, understanding, and you relent to it, drifting away inside his tender hold.

“What’s goin’ on?” Johnny’s close, appearing in the kitchen after sleeping in. He was deep in his own dreams when you woke up, sweet like angel in the clouds, buried in the pillows, and you couldn’t stand to wake him.

Simon rumbles something over your head. You can’t make it out, ear covered by his bicep, and you turn your head to peek, reaching for Johnny.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“Hi.”

“Why don’t ye come lay down wit’ me on the couch?” He coos, stroking a hand over your hair. “’m not quite awake yet.” Simon gives you a squeeze, and you nod.

“Yeah, okay.”

Johnny holds you close. His nose in your neck, fingertips carefully tracing over your skin, heat at your back, he calms you, comforts you, lulls your stiff muscles languid. He’s so good at it, pulling and kneading until you settle, and it dawns on you he’s had practice.

“Would you tell me about you and Simon?”

“What do ye want to know?”

“What was it like… in the beginning. When you got together.” He kneads your hip, thoughtful for a quiet moment, and then takes a deep breath.

“He was difficult. Didnae wan’ to let me in, no matter how hard I tried. Had to corner him in his room on base just to get him to kiss me.” Johnny chuckles low, rubbing your shoulder. “Took him forever, to break down, let me see him, really see him, for the first time. I had glimpses, here and there. Moments in the field, on base, at the bar with the team when we’d decompress but… it took a lot of work. He tried to push me off, hide away.”

“Why?

“It’s his story to tell ye, bunny. An’ he will, in time.” He sighs. “He’s always been like this, strong, steadfast, more serious than me, but he buried a lot of things, deep. Always was very aware of it, jus’ not willing to show it to anyone else. Wanted to be a ghost.”

“But… he’s okay."

“He’s okay. Has some moments where he gets lost, still, but works through ‘em, wit’ me or on his own.” He kisses your neck, soft enough to tickle, and you shiver. “He’s really good at this, bein’ a da, takin’ care of a family. Treats us all like his little unit. I miss him too much when ‘m away. Pen too.”

“I’m sure.” His lips graze your shoulder, humming.

“An’ ye. When I go back, I’ll be thinkin’ of ye all the time.” When he goes back. The idea is chilling, a douse of cold water. It’s felt so far away, the idea of Johnny returning to his job, the thing that brought you to him in the first place.

“But that won’t be for a while, right? I mean, you’re still healing.”

“It won’t be for a while.” He assures, though there’s something in his voice, pinched and pained. You don’t ask, don’t push, choosing to close your eyes instead, nestled in his arms, safe.

“This is the worst.” You’re whining. You know you’re whining, know you sound like a child, but it spills out of you without stopping.

“I know sweetheart.” Simon screws the cap onto a travel mug, giving you a sympathetic smile. They’re both up with you, before the sun, listening to you moan.

You shouldn’t be going to work at this hour. You should be awake, puttering around, working your rhythm back to normal, getting oriented to working at night.

You’ve never hated your manager more. She insisted she was sorry, that she had no choice but to fill the overnight shift. She assumed, she said, the new nurse would want to go to days when you got back, but she’s taken a liking to it.

She’s taken your shift.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad? An’ ye’ll see me tomorrow when I come in for therapy.” That is an upside at least, knowing you’ll be able to see him, see them both, at work.

But the rest of it, simply put, sucks.

“We should probably get going.” Simon kisses Johnny goodbye, and you’re drawn to them, sidling up in their orbit. Johnny wraps an arm around you, mouth to your temple.

“Have a good first day back, bunny. I’ll be thinking of ye.” You turn, grazing your lips on his, and he seals the kiss, drenching it in care, sweetness.

“Bye.”

Simon walks you all the way to the door.

Your resistance at the initial idea slowly fades as the sun peeks over the city. It’s different with Simon at your side, the paranoia and rampant fear infecting the atmosphere wherever you go is farther away.

You trust him. You’re starting to believe they may be able to keep you safe.

He holds your hand for most of the trip.

It’s… nice. Once you make it to the door, he turns and tucks his fingers under your chin, holding your gaze like a magnet. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” He presses his lips to your forehead, and you lean into it, eyes closed.

“Have a good day, bunny.”

Work is absolute hell.

Dayshift is so different from nights, and you have trouble adjusting. The turnover rate at the hospital is fairly high, so when you badge in and get started, you hardly recognize anyone.

Except, Marshall.

He’s standing outside the pit when you round the corner, devilish grin aimed at one of the nurses you don’t recognize. New probably. Sheep in a lion’s den.

You clear your throat. His head snaps up.

“Well, well, well… looks who back from vacation.”

“Marshall.” You greet, barely looking at him, tapping through your tablet. “I wasn’t on vacation. I was out on medical leave. Big difference.”

“Right.” He takes you in from head to toe. “Rotator cuff, huh?”

“Mhmm.”

“Surgical?”

“No.” The other nurse watches you with interest, before scurrying away when a bell chimes. “Still having inappropriate relationships all over the hospital, I see.” He raises an eyebrow.

“You’re one to talk.” Ice cracks across your forced smile. He smirks. “Heard you’ve got yourself two boyfriends.” You suck your teeth. Nia.

“Considering he’s no longer my patient, it’s hardly inappropriate.” With the best timing, his phone rings, pulling his focus, and you slip away.

Fucking asshole.

Simon opens the front door for you and is careful not slam it closed.

“Penny asleep?”

“Johnny’s trying now. We’ll see if he has any luck. She’s been fightin’ it.” The kitchen smells like garlicky lemon, and you peek over his shoulder to see a large saucepan filled with linguini, capers, and shrimp. Your mouth waters.

“That smells amazing.” He takes your bag from you and hangs in on a hook from the hall tree.

“Scampi. We remembered you said it was one of your favorites, and we thought we’d spoil you a little bit. Celebrate your first day back.” Your cheeks burn hot, and to your horror, tears build up through your nose to your eyes. His brows crinkle together. “Hey, what is it?”

“That’s just… it’s really nice. You don’t have to.” Someone celebrating something with you, for you, is alien. The memories of the beginning of your relationship with Phillip are long gone, twisted and gnarled into black rot. It’s how he charmed you, wooed you, brought you closer and closer until they all but faded and you were left with only the darkness. The vice grip of his hands. His satisfied, sickening smile every time you closed your eyes.

“It’s not a ‘have to’ thing, sweetheart. We want to.” He skates his fingers over yours, pulling them to his mouth. “I know it’s hard to get used to.” You’re a little bewildered by it, the care, the consideration, even the memory of something you mentioned off hand.

“I… thank you.” He kisses your temple.

“Go shower. You smell like a hospital.”

“This was so good. Thank you again.” Your hands are woven together under your chin, rich wine sauce still present on the back of your tongue.

“Aye, thank ye.” Johnny winks at Simon, who rolls his eyes.

“Here, let me-“

“I got it.”

“No, you cooked.” You protest with a pout as they both rise.

“Johnny, sit.”

“Can wash dishes, ye know. I’m not helpless.” A sliver of twilight passes over Simon’s expression, not quite darkness but still full of a looming shadow until he sighs, relenting.

“Alright.” Your lips purse.

“What about me?”

“Ye jus’ sit on the couch and look pretty, bun. Willnae take us more than a few minutes.”

‘Just sitting on the couch’ lasts for all of five minutes before you’re antsy, rolling to your feet and padding into the kitchen.

You stop dead at the corner of the counter.

They’re making out. More than making out, Simon is swallowing Johnny’s whines with big breaths, his hand down the front of his pants. You buzz, thighs pressing together without permission, spine tingling heat awakening in your blood with zeal.

“Ah, shite-“

“Shhh. Be good.” Simon admonishes, but smiles into the kiss, wrist working a rhythm in Johnny’s sweatpants. He pulls away, chin tilted, looking down his nose with an eyebrow raised, almost condescendingly, but still grinning. “Feel good? Just need some relief?” Johnny’s moan is strangled in his throat, and you’re about to turn the corner in the shame, mortified you’re essentially spying on them, when Simon looks at you like he knows you’ve been there the whole time. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” You whimper. It slips out, unbidden, and Johnny turns, forehead pressed to Simon’s cheek. His hips are trying to jerk into the grip that has slowed, and he groans.

“Si.”

“Relax.” Simon stills him, pulling his hand free. “Maybe bunny wants to play too.” You give them a nervous smile, butterflies building in your stomach. You’re scared, there’s no other emotion to describe it. There’s fear, bad memories, anxiety building in the back of your throat, but at the same time, desire pushes you forward. You trust them, and it’s reached a critical point. You want to try.

“I… maybe if we s-started slow… I’m not sure…”

“That’s okay.” Simon coaxes, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s waist, hand splayed possessively on his stomach. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Their bed is an enchanted place.

There’s love in it, beguiling affection that transfers to you, dots down your throat to your chest, your clavicle, ass pressed into the hardened swell of Johnny’s cock.

It’s enough to strike down your fear, pry you open, lecherous want infiltrating your mind, your soul.

Their dynamic is crystal clear. Simon is natural in his mastery of both Johnny and you, the leader, the maestro. His forbearance at slowly peeling you free, layer by layer, puts you at ease, calms you enough you let him take your pants off, leaving you in only your underwear and the t shirt you put on before dinner. He folds you up against Johnny, careful to mind his sore spots, the pieces still healing, lips finding the plush fold at your ribcage.

“Sweet little bunny.” He glides careful fingertips over your panties. “Can I touch you here?” You draw a deep breath.

“Yeah.” Johnny’s lips graze your neck, and he sweep up over your belly towards your nipples, under your shirt.

“An’ can I touch ye here?”

“Mm- mhmm.” You buck into them, sensation building between your legs, lust cascading to where Simon’s fingers slip into your underwear and down the seam of your pussy.

“You’re wet, sweetheart. Is this for us?” You nod, Johnny tickling circles across your breasts, playing back and forth, pinching and stroking gently.

They’re both taking it slow, cautious, and there’s one half of you wanting to rip into them, and vice versa, while the other half is terrified. So far, the reckless abandon side is winning, but when Simon grazes over your clit, the crest of your fear bottoms out in the pit of your stomach. Johnny flexes his hips, the weight of his cock between the curve of your ass, and the combination of it, the touch now overwhelming, stream of thoughts turning panicked and unstoppable like a bolder rolling down hill, steals your breath.

In the wrong way.

“S-stop.” You freeze, immobilized, muscles turned from molten lava to stone, eyes wide, lungs rasping. Simon immediately creates distance, while Johnny jerks backward, palm steady on your shoulder, but separated otherwise.

“Ye’re alright, bunny.”

“Take a breath.” Simon coaches, maintaining eye contact, and you nod shakily, anchoring yourself to Johnny’s tender hold. You manage a breath, not so far gone you’re spiraling, and it’s deep, without a hitch or a studder. “That’s great. You’ve got it.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, disappointed. You’ve let yourself down, let them down-

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He murmurs, understanding and slow. “We’re done. There’s no rush.”

“No!” You blurt. He raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, I just… I don’t want it to end I’m just not sure I can… do it.” His head tilts, surprise contained with a slow smile, and Johnny hums.

“Do ye wantae watch, pretty girl?” You nod shyly.

“Is that… is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay.” Simon rasps, stroking your cheek. “Sit up against the headboard.”

The two of them move into position seamlessly, sweat and breath thick in the air, a wet fog blanketed around you. A bottle of lube discarded on the mattress, a pillow under Johnny’s hip to cushion him. He’s settled on his side, arranged carefully to avoid pressure on his injuries, and they both face you.

Simon kisses his neck, sucking urgent marks into his skin before he palms Johnny's ass, hard and then slips between his cheeks. You’re unable to see his hand, but when Johnny’s eyes go wide and he groans hoarsely, your clit throbs.

“There you go.”

“Simon.” He whines, high pitched and needy.

“Bloody tight, Johnny. Been so long since I’ve taken care of you, huh?”

“A- fuck, aye.” He presses backwards into Simon, and pants. The scene makes you drool, the eagerness on Johnny’s face, the slow movements of Simon at his back, his lips against Johnny’s cheek, neck, murmuring gently. You’re nearly shivering, ache screaming between your legs, and instinct takes over as your slip your hand inside your underwear. You’re slick, so wet it dampens your curls, and your fingertips slide over your clit, zaps of electricity echoing through your nerve endings.

Simon looks up at you through heavy lids, mouth obscured by Johnny’s shoulder. “Are you touching yourself sweetheart?” You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid it will come out a garbled mess. “You want to come when I fill our boy up?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Keep going.’ He orders, and then shifts, pressing his cock to Johnny’s entrance. Johnny moans, and your own hips jerk.

Simon pushes slowly, focused on Johnny’s face, cataloging every expression. “Y’alright?” Johnny nods, lip tucked into his teeth. “Christ. You’re strangling me.” He thrusts sharply, sealing his hips to the soft curves in front of him, and Johnny cries out in a high-pitched wail, eyes slamming shut. He fumbles with his cock, squeezing at the root, but Simon pulls him away. “Not yet, sweet boy. Need you to last for us.” You’re trapped in a shockwave that hasn’t quite reached shore yet, tension building with each swipe over your sensitive bud.

“Bunny…” Johnny rasps, and your apprehensions wane.

“Does it feel good?” you whine, and he nods, groaning. Simon builds his thrusts into an unrelenting pace and cups Johnny’s belly, stroking down, pushing against the strain of muscle there, Johnny’s eyes rolling into the back of head. You wonder if Simon can feel it, the pressure, the bulge of his hard cock, shoving deeper and deeper.

“Daddy-“ Johnny shrieks, and Simon’s mouth curls into a satisfied smirk.

“That’s right, good boy. Fuck… perfect little hole f’me. All mine.” He practically growls it, and you writhe, flicking down your pussy and back up, breathing hitching in a frantic pace. Johnny’s delirious, hands scrambling across the sheets, half reaching for you, half reaching for nothing. “Isn’t he perfect, bunny?”

“Ah- yeah.” Your tongue is numb, body burning. Sweat slicks down the middle of your back, and you ride your hand violently.

“Please.” He’s begging, frenzied, fingers twisting, and Simon reaches for his cock, wrapping his fist around his length. It doesn’t take long until Johnny’s back bows, and your toes curl. You hiss. They move together wildly now, a push pull in a frenetic dance, and your eyes slip closed, sinking into the slick sounds of Simon fucking Johnny open, Johnny moaning, whispers passed back and forth. Simon cups his jaw, tilting his face towards you, and they both watch, drifting from your eyes down to where you’re trying to make yourself come, clit swollen and throbbing.

“She’s such a good girl, isn’t she? Touchin’ herself, watching you take my cock.”

“Pretty girl.” Johnny slurs through his gasps, body shaking with the power of Simon’s thrusts. He’s close, judging by the fevered look on his face, little gasps and whines tumbling from his mouth. Simon squeezes him, thick thumb rubbing over his slit.

“Come, bunny. Be good for daddy.” Simon coaches, and you tighten, cosmic explosion streaking behind your closed lids, the same time Simon grits out something under his breath, jaw tight, tugging relentlessly on Johnny’s cock until he’s crying out too, cum splattering up his belly and chest, Simon milking every last drop from his cock as he lazily strokes inside him.

Immediately, you gasp. Shocked at yourself, but not scared. Not nervous just… emboldened.

They both read it on you, and Johnny’s head lolls with a satisfied, lazy smile. Simon pulls free, rubbing Johnny’s hip sweetly, ducking into the bathroom to get a towel. He cleans him up carefully, gently, and Johnny’ reaches for your hand. You don’t turn away.

And when Simon urges you to tuck in between them for sleep, you do. More than willingly.

“He looks good.” Hot tea wafts from the cup in front of your nose. You’re on break, somewhat, watching Johnny work through his last few minutes of physical therapy, his face broken out in satisfied smile. His biceps flex. “Really good.”

“He’s been workin’ out at home, a bit. In the garage.”

“He shouldn’t be pushing it.”

“I know.” Simon squeezes your good shoulder. “He’s okay, bun. He’s strong. A bit too stubborn for his own good sometimes, but strong.”

“Dada.” Penny smacks an open palm against Simon’s chest, and he covers it with his own, bouncing her slightly.

“Look, Pen. Is that your Da in there? Is that him?” The therapist smiles at Johnny and pats him on the back, rubs his shoulder down to his elbow with wandering fingers. She’s pretty, and fit, tight ass, tiny hips. A sliver of self-doubt, self-consciousness pokes at you, and then jealousy nearly turns you green. Simon cocks his head with a laugh. “Easy, bun. She’s just doing her job, you know.”

“What? I know that. I’m fine.” You immediately blurt, and it does nothing for your cause.

“It’s cute. That you’re jealous.”

“I’m not,” you roll your eyes, “whatever.” He chuckles, and then starts to pass Penny to you.

“Can you hold her while I help him get his stuff together?”

“Sure, c’mere girlfriend.” You tuck her up into your chest, playing with her hair as she curls into you. “Sleepy huh? It’s past your nap time. I bet Dada keeps you up for an early bedtime tonight.” She coos. Her fingers tighten in the collar of your shirt.

And then a freight train rams itself in the deepest parts of your heart.

You lean against the wall to keep your balance.

This is not your baby, but she feels like yours. Her weight is familiar now. Her routines. Her signs and sounds.

It’s easy to close your eyes and imagine she’s yours.

It’s been days since you touched yourself in bed as Johnny and Simon had sex, and the scene, the desire, is burrowing itself in your brain.

You want more.

You want more so badly you wind up touching yourself in the shower, fingers stroking your clit until you're muffling a moan in your elbow when you come.

It doesn’t soothe the ache. You’re not sure what will.

So, when you’re done, and find them relaxing in bed, Johnny in boxers, an idea abruptly runs through your head.

Could you?

Your fingers twiddle with the hem of your shirt.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” Simon raises an eyebrow. Johnny stops his sketching to smile.

“I um. I wanted to… see… or ask for something.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I just… I was wondering if I could… sit on you.”

“Sit on us?” Simon’s brow furrows, but Johnny’s face lights up.

“Like, ye wannae sit on one of us?” He emphasizes the word sit, and Simon murmurs.

“Ah.”

“I just… I really want to… I want to move on.” The words take you by surprise. “I want to feel like a human again, like how I used to feel. Before I was like this. I think…”

“Taking back control of your body will bring you closer to healing.” Johnny looks at Simon, and there’s desperate sadness in their eyes. Their hands intertwine, gripping onto each other so hard it looks like it hurts.

The moment passes, gone like it was never there in the first place. Johnny turns back to you.

“Ye’ll have to sit on me, pretty girl.”

“But... your hip.”

“I can take it.” You nod. Not that you prefer one to the other, but you’re curious.

“Is there a reason why…”

“I’m too big, bunny. Especially if it’s been a while for you. We’ll need to ease you into it.” Johnny smirks, and you hide an excited shiver.

“Okay.”

You stretch yourself out with your own fingers at first, the process made easier by your orgasm in the shower, all the while both Simon and Johnny encourage you, coo at you, praise you.

You stay present. Focused.

“Take it slow,” Simon coaches when you straddle Johnny’s hips, “don’t rush it. Just take your time.” Hands on his shoulders, Simon reaches for his cock, sliding it through your lips, brushing your clit before angling it at your entrance. You take a deep breath.

“Okay.”

The first inch makes you whine. Johnny’s fingertips draw circles up and down your spine, his lips in your ear. “Good job, pretty girl. Just like that. Nice and easy.” Your eyes slip closed, and you take more, sliding down his cock, the burn of the stretch smarting tears in your eyes. Simon wipes them away.

“Our brave girl. You’re doing so well. Feel okay so far?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Ye alright? Does it hurt?”

“A little.” You wince, taking another inch, glancing down. Your equilibrium pitches.

“Look at me.” Johnny redirects, head tilted back on a pile of pillows. “Jus’ look at me, bunny. You’re safe. I’ve got ye.” His hands guide your hips, keeping your pace even and slow, careful. Even when the anxiety invades your control, he steadies you. “It’s us, just us. We’re here, bunny. You’re okay.” The ache, the open sore spot spilling sticky, blackened tar, seals up. It's zippered shut, away from you, packed tight for another day. Another moment. The only thing you need to focus on is here, and now. With them. Johnny's jaw clenches. “Christ Si. She’s really tight.”

“I know.” He pushes some of Johnny’s hair from his forehead. “You’re both being so good. I’m proud of you.” The praise, the warmth from the both of him, glows in your heart. You’ve never felt so safe, so cherished, in your life. Again and again, they surprise you, teaching you how things you used to dread or shy away from can be enjoyed, valued.

This is how it should be. Love without fear. Intimacy without fear.

You’re fully split open on Johnny, stuffed full. It’s tender, calm in the low light of the bedroom, almost cozy. His thighs blaze under your ass, and the heat creeps like lava to your fingers and toes, turning you boneless, languid in his arms. Simon leans in to kiss your temple.

“How do you feel?”

“R-really full.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No just… stretched, I think?” You wiggle a little bit, and Johnny finally breaks eye contact, looking up at the ceiling with a groan.

“Try to be still bunny. We just want to get you used to the feeling. This isn’t about sex.” Simon's last comment earns Johnny a warning glance, and he nods, straightening.

“Right. Even though your perfect little pussy is drivin’ me mad-“

“Johnny.” Simon chides. “Bunny, can you lean forward for me?” His hand presses to the middle of the back, guiding you to rest your cheek on Johnny’s shoulder. “Good girl.”

The room lapses into silence that lasts, rhythm of your chest rising and falling syncing with Johnny’s, Simon humming, working a hand up and down your spine.

Up and down. Up and down.

You think you could do it now. Roll your hips and rise on your knees, sink back down to feel the pressure, the bludgeoning tip of Johnny’s long cock nestled at your cervix. You’re not sure, not confident, but somewhere in your dreams, you picture yourself milking him dry, riding his cock until you’re shattering.

“Si.” Johnny’s voice pitches to something you’ve never heard, low and heavily accented. “Will ye read?” Pages of a book flutter. You hadn’t realized your eyes had closed, but as Simon’s voice picks up a page with no pretense, you don’t fight it, allowing yourself to drift between them, cradled on Johnny’s body with a piece of him pulsing inside you.

It’s bliss. It’s love. You’re…. happy.

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fans4wga · 1 year ago

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"The studios thought they could handle a strike. They might end up sparking a revolution"

by Mary McNamara

"If you want to start a revolution, tell your workers you’d rather see them lose their homes than offer them fair wages. Then lecture them about how their “unrealistic” demands are “disruptive” to the industry, not to mention disturbing your revels at Versailles, er, Sun Valley.

Honestly, watching the studios turn one strike into two makes you wonder whether any of their executives have ever seen a movie or watched a television show. Scenes of rich overlords sipping Champagne and acting irritated while the crowd howls for bread rarely end well for the Champagne sippers.

This spring, it sometimes seemed like the Hollywood studios represented by the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers were actively itching for a writers’ strike. Speculations about why, exactly, ran the gamut: Perhaps it would save a little money in the short run and show the Writers Guild of America (perceived as cocky after its recent ability to force agents out of the packaging business) who’s boss.

More obviously, it might secure the least costly compromise on issues like residuals payments and transparency about viewership.

But the 20,000 members of the WGA are not the only people who, having had their lives and livelihoods upended by the streaming model, want fair pay and assurances about the use of artificial intelligence, among other sticking points. The 160,000 members of the Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists share many of the writers’ concerns. And recent unforced errors by studio executives, named and anonymous, have suddenly transformed a fight the studios were spoiling for into a public relations war they cannot win.

Even as SAG-AFTRA representatives were seeing a majority of their demands rejected despite a nearly unanimous strike vote, a Deadline story quoted unnamed executives detailing a strategy to bleed striking writers until they come crawling back.

Days later, when an actors’ strike seemed imminent, Disney Chief Executive Bob Iger took time away from the Sun Valley Conference in Idaho not to offer compromise but to lecture. He told CNBC’s David Faber that the unions’ refusal to help out the studios by taking a lesser deal is “very disturbing to me.”

“There’s a level of expectation that they have that is just not realistic,” Iger said. “And they are adding to the set of the challenges that this business is already facing that is, quite frankly, very disruptive.”

If Iger thought his attempt to exec-splain the situation would make actors think twice about walking out, he was very much mistaken. Instead, he handed SAG-AFTRA President Fran Drescher the perfect opportunity for the kind of speech usually shouted atop the barricades.

“We are the victims here,” she said Thursday, marking the start of the actors’ strike. “We are being victimized by a very greedy entity. I am shocked by the way the people that we have been in business with are treating us. I cannot believe it, quite frankly: How far apart we are on so many things. How they plead poverty, that they’re losing money left and right, when giving hundreds of millions of dollars to their CEOs. It is disgusting. Shame on them. They stand on the wrong side of history at this very moment.”

Cue the cascading strings of “Les Mis,” bolstered by images of the most famous people on the planet walking out in solidarity: the cast of “Oppenheimer” leaving the film’s London premiere; the writers and cast of “The X-Files” reuniting on the picket line.

A few days later, Barry Diller, chairman and senior executive of IAC and Expedia Group and a former Hollywood studio chief, suggested that studio executives and top-earning actors take a 25% pay cut to bring a quick end to the strikes and help prevent “the collapse of the entire industry.”

When Diller is telling executives to take a pay cut to avoid destroying their industry, it is no longer a strike, or even two strikes. It is a last-ditch attempt to prevent le déluge.

Yes, during the 2007-08 writers’ strike, picketers yelled noncomplimentary things at executives as they entered their respective lots. (“What you earnin’, Chernin?” was popular at Fox, where Peter Chernin was chairman and chief executive.) But that was before social media made everything more immediate, incendiary and personal. (Even if they have never seen a movie or TV show, one would think that people heading up media companies would understand how media actually work.)

Even at the most heated moments of the last writers’ strike, executives like Chernin and Iger were seen as people who could be reasoned with — in part because most of the executives were running studios, not conglomerations, but mostly because the pay gap between executives and workers, in Hollywood and across the country, had not yet widened to the reprehensible chasm it has since.

Now, the massive eight- and nine-figure salaries of studio heads alongside photos of pitiably small residual checks are paraded across legacy and social media like historical illustrations of monarchs growing fat as their people starve. Proof that, no matter how loudly the studios claim otherwise, there is plenty of money to go around.

Topping that list is Warner Bros. Discovery Chief Executive Davd Zaslav. Having re-named HBO Max just Max and made cuts to the beloved Turner Classic Movies, among other unpopular moves, Zaslav has become a symbol of the cold-hearted, highly compensated executive that the writers and actors are railing against.

The ferocious criticism of individual executives’ salaries has placed Hollywood’s labor conflict at the center of the conversation about growing wealth disparities in the U.S., which stokes, if not causes, much of this country’s political divisions. It also strengthens the solidarity among the WGA and SAG-AFTRA and with other groups, from hotel workers to UPS employees, in the midst of disputes during what’s been called a “hot labor summer.”

Unfortunately, the heightened antagonism between studio executives and union members also appears to leave little room for the kind of one-on-one negotiation that helped end the 2007-08 writers’ strike. Iger’s provocative statement, and the backlash it provoked, would seem to eliminate him as a potential elder statesman who could work with both sides to help broker a deal.

Absent Diller and his “cut your damn salaries” plan, there are few Hollywood figures with the kind of experience, reputation and relationships to fill the vacuum.

At this point, the only real solution has been offered by actor Mark Ruffalo, who recently suggested that workers seize the means of production by getting back into the indie business, which is difficult to imagine and not much help for those working in television.

It’s the AMPTP that needs to heed Iger’s admonishment. At a time when the entertainment industry is going through so much disruption, two strikes is the last thing anyone needs, especially when the solution is so simple. If the studios don’t want a full-blown revolution on their hands, they’d be smart to give members of the WGA and SAG-AFTRA contracts they can live with."

#sag-aftra strike #sag strike #fans4wga #writers guild strike #actors guild strike #union solidarity #wga strong #i stand with the wga #wga strike #writers strike

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kookslastbutton · 1 year ago

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Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | ch. i

✑ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, slight actor!taehyung x ceo!reader

genre/AU: angst, smut, loverstoexesto ?, unrequited love

word count: 3,328

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, mention of gossip columns and unequal treatment of how oc is portrayed post-divorce, hint of differences between men and women in the business world, oc struggling to be professional, both care about each other and are not toxic but oc fell in love, oc has the need to groom him a little out of habit, talks about Bam, feat, Namjoon and Taehyung, and sexual content

sexual warnings: dom!jungkook, sub!reader, desk s*x, d*rty talk, oc is on bc, handjob, swearing, making out, neck kisses, clothed s*x, impulsive s*x, light praising, growling, some minor petnames (baby, Kook), mention of threesome, recalling of past sexual events

playing: Unkiss Me

a/n: uh…this one has been in my drafts and idk its kinda angsty but I decided I will share it. Enjoy! 🥰

series masterlist | next >>

From the moment he stepped into your office, Jungkook could tell every ounce of color was drained from your face. All except for your puffy red eyes that is, which he knows you've been rubbing fervently to keep your tears from rolling down your cheeks.

He doesn't blame you for it though–you're his ex-wife.

Recent ex-wife that is.

For three years the two of you masqueraded as the perfect power couple; appearing completely in love to the public eye in hopes of forming an unshakable business partnership (transaction more like). You attended charity balls together, collaborated on several work projects, and attended countless corporate functions to establish both your presence in your respective industries.

That's right, you and Jungkook were in an arranged marriage and it would have flourished into a classic love story if it wasn't for one obvious detail–you're the only one that fell in love.

Despite all the times he's called you "stunning" when you dolled up for formal events or that you "feel so good" during late-night sex, Jungkook never truly loved you. He cared about you, did his best not to intentionally hurt you, and even tried loving you back; thinking he could fall for you with time.

But the most he could ever see you as is a friend, a beautiful friend, though a friend nonetheless. He knows how much it pains you, especially after you've held out hope that he'll want you the same way someday. This one embarrasses you the most which he wishes it wouldn't.

Well, Jungkook doesn't want to trap either of you in a loveless marriage any longer. So even if it means being the center of gossip columns for a while, he's giving you a divorce so you can find the right person to share your love with.

After all, you deserve it; you both do.

Today's day one of looking at one another as exes and it's bittersweet, to say the least. The only factor that would make this worse is if children were in the equation, but there aren't any.

"Thanks for letting me swing by __," he speaks first, doing his best to conjure up a genuine smile. The black floral button-up he's wearing suits him well and his smooth chest peaking out near the collar is far too tempting, yet you know better than to let your eyes linger.

"Of course," you answer and grab a small box from behind your desk. "These are 100% yours so I wouldn't keep them from you." Jungkook takes the box of belongings from your hands with slight hesitation. You're keeping a brave front for the sake of civility and professionalism.

He doesn't blame you for that either.

As a CEO of a large multinational corporation himself, Jungkook's no stranger to the age-old philosophy that that office is no place to let your personal woes get out of hand; you have a team to lead and a reputation to uphold. The latter is proving to be harder for you than him, however, being that the media is portraying you as some kind of she-devil, spinster, or worse of all—a cheater.

Jungkook plans to personally make sure those articles get removed from the public eye before the end of the week. (Not that he'll tell you though.)

"I still could have dropped by the house to pick these up if it'd been easier. I feel bad for interrupting your work day over a couple of old books, records, and dog toys." He watches you nod silently as he vocalizes the inconvenience of it all; he really doesn't have to but he does it anyway.

"No, it's alright. You haven't been to the house since you moved out, so I thought it'd be better if we met here instead." You pause to check the time. "If there's anything you think of that you might've forgotten later, just let me know. In the meantime, I have a meeting in twenty so..."

"He misses you."

"I'm sorry?"

"Bam, I mean." Jungkook throws the box under an arm and pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his camera gallery until he gets to one particular photo of a red and tan Doberman. "He hates the new place and all he does is sulk by the door."

Your heart's already struggling to settle down from the painful reality that the man you love is leaving you, let alone being reminded of another forced separation. Bam's the closest thing to a baby that either of you ever had and he was one of the few things that bonded you and your now ex-husband together.

Being Jungkook's dog, however, he couldn't stay with you. That means no more visiting the dog park, sneaking treats behind Jungkook's back, and snuggling together in the king-size bed after a stressful day.

"I'm sure he just wants his favorite chew toy that's been held hostage at the house," you joke lightly, thinking it simpler to spin the topic. It's similar to what Jungkook does when he uses flowery language to soften the cold hard truth of your divorce; that he doesn't love you and he can't ever. "Give Bam a lot of attention for me. I miss him too."

"Of cour—shit!" When Jungkook moves to slip his phone back into his pocket he loses his balance, causing the box with his belongings to spill out on your office floor. Naturally, you kneel down to help him clean up the mess. It's not until your fingers reach for the same item and come into contact with each other that you quickly retract your hand. "Sorry, did I shock you?" He asks gently and tosses the last item into the box before standing up.

"No, you didn't." You rise to your feet as well, until you're face to face with him. This time it's closer than before. His hooded eyes stare straight into yours and you can't believe it takes being inches from his face to notice how bloodshot his eyes are. "You look exhausted. You should go home and rest Kook." The petname is out before your brain tells you to stop.

Jungkook's eyes widen, the corner of his lip subtly quirking up for the first time since the start of the conversation. "Don't worry about me __. I probably get more breaks than you do. But thanks." He briefly glances at the ticking Snoopy clock behind you, a Christmas gift he gave you as a joke last year. "You still have that?"

You look over your shoulder at the small, Snoopy-shaped digital clock on your desk. Ten minutes until your next meeting. "It's cute and it makes for a great conversation starter with clients so I guess so. If you want me to give it ba—"

"Keep it," he interrupts. "Please, it was a gift and I'd like you to have it if you enjoy it." Jungkook gnaws on his lip before continuing. "Speaking of clients and business partners, I should make myself scarce now shouldn't I?"

"Yes. I do have that meeting soon." But once he leaves, neither of you is sure when you'll see the other again aside from the odd charity event. The Annual Winter Gala in December is one that particularly comes to mind.

Most high-ranking executives like yourselves attend the function to keep up appearances and to network with other professionals. Last year, you and Jungkook were the center of attention however now that you're divorced, you fear you'll be avoided like the plague—they always preferred Jungkook over you anyway.

"You're forming a new partnership with that actor, right? Kim Taehyung? I read an inkling about it online yesterday." He also read his whole biography too. The man is equally handsome as he is altruistic and kind.

"Nothing's signed and sealed yet. I'm sure you've heard that he's gotten dozens of other offers on the table. To be honest, I'm surprised you haven't nabbed him yet."

"Yeah, we don't need...wait sorry, let me rephrase that. We aren't ready for a new partner or merger yet."

You can read between the lines despite Jungkook's correction. His company is thriving more than yours in every way, so he doesn't need the help of a third-party endorser...like you. Well, you're not doing too shabby yourself and this isn't simply about fame and fortune you want to argue.

The head poking through your door stops you from following through on that last line.

"Mrs. Jeon—shit." Your secretary Kim Namjoon screws his eyes shut at his drastic misstep. "Ms. __, Kim Taehyung called and said he'll be a bit late due to unexpected delays during his filming today. He apologizes profusely but is on his way over now. Sajangnim," he bows at Jungkook respectively.

"That's fine, Namjoon, thank you. You can send him in whenever he gets here. Mr. Jeon was just about to leave and I had the rest of my day cleared."

"Of course. I'll let him know to come in." Your secretary nods and shuts the door. Jungkook shifts between his feet once Namjoon is out of sight, a habit he's picked up that tells you he has more to say.

"Was there anything else, Mr. Jeon?" You shuffle a few files on your desk, prepping for your meeting with Taehyung. At this point, you're not even looking at Jungkook.

"Mr. Jeon? I think I prefer when you call me Kook more," he mutters, allowing his line of sight to catch a glimpse of your lips. "Can I...kiss you? Before I go."

The question knocks the wind out of your lungs and you instantly lift your head up toward him. "Kiss me?" You gulp slowly, then shake your head. "No, I'd rather we not. Goodbye kisses aren't really my thing." You couldn't be a bigger liar, evident from the sudden churning in your gut. Having Jungkook's lips on yours was the best and worst moments of your entire relationship but you have to fight yourself....your innate desires that tell you to say yes.

"Okay, I understand. What about a hug?"

"Jungkook..."

"I'm sorry, I'm pushing. Thanks again for my stuff." He gestures at the box under his arm. "I hope your meeting with Kim Taehyung goes well. Maybe I'll see you both at the next Winter Gala." He makes a beeline for the door.

"Wait!"

Jungkook stills in his tracks as he watches you stride in front of him. He's unsure what you stopped him for until your hands reach out towards his shirt collar, smoothing the delicate material down. A light smile plays on his face as you do this, though he says nothing aside from a simple 'thanks'.

"It was bothering me the whole time." You finish fixing his collar and peer up into his Bambi eyes. Out of all the potential suitors, you wish Jeon Jungkook didn't become your husband. It's not like you got to keep him or anything.

Jungkook once again flickers his gaze toward your barely parted lips. And this time, you do the same for him. Before either of you have time to back out you lean forward and kiss him.

It's a hard kiss too. Painful but so inviting that neither of you pulls away.

With his free hand, Jungkook snakes a hand around your waist to hug you close. Having his fingers pressed against the small of your back is so familiar and all you can do is deepen the kiss.

You're obviously not the only one that gets a sense of pleasure from this because, in a matter of seconds, the box from under Jungkook's arm falls to the ground. He then places his second hand on the side of your neck and jawline which you lean into, exposing the other side of your neck.

"Jungkook," you gasp when his lips attach themself to the soft skin, sucking lightly. His teeth come out and nip too. "Wait, we can't do this, we shouldn't. Taehyung, he'll be here soon."

"That would have sounded so convincing if you didn't just moan the words, baby." He walks you backward until you're forced to sit atop your mahogany desk.

"Don't call me that." You allow him to push up your pencil skirt and spread your thighs until your panties are the only material he sees. You decided to go with black lace today, his favorite now that you think about it.

"Did you—"

"No, they weren't for you."

A brief growl leaves the man's rose-tinted lips. "In that case, we don't need them." He places both hands on your hips and brings you into another kiss, messier than before. His tongue shoves between the seam of your lips to lick every crevasse he can. He hasn't kissed you like this for months and to be brutally honest, he's missed it as much as you.

Jungkook hasn't been with anyone else since marrying you either, which means he's completely adjusted to your body, your preferences, and what turns you on. The same applies to you so while he's busy shoving his tongue down your throat, you palm his half-harden bulge through his trousers.

"Mm," he groans and bucks his hips into your hand. You smile at how well you've managed to draw a response from him. With a little burst of confidence, you hastily move to unbuckle his pants. "What are you doing?" He mumbles between kisses.

You decide not to answer, preferring to reach inside his trousers to take his length out. You make sure to pump it a few times until he's fully hard. Jungkook has a gorgeous dick, and that takes a lot for you to admit.

"Fuck, that's it." He says with gritted teeth, now watching your hand as it moves up and down his cock. "Get me how you want me."

"We don't have much time." You slide your panties down your legs and spread your thighs wide apart, which makes Jungkook's eyes dilate about 10 meters. "Fuck me, please." One last time. Make love to me one last time.

"Are you sure? I don't have a condom."

"It's okay, I'm on birth control. As long as you're still clean then its fine."

"I am. I got tested recently. But are you sure you want this?"

You glance at his pulsating length, tip leaking with pre-cum, and swallow hard. "Hurry."

"Fuck, okay." Jungkook wastes not another second and guides you flat on your back, his hands resting on either side of your body. The coolness of your desk has you shiver slightly. He then urges you to raise your legs until they can wrap loosely around his slim waist. And as if second nature, you link your arms around his neck as he eases him into you. He's able to bottom out without much effort thanks to how wet you've become.

"Oh god." Your back arches off the surface of your desk as Jungkook thrusts into you. They're only practice thrusts at first to get you re-adjusted to his size, yet the pleasure zipping down your spine already has your eyes rolling up.

You shouldn't be doing this at all. Your conscious whispers to again to which you blindly dismiss. You'll enjoy it now and tomorrow, start a new—another lie you tell yourself.

"Fuckfuckfuck, you're so wonderful for me," he chants while pushing his cock in and out of you, the speed of his movements picking up to an insane rate. Jungkook never had an issue with quickies so he's likely in his element now. "You know what this reminds me of?" He cocks a smirk and kisses down your neck.

"Hm?"

"That time when we were abroad for a weekend conference. Remember when we stopped at my second office to pick up some files? You were so horny that day that you pushed me into my chair and demanded that I let you ride me. It took the wind right out of my sails to see you like that, so confident and in control." He prys apart the top button of your blouse until he can slide the material down your shoulders. He doesn't take it off completely, favoring the chance to place kisses on your newly exposed area instead.

"I was beyond stressed that day. It was the first time I had to speak at that conference and you looked so good with your freshly slicked back hair. I couldn't stop myself—oh fuck! Right there Kook, don't slow down. Please." Jungkook grunts at the use of his petname and fucks you rougher, sweat forming around his forehead as his dark hair dangles messily over his eyes.

You manage to sneak a glance at the time on your Snoopy clock between thrusts. "Shit, I need to come soon, or Kim Taehyung's never going to agree to do business with me." The man laughs and buries his head on your shoulder.

"You never know, he could be really into threesomes."

"Fuck! Don't joke about that." You claw at his back and surprise both of you with the unexpected clenching of your pussy.

"You're right, I take it back," he groans and continues to snap his hips. "Looks like he's not the one who wants a threesome after all, considering your body's response to the suggestion. You wanna ask him if he walks in?" He whispers in your ear and you're embarrassed that your cheeks burn at the thought.

Of course, Kim Taehyung was sexy and you've rehearsed to yourself dozens of times not to let yourself get any crazy ideas about him. Still, one unrequited love is enough for you; Taehyung wouldn't want a divorcee. You shake the train of thought before it has time to go any further. "Make me come, Kook. Need you to finish too. It's not just Taehyung who could walk in at any second."

Jungkook grunts and continues to thrust into you, bouncing you up and down his thick length as the desk shakes underneath you. He feels you getting closer and closer by the sporadic clenching of your walls squeezing him. A big part of him doesn't want this to end but it has to....he doesn't love you. He only wants to make you feel good before he has to say goodbye. Both of you come just before Namjoon calls your office phone, giving you a heads-up that Taehyung's about to enter your office.

Jungkook shoves his pants back on while you button up your blouse and fold over your skirt. You decided to shove your underwear in your bag with the lack of time. No one has any business digging in there anyway.

"How do I look?" You turn around to get a quick once-over from Jungkook but he's already out the door. Now the person standing in front of you is Kim Taehyung who has nothing but the most genuine smile.

"You look lovely as always Ms. __. I'm so sorry I'm late by the way. I feel terrible about it so I brought you these." Taehyung whips out a large bouquet of your favorite flowers. "Hope you don't mind that I did a little research on you ahead of time. I found out these have a special place in your heart."

You smile and accept the bouquet with thanks. As you set them on your desk, a messages comes through your phone. You manage to give a quick look.

Unknown Number: Sorry I had to duck so fast! I know it looked rude but Taehyung was already opening the door and you were dressed so I thought it'd be better if I left. Hope you're meeting goes well! And thanks for everything today ;) if you need anything, you have my number.

You flip your phone over and invite Taehyung to have a seat. Business is business, and you have to carry on even if your heart has completely sunk to the ground. Kim Taehyung is sweet anyway, so you'll enjoy his company.

Too bad you don't realize how much he enjoys yours as well.

a/n: so, yeah... there's a potential for our Jk to actually love oc and not realize it but either way he does care about her (despite the impulsive sex). And yes, taehyung likes oc... it's like a double unrequited love 😔 okay bye lmk what you think, thank you! 😘

Also, lmk what you think about jk in this poll!

masterlist

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

#jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook imagines #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts au #bts imagines #bts fanfics #bts x reader #fic:guiltypleasures #kookslastbutton

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gladiatorcunt · 6 months ago

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🎾 - #LOVE ON THE FLOOR !!

cw: unrealistic public sex on a tennis court 💀 (it’s nighttime and no one else is there), college era, afab reader, gross friends to lovers, strip tennis, soft dom!art x inexperienced!reader, vaginal fingering + titfucking + brief analingus (afab reader receiving), implied (soft) obsession & toxicity like art would marry you tomorrow, teasing (towards reader), nipple sucking (m receiving), art putting in overtime to hit on oblivious!reader, reader is so comically unaware pls just roll with it and suspend your disbelief, mandatory Patrick™️ mention, 3.5k of pure need, art’s so horny in this like 😔 (+subtle implications of him either being a manwhore or a porn addict, as a little treat), lowkey canon typical mind games, unedited

this was requested by a bot looking blog that i had to block but the idea still slapped! combined with an ask for inexperienced reader

Art Donaldson sees your instagram story that’s only a repost of a Ethel Cain song and tries not to click his heels together. It’s not like he’s happy you’re clearly going through something, but if the story is a result of what he thinks it’s a result of… then he’ll comfort you through it however he can. With his words, his tongue, babying you in the bath and washing your hair, etc. Just getting to be intimate with you at all is an opportunity he’d never turn down.

Suddenly you’re bursting into Art’s dorm like a bat out of hell, tears dotting your waterline and lower lip wobbling. His heart lurches and leaps in equal measures, his backwards cap feels like it constricts around his head as he resists the urge to fidget with it.

“He… he didn’t show up!”

Art shoots up and gets off his bed, rushing to you and rubbing his hands up and down your arms, “What are you talking about?”

He gives you a lingering hug and passes you some of your favorite fast food that he always keeps in the little fridge in his dorm. Somehow knowing that it’d be just what the doctor ordered, you’re so lucky to have such a caring friend. You two haven’t left each other’s side since you bumped him on the first day of class, bringing a clice to life by spilling your coffee all over his polo. Sometimes you still lie awake at night and cringe at yourself, trying to assure yourself that he’s stuck around your awkward ass for a reason.

You’re hiccuping through your story while munching on your chicken sandwich, “Mark acted so exicted yesterday, and now he’s stood me up. I waited in front of the café for an hour, people were staring…”

Art eyes you from his position on the bed, crowding against you due to the size and having half of his torso glued to your back. He doesn’t giggle at the adorable way you get frustrated when the pickle in your sandwich always slides out in between your teeth during a bite, but he thought about it! He reaches up and brushes his fingers against your hair, wanting to just touch it more than move it.

“I don’t know what to tell you, he’s an idiot and you’ll move on. It’s not like he’s the only person in the world.” He grumbles, not quite pouting as he hooks his chin on your shoulder.

“Okay now you’re just grumpy because I beat you at uno.” You tease, gesturing to the scattered pile of brightly colored cards on the bed.

He’s definitely made you feel better though, he always does. You both finish your food and Art stands up from the bed to grab his tennis bag. He pulls you up too and winks, saying that you can’t beat him at everything. You ask what he’s doing and he only grins, telling you to come with him. You nervously glance around as you’re pulled to race through the halls to the court. There’s a simmering feeling weaving in and out of your tightly intertwined fingers.

divider

Art lets go of your hand to drop his bag on the ground, leaving your palm feeling strangely cold without his warmth.

You’re still not sure you should even be out here, you know that you’re definitely not allowed but Art seems to sense your hesitation because he rushes towards you and cups your hands in his.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re not gonna get in trouble or anything, y’know that?” He chuckles, gently knocking the tip of his nose against yours. “Look up for me, the moon’s really pretty tonight.”

You follow his lead and tilt your head back to gaze up at the goregous crescent moon high in the oil colored sky. You don’t notice that he’s looking at you instead, that he doesn’t say that the moon reminds him of you but he feels like the one orbiting around you instead of the other way around. Luckily there’s not a cloud in sight, just a floating city of stars with a glowing center. Art lightly pulls on your wrists, clearly wanting your attention back on him, so you comply.

You’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you don’t miss the odd glint in his eyes as he narrows them slightly.

His eyelids crinkle as he smiles charmingly, “Don’t you trust me?”

You answer with your heart, “Yes, of course I do.”

He beams at you and explains the rule of the game he dragged you all the way out here to play. It’s just like a regular game of tennis so you really shouldn’t sweat it, he says. His expression shifts when he makes a show out of being unable to look you in the eye when he tells you the special rules, knowing full well you can see him try to tamper down a self satisfied laugh. Whoever scores gets to pick whatever piece of clothing the other takes off, and the loser of the game has to get completely naked if they aren’t already.

Your cheeks warm and you gawk at him, “Isn’t it weird that you’ll see me… like that?”

“So you already know you’re gonna lose, huh? And it’s not like i haven’t seen most of it before.” Art laughs, not bothering to hide the blush on his face. “You’ve seen all of me, anyway.”

It’s true, you usually laze around in nothing but your underwear and that’s been the norm for you two. Art’s no different, he’ll change in front of you and will literally walk around butt naked around your dorm. More often than not, he’ll answer the door in only a towel around his waist and sitting on his hip bones, no matter if it’s one of your other friends or a project partner. You're constantly having to text the other because you forgot that you left your toothbrush behind. You’ve never had a chance to be embarrassed by it. It’s been like that for the longest time and anytime you’ll tell Art that your friends keep asking if he’s your boyfriend, he’ll just reassure you that you guys are just really close. And isn’t that a good thing?

“Besides, I think this’ll help get you out of your shell.”

You’re embarrassed at the reminder of how inexperienced you are. Sure, you shouldn’t have a whole thing about it or whatever, but it just is kind of alienating from other people your age to not be able to say you’ve done what they’ve done. And you would’ve been able to have some stories of your own if you could manage to hold down a date. But tonight isn’t supposed to be about you wallowing, you’re supposed to be having fun. Even if the sight of your best friend in tight fitting sporty clothes makes your pussy throb.

divider

You giggle nervously when he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, swaying you from side to side before moving his grip up to your arms.

“Relax, i’m just checking your form. Being close to you is just a bonus.” He winks and presses his stomach up against your back.

It’s so cheesy, the situation and the pose. But you lean into his touch and pretend to care about how he’s showing you the right way to hold a racket and all that, he doesn’t even really care if he’s being honest. It’s romantic though, and he can’t resist the opportunity to get a taste of what it’d be like to pin your body down with his weight. He guides you through a few “practice” swings and then throws a two finger salute at you as he jogs around the net to his side of the court.

It’s your serve, and despite you being very much a beginner, you get the first point.

Art stands there expectantly, cocking his head to the side and bouncing on his heels in anticipation. You honestly didn’t consider that you’d actually be telling your best friend to take off his clothes for you, but you’re new thing is taking shit in stride, you guess.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” He shouts and hovers his fingers around the collar of his polo, ready for you to say the word.

You take the coward’s way out, “Your shoes.”

Art frowns but obeys the rules, swiftly unlacing his sneakers and tossing them to the side. The court’s not so rough that it’d be hell on his feet, but he’d do it for you even if it was all a bunch of jagged rocks cobbled together. The game goes on with Art scoring the next point, and then the one after that. He has you discard your necklace, one of those cheesy half heart ones that matches with one he has, and your shoes as well. He doesn’t wanna scare you off, but he knows what he wants to have you take off for him.

You score the next time, down goes his pants. Without them, few things are left to the imagination. Every time he’d walk around you naked you’d always keep your face firmly glued to your phone or something. But being faced with the very… detailed outline of his bulge through his underwear, that’s another thing entirely. It looks so long against his thigh it might as well be a third leg. There’s already a little wet spot where the tip must be.

You must’ve been taking too long to ogle him, because Art yells at you to “Focus on the game, yeah?”

You’re lucky it’s not a cold night when he gets the next point and has you take off your pants, which are really just glorified shorts. You unfasten them and shimmy them down your legs, letting them pool around your ankles and kicking them away from you. You haven’t shaved today, but you know that Art doesn’t care about that sort of thing. He’s made sure to tell you as much many times when you complain about how much your back hurts after you get done with it.

Art takes his sweet time dragging his gaze down your legs, already imagining bringing them around his waist or over his shoulders. Your panties are so cute too, cupping your pussy so closely that he can see the shapes of your puffy lips from all the way on the other side of the court, a “camel toe” or whatever you call it. He thinks it’s so hot, but you’re shy about it, asking him to see how you look in jeans that are a size too small. He always does a thorough inspection.

Whoever scores next wins the game, and you’re too busy trying not to fall on your ass to put any effort into it. It’s not a real game away, and besides, it’s not like anything has to happen when the loser completely undresses. Out of the corner of your eye you see Art’s dick twitch in his briefs and you get so distracted that you freeze and miss the neon yellow-green ball hurtling past you. Art whoops and cheers as you process the fact that you lost.

“You know what that means.” Art grins from ear to ear. “Make a show out of it for me.”

divider

You don’t even mind the staring, it’s such a common thing that you’d be more pissed off if he wasn’t looking at you at all. The way his eyes devour every inch of bare skin and drop of sweat that you earned during the game. You pull your tank top up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra and panties. Your bra isn’t a frilly thing, you wear it mainly for support, but Art can’t seem to tear himself away from the view of your pushed up tits rising and falling as you breathe.

You…. don’t know what to do now, the big appeal of the game is over, you awkwardly laugh it off and bend over to pick up your clothes. Art shakes his head to snap himself out of his horny fever dream and races over to you, latching onto your wrist and stopping you from getting dressed again.

“You’re supposed to take it all off, remember?”

You drop your clothes, noticing that he still doesn’t let you go.

Heats fills your cheeks as he steps closer, delicately sliding his fingertips up the inside of your arm and around your back. He plays with the hook of your bra, gazing down at you with a look full to brim with unknown intent and purpose. He doesn’t do something as bold as unlatching it right out the gate, no, he just stares into your soul.

“I remember.” Your eyes drop down to his lips, and that’s when you know it’s over. “Can’t exactly do it myself if you’ve already got one foot in the door.”

You’ve gotta know when to fold ‘em, and all that.

Art softly smiles and loops his fingers under your bra strap. You have to remind yourself to breathe, but you don’t really get much of a chance to. Before you can stop yourself and think with your head, you’re canting up to press your lips to his. Art immediately kisses you back, chuckling into the kiss when you gasp as he expertly unhooks your bra with one hand.

In the blink of an eye, you’re flat on your back on the court, Art having hastily thrown his shirt under you while you were tangling your tongues together. He presses an array of wet open mouthed kisses down your body, paying extra special attention to the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your mound.

“Smells so good, ‘s cute, too. It figures you’d have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He coos, dragging a lone finger down your slit before gently pushing it inside.

You gasp, wrenching your eyes shut tight at the intrusion. He takes good care of you, slowly sinking his finger in to the knuckle and sliding it in and out of you. He gradually adds more fingers as the minutes pass. Your walls throb around him, and if Art were a weaker man (like the guy you almost went out with) he would’ve said fuck it and plunged his dick into your cunt in one smooth stroke. But you deserve the best first time possible, and all the distractions he’s used have helped him be patient enough to refrain from humping you like a dog.

“You’re okay, you can take it. It’s nothing compared to what this pussy’s going to be taking later anyway, baby.” He hums and nuzzles his nose into where your inner thigh meets your mound.

As he’s languidly thrusting his fingers into your puffy pussy, Art strains his neck to lap at your ass. He holds one of your fat cheeks in his free hand and spreads you open, diving in to suck on the puckered hole between them. He sharpens his tongue and jabs it into your ass, his cock throbs when you let out the sweetest little squeals at the squelching and throaty noises he’s making. He can feel your hole unfurling with every slurp and suck, something that only makes him increase the speed of his long fingers in your pussy, maintaining a breathtaking steady rhythm.

Eventually his poor leaking cock can’t take anymore grinding into the ground, so Art crooks his fingers and (albeit a bit cruelly) jams them into your sweet spot. The velvet grip of your pussy strangles his digits like a dream, you’d take dick so beautifully. Your eyes fly open and your throat spasms around a mangled moan. He pulls his fingers out of your soaking wet pussy, smirking up at you as he sucks them try like a professionally trained whore. Your clit receives a loving kitten lick as an apology for neglecting it, and with that Art hovers over you at an even eye to eye level again.

“Holy shit…” You pant and flick his pebbled nipples, absentmindedly rolling them around with your thumb. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yeah, we are.” Art sighs, his head falls back as you duck down to suck his nipples into your mouth, the saliva you lathered them with dripping down your chin. He grabs the back of your head and pushes your face into his chest, arching his back.

“Relax, I bribed security and told them to fuck off for the night.”

That doesn’t concern you as much as it should, you’re too transfixed on Art wrenching your mouth off of his pecs and moving to straddle your chest.

“Can you push them together for me?” He breathes hard and grinds his weeping cock against your tits, mesmerized by how his precum makes your skin glisten.

“Oh, fuck.” He groans when you do, making quick use out of the delicious new friction the little pocket provides. “Thanks, honey.”

You keep staring at the tip of his dick, loving the little peek you get of it as he fucks your tits and it pokes your chin. You don’t even realize you’re doing it but you let your mouth hang open, angling your head down so his cockhead pecks your tongue at the end of every thrust. You make sure to lick every drop of pre cum away as it oozes out of him, looking so nice against the flushed pink skin of his tip. Art groans when he finally summons the strength to watch you do it, the sight hurtling him over the edge before he has the time or vocal ability to warn you.

His thick load jets out to land all over your tits, half of it on the lower half of your face. You’re almost sad it didn’t get high enough to clump your lashes together, it would’ve made for the perfect contact picture. Oh well, maybe next time. It’s amazing, the switch you’ve made from the shy friend to the writhing slut underneath him. You blame it on the honest to God sweet taste of his milky white cum, surprisingly making you think of the pineapples he always snatches from your plate when you eat at school together.

(Another painstaking effort made just for you, love)

It’s a miracle you get back to his dorm, some of your clothes are swapped and put on incorrectly and you both didn’t clean up at all. As soon as you reach the door, Art practically shoves you inside and onto the bed. He gets so frustrated with having to get your clothes off again that he just rips them right off of you, promising to take you to the mall tomorrow (or whenever he lets you leave the bed) to buy replacements. You literally couldn't care less if he shackles you to the wall, you need him to rearrange your guts so badly, you’d kill for it. Should you be having deep conversations about your feelings and what the future will look like? Absolutely, but your clit is clouding your sense of rationality and you don’t mind that right now.

“Do you even know how much i’ve wanted this? To fuck you so hard that we end up attached at the hip?” He bites, breaking away from your lips to suck bruises down the column of your throat. “We can have a baby- please have my baby, fuck!”

There’s something so weirdly romantic about the leftover scent of the court combined with the twinkling stars outside. Art’s moans and hands scrambling to pin you down so all you have to do is take it, you’re doing things all out of order, but this was always going to happen sooner or later. Art is a clumsy manipulator but he’s so handsome… you find yourself agreeing to every frantic declaration flying out of his mouth as he spears his long cock into your sopping wet pussy. You claw red lines into his shoulders and back, and Art nearly creams on the spot. The sting and the fact that you’re so out of it, you’re marking him up, are crossing the wires in his brain. His taut thighs burn with the effort of fucking you so far into the mattress.

You’ll get to cum four more times than he does, and by the end of it you’ll wish you never came at all. Your soul’s goikg to be so far away from your ruined mess of limbs that you won’t notice the sacred promises being muttered into your sweaty hair or pay attention to your phone being out on Do Not Disturb. You’ll be right where you should be, inevitably molded around the shape of his dick and branded by all the love bites that litter your body. You’ll think you passed out during most of them, but you’ll give him a loopy smile, hook your pinky around his, and let yourself melt away.

It feels as if your walls are still clenching around a dick that’s no longer buried to the hilt in them.

“I love you”’s are for early mornings with coffee and pancakes. Gloating to Patrick will be for hours before then, Art blocking him when you’re deep asleep and unable to mend the growing rift between them.

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mysicklove · 1 year ago

Text

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋!

DAY 18: DRY ORGASM

With: Yuuta Okkotsu

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Sub! Yuuta, gn! reader, multiple orgasm, sorta mentions of cnc? idk, "breeder balls" are used in a silly goofy way, pregnancy mentioned, yuuta cums a total of six times, unrealistic portrayal of dry orgasms.

A/N: i almost named this fic breeder balls just to mess with all you guys. kinktober is driving me crazy

“It will be fun. C’mon, just trust me!” You tease, pressing kisses along Yuuta’s neck while he sighs. You sit behind him, hands resting on his stomach while you continue to pepper kisses along his neck. One of his weaker points.

He lets out a shaky breath and then whines gently. “I don’t know…I-It sounds kinda scary.”

“Aw, scary? C’mon, my big, strong, sorcerer boyfriend isn’t afraid of anything,” You quip, teeth grazing his pale skin when you smile into his back.

Your hands begin to roam up and down his body, and he gulps but doesn’t stop you. He does let out a noise of complaint about your choice of words though. “Yknow that isn’t true,” He mumbles out, pouting slightly.

You pinch his nipples, and he lets out a high-pitched squeal before turning to you with a half-hearted glare. “Sorry, they are too cute.”

He sighs, slumping against your chest and closing his eyes. “You're the worst.”

“Aw, you don’t mean that. You love me.”

He glances at you before rolling his eyes and nodding softly. Yeah, he did, even with all your teasing.

“Yuutaaaaa,” You purr, getting back to the main point. “Let’s do it.”

He hums, nodding for you to continue to try to convince him. He was still unsure and slightly nervous at the thought.

“You will look so cute. Haven’t you always wanted to cum like a girl? To have every ounce of cum milked out of you,” You bite his ear, earning a whole body shiver from the boy. “Forced out of you. Till you’re shooting blanks.”

That immmediately perks him up, and he cranes his head backward to look up at you with a sheepish grin. He already feels himself growing hard.

“F-Forced?”

You grin.

“No more! No more! Please!” He screeches, tears and drool coating his face and falling onto the sheets below him. He was heaving, and he feels like every inch of his body was covered in cum. His thighs and stomach were so sticky, and he was unbelievably sweaty.

Shaky legs try to crawl forward, away from your tortuous hands, but he ultimately fails. You use one arm to grab him by the waist and pull him back. “Where do you think you are going?”

He lets out a pathetic “Noooo!” as his fingers drag along the sheets back toward you. His thighs shake as he tries to hold his body up, and he buries his face into a pillow.

You hum to yourself, sitting cross-legged and fully clothed, contrasting your lover’s naked body. His knees straddle your legs, giving you a perfect sight of his ass and easier access to pull him back whenever he tries to crawl away.

His thighs, stomach, balls, and even your hand were coated with his cum, and is beginning to dry up from how long its been. But nevertheless, your hands continue to work at his cock, pulling it slightly downward so that it hangs between his open legs.

Yuuta lets out a choking noise, a mix between a gargle and a yelp, and suddenly he is cumming again. He doesn’t say anything as his orgasm comes crashing upon him again, but you weren’t surprised – he went borderline nonverbal after the third one.

His chest rises and falls with his rapid breathing, and you watch his whole body tense up. His tears stain the pillow, and his mouth hangs open in a silent scream. The only thing that showed that he was in pleasure was the way his nails dug into the sheets as if he wanted to tear them apart from how intense the sensation was.

You frown through it all, and watch two globs of cum slide down your finger. His legs give out, and he begins to slump on the bed, but you are quick to grab him and hold his waist up with your arm. “Am I–Did I? Are we d-done?” He stutters, his voice raw from his previous screams and cries. You hear him sniffle and watch the way a shaky arm rubs at his nose.

You lightly slap his thigh. “Nope. Almost there, Yuuta! The next one will definitely be dry. Think I got the last couple of drops,” You say, pointing to his cum staining your hand.

He looks up at you with wide, fearful eyes and starts squirming in your hold. “No! I can’t go anymore. A-And you said that the last couple of times!” He screeches, legs kicking out like a toddler throwing a tantrum, trying desperately to run away from your hold.

Your hands remain on his waist, and you move your body aside so that he doesn’t accidentally kick you with his frantic, panicked movements. His dick was raw at this point, and every muscle was trembling. He couldn’t go again – he was exhausted, completely pushed to his limits.

“Hey, hey, hey. Relax. This time I'm really sure! How many times have you ejaculated?”

He pauses for a moment, gulping as he thinks back to the previous events. “I think after that…Five times?”

You giggle at him, and the sound makes him tense up. Whenever he is put in these positions, and you laugh, it never is a good sign for him. “Woah, Yuuta, you really have a lot of cum stored up. I’ve heard that most men go dry after their third one…Don’t tell me your pent up?” You babble, passing time to hopefully let his body rest for a moment. Overstimulating him would probably kill the dark-haired boy.

He sniffles again, and then furrows his eyes and turns back toward you. “Im not, though. Came two days ago, remember?”

You think back to the night and chuckle fondly. “Yeah, I guess your right. Guess my lovely boyfriend just has breeder balls.” You laugh at yourself from the ridiculous word.

His mouth hangs open at your crude words, and he turns a bright shade of pink. Immediately, he tries to scramble out of your hold again, but you just laugh at his flustered noises. “Why would you say something like that? So embarrassing…And no, I don’t,” Your boyfriend complains, shaking his head back and forth to execute his point.

You hum to yourself, content that he has finally calmed down again, at least enough to put up and actively respond to your teasing words.

“Bet you could get any girl pregnant,” You continue to coax, mind drifting off from your words to return to your original motive. You begin to situate yourself again, hands moving back to the task at hand.

“Stop it, please! It’s so,” He groans into the pillow, unaware that you have begun to stand up. “I don’t know! Just sto–” Suddenly, his head is being forced into the pillow, and your hand is back onto his cock. Your movements are rough and fast, and his whole body seems to short-circuit.

Yuutas eyes widen as he feels the back of your hand pin his head into the pillow, and he feels your hands wrap around his dick again. He doesn’t even have time to react, except for a surprised yelp. By the time his brain catches up to the sensation, you have already palmed him four times now, and he is so sensitive. “W-Wait!” He begs, tears resurfacing.

The sound of your hand wrapping around his red cock is lewd. Loud squelching sounds fill the room, and he knows that the wetness is from his previous cum. It makes your head spin, and Yuuta wants to die from embarrassment.

Your hand finally lets go of his neck, and he pulls away immediately, gasping out for air. His back arches, and he begins his clawing at the bedsheets again. “F-Fuck,” Your lover whimpers, tears free streaming again.

His cock feels raw by now. Five orgasms in a row was an insane amount to him. The farthest he had gone before this was three, before he was forced to call it quits, or else risking him passing out. Right now, his mind seemed to be melting from the harsh feeling.

You have to support his body still by hoisting his hips upward. His forehead touches the sheets, and his bangs cover his face as he looks downward. It was almost disappointing that you couldn’t see his pretty expressions, but from what you could see by his sporadic movements, Yuuta was crumbling.

It hurt. Your hands were too rough. The pace was too intense. He can’t think anymore. His mouth hangs open, and his tongue threatens to loll out. All he can hear is your hands and his cum, and honestly, although he hates to admit it, it was spurring him closer to his orgasm.

Just one more. He can do that. He can cum one more time. Everything in him pleads for it to be dry, because he may seriously die if he has to go a seventh round.

So, with everything in him, he begins to grind into your hand, trying to coax his orgasm to come quicker. He lets out a silent scream, and he furrows his eyes shut but doesn’t stop fucking back into your hand.

You watch with amusement at the trembling boy’s movements. He was trying his best, and it was honestly quite cute. Just for him, you pick up the pace of your hand movements.

The reaction to it is immediate – the muscular body curls over on itself as he heaves. You bring him closer to you, now using both hands to jack him off, hoping he doesn’t collapse just for a couple more seconds.

Yuuta’s eyes roll back, and he can faintly hear your encouragements. “C’mon, love. Just one more. Cum for me one more time.”

He bites onto the pillow and nods his head, unable to give you a reply. He can feel his orgasm approaching, and frankly, it scared him. It was going to be a strong one, he could tell, and he was unsure if his body was able to take it. He was already shaking at this point, could his muscles really constrict one more time? He could barely hold himself up.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because his orgasm hits him out of the blue. For the first time since his second orgasm, Yuuta screams into the pillow. His thighs come squeezing together, and his fingers dig into anything they can grab. Tears continue to rush down his face, and he tries his best to breathe.

His knees come forward, and accidentally, he raises his hips higher into the air, creating a pretty arch in his back. You watch, mesmerized by the show, and then glance at his cock.

Not a single drop of cum is let out. You grin, and rub his thighs, coaxing him through it all, proud of him.

He slumps against the bed and this time you let him. Then, he very slowly turns to you, eyes cloudy. “I–I?” He tries, brain not catching up with him.

“Yep, good job. Came dry. I’m so proud of you.”

He gives you a lazy, but satisfied grin, nodding slightly. You crawl over to him, sitting down next to his head. He places his near-limp hand on your knee, and you hold onto it. “Guess…Guess I–No breeder balls for me,” He mumbles in full seriousness, as if he is proud of the fact.

You have to cover your mouth to refrain from laughing too loud. You place your head over his eyes, shutting them for him. “Guess not. Sleep, Yuuta.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He falls asleep not even a minute later. You don’t blame him.

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#mello.writes #Barkforme!#Kinktober 2023 #dom! reader #dom reader #gn reader #x reader #reader insert #yuuta smut #yuta x reader #yuta smut #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #sub! yuuta #sub yuuta #jjk x reader smut

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lucidfairies · 8 days ago

Text

LET'S PLAY

pairing: ghostface!Abby x reader x ghostface!Ellie

synopsis: you've always been afraid of scary movies, but when abby recreates one of her favorites with some help from her best friend... lets just say you face your fears.

warnings: fear kink (?), threesome, pussy eating, strap usage, gendered pet names, double penetration + anal [r! receiving], face riding [e! + r! receiving], scissoring [a + e], very brief gendered talk ("but my sweet girl can take it, can't she?"), unrealistic squirting

wc: 2k

a/n: hi guys! to be fully transparent with you guys, I've been extremely busy over the last couple of weeks and have no chance to write. on top of that I'm extremely under the weather right now, so this is the only Halloween shot I have written. 😭😭 I'm really sorry that it worked out this way, maybe I can finish and post the others later on!

it was halloween. finally halloween. and the conditions were perfect. the dark night sky was filled with grey clouds that stuck out from the moonlight, fog had been gathering all day, so that once trick or treating started for the little kids and partying started for the older kids, it was just right. you had different plans on your mind, though. tonight it would be just you and Abby, with movies, popcorn, and definitely some costumes.

in all honesty, halloween scared you in the slightest. the movies that Abby often wanted to watch were gruesome, and you wound up with your hands over your eyes, merely listening to the shrieks and stabbings. abby loved it, though, so you found it in your heart to get over it.

that fear, however, resurrected itself when the clock passed eleven, knowing she was supposed to be home at nine-thirty. you had texted her a number of times at this point, even called her, with no response. it was more than strange; in all the years you and abby had been together, she had never, ever missed a halloween.

at a certain point you sighed and got off the couch, accepting that she apparently just wasn't coming home. you went down to your room, changing and laying down to sleep. you tossed and turned, not used to a bed without her body in it. after a while, you laid on your back with a huff, grabbing your phone to text her again.

before you could press send, you heard an aggressive jingle of the lock on the front door. it didn't stop, and you were slammed with the feeling that someone was trying to to get in. someone was trying to to get in. a bat hid behind your door, and you ran over to grab it before leaving your bedroom. you looked over your shoulder, into every room, but you didn't see anything. the kitchen was dark once you walked into it, and as you went to flick the lights on, you felt a strong hand on your hip that pulled you back, covering your mouth with their other hand.

the bat was ripped from your hands by a second person, and you screamed, but the hand covering your mouth was gloved and masked the sound. you could feel the captors heart beating and their chest rise and fall.

“sorry I'm late,”

it was abby. abby who followed you through your house and abby whose hand was over your mouth. the lights flicked on and you were faced with a different person, dressed in a ghost face mask and it's matching rags. you pushed out of abby's grip and turned to face her, realizing that she also had a mask on.

“what the fuck abby?” you quietly shrieked. “what was that? you scared me.” the light caught the knife in her hand, and suddenly a pit developed in your stomach. it was fear, flat, undoubtable, fear. “why do you have a knife?” she walked towards you slowly until your back was against the wall.

“don't worry baby, we're just gonna play,” her large body encased you. “you remember ellie, don't you sweet girl?” you nodded slowly, tears welling up in your tear ducts. “my poor baby, don't cry, we're gonna be real nice to you.” when she said that, you finally came to the realization as to what was happening. this is why abby loves the scary movies. she likes the control; the fear. you relaxed. “do you trust me, pretty girl?” you looked at her through the mask and nodded slowly. “do you trust me to not hurt you?” you nodded again.

“let's play then, baby.”

that's how you ended up here, on your back, with ellie on your face and abby between your legs. ellie had a hand in your hair, forcing you to look up at her while you ate her out. she was grinding down on your tongue, chanting your name as she chest rose and fell quickly. she had definitely already come, but she was using you to get off.

abby, however, had a strap buried deep in your cunt. you two hadn't used a strap before, you didn't even know where she got it, all you knew and could think about was how much she was filling you. the mask was still covering her face, but you almost got off to it. she had your legs pushed up to your chest, drilling her hips into your ass over and over, going even after your orgasm had lit up your body.

finally she let up, but you knew you weren’t even close to done. ellie got off your face and they both looked at each other, as if they were coming to a conclusion by just looking at each other, then they both looked over at you. abby discarded her mask and tossed it into the pile of clothes, loosening the harness from her hips and throwing it along with everything else. “get up,” ellie said, replacing you as you stood up. “sit on my face, sweets. face abby like the pretty thing you are.” the position was weird, but somehow it worked. you were backwards on ellie’s face, but her skilled tongue still managed to find everything you needed just right.

abby lifted ellie’s leg up, shifting herself between her lifted leg and her dripping center, rolling her hips down until they were both moaning. with the hand that wasn’t keeping ellie’s leg steady, abby grabbed you by the throat and brought your lips to hers, moaning into your mouth as your tongues met. ellie was so good at eating pussy, you almost didn’t want to pick between her and abby. maybe tonight meant that you could have both of them whenever you wanted.

ellie fucked you with her tongue while her thumb found your clit, spreading your wetness and her saliva over it and rubbing in rhythmic, slow circles. you were all but pushing all your weight onto abby, who was still riding ellie’s pussy. now, though, her head was back, neck exposed. you regained your headspace slightly, just enough to run your lips along her neck and suck. your lips traveled to her tits, marking her in a way you hadn’t before.

you stopped as soon as you felt your orgasm building quickly, instead opting for your previous option of grabbing her for support. it seemed as if you both were in the same boat, because her face scrunched up in focus, like it did every time she came. your head was on her shoulder as you came, whimpering at just how good it felt. ellie didn’t let a drop miss her tongue.

abby stood up, and you zoned in on how both of their pussies were covered in each other’s cum. your pupils were wide, your mouth was basically hanging open with drool. abby looked at you and chuckled. “wanna clean me up, sweetheart?” you got up from the bed and kneeled in front of her, assuming that’s what she wanted you to do, and waited for her to spread her legs. she leaned against the wall and propped her leg up on your shoulder, letting you lap at her until everything was gone. it tasted so good, so much like abby with a hint of ellie. it was the perfect blend.

though you wanted to lick up ellie too, she had already cleaned off with a bed sheet. “I have one more thing to try, if you’re up for it, baby.” you nodded profusely, and both girls looked at each other with a smirk. “get on the edge of the bed in doggy.” you did as told, putting your knees on the edge of the bed and arching your back so that your face was in the comforter. “good girl,” abby cooed, reaching down to pick up her harness and clip it on again. ellie also pulled one out from the jumble of clothes, and you wondered where hers was going to go. in the bedside drawer, abby pulled out a small bottle of lube, which she must have snuck in at some point earlier in the day to prepare.

earlier, when all of this started, you didn’t need lube, so you couldn’t understand what that was for. until both girls walked behind you. you felt the tip of one of their straps rubbing against your ass and you leaped forward, ill prepared. “this is gonna be a big stretch, baby, but my sweet girl can take it, can’t she?” you hummed at abby’s words, sucking in a harsh breath as her strap entered a new place. it was certainly different, but it felt so good. it was just the stretch you wanted, and it got even better when you felt ellie running the tip of her strap up and down your folds.

when ellie pushed her strap into you along with abby’s, the earth froze. “fuck, babe, look at your slut,” from what you could see, they were both admiring the way your stretched for them. You weren’t going to deny that it hurt a little, but with the way they were looking at you and the way ellie kept hitting exactly where you needed to plus the stretch of both of them, it made up for the slight discomfort.

once they gained a rhythm, you had them railing you at the same time, strokes hard and fast, with ellie’s large, skinny hands wrapped around your waist to keep you up. your hands grasped the bedsheets tightly, listening to your body as you neared closer and closer to finishing. there was another feeling building, one you hadn’t felt before, but you made an effort to ignore it. The closer you got, the noisier you became, moaning and grunting with every thrust until you were twitching on the edge of release.

the weird feeling that you were ignoring came back hard and fast, sitting somewhere strange in your bladder. it was like the urge to pee, but with some form of pleasure to it. they pulled it out of you with their harshness, making you squirt hard as you finished. you rolled your hips back at how strong your orgasm was, tears running down your face and creating a pool on the comforter.

you felt strangely empty as they both pulled out, unclipping both of their harnesses yet again and tossing them. “you did such a good job angel. let’s get cleaned up.” you all showered together, then abby surprised you with matching pajamas. ellie was packing up her stuff and you frowned.

“stay,” you said, and she looked up at you and smiled. “we can watch a movie. you can leave in the morning. don’t drive home in the dark.” she sat her backpack down and climbed into bed with the both of you. abby rolled over to grab the remote and turned on scream, just for the irony.

taglist: @inukastan1 @elliecoochieeater @pepperflakess @hastasupern0va @jazzys19 @purring4elliewilliams @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @lonelyfooryouonly @heyimrye (if your not tagged it said your account did not exist, I apologize)

#abby anderson #tlou2 #abby anderson smut #tlou #abby smut #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #ellie x abby #abby headcanons #abby fanfiction #abby the last of us #abby x reader #ellie smut #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader

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slushycoookie · 22 days ago

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Kinktober Day 17 ~ Wet Dream

Logan Howlett x AFAB! Reader

Summary: Logan gets some explicit dreams about you, the neighbor next door

A/N: Hope everyone's doing okay! I kinda like the timeline of these posts, I might do it like this for the rest of the month.

Prev *✧･ﾟ: Next Kinktober '24 Masterlist

Logan Howlett was a man used to nightmares. Always waking up in a sweat, not being able to sleep for the rest of the night. The dreams varied on him killing someone he loved and all of the trials he faced during his 200 years of life. The Weapon X experiment. When he lost Jean. Everything.

Until recently, he met you, the cute neighbor next door.

You just moved in a month ago across the hall. The first time he met you, you asked for a few eggs for a cake you were making. All in your pjs, baggy shirt, sweatpants, and teddy bear slippers. No clear indication of being attractive at all. Yet, there was something about you.

Logan chopped it up as needing to get out for more fresh air. And he did get it. But that didn't stop his mind from thinking about you. How nice you were, dealing with Wade's shenanigans, promising to keep an eye on Althea and Dogpool when they went on missions.

Every single minute spent on you, how you would feel under his arms, taste against his tongue, smell along his nostrils. He wanted all of you, but he didn’t want to make that step. He was just figuring out how to be an honorable version of himself again. Bringing you into the picture was too soon.

So his dreams helped him out—goodbye nightmares and hello erotic dreams of situations that weren't going to happen.

They always started as if he was in a porno.

You coming over to say, “Can I borrow some more eggs?”

And he’d say, “I have some eggs you can borrow.”

That led to you making out with him in his bedroom, taking in how much you tasted. Logan can't wait to peel off those baggy clothes and feel your bare skin. He doesn't set unrealistic expectations in his mind about your appearance. He knows you're sexy as hell and thought about you in that way ever since.

He always takes you to his bed so he can fuck you properly. Not before deciding to draw attention to your breasts. Those voluptuous mounds of yours that he licks and sucks. Circling his tongue around your nipple as he flicks the other one. Logan’s dream you sounds better than any other song he's heard on the radio. He doesn't want you to remain silent while he divulges into your body.

Logan nips at your skin, kissing your navel before reaching below. He avoids your sex entirely to run his lips along your thighs. He makes a few marks on the inner thigh, grunting at your soft noises.

Sometimes, his dreams go two different ways. He's eating you out, desperate to know what you taste like against his tongue. He's submerged in you, closing his eyes and groaning into that soaked cunt of yours. Your hands dive into his hair, pulling him closer to you if possible. Whining for him to not stop, to keep going.

Logan's fingers push into you as he’s devouring you. Feeling those wet walls stretch out from his large digits. Preparing you for his thick cock to replace them. You whine to tell him you're so close, and he's always a gentleman. He makes you cum while licking your clit. Your thighs squeeze around his head as you cry out for him. You sound so good that cum starts leaking from his tip, desperate to be inside you.

There are other times when Logan gets impatient, and he enters you immediately. Not wanting to waste a second in having your cunt around him. And he fits you so perfectly. Logan holding back everything he can to not cum right then and there.

“You were made for me, princess.” He says with a gruff tone before beginning his thrusts.

A lot of times Logan makes love to you on your back. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he's showing you how much he's wanted to do this to you. Your nails dig into his skin, but he likes that. It spurs him on even more, his thrusts picking up more speed.

If he wants to experiment more, your legs are over your head, not giving you much room to move as his hips snap against yours. Or you're riding him and he's entranced at the way you fuck yourself on his dick. All sloppy and desperate. Aching to make yourself cum for him.

But his dreams always ended the same way. With his seed inside you, leaking from your cunt. You're in complete bliss when you cuddle beside him, caressing the hairs on his chest.

Then he wakes up. Still covered in sweat and his boxers stained with cum. Like a damn teenager.

Logan knows it's embarrassing, but he's not ready to ask you out yet. He's okay with pining over you from afar.

Tags: @fandomfics @freythecrazyfae @maddyperezzzsstuff

@mynamesstevenwithav @eyes-ofhell @maxad99

@howlingco @cherrypieyourface @snails-doodles22

@siren-141 @nega-omega @sweetimpurity

@hehekittyhawk @spencerswh0r3 @saintdiior

@maliaofthevalley @wolverigrl @pigeonmama

@shybluebirdninja @tomie-it-girl @antishadow2021

@honey-and-olives @yxtkiwiyxt @wtfhasmy-lifecometo

@ripleyswife @davidboqie @angelic-sturniolos111

@golden-ebony @ethanhoewke @marit332

@smokeywhalee

#kinktober #kinktober 2024 #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #logan howlett x black reader #wolverine x black reader #x reader #x black reader #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #wolverine #cookie's kinktober 2024

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cutebat · 4 months ago

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You know what, fuck it. I'm going to write my own neglectful yandere batfamily cause everyone else is doing it, but I'm going to do it in a different way.

Yandere Batfam x Neglected, but Defiant Reader

Prologue (Diary Entry)

Warning(s): Mentions of yandere themes, neglect, emotional abuse, mentions of physical abuse, forcing to drop out, attempted guilt tripping, reader is just venting out her feelings

(I made this in the reader's POV to make the whole 'diary entry' thing more sense.)

~~~~~

July 22, 2024

It's funny when someone tells their story.

Only to be told back that it's unrealistic.

Almost as if they're afraid to believe it's real...

Oh, God, that sounded dark.

~~~~~

For everyone who doesn't know,

Bruce is a billionaire who's also a shitty dad

Dick is a dick, like actually

Jason uses his trauma to let all his frustrations on me

Tim is a delusional bitch

Cass was okay until she knocked me to the ground

Damian is just a thing who you want to burn to ashes

Alfred... I guess is just Alfred

~~~~~

I was basically raised as what people would call a 'black sheep'. Kind of like... actually, I don't need to explain all that.

Basically, I was adopted by the infamous Bruce Wayne when I was ten for whatever reason. After the first day of living with him and the family and giving me the new role of Batgirl, everyone just pretended as if I didn't exist.

I tried to interact with every one of them and all I got were "sorry, can't talk right now" and "can you shut up".

Like, WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO TO THEM?!

Is it because I'm prettier than all of them and had barely any trauma in my past? Seriously, why are people so jealous about these kinds of things?

Bruce really signed all that paperwork for nothing.

Of course, my little ten year old brain would think that if I tried to impress all of them with what I could do, maybe I could gain their attention.

So by the time I was twelve with my ten year old mindset goal in my head, I did nine different after school activities, won over fifteen awards for my achievements, and went out to patrol at least six nights a week.

And none of that worked! Those fuckers wouldn't even spare me a glance!

~~~~~

After a while, you don't see a point in trying your best.

I dropped out of most of the clubs I regret joining, I just laid back in my classes, and most of all...

I quit being Batgirl.

I didn't want to, but like I said, where's the point in that?

So with that, I just gave up on everything and just... stopped trying.

~~~~~

But then one year all of that almost changed?

For the first time ever, I found myself suddenly really pretty, and after a month I entered eighth grade, I was suddenly asked out by one guy, then two, and all the way up to ten!

It was like really cool!

The popular girls became my best friends, more guys would ask me out, and the teachers started pointing out that I was their favorite student, even the ones who weren't my teachers.

It felt like I was on top of everything. That I was special. The world is revolving around me.

Finally, I was in a place to build a great reputation.

And then life was like FUCK THAT!

~~~~~

After the first semester of eighth grade, Bruce was weirdly in my room and he said wanted to have a 'talk' with me.

So, during this talk, he was basically talking about the last three years of me being neglected by him and his family. To be honest, I forgot everything he told me, but honestly, I don't really care.

He also told the others about all this and now they suddenly feel bad which I don't give a shit about. But, I knew he was doing all this to guilt trip me, which was honestly so stupid.

Now, after he dropped that bomb, he told me that I had to drop out of school to do some "bonding time" with the others along with him and the people who actually cared about me didn't really matter at all!

I JUST GOT SETTLED IN!

All I said was "FUCK YOU" and just stormed out of my room with the only thing that I took was my diary that I had for quite a while that I never used before.

~~~~~

So, yeah. I'm currently in the attic, venting my feelings all out on this stupid glitter diary with a random pen that I found on the ground.

But whatever.

It doesn't matter.

Nothing matters...

My life is just a game.

A sick, hopeless game.

#yandere #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batfam #batfamily #yandere x reader #yandere platonic #neglected reader #platonic #yandere dc

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bluesidez · 8 months ago

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The Love Lab presents:

Wash Day 🫧🚿

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel offers to wash your hair because wash days can be a lot, mischief ensues.

content warning: 18+ MDNI, lots of fluff and banter, talks of marriage/proposal, lovey dovey!miguel, head scratching + massaging, p in v sex (wrap it up 🫵🏾, healthcare is expensive and so are babies), just the tip at one point, cussing, subby + service-like miguel (he does start to enter a daze that is similar to a sub drop, but it's not really that and the reader checks up on him immediately), needy!miguel, creative use of miguel's talons, kissing, hickys, a little hair pulling, manhandling, cunnilingus, fellatio, squirting, slight edging, praise kink, breeding kink towards the end, mentions of cum, overstimulation, a little aftercare, reader is a bit of a tease, miguel is a bit of a brat, more references to cats than I thought, no use of y/n

credit for the art/dividers: Me! (+ illustrator and canva)

a/n: This is my first fic that I am posting on here! 🤠 This one has been in the works for a while, but I am happy with the result. This story is written with a black reader in mind, but it's very inclusive minus the hair situation, so anyone can enjoy the story. There is one unrealistic part that NONE of my natural brethren would ever allow, I beg you to just go with it. 😭 I also used a little Spanish in here, to my Spanish-speakers, if anything is wrong, just let me know and I 'll change it right away!

I also imagined the shower to be one of those fancy walk-ins like this or this but big enough for two, because in my mind, Miguel is stacked in the money department as well.

word count: 6.9k (I got carried away)

To all my sub Mig lovers and fiends! Love ya! 🩵🪮

It was finally time for the day you’ve been putting off for about a week now, the taxing Wash Day.

Normally, you would drag this day out because you knew that once you started, you had to keep going until your hair was done and either ready for the bonnet or the hood dryer. Although today, you were lucky because you had a braid appointment the following morning, so that meant just a simple wash and a blow-dry. You were even luckier because your boyfriend, Miguel, was more than happy to wash your hair for you.

“I know how tired you get afterwards and I just want to help make the process easier,” is what you remember him telling you last night in your sleepy, whiny state.

Now, here you are the next day watching his eyebrows furrow in confusion, lips pouted in a crooked M as you guide him to the old faithful: the kitchen sink.

“Why are you giving me that face? You said you were gonna help,” you chuckle at his expression, watching as his eyes turn to your hair supplies littered across the counter.

“No, no! I still want to help. It’s just that,” he picks up your wide-tooth comb, running his fingers over the teeth, “I thought we were going to be in the shower.”

You look at him, a little dumbfounded at the statement. You didn’t mind washing your hair in the shower, you did it all the time, but what was the point of getting you both wet?

“I just thought it would be easier for you this way,” you reply, pulling the faucet from the sink and waving it around in an attempt to hype up the situation. “I’ll bend my head in the sink, and you’ll wash it that way. Or! You can hike me up on the counter and I can lay down with my head over the sink. That one’s a little less comfortable for me, but it gives you more than enough room to maneuver.”

“Hm,” he grunts, eyes going from you to the counter, then right back to you. “That’s fine and all, but what if my back starts to hurt from bending for too long.”

You just stare at him, unamused. If anyone would be in pain, it would be you.

“In the shower, we can stand together and I can see exactly what’s going on. Plus, you can wash my hair too,” he continues, pulling you flush against his chest, comb forgotten. He starts to rub your hips in a slow motion. “Let’s make it a date.”

“Ok, first of all, you’re not that old to where your back can just give out like that,” you quip, leaning back from his embrace to look him in the eyes. “Secondly, you expect me to believe that the Spiderman is unable to wash someone’s hair in this sink.”

“At 6’9? Absolutely.”

“Touché.”

Truthfully, Miguel was a bit turned on after spending the last 20 minutes watching you completely melt under his hands from scratching your scalp.

It was such a simple task but all of your sighs and whispers of “right there” and “harder” had him internally groaning.

When it was finished, you were up off the floor easily and blissfully unaware, while he was left with a few of your shedded curls covering his clothes and pre-cum threatening to seep into his underwear.

So yes, while technically the shower was the best option for him, he really wanted to ignite that same reaction from you again. It was addicting.

You reach up on your tippy toes and squish his face to give a quick peck to his lips. “Fine, fine! Quit your puppy dog eyes, we can go to the shower. Just let me pee first.”

Step 1 of Miguel’s master plan was already successfully underway.

He started to pick up your supplies, reading the ingredients out of curiosity. Today you were trying a new line of products that was making huge waves online. He remembers seeing how excited you were when the package came in. You had barrelled into the bedroom in a squealing frenzy, and had it not been for his spider senses listening out for you, he would have jumped from the way you threw the door open.

Even though it was another line of products that would fill up the bathroom cabinets, your giddiness rubbed off on him, so he was ready to see results.

“Baby, come on! I’m ready!”

Miguel quickly huddled up everything from the counter and made his way to the bathroom.

He walked in to see you standing next to the sink, birthday suit on and your hands reaching up to push your hair from your forehead.

Heaven-sent were the first words that came to mind. Here you were, standing in the steam of the bathroom just for his eyes. He couldn’t help but linger in the doorway, heart skipping a beat at the sight of you.

You turned to look back at him, mirth in your eyes, “Mig, come on, the water’s running.”

He didn’t even comprehend the sound of the water hitting the tiles, he was so zoned in on you.

“I’m coming, I was just…admiring you,” he replies, moving to prepare for the shower.

“There’s no way you’re eyeing me up right now. I look a little crazy,” you say, turning back towards the mirror.

“Querida, you could be rocking a spiked mohawk right now, and I would still have the same reaction. You’re beautiful no matter how your hair looks.”

You bit your lip, heart fluttering at his words. If you didn’t have to get ready for your hair appointment tomorrow, you’d stop everything then and there to love on your boyfriend.

For now, you settled on helping him out of his clothes, a smile growing on your face. You pulled his shirt up as far as you could reach, then let your hands roam over his chest, watching the goosebumps that followed behind. You kept your fingers walking down to the waistband of his pants, lightly scratching at his happy trail.

His stomach twitched in response to your touch, hands itching to pull you closer.

You placed your hands at his sides, gripping the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, slowly tugging at the bands. You stepped forward to get a better leverage, breasts pressing against his torso.

His breaths were coming out in short beats, not wanting to disrupt the spell that you put him under. He looked down at the closing space between you all’s bodies because if he looked up at your eyes, he’d stop everything and take you right there against the counter.

But the shower. He was supposed to make it to the shower. Which was in an area by itself. In the next room. With your hands roaming everywhere, he wasn’t even sure if he could even make it past the toilet.

His eyes fluttered closed as you slid your hands back up his thighs, a deep breath building in his lungs. Like this, he was really able to tune in on both the heat of your body against his and the lingering touch of your hands. Hyper-focused on you and you alone.

Then he heard a loud slap.

His eyes bucked back open, body rigid as the sting came back in waves on the side of his ass.

“Come on, we’ve got heads to scrub!” you said, voice as clear as ever.

He watched you twirl towards the shower, his mind muddled from your switch to playfulness. Had he read that all wrong?

He looked down and sighed at the sight of his dick, half-hard at what could have been.

All he could do was stagger out of the clothes that pooled at his ankles, grab the hair products, and waddle to the shower.

You were already halfway under the spray of the shower head, head leaning back, waiting for the water to completely soak through the layers of your hair.

Miguel came up next to you and detached the shower head, bringing it closer to your scalp, careful not to get water in your ears.

“So first, we have to use the scalp scrub shampoo,” you say, grabbing one of the taller bottles and unscrewing it. “Just take this in your hands first, lather it, and work it into my scalp.”

You pull his left hand forward and squeeze some of the liquid in his palm.

“Is this enough?” he asked, noticing the little amount you put in his hand.

“Yep! A little can go a long way, baby,” you say, turning around to him, trying to determine how you would reach the top of his head.

Oh, how Miguel was so well acquainted with that phrase. Especially after this cat-and-mouse game you’ve been playing with him all day.

You faced him as he placed his fingers on your scalp, beginning to move in circles, spreading the shampoo in several sections.

“You can add a little pressure. I can take it,” you mumble out, almost low enough for Miguel to miss it.

So he does. He starts to scratch at your scalp, remembering that this is an important step. For your hair of course, not his plan.

“Ugh, that feels so nice,” you sigh, trying not to sway under him. “I should have had you do this sooner.”

Miguel thought so too. Here you are, head leaned back, eyes closed, and completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. He kept scratching at your scalp, your head nodding along with the motions.

“Can you scratch over here, please?” you ask, pointing at the right side of your head, eyes squeezed tight to not let any soap fall in them. Even after all of your teasing, you were still so cute in this moment. When Miguel complied, you showed your gratitude by groaning out a quick thank you. With a long sigh, you placed your hands in front of his chest, fingers balled up in loose fists.

“Does it feel good?” Miguel knew the answer, but he had to play along. “You want me to move anywhere else?”

“Yeah, could you just-” you leaned your head over, mindlessly guiding Miguel’s hands. “Right there, baby.”

You brought your hands up to grip at his wrists, needing something to hold onto. Miguel felt insane.

To curb the feeling, he quickly leaned down and kissed your forehead. His head was overloaded with the sound of your voice and he had to keep himself composed.

You looked up at him, eyes big and wide at his affection. He kept making you feel warm doing such mundane things. You purse your lips, silently begging for more.

Miguel brought his soapy hands to the water to quickly rinse them off, then placed them on your cheeks and leaned down again to kiss your lips.

One. Two. Three pecks and you were giggling.

Four. Five. Six pecks and you were on your tiptoes, arms crossed behind his neck.

Seven. Eight. Nine pecks and you were turning your head, opening your mouth for more.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve kisses and you were in his arms, feet off the ground, biting at his bottom lip.

By the thirteenth kiss, you were pulling your head back, staring into his eyes, grabbing at his nape.

“We still have to wash the shampoo out,” you say, watching as his eyes linger on your lips.

“We can do that,” he mumbles, still holding you close.

“Are you gonna put me down?” you ask, tone a little cheeky.

He snaps his eyes up at yours, eyebrow raised. “Are you gonna finish what you started?” He started to move one of his palms down your back, taking a thigh to pull around his waist, and placing his mouth on your jaw.

“Nuh uh, O’Hara,” you chide, pushing against his chest and wiggling to get him to remove his embrace. The water smacks against the tiles as you jump down, one calf still in Miguel’s hand.

“O’Hara?” Miguel scoffed, playfully pulling at you again and tickling your side. “I’m not sure who that is, but maybe you forgot how to say baby, mi vida.”

You laughed at him, finally calling out his bluff, “No, because my baby said he would help me wash my hair, and right now he’s being bad and trying to distract me. So, until you finish, it’s O’Hara.” You folded your arms and tilted your head to the side, daring Miguel to counter your words.

He dropped your leg and muttered out a gruff “fine” with his lips downturned. Two could play at this game and if he wanted to distract you, he just had to turn up the heat.

He grabbed for the shower head and started to rinse the thick shampoo from your hair, carefully weaving through the locks.

“When do we detangle it?”

You started to smile again, happy at his verb usage. He really does listen to you when you talk about your hair.

“When we put on the conditioner, but you can start a little now while the water’s running on it. Need the brush?”

“No, I’ll just use my fingers for a little bit.”

You turned your face back to him, shocked that he remembered another technique.

“You’re gonna finger detangle, ba- I mean, O’Hara?”

“Yes I am, corazón. Why are you looking at me like that? I’m a great boyfriend that knows what his girl needs.”

You squint your eyes, wary at his words. “Uh huh, I bet you do. If you know so much, what’s next?”

“We shampoo again. Rinse. Then it’s conditioner and detangling, just like you said.”

You hummed, internally ecstatic that he actually did know the answer. “Another point for you,” you say, turning back around as Miguel places the shower head back on the hook.

Miguel smirked. He listened to you, he really did, but he also made sure to watch over 20 videos about washing coily hair while you were sleeping. You didn’t have to know that though.

His high was short-lived when you bent over to grab the next shampoo. He grabbed at your hips, watching as the swell of your ass aligned against his front. He pushed his head back and breathed in deep. How unfair.

You leaned back up slowly, turning the bottle around trying to fish for any specific directions.

“This one is a hydrating shampoo. It says you can just put it on my hair and just work it through.”

Miguel repeated the same shampooing process, although this time with less scalp scratching and more scalp massaging. You were once again in bliss at his ministrations, like a cat who couldn’t stop purring.

“O’Hara, you really have a way with your hands. Super relaxing,” you say with snickers underlining your voice.

Miguel just reached for the shower head, ready to rinse for the second time. “This guy sounds like a real catch. Too bad he isn’t here.”

You just laugh at how sulky he sounded, ready to grab the conditioner.

“Well, is there a Mr. O’Hara here? I kind of need him for this last step.”

Miguel stopped in his tracks.

You really didn’t understand how much he wanted to make you his wife. In fact, he started planning the proposal to a T after a year of you all being together. He started to dream about a future with you after the first couple of dates, despite how often he had to tell himself to slow down. It was terrifying yet thrilling how much you left an impression on his life.

Mr. and Mrs. O’Hara.

Mr. O’Hara.

Mrs. O’Hara.

Miguel bent his head in your neck and wrapped his arms around your waist, face burning from his running thoughts.

“Y-you can’t use that against me. You know how I get,” he said petulantly, voice softened in the juncture of your neck, drowned out by the pouring water.

“And how do you get, baby?” you ask, reaching over to run your fingers through his damp hair. You tugged lightly at the root causing Miguel to hug you tighter and groan against your neck.

As hot as the water was, the heat of your body against his left him burning. The angle was weird so he couldn’t exactly rub up against you, but he could kiss along the surface of your shoulders.

He started to slowly press kisses down your neck, moaning as you tilted your head to give him more space. He stopped to linger at the top of your shoulder, taking in a small amount of skin. After he was happy at the mark he left, he opened his mouth a little wider, canines grazing against your skin.

You reach to pull his head back up, resting his jaw on your shoulder.

“Focus, Mr. O’Hara, it’s only one more step.” You say these words lowly right next to his ear, pressing your lips on his tragus then pushing his head up to kiss against his jaw.

When Miguel stood up fully, you could see the dazed look in his eyes. Staring closer, you noticed they were a little dewey.

You had to bring him back down to Earth. You couldn’t have him lost in this steam.

“Hey, baby look at me,” you even your tone and angle his face towards yours. “Are you alright? Do we need to sit down?”

You wait for his eyes to find yours, searching for discomfort.

“No, I'm fine. I’m ok, sorry,” he says, leaning into one of your hands, wrapping his hand around it for extra support.

“Positive? I know the water is really hot so if you need to step out and cool down, then that’s fine. I’ll help you settle down then come back and finish up by myself,” you say, adamant in your words.

“No! No, no. I’m really ok. I’m so cool and calm right now that it’s crazy,” he replies, frantic at the thought of leaving you in the shower. “Hand me the conditioner.”

You look at him again, tickled at the change in condition. All you could do was sigh, twist the cap off of the conditioner, and pull the inner lid off.

He dabbed two fingers on top of the cream, scooping a small amount off of the top. “A little goes a long way, right?”

“A little does go a long way.”

“Can you turn around, please?”

You comply, placing the conditioner in a corner.

“If you need it to lather a bit more, just add a little water,” you remind him.

He began to work the conditioner through, going from the root to the ends. The results were quick and he could see your curls begin to sprout. He started to thoroughly pull his fingers through, working out any leftover tangles. He got to a bigger knot and held the section of hair in one hand, and carefully combed through the knot with the other.

You were feeling peaceful until it dawned on you: you never gave him a comb or a brush to work with.

“Hold on, baby what are you using to take the knots out with? Do you have a comb?”

Miguel placed one of his hands in your face and pushed his talons out, like a cat showing its claws off when you press the center of its paw.

You panic, remembering that they can tear through people and metal, “Um. I don’t think using these bad boys on my hair is the right way to go.”

“Tranquila, mi amor, I got it. I’m using the dull side, see?”

He put a tuft of hair in front of your eyes and showed the process of him detangling while talon-less, then working out the final tough knot with the side of the talon, turning his hand sideways to avoid cutting your curls.

As a result, the section was completely detangled, allowing him to run his fingers straight through the thick strands, and the curls springing back up once he was finished. Plus, from what you could tell, there was no breakage.

Color you impressed because Miguel was pulling out all of the stops today.

“Alright, just. Be careful.”

“Always.”

“If you jack up my hair, Lyla will have to place Jess in charge permanently.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You stand, arms placed under your chest, waiting for Miguel to finish. Subconsciously listening to the pattern of his breaths and the sound of his talon going through your hair.

“Ok, that’s it. Do you want to wash my hair while this sits?”

Such a smart boyfriend.

“Yeah just let me go ahead and finish this shower while you get your hair wet.”

Miguel stepped back to get under the overhead shower head, letting the water fall on him like rain, watching you as you began to lather body wash on your net sponge.

You were scrubbing away at your skin getting into every crevice, peach fragrance filling the air.

He wanted to reach out and touch you, but look where that’s gotten him so far. Almost kicked out of the bathroom.

You were just as stubborn as he was, no, resolute.

He admired it, especially when you gracefully brought him down from clouds that were his own fantasies.

Focusing back on you, he stared openly as you folded your body in half to reach your ankles causing everything to be on display.

A normal person would put their foot on the ledge to reach below. You were definitely fucking with him.

He watched as you pulled the net sponge across your body, leaning up as the languid movements of your hands pulled the net side to side.

He was glad that the water drowned out his harsh breathing.

You finished off your shower, working the detached shower head over the soap, clearing up your skin.

You brought the shower head lower, making sure that there was no bubble left behind.

When you held your ass to help the water pass all the way down the back of your body, Miguel jumped to hold the base of his cock, softly groaning at the picture you were painting.

He lifted his face up and pushed his hair back, in hopes that the stream could help him clear his mind. But, the water was hot, all it did was make him lightheaded at the thought of you.

“Miguel? Come over here so I can wash you too.”

Miguel tottered over, looking down at your body, shining after all your thorough work. You were placing soap on a pair of exfoliating gloves you had bought for him, lathering them together once you were satisfied with the amount of soap.

You got to work on his body, starting at the shoulders and moving in circular motions.

Miguel stared in silence, hoping you would put an end to this charade. But you continue to be meticulous, covering every inch of his upper body. Lifting his arms when you wanted to. Moving him around when you wanted to.

In this moment, he felt like a ragdoll, letting you do whatever you pleased.

You squatted down to do his lower body, eyes laser focused, not missing a spot.

All Miguel could focus on was your face so close to his dick that was twitching in anticipation. You just ignored it and continued to rub the rest of him down. Miguel wanted to cry.

You were touching everywhere, slowing down on his inner thighs and ass causing his knees to shake.

You held him steady by gripping the back of his thighs and finally looked up at him, acknowledging his presence.

Your eyes traced him all the way down to the gift that was in front of you. You parted your lips and let your tongue brush against the tip, watching as spurts of pre-cum escaped. You couldn’t have that. You leaned forward a little more, taking the head in completely, and allowed yourself a few more licks and a suck before you let go with a pop, watching the thin trail of spit grow as you leaned back.

Miguel whined in frustration, a cloud of desire fading so quickly.

“Amor, why did you-”

You quickly jumped up and rested against him, arms wrapped around his waist and hands lightly groping his butt.

“I didn’t even wash your hair yet, silly,” you quip, chin nuzzling against his sternum. “Now, go rinse off and sit on the bench so I can reach your hair.”

Forget wanting to cry, Miguel might actually do it.

He was so, so hard.

After the soap was gone he trudged to the bench, glancing over at you washing the conditioner out of your hair.

“I could have washed it out for you,” he protests, half bothered by his situation and half annoyed that he let it blindside him from the main point of this shower.

“It’s ok, baby. You really helped me out a lot today and I’m thankful. I’m also making sure you don’t drop to the floor right now, so hold on for me,” you reply earnestly, chuckling at the look of frustration slapped across Miguel’s face.

You bring over the hydrating scrub, some conditioner, and the shower head, and stand in between his legs, ready to start.

Miguel looked up at you like you hung the stars in the sky, undeniably in love and unbelievably aroused.

You started to unscrew the scrub, making sure to part his hair down the middle.

“You’re using your products on me?” he asked, confused at your actions.

“Just the shampoo. I don’t think this conditioner will do you any good, but for the most part, the line is pretty inclusive. Ain’t that neat?”

“Mm-hm,” he responded, cheeks squished against your chest, arms wrapped around your thighs.

“Look forward, for me, baby,” you say, starting to spread the shampoo on his scalp.

He just hummed and groaned in the safety of your torso, while you scratched at his scalp and pulled the shampoo to his ends. He started to kiss and nibble at any skin he could get his mouth on. His grip was getting tighter and he felt a stutter in your breaths.

“Lean back so I can rinse this out.”

He placed his chin on your stomach again, eyes full of hearts.

“I’m almost finished, I just need to put your conditioner on.”

Miguel hummed once more as you placed the conditioner at his ends first, then scrunched his hair up, careful not to mess with his scalp. Mindful of his wavy, curly hair texture like he was for yours.

His wine eyes kept staring at you, as if you were the 8th wonder of the world. You felt heat in your face, an accumulation of the almost boiling water and Miguel’s full attention.

He was simply grinning, face wet and tinted from the water.

“You’re so cute,” you say, rinsing out the last of the product.

“Only with you,” he replies, still trying to make you look into his eyes. “Can you come closer?”

You set the shower head down and run your hands through his strands, “I feel like I’m already as close as it gets.”

“Not really,” he said, swiftly sitting you on his lap like you weighed nothing. “You could always be closer to me, cariño. I can think of many ways to make that happen.”

You finally allow yourself to indulge in his shenanigans. Leaning your forehead on his, you open your mouth to say, “Is that why you were so adamant about getting in the shower? To get as close to me as possible?”

He looked from your eyes to your mouth, “No?”

You bring your hands from his hair to his neck, “You know you can’t lie. In fact, you’re like, really bad at it.”

“Fine. It was partially because of that. How did you know?”

“Like I said, you can’t lie and neither can your face. You’ve been pouting ever since I let you scratch my head and especially when I wanted to wash my hair in the sink.”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“Kind of,” you say, a laugh twinkling off your lips. “I can always tell when you want me.”

“Yeah? And what am I telling you right now?” He starts to move your hips, placing his erection right under you, grinding your lips against him.

You close your eyes, a flame beginning to blossom within you, “I guess that you need, fuck, you need me.” Your clit was throbbing against his length as he dragged your body back and forth.

“I do, bebé, I do,” Miguel was moaning loudly, melting at the feeling of your pussy finally warming him up. He moved his lips to yours, desperately trying to have more of you, gripping your hips even harder.

“Baby, s-slow down,” you say in the midst of his kisses, trying to put your feet on the bench next to him to gain some sort of stability. You knew he was pent up, but he was moving so frantically, you were scared he might slip off.

“Te necesito. Please, just-” Miguel cut himself off with a groan in your neck, grinding your slit along himself faster. He started to kiss down your chest, finally getting to your breasts, and gliding his tongue along the wet skin. He took a nipple into his mouth, allowing himself to suck.

The flame from before was starting to grow, “Miggy if you keep going, I’m gonna cum.” He was just starting and you already felt everything coming to an end.

How were you so close, yet he was the one who was riled up?

“Miguel, I’m-” you hold on harder to his neck, eyebrows furrowed.

“Uh huh. C’mon, give it to me,” he encouraged, staring at you, eyes cloudy.

You break above him, a scream crawling from your throat, hips stuttering in his hold, and liquid leaking onto the floor.

“Oh my god,” your mind was hazy, reveling from how quick you came, but mostly at how needy Miguel looked.

“Was it good?” he asked, hugging your body as he switched angles, dragging his body closer to the edge of the bench, letting your feet fall to the floor. His voice was whiny, desperate, wanton. “Was I good for you? Did you feel good?”

You brought your mouth to his temple, movements shaky and heart still thumping, “You were so good for me, baby. So good.”

He sighed, breath leaving his lungs as if what you told him was a matter of life and death.

“Then use me,” he leaned back, hands pressed against the seat. “Use me, however you please.”

You stared at him, a little stunned but fully immersed. When you brought your hand to his chest, you could feel how fast his heart was moving. You brought your mouth to his once more, a thumb on his chin pushing so that lips could part. You kissed him deep, making sure to direct his focus there while you placed your knees on the bench.

Sitting just above him, you guided your sex to his, allowing his tip to barely kiss you. You wanted him, yearned for him inside of you, but not yet.

You slid his tip past your slit, only edging it in partially, then rubbed your pussy up and down the head, allowing yourself to open up.

Miguel moaned into your mouth, hands curling into fists as he felt your walls close around the top of him. He started to move in tiny thrusts matching your rhythm.

“Nuh uh, baby, it’s just me right now, remember?” You break your kiss to reprimand him, bringing your hand from his chin to his stomach, and stopping all movement.

Miguel could only cry out and nod, upset at the loss of your body devouring his own, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, keep going. I’ll be still, cariño, please.”

“Good. There he is, my sweet baby,” you say, voice a prime example at how much Miguel begging for you was affecting you.

You start back, ass moving with a bit more force. You lean to press a long kiss against his neck, losing yourself in the sound of him barely inside of you, his groans a lovely melody filling up the room.

“You feel amazing, Miguel. So big, and you’re only giving me so little,” you pant in his ear, knees starting to hurt from how hard the tiles were.

“It’s all for you. Just for you,” he gasped, twitching when the sounds of your juices got even louder at your constant movement. “Mi amor, please, can I hold you?”

“Always, baby.”

Internally you chuckled, you never told him he couldn’t touch you, you just followed his plea to use him like a toy. He was so pussy drunk, he forgot the parameters he set for himself.

He wrapped his biceps around you, your arms folding behind your back in the process, but that didn’t stop you from riding out the high that was another orgasm.

“That’s right, keep going. Úsame, take what you need,” he requested. He was itching to dive deeper into you, not wanting your pleasure to end.

You threw your head back and whined high with Miguel’s name on your tongue, gushing out your release for a second time.

“Fuck.” Miguel was still holding onto you, legs taut in their position. He swerved your pussy across his length, listening at how wet you were.

You laid your head on the tile above Miguel, relieved with its slight coolness and trying to slow down your rapid heartbeat. Your hips kept bucking as an aftereffect.

You didn’t get that much of a cool down before Miguel was at it again, finally sliding his dick in until he bottomed out.

The two of you let out long moans in unison, a harmony that wasn’t unfamiliar to your apartment.

In this position, your face was back in front if Miguel’s, eyes watery from the sensation of him filling you up.

“You’re perfect, you feel perfect,” Miguel cradled you, trying to get as comfortable as he could, despite the impossible position he put himself in.

Lifting his hips off of the bench, he held himself up by his back pressed against the tiles.

Before you could even ask him if you all should move to the floor, he knocked the wind out of you, holding you up as he slammed into you.

“Miguel!” you shout, clamoring for anything to grab onto after the impact had you knocking forward.

“I got you, I promise. Won’t let you fall,” he heaved out, words spilling out as fast as his hips were snapping.

All you could do was mutter out words incoherently, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass reverberating off of the walls. Your eyes finally let go of the tears they were holding, overwhelmed by your state of being.

“What’s that, mi amor?” Miguel cooed at you, licking off one of your tears and kissing your cheek. “Can you feel me? Is it too much?”

“I, ngh, I,” you could barely get your words out, your brain turning into mush after each thrust. Miguel kept going, humming as he spread kisses around your face.

“You gotta answer me, baby. I need to know,” he whispered.

“I’m trying,” you respond, voice cracking from overuse. You were still peeved at his composure. “I thought you said, oh my god, you said you didn’t want to hurt your back.”

Miguel just pursed his lips, eyes clearing up for just a second, “I didn’t. And I’m not going to, super-healing, remember?”

“That’s-” your sentence was cut off by Miguel hiking you up and smacking you back down in time with one of his thrusts.

“Shit! Do that again,” you sob, thoughts coming to a stop.

“Yeah?” Miguel tried his best to keep his eyes on you, but you were squeezing so tight around him that his eyes kept rolling.

“Yes, Miggy. Right there, that spot. It’s so,” you were drooling at this point. “It’s so much.”

Miguel kept it up, glad to be hearing those words, proud of himself for igniting you.

You held your head down, body wound tight, “I think I’m gonna cum. I’m close.”

“Again?” Miguel asked, heart fluttering at you falling apart on his dick.

“Yes, baby. Don’t stop,” you say, voice wavering.

Right as you felt your body beginning to let go, Miguel halted and sat back on the bench.

“No, no, no. Why did you-” You were cut off by Miguel grabbing you and placing you on your shoulders, pussy in his face.

He opened his mouth and pushed his tongue in where his cock once was swirling in and out, sucking at your folds. He starts to hum as if you've fed him his last meal, causing your orgasm to come in waves.

“Oh!” you shout, thighs quivering around his head, one hand gathering a fist of hair and the other pawing at the wall. Miguel was lapping everything up, holding you so that you couldn’t even think of falling.

“Ok, ok,” you say, mewling as he kept you in place while your hips shook. “S’too much.” He finally let’s go, placing you back in his lap.

“Did I do good?” he asks, chest rising and falling rapidly now that he catered to you. His face was a mess, evidence of you all down his neck.

You kissed his nose, giggling at his need for praise, “Yes, baby. You did amazing. Fantastic. Perfecto.”

He was practically vibrating with joy, kneading at your thighs.

“But Miggy, there’s still a problem,” you say, holding his face with both hands. “You still didn’t cum yet.”

You watched his face flit through several phases: ecstatic, worried, then hungry.

“Can I keep going?” he asks, hands starting to roam again.

You simply nod and try to prepare yourself for him moving you around again.

He sinks back in slowly, careful of your sensitive body. You try your best to move, hips working in circles, hands holding onto his thighs. You couldn't help but to squeeze onto him, despite how tired you were.

“You look so pretty,” Miguel mumbled.

“Bet I would look prettier if you finished. Inside.”

That fired him up even more. He started to help you to bounce up and down his length, teeth gritted. You held your head back, eyes scrunched at the feeling of him inside again.

Then he started to whimper, a telltale sign that he was close.

“Can you say it again, please?” he said, moving to stand with you in his arms.

“Say what?” you ask, exhausted yet in awe that he still had so much energy. “That I want you to cum inside? Fill me up?”

You could feel him twitch inside of you, mind hazy at the thought.

“Shockingly, no. My name. Porfa, mi vida. I need to hear it.” He was still holding you as he pounded away, eyes never leaving yours.

You’ve been saying his name the whole time, so surely that can’t be it. Then, it dawned on you.

“Let go, Mr. O’Hara,” you say, mouth right next to his.

And so he did. He bent over, hands gripping your sides as he snapped his hips frantically, groaning into your mouth as he kissed you hard. You could feel him seeping inside you, hot liquid filling you up.

You clutch at his shoulders, feeling your hold slipping from how wet his skin was from the shower and the heat. You cry out again, body sore from all of fun and sensitive from overstimulation.

Miguel finally let up for what felt like hours, standing up straight and pulling you off his dick. He hissed at the feeling, angling your body parallel to his so that everything could fall to the shower floor.

You lay your head on his shoulder tiredly, grateful that he was still carrying you.

“That’s going to mess up the drain. You should have just let it stay in me until it took,” you mumble into his shoulder, hearing his breath hitch at your words. “Or until I got to the toilet or something.”

He brought you both back to the bench, “You're on the pill so stop teasing me about that.”

“But that doesn’t mean that you can’t live out your breed-”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it, mi amor,” he says, pecking your lips to stop you from continuing. “Now let's clean you up. Again.”

He reaches for the shower head and checks the temperature. Humming, he aims the spray at your lower area.

You jump and yelp, “That’s so fucking cold!”

“Bébe, it’s literally warm. I just checked!”

No wonder he was about to die in the steam, “You know how hot I like my showers, and that’s ice cold right now.”

“Well I’m sorry it’s not burning, but we have to clean you up,” he said, trying to console you. “I’ll warm you up later.”

You look at him and there’s this playful look on his face. “No,” you say, just the thought of doing this again making you sleepy.

You eye his body up and down. “Maybe later.”

He just chuckled and finished up.

An hour later, the two of you are dry, blow dried, and comfortably laid out across the couch with baking competition shows queued up on the TV.

You look up at Miguel from your position on his chest, cheesing from ear to ear.

He feels you staring at him and looks down, eyes warm. “What?” he asks, watching your face light up.

“Nothing. I just love you,” you say, unable to look away.

He kisses you, heart keeping a steady beat, “I love you too.”

I hope you enjoyed reading! 🩵🩵

Any likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated and welcomed.

(And did anyone catch my Beyoncé Cécred refs?? I have no idea how brand names work with fics so I just stuck to nameless descriptions😭)

- Blue 🧼

#love lab fics 🧫#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #spider man 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara x black reader #miguel x black reader #sub miguel o'hara #sub miguel #x black reader #x black!reader #afab reader #x black fem reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #seriously though can I say brand names in fics?#i love miguel so much i could do a backflip #my friends are only mildly concered

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 4 months ago

Note

first of all, this is all legit, and not bait, though i have a feeling it may come off that way, this did happen to me. please don't publish if tumblr sends it off anon.

i'm a lesbian with gender dysphoria, and while i haven't had much sexual experience, i would consider myself a stone top. in the last year and a half i began reading "terf"/radical feminist writings and reading "terf" tumblr blogs fairly actively, largely out of frustration with misogyny i was experiencing IRL. though i never engaged with the community i did stop identifying as genderfluid and started understanding my dysphoria as stemming from the trauma of being bullied by other girls for having a high-androgen DSD, and using different pronouns/transition thoughts as unhealthy coping mechanisms. i'm happy with this, but i also don't know if i'm attracted to women anymore.

i've always been attracted to women in a way that's stereotypically guy-like; i find feminine women very attractive and not so much fellow(?) butches, want to penetrate with a strap on, don't like bush much, cursory interest in BDSM/daddy kink. i read/watched het erotica and porn sometimes and identified with the man. what i read problematized pretty much every aspect of that- femininity as a cage, penetration as violence/straps as disidentification w the female body, infantilization of women, bdsm as abuse etc. also, desisting making me more conscious of dysphoria/knowledge of how extensive sexual dimorphism is putting me off both women with larger breasts and hips AND smaller breasts and hips/unrealistically masculine body types as well. so a lot of what turned me on before isn't arousing anymore, or i feel guilty about it, and i haven't been able to find butch4butch stuff which is much healthier very interesting.

i consider my sexuality healthier now on a political level but my ability to get aroused/jerk off has plummeted (used to be i could jork it sunrise to sunset) and thinking about being in a relationship w another woman makes me feel uneasy and weird, especially since a lot of what i read emphasized reciprocative cunnilingus/tribbing (which i don't like) as the healthiest sex options. i also think about both my dysphoria and my sexuality issues 100x more than i did before, even though i was promised the opposite (freedom from dysphoria and feeling happier as a lesbian), and it's stressing me out day-to-day. i'm aware based on your general ethos that you probably think i'm a terrible person right now, but i figured it'd be useful to seek the opinion of someone who radically disagrees with what i've read on what i could/should do next, since i admittedly miss being at peace with my sexuality.

thanks for reading.

hi there anon,

it's a bummer that you'd think I would assume you're a terrible person based on everything you've told me here. I generally try not to consider people terrible unless they're actively being shitheads or hurting other people, which doesn't sound at all like you're describing. from what you've told me, you've been up to your eyes in some information that's made you feel deeply uncomfortable in your sexuality and now you're seeking out a new perspective to help you make sense of that hurt. that describes most of the people who send me questions!

it's so striking to me that much of what you're describing is very reminiscent of what's recounted in The Persistent Desire, an anthology of writings on butch/femme identities edited by femme historian and archivist Joan Nestle that was released in 1992. in various essays and interviews countless butches and femmes recount their discomfort with the feminist turn against butch and femme identities that too place in the 70s, when both roles were declared problematic recreations of heterosexuality and summarily decried as politically "incorrect" for lesbians. it's shocking to me how much what you've described echoes these accounts experienced by lesbians half a century ago - the disowning of women who are "excessively" feminine or masculine, the demonizing of penetrative sex, general insistence that there are "correct" sex acts that every lesbian is supposed to enjoy, and the deep discomfort and insecurity that this causes among people who don't fit into the very rigid standards of proper lesbian identity set forth.

here's a link to a PDF, if that's interesting to you at all. it's very long, so feel free not to read it straight through; it's a great project to skim and an incredible way to get in touch with the lesbians who came before us. their accounts of their lives are so wildly different from the boundaries of "good" queer representation that feel so universal today; in discussing their own lives many of these women speak very bluntly about their experiences with abuse, drugs, sex work, and violence. it's a great glimpse into the lives and history of a lot of very ordinary lesbians just living their lives, and I'm very grateful it's been preserved.

now, as for what you're actually gonna do: hey. listen. first of all, if you haven't given up reading this stuff yet, you've gotta. you simply cannot keep internalizing stuff that makes you overanalyze your own sexuality so hard that you feel uncomfortable about being attracted to women. that's not "healthy," that's conversion therapy lite. there are other places to talk about feminism without being made to feel ashamed of yourself.

listen: there's nothing unhealthy about anything that you described about yourself. being a stone butch, being attracted to certain looks and aesthetics, watching porn, wanting to use a strap and roleplay during sex and not being interested in other sexual activities - all of those thing are completely normal and, yes, healthy. certainly healthier than feeling the need to repress your sexuality so hard that thinking about being with a woman doesn't feel right!

should we run through that list?

femininity as cage - sure, okay, femininity isn't for everyone, and there are parts of it that suck. that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with women who like to wear dresses or put on makeup or shave or whatever, or anyone who's attracted to those women. genuinely I cannot think of anything less interesting or important to feminist organizing than getting hung up about what people want to wear. it's clothes, dude. it's fucking clothes. pick a more important hill to die on, I implore you.

penetration is not the same thing as violence. there's just nothing to debate about that one; it's patently absurd to pretend that every act of penetrative sex is rape and you'd have to fundamentally misunderstand how consent works to believe that.

straps are not about "disidentification with the female body," they're about augmenting a sexual experience. a strap-on is not more problematic than a vibrator or a massage oils or a pillow used to prop up a body part. unless those are also bad? are those bad? are pillows disidentifying from the female body also? I'm not up to date on this.

straight up I don't even know which part of your whole deal the infantilization of women is supposed to address, but a thing that I've always found interesting about a lot of radical feminists who are deeply distrustful of sex is the way that many of them seem to assume that women can't be trusted to understand their own sexual desires and need to be taught what's appropriate. seems kind of condescending to me, personally.

BDSM isn't the same thing as abuse. abuse, crucially, is not a situation that people can safe word out of or negotiate the constraints of. it's kind of like how, you know, I purposefully pay people to shove needles in my skin when I want a tattoo, but I wouldn't be stoked about it if somebody just ran up to me in public and started stabbing me without any warning or conversation. context is crucial. there can certainly be abusive people within BDSM spaces, but that's true of people of literally every sexual proclivity on earth, and certainly not an innate feature of BDSM. it's just make believe, dude. it's dress up. it's sex LARPing.

also, psst, hey. that thing about being attracted to women in a "guy-like" way? no such thing. men are humans, dude; they experience attraction in as many different ways as anyone else. for every dude interested in the same stuff as you there are men yearning for hairy women, muscular women, masculine women, women who will dominate them, women who would rather be eaten out then penetrated, and so on. to say nothing of the men who aren't into women at all! and, as is obvious from your own experience, men don't have a monopoly on those kinds of feelings, anyway! there are no men or women feelings, dude; it's all just people having feelings and fighting for their lives trying to figure out what they're into to.

I want to particularly talk about that last bit, where you mentioned not enjoying or wanting to engage in cunnilingus or tribbing. that's totally fine! people like different shit in all kinds of combinations - I'm personally a huge fan of getting eaten out and scratched up or bitten, but I don't do penetration and I've genuinely never met anyone who actually liked tribbing - and there are absolutely people out there who will, to paraphrase the poet Tinashe, perfectly match your freak.

(have you heard about the perpetual, critical shortage of tops that the queer community faces? you'd be a godsend, just saying.)

also, actually, hey I wanted to circle back to another thing as well: it's deeply alarming to me that whatever radfem stuff you've been reading has you feeling "put off" of women with wide hips and large breasts as well as women with small breasts and hips. what is wrong with either of those? both of those are just ways that women naturally look. women just look a wide variety of ways, and it's sad that that's upsetting you now. just thinking about this, conceptually, is giving me hives.

having been up to your eyes in all of this, I can definitely understand why you'd feel the urge to overanalyze you own gender and sexuality to the point of completely talking yourself out of identifying with anything that feels good for you. as I said, that's actually not healthy in any way, and as a sex educator I can't say that I think anyone genuinely invested in your well-being would want that for you.

entirely aside from their feelings on trans people, which I obviously disagree with pretty vehemently, one of the things about radfems that's most endlessly vexing to me is the insistence that such an extremely narrow range of sexual behaviors are appropriate. seems like a miserable way to live, and I sincerely hope you can detangle yourself from the morass of shame it's landed you in. you deserve better.

#sex edventures 2024

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flokali · 9 months ago

Text

♢ I own you, I love you | Tartaglia

warnings: yandere, dub/con, male m.asturbation, violence, threats, corruption, unrealistic sound-isolation, delusional thoughts, possessive behavior (from childe), childe/tartaglia lore-spoilers, canon divergence (maybe?), misunderstanding/miscommunication, manipulative behavior (from ajax) , unreliable narrator (ajax), ask to tag more.

pairing: afab! fem! reader x childe

word count: 10.7k

a/n: after months... here it is;; i'm so sorry for taking so long (tt),, i'll make it up to you !! istg (huhuh)

— 18+

You had trouble falling asleep ever since the day Ajax went missing.

It was meant to be yet another normal day, one that would blend in with all the others – muddled with other memories of childhood. Instead, it became the day your life began to change in ways you hadn’t even fathomed possible.

It had heavily snowed the previous night, which left a brand new layer of pure white to cover the humble roads of Morepesok. Normally, after such a heavy storm, you and Ajax would go over to his house and play inside – making use of the fireplace his father had built and hot chocolate his mother would make to keep warm. You both would steal his father’s diary and read about his adventures across Teyvat, recreating the scenes in your minds with yourselves as the main characters, before sharing your dreams with one another.

You never had the courage back then to tell him your ideal adventure was a rather simple one, while you always dreamt of moving to a less snowy nation, one like Mondstatd or even Sumeru, you were content with peacefully traveling across Teyvat before settling down. You didn’t want to spend your life fighting monsters and exploring the world, you only really longed for a simple life, where you could work a safe job and create a new home for yourself and those you loved. It was fun to imagine yourself on a long, rewarding journey across the nation to complete a request, but you’d rather keep it as just that – a figment of your imagination.

Ajax, on the other hand, longed for the chance to become a warrior. While never too skilled with the blade, always too nervous to even kill an animal, his determination was enough to convince you he’d one day make a great adventurer like his father. He’d longed for the thrill of exploring every corner of Teyvat, roaming the land until there was nowhere in this world where he hadn’t been to. Meeting new people, learning about new cultures, fighting monsters and gaining the freedom that came with being an adventurer; Ajax’s dreams had been clear from a young age.

A part of you, albeit really, insignificantly small, always wished he’d never succeed, secretly hoping he’d leave those ambitions behind with age and become a fisherman or craftsman instead. You’d heard tales of men and women who’d joined the Adventurer’s Guild only to never come back, and even more about those who’d joined the Fatui’s ranks, and you didn’t like the idea of waking up one day to find out he’d passed in a foreign land. It was selfish, you knew that, but you hoped that maybe he’d choose a safer option, one where you two could live together, away from the cold winters of Snezhnaya and safe from the dangers of the world. Maybe you’d both move away from Morepesok, find a quaint town in Fontaine where you’d both settle down and continue being friends, or maybe more, with no worries for each other’s safety - only busy being happy and healthy.

While you were putting on your boots and coat, making sure to layer as many clothes as you could to avoid the freezing cold temperatures that came with such heavy snowfall, you remember feeling an odd sense of uneasiness, a queasy feeling settling down in your stomach making you feel sick and nauseous. At the time you had thought nothing of it, too focused on meeting up with your friend and the taste of his mother’s hot coco, but now, years later, you think it was the Tsaritsa’s way to warn you for what was to come.

You remember nearing his house, confused as to why he hadn’t met you halfway down the road like he always did. It was quiet, eerily so, only the sound of your boots and your labored breath as you battled your way through the snow. There were no kids out on the street, all the adults that would normally be on their way were missing, even the birds seemed hesitant to chirp.

Instead, you find his mother worriedly looking around the perimeters of their humble cabin, her normally neat appearance now disheveled. Her long, ginger hair was half-hazardly put up, her clothes were wrinkled, her coat wasn’t even buttoned up all the way, but she stood there, frantically looking around.Whenever you’d come over, you and Ajax would always bump into one another before racing home to see who’d get there first, but today there was his mother’s choked sobs where normally his laughter would ring.

“Auntie?” You asked, running the rest of the way as you saw her expression, the closer you got the clearer the worry in her face became and you felt yourself grow anxious.

“Sweetie,” she looks at you in surprise, not having seen you approaching - too preoccupied to hear your unsteady footsteps as you struggled to run towards her, you see her blue eyes frantically look behind you and you follow suit, “A-Ajax, he wouldn’t have been with you, right?”

“No…” You shake your head, the previous feeling in your stomach expanding across your body, your head felt fuzzy as you asked, “Isn’t he home?”

“I… I’m afraid not,” She looks distressed at your words, her eyes water as she ushers you inside while still trying to look around to see if she caught sight of her son’s bright ginger hair against the cold white that coated the roads, her hands are shaking as she holds yours and brings you into her home, “Come inside, come inside – it’s too cold out t-there, you’ll get sick.”

Behind you, you hear more people arrive, you’re almost certain you hear your parents as well, but you have no time to ask before the worried mother shakes her head at the curious adults that looked up at her – the atmosphere worsens at the realization he hadn’t snuck out to be with you, she tries to occupy herself by taking you inside so as to not give into hopelessness.

You’re confused, not too sure of what’s going on even as you see adults from around the village inside of the house, maps in their hands as they whisper about the boy’s possible whereabouts.

“Is Ajax… o-okay?” You ask, you start to feel afraid as you process their concerned faces, seeing all of these adults who’d always been smiling and assured look so worried and uncertain sent a chill down your spine.

Where was Ajax? Normally he’d be here, assuring you your imagination was running wild and that nothing was wrong, the empty space next you where he’d normally be felt awfully cold.

Nobody answers you, instead you’re taken to your friend’s room where his siblings were gathered. Their mom, who you've always called your auntie, kneels down in front of you, taking your smaller hands into hers and giving you a weak smile.

“Ajax will be fine, okay?” Her words are meant to comfort you but you feel like they’re more for herself in that moment, “He’s just… gone out for a while, but he’ll be back before you know it.”

You nod, not truly understanding what she meant but feeling as if that was the response she needed to hear.

She gives your forehead a small kiss, you feel a tear fall travel down her cheeks and into your hair but you say nothing as she leaves, noting how she desperately tried to conceal the tears in her eyes; You’d never seen her cry before and it’s only then, as you look at his siblings and the pained look in their faces, that you finally begin to grasp the severity of the situation.

He was missing. Your best friend was gone and no one had any idea where he had run off to.

That evening your parents came over and stayed the whole day with Ajax’s family, alongside the other townspeople who went and came as they searched for the young boy in the woods around the area. Normally, you had to fight tooth and nail to let them grant you permission to stay over but that night they’d been the ones to offer it first.

That night was the first and only time you had a sleepover without Ajax. You and his siblings huddled together in the living room, next to the fireplace as his mother looked over you all. You would wake up every so often to the sound of people coming and going as the search efforts seeped into the night and early morning.

The suffocating cycle repeated itself for three days. Three days, two nights, and one afternoon later, after countless hours crying to your parents in fear of losing your best friend; Ajax emerges from the woods in one piece, but he who returns is not the same boy.

The first thing that stood out was his disheveled hair, he was wearing the same clothes – which were in too good a condition for a kid who’d gotten lost in the woods by himself for three days –, and the hunting knife he’d stolen from his dad now dull as if it’d been used continuously for a long period of time. What shocked the men and women who’d found him was the blood on him – specks decorated his face and hands as he looked up at them from his position near the corpse of a bear, one easily three times his size, he’d somehow taken out.

They’d found him in a clearing close to his house, the smell of blood had been what had alerted the rescue party – they’d prepared for the worst case scenario where the blood came from Ajax’s body, instead they found him to be in good shape even after three days by himself in the wild – perhaps a little too good, for it seemed he’d somehow taken down a beast by himself with his hands and his father’s old hunting knife.

The news of his return quickly spreads, everyone gathered near his home as they awaited with bated breaths to see the young boy; you’re there as he’s reunited with his family, hugging your mother’s leg as tightly as you could.

Rumors spread about him having killed an animal, some claimed it had been a rabbit while others alleged it had been a beast the size of a horse, and you wondered if they had mistaken another kid for Ajax – he’d never had the guts to harm even a fly, you doubted he’d changed so much in the span of three days. But it seemed as if you’d been wrong.

He doesn’t shed a tear, he doesn’t say a word. Not even a squeak as his parents coddle him; nothing at all. The only sounds are hushed whispers as people discuss the absurd situation and gleeful congratulations from onlookers as they celebrate his arrival and well being while giving his family well wishes. Instead, his blue eyes find yours and you’re unnerved at the empty look in them. Where there’s once been a warm light, you found an empty void that seemingly sucked you in and refused to let you go. You felt goosebumps arise all over your body the longer he looked at you. Even as he’s embraced within his father’s arms, his family surrounding him as they cry from relief, it’s only when he makes eye contact with you that, the first time since arriving, he smiles.

You feel a chill travel down your spine as you realize Ajax hadn’t been the one to return that day. You unconsciously nestled closer into your mother’s coat, as if trying to hide from his unnerving gaze.

You did your best to ignore that unsettling feeling, opting to attribute it to the rumors you had heard instead of something your friend had done, you pushed it and as well as any doubts aside as you attempted to focus on the good news; he was here, home with his family and back next door to your own house, and that was all that really mattered.

Ever since then, he’d become more confident. His once timid personality completely disappeared and the days where you had been the stronger one, defending him from his older siblings’ teasing and the mocking from other kids, were now but hazy memories. The roles had switched quite suddenly, not that you minded it too much – there were times where it felt nice to be the one being protected rather than the protector, but it had been quite the surprise at first.

He’d become bolder and more protective, never afraid to throw a punch (and sometimes even more) if he felt like you had been disrespected. It came to a point where you’d sometimes grow suffocated by his mere presence; eventually it escalated to where he’d never let you hang out with anybody he didn’t approve of, afraid they’d hurt you and he wouldn’t be there to defend you, and he’d make sure to let it be known you were his friend first and foremost. Unknowingly, a set of rules had been implemented between the two of you. Rules that stated you were his responsibility to protect and care for, even if it meant it drove others away and left you two isolated from other kids your age.

There were times you missed the Ajax that’d gone into the woods, the freckled boy who was timid and polite – who’d rather be teased by his siblings than hurt even a bug the size of your pinky, you doubt that boy would have picked fights with kids twice his size because they’d made a joke or two that didn’t land too well. But you hesitated to dislike the new Ajax, after all, when it was only the two of you - it was as if that damned day had never occurred at all.

He was back to the sweet, delicate boy who’d blush at your jokes and avoid prolonged eye contact. Whose hand would grow warm from holding yours, who’d confess his feelings to you every night when he thought you’d fallen asleep.

A few years later, once you were both older – now settled into your teen years, he ended up joining the Fatui and leaving your humble seaside village to go to the capital to train as a soldier.

You cried the day he’d given you the news. As overbearing as he could be, the ginger had been your only friend that your parents consistently let you hang out with, you’d spent your whole lives together and the thought of being without him terrified you greatly.

You remember the look on his face, the way he desperately tried to look strong and not let a single tear get away, his hands that had once been soft were now calloused as he grabbed your own.

“I’ll come back for you, I promise.” He’d whispered, his lips near your ear as he enveloped you in a hug.

You don’t trust your voice not to break and so you nod, letting your nose burn from trying to contain your sobs and not worry him more than he already was.

“A-and I’ll write you letters, so you better not forget me,” he continues, and even if by now he’d long since grown taller than yourself – you’re amazed at how small and vulnerable he felt against your frame, “so please… wait for me.”

“Only if you always write to me first… ‘Cause I swear I’ll leave if you forget.” You try to lighten the mood, halfheartedly warning him as if you both didn’t know it’d take death itself for Ajax not to fulfill a promise from him to you. He tightens his arms around you and you feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you wonder how long it’ll be before you can both hug like this again.

“I promise.” He laughs softly, the sound warms your heart.

“Then I promise as well.”

Ever since the day Ajax went missing, you have had trouble falling asleep.

When you did manage to fall asleep, a task which took longer than you’d like to admit without external factors such as medicine, your dreams would be strange and cryptic, often times you’d wake up in the middle of the night with a racing heartbeat and a sense of urgency, as if you’d been in danger; you’d learned to hate the images your brain would concoct during your rest. Some nights, you’d dream about that day and what would have happened if Ajax had never been found, other times you’d open the door to soldiers grieving his death; whatever tragic scenario your mind decided to present you, it would always be so realistic you’d wake up with tears streaming down your cheeks and a devastated heart.

This time, however, your sleep had come easier than expected and there were no dreams or nightmares to haunt you. No earthly worries were present and, after such an unexpected day filled with reunions and world-shattering news, you wished to succumb to a never ending night; however, the fates had other plans for you.

As you’re forcibly awakened from your slumber you feel a familiar, pleasant hand gently caressing your head. It felt gentle, their touch delicate and sweet, as if they were afraid any more force would hurt you. If the owner of said limb wished to lure you into consciousness, their touch had the opposite effect as it almost seemed to beg you to go back to sleep and forget the world of the living.

You felt truly content as you laid there, the blanket that laid atop of you was heavy and cozy, a foreign feeling - nothing like the blankets you were used to, and the pillow smelt like an old friend, welcoming and nostalgic. It all felt like a perfect trap set out to catch you, if that were that case then you’d have to admit it was a little too good at its job as you resign yourself to cuddling closer to the fabrics that enveloped you.

If it hadn’t been for the gentle kiss pressed against your cheek, you probably would have never gotten up. You want to complain, already formulating a sentence of indignation and annoyance to throw at the perpetrator, but the warmth left behind by the gesture is cozy and fills you with a taste full of happiness and fulfillment you don’t want to sour. At the feeling of a pair of unknown, soft lips against your skin you become more alert, slowly your consciousness begins to enter the realm of the living once more while you grow aware of your surroundings. Your eyes open timidly, the leftover fatigue from such a deep rest keeping them heavy, it takes you a second or two to adjust to the light and another few to register the man that lovingly gazed down on you.

“Ajax…?” You call out, rubbing your eyes as you wonder if it really was him. You’re almost sure you’re dreaming, as embarrassing as it was to admit, it had been so long since you’d seen him in person you may have simply gone crazy and imagined the man to be here; You’re about to ask him what he was doing here, if he were real at all, but he beats you to the punch with a smile before answering you with a gleeful tone that reminds you of summers long gone.

“The one and only,” he laughs gently as the hand that laid atop your head began to ruffle your hair in a familiar gesture – reassuring you that he was, in fact, a real person and not a figment of your imagination you had come up with to deal with the loneliness, “… don’t tell me you forgot about earlier.”

He teases you, but there’s a hint of worry in his eyes as he awaits your answer; surely, you couldn’t have forgotten. It’d only been a couple of hours and he had been sure to be as thorough as possible so that he left a print on both your mind and body, there was no way you’d forget making love with your soulmate. Just the thought of it sent jolts of anger and frustration down his spine, not at you - never at you, but at himself as he wonders if maybe he’d underperformed and disappointed you to the point you’d try and act like nothing had happened. If that was the case, he was more than willing to go again just this instant to right any previous wrongs.

“Earlier?” You mumble, you wreck your brain trying to think of what he meant but it isn’t a full minute before you realize what he meant. If it hadn’t been for his words, maybe his coat laying on you and your sore body would have been enough to eventually jog your memory. You feel your cheeks grow hot as you remember what you two had done earlier, you’d been so tired by the end you’d fallen into a deep, dreamless slumber that momentarily left you empty-headed when you woke up, but now the memories are rushing in and you doubt you’ll be able to forget the feeling of Childe on top of you for a long time.

Your embarrassed gaze was enough for him to know you’d remembered the dance you’d both partaken in earlier that day, the way your eyes avoided his had his heart swooning and a warm, fuzzy feeling settling deep within his very soul.

He feels himself calm down the more he looks at your flustered face, his whole body light and intoxicated on your sweet expressions; his pants felt so tight as he watched you fiddle with his coat, he wonders if he’d be able to warm you up on the ride back to his place the same way he’d done so previously.

You were absolutely adorable to him, so very weak and fragile in comparison to him – if he wasn’t such a gentleman, he would have loved to destroy you until you were too scared to leave his side. Alas, he decided that you shouldn’t be the one to face the sharp end of his blade, instead, he’ll scar your psyche and those around you so violently you’ll have no want nor need for anything else other than him.

“So, ‘slept well, my love?” He asks, his tone sweet as to never betray his darker thoughts — you didn’t have to know about how deeply he wished to break you until you couldn’t function without him by your side. You nod while suppressing a yawn, blissfully unaware of the chaos that was unfolding due to the man in front of you, and he laughs, content with your naïveté; he missed you oh so very much, “That’s good.”

There’s a warm, almost euphoric feeling that invaded your senses as you both took the time to enjoy each other’s presence; it felt different from earlier, something had changed now that you both had finally indulged in each other’s bodies. It felt akin to drinking a warm cup of tea, comforting and pleasurable, a reminder of home and the feeling of familiarity after a long period of impersonal and foreign coldness.

“Let’s get going then,” he breaks the silence, finally standing up from his crouching position, he gives you one last pat in the head before he starts making his way through your room and inspecting your belongings – or what remained of your belongings, “the carriage will be here soon, it’s only an hour long ride away but I think it’s best we take as much as we can today and send someone to pick up what remains.”

That’s when you notice he’s fully dressed, other than for his cape that was laid on you, as if he was anxiously awaiting the time to leave. You’re confused; why was he so keen on leaving and so fastly – he’d barely been here a handful of hours. Did you misunderstand his intentions?

“What do you…?” You ask, you rub your eyes while you sit up, using the large coat as a cover once you feel chilly Snezhnayan air hit your sensitive skin. It’s then that you can finally look at the many bags and boxes that litter the floor, and the almost empty room you laid in. All of your belongings seemed to have been packed away, almost nothing remained other than old family portraits and gifts from your parents from across the years.

“Huh?” The sight of your room packed into boxes was enough to wake you up, you instinctively try to stand up but a firm hand keeps you in place; you look up and see Ajax looking down at you. Your eyes meet and a chill goes up your spine at the look in his, they look eerily empty. You barely feel the coat slip from your shoulders, too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your forearm and the fact he, as a soldier, could easily overpower you if he wished.

“You’re still sleepy, aren’t you?” He asks, the muscles on his arm flex slightly as he speaks to you - he sounds disappointed as he continues interrogating you, “Do you really not remember?”

You shake your head, trying to wrack your brain for any indications of what he could be referring to; you remember the news about your parents and what happened after, but moving out? You have no memory of such a thing being even discussed, lest he meant —

“You agreed to marry me,” he says, as if reading your mind, your arm is finally set free as he adjusts the gloves on his hands, “and as my wife, you’ll be living with me from now on; I assumed you wouldn’t want to stay… here for much longer, considering everything.”

“Marry you…?” You echo as you watch him parade around your room, sharp eyes taking in what was left of your belongings on display. You vaguely remember his proposal during the first half of your conversation, something about how it’d serve as an obstacle for the arranged marriage – after all, it’s not as if the wife of a Fatui Harbinger’s marriage could be easily questioned or objected to. You had agreed almost immediately, even if you had your doubts about the reasoning behind the arrangement, you’d rather marry someone you knew than a stranger.

You wished you’d thought things through better, waited a bit longer before giving your answer. Clearly Ajax had made up his mind but now, after the shock of the news began to wear off, you felt like you owed your parents and yourself a discussion. Even if you felt betrayed, like their decision degraded you to an object instead of their daughter, you wanted to head their side; if only to get closure for your own aching heart.

Instead of answering you, Ajax turns around to meet your eyes. His eyes had always had the ability to suck you in like a void, they’re never clear - always muddy, like there was a side of himself he hid from you; you could never find your reflection on them. It took you a while to get used to them, to their empty, numb look that sent chills down your spine all those years ago.

The room feels small as you both look at each other, you sit on the bed naked and he stands in front of the door as if he were trapping you in, it’s silent and intimate and it makes your skin crawl. His expression is one you can’t read, maybe all those years in the Fatui had taught him how to make his enemies cower thanks to his presence alone, because the harder you tried to understand what his gaze meant, the less you felt you knew about him.

“Yes, you said you’d marry me.” He states and, even if it wasn't phrased as such, it felt more like an order than a recalling of events.

“I know,” you mumble, “and I… I like you, Ajax, I really do, and I’d love to be with you, but… but I can’t run away from this without hearing them out, you know?”

“You said you loved me.” His expression changes into a frown; Had you lied to him?

He probably sounds childish, his sentences short and repetitive like that of a toddler throwing a tantrum, but the truth was he simply couldn’t believe that you’d even hesitate to marry him; his brain completely short-circuited as he tries to understand why on Earth you’d ever think of giving anybody a chance when you had him.

“I mean, I-I do,” your cheeks feel hot as you’re quick to answer, at least you think you love him, “but… mom and dad wouldn’t just do this without a reason and you know that. I can’t just leave and never see them again without their explanation, even if it’s bad… I need some sort of closure; I can’t accept they’d just do this to me for no reason.”

“As if that changed anything, they gave your hand away for Mora, my love” He retorts, completely bewildered at your words; they’d tried to give you away to some lowlife, they hadn’t consulted you, they were going to spring it up on you one day and expect you to get over it the next, “Does a reason even matter?”

“It does, at least I… I think it does,” you look down at yourself and notice droplets falling down against the coat, staining the heavy leather with your sorrow, you were crying and hadn’t even realized it, “I don’t want to hate them… I don’t want them to hate me.”

He goes quiet when he catches sight of your tears. He freezes, his chest tightens and he feels himself grow dizzy – it’s the same foreign feeling he got when he first heard of the engagement, he feels his knees buckle under his weight and himself sway with every step he takes in your direction. They were beautiful, your tears, so delicate and clear, they shone like crystals when the soft afternoon light came through the window just right; he wishes he could collect them in his palm and weave a necklace to keep with himself, a reminder of your fragile heart he desperately needed to protect.

You looked so vulnerable, naked and crying, covered only by his coat. It was an intoxicating sight, he wished he could take a photograph and engrave it on his eyelids so every time he blinked he’d see this scene play out. You broke so beautifully, it was haunting to hear your voice break into sobs and wails as you mourned the life you thought you had, but it sounded beautiful to his ears nonetheless. It makes him feel insane, it was taking too much self-control from his part not to jump on you.

He sits down once more next to you, shaking limbs trapping you in his arms as he rubbed your back softly. As you cried uncontrollably, he found his cheeks hurting from the large grin on his face; it couldn’t be helped, no matter how much he tried to will it away, the joy he felt as he saw you cry was too much for him to hide.

“It’s okay,” he makes no effort to quell your fears, instead he chooses vague words of comfort to let it fester in your heart, “you won’t need to see them ever again, you’ll have me instead.”

He feels you hiccup, too deep in your own despair to formulate words. Your shaking body clings to his, you felt so scared and alone; How were you supposed to accept such a cruel, unforgiving truth? What could you possibly do to ease the pain in your heart as you thought about your parents and siblings, who had so easily given you away to a stranger. They felt so far away from you, it felt as if your whole life had been a long dream, nothing but a fantasy you were unaware could break any second, leaving you afraid and confused as you awakened to a reality you could have never seen coming.

“Come, I’ll help you get dressed,” Ajax helps you up as he speaks, essentially forcing you to face reality and displace the fogginess in your mind, he’s gentle as he makes his way with you to your closet - you vaguely note that it was still full, unlike the rest of your room it seemed he hadn’t touched it save for a few drawers here and there -, “the sooner you get ready,” he keeps an arm around you while he goes through the rack of your clothes, making sure you stay close to him, “the sooner we can get out of here.”

You nod, your head hurts but you can’t seem to stop the tears.

Maybe he was right, maybe it was a bad idea for you to talk to them; there was truly no excuse, was there? You doubted anything they’d say would take the feeling of betrayal away, they had treated you like an object, completely forfeiting your own personhood and giving you away to a stranger for Mora. No matter how desperately you wanted to understand what they’d done and why they’d done it, the more your head and heart hurt – it was such a cruel, heartless thing to do, to throw away your own blood to whoever bid the highest for them.

You can’t even muster the strength to facilitate the Harbinger’s task of dressing you, your whole body felt heavy as he made sure to layer on your clothes, it was near impossible for you to even stand up by yourself without your legs swaying and your knees buckling under your weight. It’s only due to the ginger’s persistence and strength that you don’t collapse.

By the time you’re ready and boarding the carriage, you’re tired and too drunk in your own misery, to question why, even as it neared nighttime, your parents nor your siblings hadn’t come home yet. Not that you cared, at least not right now, seeing them was the last thing you wanted to do.

The ride home is peaceful, you’d fallen asleep early on and laid beside Childe as he caressed your sleeping cheek and gazed out the window. Your head laid on his lap, broad thighs becoming a make-shift pillow for the ride, a blanket covering your body to keep you warm while you both made your way to his residence in the capital through the cold night.

Bored, deep blue eyes mindlessly gaze at the scenery passing by, his thoughts too jumbled together for him to admire the scenery. His thoughts stray back to your mother’s horrified face as she walked in on you together in bed earlier, he chuckles to himself as he recalls the screech she let out; it felt nice to see her so uncomfortable, but it wasn’t nice enough he’d forgive her for what she’d tried to do to you; Separate you from him.

“Ajax?” She finally gasps out, her hand points at him in an accusatory manner, “What… what is going on?”

When did that boy come back? He’d been gone for years, the last she remembered him was as a young teenager going off to join the Fatui; what was he doing in bed with you? You hadn’t mentioned him once during all these years, she had thought you’d long since forgotten about him. So why on Earth was he laying in bed with you - naked? Had he pressured you to do so? You two had such a close relationship, there was no way you wouldn’t have mentioned him to her if you two were dating - her mind was racing with a million thoughts and all of them left her worried and confused. It’s clear she’s not doing well, her breaths are visibly unsteady, her chest rising and falling unevenly while she audibly gasped for air, she’s shaking so hard you can see her knees wobble as she tries to steady herself against the doorframe; this wasn’t something she could have ever seen in coming.

Ajax couldn’t care less, the whole spectacle was boring and wholly unnecessary; she wouldn’t get to see you ever again, she should be grateful he hadn’t simply taken you home with him the minute he saw you.

“I came back for my beloved,” he answers carelessly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, he makes a vague gesture towards your sleeping form as if to make the point clearer, “can’t have a wedding without a bride, after all.”

“Wedding? You and her… are getting married?”

“Yes, is it that hard to understand? Come on, ma’am, everyone could see that she and I were going to get married,” he scoffs, “you said so yourself multiple times.”

“But,” she looks visibly confused, “that was back when you two were together everyday, Ajax… you haven’t seen each other in years. You can’t seriously think that you’re getting married because you both said so when you were children.”

The audacity this woman had was near parody, clearly she knew nothing about you nor your life and it made him feel sick. She had the privilege to be a constant part of your life during all those years he was away and yet she clearly spent them doing Archons’ knows what, he was growing visibly angry the more she spoke.

“We’ve known each other long enough,” he shoots her a glare, “and I’ve known my whole life I’d marry her, whether we’ve been seeing each other everyday or not - we’re getting married and that’s final.”

“Did she agree to this?” Your mother asks, her voice rising until it was near a squeak.

“Of course she agreed to marry me!” He snaps, his tone venomous; Could she just shut the hell up already?

“Then why didn’t she mention it to her father nor myself?”

“Because we agreed to get married today,” he puts your sleeping body aside, slowly standing up and tying a loose blanket around his hips, “and neither of you were here.”

“Today?” She echos, “You came back today and asked her to marry you?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I did,” he shoots her a glance as he picks up his clothes, slowly putting them on as he goes on, “and she said yes, I think you get the point by now.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” she mumbled to herself, she made her way inside the room, careful as to not wake you up, “there’s no way she was serious about marrying you. You… you’re practically a stranger to all of us at this point, Ajax.”

His pants were on at this point, his blouse now balled into his fist as he tried to control his annoyance. This was starting to get pathetic on her end.

“I will have you know,” he interrupts her, turning around to make eye contact with the woman once more to make his point clear, “that not only have we been in constant communication since I left, she agreed quite happily to the proposal - I don’t understand what exactly is not clicking, ma’am.”

“Of course she’d agree,” she exclaims, her hands flying up in desperation as she continues, “she has liked you all her life; but were you two dating until this point? What even was the relationship between you two; how am I supposed to support her getting engaged with a man we haven’t seen or heard from in years. Never once did she mention you, Ajax, she never spoke of a partner much less a marriage, all her life she’s made it clear that’s one of the least of her concerns and you want me to believe her mind changed in one day because you came and had sex with her? You’re insane if you think I’ll allow it.”

He feels himself freeze, most of what she’s said up until now feels like background noise the moment he finishes processing her words. You never mentioned him to your parents? He knew you hadn’t mentioned the letters, not all of them at least - he’s asked you not to, but never once in the almost eight years since he left had you mentioned him - not even as a potential suitor nor as a lover. That hag is lying, right? There’s no way you’d do this to him, right? You loved him, you said you did when he was fucking you just minutes ago, you wouldn’t lie to him, no.

“Listen to me, I don’t care if you want to get married to her - but there’s an order to how things are done,” your mother shoots your sleeping form a glance, “you could have at least let us know beforehand you’d be coming, you… you should have spoken to us; you know we would have given you our blessing if you’d waited a bit longer. This is the first time you’ve seen each other in years, emotions are running high - at least give her some more time to think this through, you already bedded her… don’t make this harder on her - she was beginning to move on, she’d been planning to move and now you’re telling me she’s throwing it all away? For a man she’s barely seen in years no less.”

“You’re… you’re wrong.” He mumbles under his breath, “You’re wrong, we both love each other.”

“Listen to me,” had your mother’s voice always been so grating to the ear, “she might have said yes to you now but how do you know she won’t regret it? When did you ask her? Today, the same day you come for the first time to see her? You think that under all the emotions that’ll come up seeing you again she’ll be thinking rationally? Was this even a conversation you both had previously, Ajax? How are you so sure she loves you like a wife and not just as a friend?”

His movements slow down, his hands feel heavy as he buttons up his shirt; can she just shut up? What did she think she was doing, lying to get him out of the way? Insinuating you’d ever regret him, what a joke - you needed him to survive.

“I’m saying this not just as a parent but as a wife, you can’t rush into these things, you can’t spring the question up suddenly and not take the time to consider it properly! You… you immediately had sex with her and you want me to believe this is out of love and not physical attraction? You couldn’t even wait for her father and I to get home. You’re telling me that both of you are completely sure of what you’re doing, you want me to believe that? I’m not letting my daughter make such a rash decision in a day -”

“So what if it was in only a day, huh? You’re just looking for any excuse to oppose us getting together,” he’s quick to interrupt her, “because you are trying to get her to marry some old fuck for some quick mora.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You think I don’t know, huh? You don’t care about her at all, do you? Lying to me that she’d never mention me, as if you didn’t know we were together all this time… acting like you care about her when there’s some fucking bitch downstairs you sold her off to.”

“What… What's this about selling my daughter?” “Don’t act stupid on me,” he doesn’t even bother buttoning the rest of his shirt before he’s pushing your mother out of the room and following her out the door, “I tried to be civil, but I’m getting really damn tired of you criticizing us and you keep on lying.”

She hits her back against the wall, she yelps in surprise but the Harbinger makes no acknowledgement of any discomfort he may be causing. Instead, gloved hands shoot up and take hold of her shoulders as he continues going at her; there’s a crazed look in his eyes as he keeps on speaking, getting progressively annoyed the longer the conversation went on.

“We – I, we never sold her off,” your mother pants, she looks up at him in confusion and fear, “who do you take us for?”

“I have the records,” he pushes her down, “there’s no use in lying to me, ma’am – I know everything I need to know.”

“You’re crazy,” she spits out, “you’re fucking crazy… I don’t what the fuck happened to you, but I’m sure as hell now that you are absolutely not getting anywhere near my daughter!”

“Shut up!” He picks her up and throws her against the wall, there’s a loud thud as her body slowly sinks into the ground, he corners her with his body, “Shut the fuck up, you hag.”

“Let go!” Tears are streaming down her eyes as she pleads,“Help, someone help! Please, upstairs… come upstairs now!”

“Listen here,” his eyes are wide open, his posture threatening as he leans over her shaking body, he’s rough in his handling of her and he knows it but chooses not to care, “she said she’d marry me, she said she loves me, she said so and so it is. There’s no debate, got it? If I want to fuck her two minutes after seeing her, I do so, and if I want to marry her after not seeing her for years, I do so. We don’t need a lying bitch getting in our way, you understand that, right? I don’t need you taking her away from me to give her to someone else. She was mine before I left, she was mine when I left, she’s mine right now, and she’ll be mine as long as I’m alive, so you either shut up and accept it or I’ll get rid of you and your fucking mistake of a family.”

“Get off of her!”

Oh, your father was here.

It’s strange to think that at some point, Ajax would have considered him something akin to a second father - especially now as his stomach filled itself with venomous rage at the mere sight of the older man.

“I said get off,” he runs towards the younger soldier, at an impressive speed for a man his age, his hands lunge forward as if to tackle him but it takes one hydro blade’s slash for him to stop dead in his tracks, “I… what do you want?”

Your father looks visibly worried as the ginger brands his weapon, the sight of an unfamiliar vision user threatening your spouse is one that would make anyone think twice before taking their next step.

“Do you seriously not recognize me?” Tartaglia laughs incredulously, “Come on, sir… I was only gone for a couple of years.”

“Ajax?” Your mother nods her head frantically as your father finally puts a name to the face of the strange man in his house, “What the hell are you doing, boy?”

“He’s going on about,” your mother gasps for air, “marrying her and - and, us selling her or something!” The awkward position she found herself in made it hard for her to comfortably speak, even so, she made sure to spit it out as quickly as possible. Her chest is heaving while she desperately tries to make your father understand the absurdity of the situation, the hydro blade in his hand was simply too close to her skin for her comfort - the power of Harbinger was nothing to scoff at and she wanted nothing more than to never find herself in this position ever again.

“We can talk this out,” your father’s hands shake as he tries to slowly approach the ginger, “there’s clearly been a misunderstanding…”

“There has been no misunderstanding, sir,” he laughs, “I know damn well what I saw and what I heard.”

“We would never -” “Yes, you would!” He nearly shouts, but he restrains himself - if only because you’re still sleeping nearby, his whole body shakes as he tries to control the volume of his voice, “And I’m getting really fucking tired of you acting like you wouldn’t, you know? Just admit it and maybe, just maybe, we can work things out.”

“We would never hurt our daughter like that, Ajax,” the older man tries to explain, “please, understand that… let my wife go and we can talk this out properly, please.”

“Talk it out?” Ajax looks at him incredulously, “There’s nothing to talk about if you won’t admit to your mistakes, sir.” “B-but we didn’t -”

“Shut up!” His blue eyes are wide open, the crazed look in them was enough to send a chill down a grown man’s body. Why couldn’t they just admit to trying to separate the both of you? Why were they so desperate to lie? He knows what he heard, he knows they were trying to ruin his chances to be with you. They were clearly trying to get in his way, they had to be conspiring against the two of you - there was no other reason as to why you’d been so hesitant to agree to his proposal, why you’d been scared to see the truth; they were brainwashing you into forgetting him, doubting him. They had to have known he’d come back, there was no way he wouldn’t have, it’d take death itself for him to give up on you.

He couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t stand to listen to your parents’ pathetic attempts at covering up their lies.

Your mother’s words die in her throat as he knocks her out with a single blow, it’s by sheer luck the impact against her skull hadn’t straight up killed her. Your father doesn’t even get to react, not even a pip can be mumbled, before Tartaglia is making his way towards him at rapid speeds, the young man’s strength was enough to tackle him down. The Fatui soldier makes sure to use as much strength as possible, all in an attempt to get his opponent to knock his head against something and pass out with as little fuss as possible.

It’s almost pathetic how quickly he’d taken both of them down, in just a few minutes the couple was knocked out cold - not yet dead nor mortally injured but not awake, no longer able to annoy Ajax or disturb you.

It’s almost pathetic how quickly he’d taken both of them down, in just a few minutes the couple was knocked out cold, both lying motionless on the ground, their limbs sprawled awkwardly; not yet dead but no longer able to annoy Ajax or disturb you, much to the former’s delight.

Footsteps could be heard from the first floor as the guests downstairs started getting worried, standing up and roaming around calling your parents’ names - too polite to dare wander into the house but too anxious about their absence to stay completely still, the thick wooden floors muffled the sounds but not enough that the commotion upstairs couldn’t be heard. One of the many benefits of Snezhnayan architecture was the isolation you could achieve in a big enough house, he’ll keep it in mind when he picks a house to start a family with you in.

Due to your house’s size, Ajax wouldn’t have to worry too much about Andrei or his parents hearing too much, meaning he’d be able to keep the element of surprise.

The Vision user knew he’d have to avoid the dining room, the place where the guests currently found themselves, lest he lose control and kill his former subordinate the minute he laid eyes on him, however his reasoning was anything but noble; Tartaglia simply wasn’t too keen on the idea of letting him get away with his crimes just yet.

To him, death would be too soft a punishment, it would have to be a fate worse than, not just for Andrei but every single person who was involved in the scheme.

His gloved hands make their way to check their pulses, both weak but still there - good.

With a satisfied huff he makes his way down the hall and staircase, quick to dismiss his signature hydro blades as he purposely makes his presence known with loud, rhythmic footsteps any soldier who’d served under him would recognize.

Years of hanging out under this very roof meant Ajax knew exactly where your back entrance was, which meant that he could enjoy instilling a sense of dread into the people downstairs without risking being found.

With a lazy smirk, Ajax purposely lets a couple of framed pictures and paintings fall from the wall, his hand tracing the walls and making sure to create as much sound as possible. As he approaches the dining room, he can hear the confused, hushed whispers as someone tries to peek into the hallway but, by the time the young man finally reaches the door to look around, Ajax has long since exited the house as he makes his way to recall the soldiers he’d stationed around the neighborhood.

With a wave of his hand soldiers seemingly appeared from thin air, emerging from bushes and rounding dark corners, soon the Harbinger is surrounded by men awaiting his orders.

“Is the Galkin residency ready?” He asks, making direct eye contact with a shorter soldier.

“Yes, sir.” The man nods.

“Good,” he combs a hand through his hair as he looks at your childhood home, “there’s a knocked out couple on the second floor, the rest are in the dining room.”

“Yes, sir.” A chorus of voices respond, mechanically a group of the soldiers turn around and march into the house.

“Keep it down, will you? If they scream, knock them out,” he adds half-heartedly, “she’s sleeping, so don’t wake her up.”

The leader of the group nods enthusiastically, making sure to echo the sentiment to his men before making their way inside the house.

As their operation takes place, Tartaglia turns back around to address his remaining companions; “Make sure to make it look as realistic as possible, we need the charges to stick.”

“Yes, sir.”

He asks to see the boxes full of fabricated evidence one last time. There are at least six large boxes filled to the brim, but he focuses on one. The one that holds the most damning evidence for the most serious crime anyone could commit in the land of Cryo; Treason against the Tsaritsa. Cold, blue eyes look with a gleeful glint at the falsified letters, penned to look exactly like your family members’ handwriting, there’s more; photographs, bank records, falsified shipment records, and more.

He gives one final nod, officially sealing everyone’s fates. From this moment onwards, your family and the Galkin’s would be charged with treason against the Tsaritsa and conspiracy to overthrow the Fatui. Sure, many others, perhaps even innocent people, will unjustly be implicated but he’ll make sure to pin this on the worst people he can. He’ll get rid of two birds with one stone while he’s at it.

It takes only a couple of minutes before everyone is being pulled outside of the house and led into carriages. It’s a humiliating sight, the ones who were awake were panicked, some even crying, the ones who had to be subdued needed to be carried by two or more people as they were unceremoniously dragged away.

Ajax purposely hides away, making sure to make a mental note of who was being taken and their condition. Andrei and his father are the only Galkin family members out of the four present who hadn’t been knocked out. Your parents, your eldest sister, and younger brother are knocked out - your elder brother, and your other sister are the only ones awake. There are a couple of other people, their partners, and a few he didn’t recognize immediately. In total, there were 16 people taken from your home.

Tartaglia made a point to only reveal himself as they finally dragged Andrei out, the final person out the house. His hands were bound behind him, a confused look clear in his eyes as he desperately tried to understand what was going on. His green eyes finally make contact with Ajax’s, they widen.

“Sir? What is going on -” He’s cut off by a harsh shove from the soldier walking him, he stumbles.

Ajax almost feels bad at the sight, Andrei was a good man - if only he didn’t try to get with you. He was young, unlike the idea he’d planted into your head, Galkin had only recently turned 27 last month, and he’d been a promising soldier until he was honorably discharged after a failed mission took the lives of most of his troupe. However, if you found out about his closeness in age to yourself, you’d probably not have reacted as poorly - maybe you’d even think about giving the fucker a chance. After all, people like Andrei - honorable young men who sacrificed a part of himself for his nation - were always appealing to the masses. But never as appealing as Ajax was to you, he couldn’t be.

The Harbinger turns around on his heels, not even sparing another glance to the arrested individuals, before making his way inside your house.

It’s filled with strangers, their serious faces evident as they set up the scene - their movements calculated as they did their best to create the image of guilt. Even though there were easily five or more people in every room, the whole place felt eerily empty. In a way, he almost feels as if you two were the only people in the world - you, the sleeping beauty waiting for him to arrive.

There’s a spring in his step as he pushes the door to your room open, his eyes immediately find you buried within his coat. He’s not surprised you had managed to sleep through it all, you’d always been a heavy sleeper even during your youth.

He ushers a soldier in with a bunch of empty boxes, signaling for her to start packing your things up.

“Wake her up and you’re dead.” He adds while he makes his way towards you, a cheeky smile on his face as he makes himself comfortable next to you.

The soldier nods, making sure to be as quiet as humanly possible as to not anger the man in front of her - at this point, everyone in the house knew that he was not exaggerating when he said such things. When it came to you, the eleventh Fatui Harbinger knew no bounds. She turns around, making sure not to look too much at either of you in fear of upsetting him.

He patiently waits for the woman to finish packing all she could fit in the boxes. By now, he’s cuddling you in his arms, never allowing you the chance to so much as squirm away from him. It’s a suffocating, possessive hold he has on you, like he was scared if he let you go even for a second you’d leave him.

“Good, thank you.” He doesn’t even look at her - too focused gazing lovingly at your sleeping form. She says nothing but bows before leaving, desperate to leave the room as soon as possible.

The minute she closes the door he pulls himself away from you, making sure to not wake you up with any sudden movements - a concern he seemingly hadn’t had before when he’d been tormenting your parents.

He’d done his best to conceal himself but the truth was that the minute he saw you again, he felt himself growing hard again. Your naked body was hidden enough he didn’t feel the need to kick the soldier from before out, but he knew - he knew that beneath it you were still dirty with him, you were bruised from his handling of you, your neck filled with his kisses and bites. Just knowing that was enough for him to get dizzy, as if all the blood that was meant to flow to his brain had been redirected to his dick. His white pants were tented up, it almost hurts from how erect it was - just the memory of you taking him inside had a wet patch forming in his underwear.

“Look at what you do, baby,” he moans, his voice breathy as he pulls his zipper down, slowly freeing his hard-on, “ah… hah, I want to be inside you again.”

Just the cold air hitting his bare cock is enough to send a jolt of electricity down his spine, he just wants to feel you again, it’s all he wants - to be inside you again and to fuck you until all you can think of his your future husband’s cock. He takes your hand, so much smoother than his battle-worn one, and cautiously shoves two of your fingers into his mouth as a make-shift gag.

He keeps one hand there while the other one slowly caresses his slit, his touch almost a ghost on his skin as he makes sure to tease it until a glob of pre starts to form from how sensitive he already was. He takes a small amount of pre-cum and uses it as lube, making sure to spread it slowly across his tip and down his shaft with long strokes.

He’s trying his best not to bite down on your fingers but it was so hard not to, instead he occupies himself by sucking on them in sync with his hand.

“Mhm!” He accidentally touches his vein, the thick bump was extra sensitive against the cold air and your scent, his whole body twitches.

He can’t stop his hand from gaining speed and force, the longer he’s here with you the more his hand moves. It just not enough, his hips thrust upwards as he gives into himself, fucking into his balled up hand. His tongue laps at your fingers, his lips wrap tightly around them as he tries not to bite into your flesh; he can’t stop his hand from tightening against his cock.

He continues like this for a while, humping into the air like a bitch in heat, making sure to not cum - he didn’t want this to end too soon, he wanted to continue feeling like this next to you. In your room, a place that smelt so much like you it was overstimulating him, the taste of your lips against his tongue was intoxicating - he didn’t want today to end.

“Hah, mhm…” He chokes against his moan; it’s starting to get too much for him.

It’s then that he makes the mistake of looking over to you. Just the sight is enough for him to cum, it takes just a few strokes for him to finally spill.

“F-Fuck!” He can’t stop the moan that leaves his lips, he takes your fingers out of mouth in fear of hurting you but he refuses to let it go, gripping tightly while he lets himself ride the wave of pleasure he feels.

It takes him a second or two until he finally calms down, his dick growing sensitive as he slows down his strokes until he finally stops. His chest feels heavy as he pants, his heart beating painfully loud - he wonders if maybe you could hear it even in your sleep, a part of him hopes so. His whole body is on fire but he thinks this is the best he’s ever felt, just being near you was enough to make him feel like a God.

“I… I love you,” he pants, his fingers almost leave a dent in your hands from how tightly he’s gripping it, “hah… I love you so, so much…”

Almost a little too much.

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