#why would the cotton bud bit just come off

[haniawritesthings]

Developing a personal vendetta against q-tips

[multi-kpop-fanfics]

Hi zeta! So I received a notification today that I was ovulating and had a thought. Husband/Ceo!Cheol checking your phone as you received and notification that you were ovulating. Like my man would go crazy and be at it like the fucking rabbits.

(sorry why is this so long)

tw: dom!seungcheol, sub!reader (fem), marriage!au, unpotected sex (pls stay safe), breeding kink, mentions of kids and pregnancy, praise, use of petnames, daddy and mommy kink (they want to be actual parents), mating press, spanking, oral (f rec), cockwarming - minors dni.

@gyuwoncheol tagging her bcs she helped me to her own demise

"Babe?"

"Yes darling?"

"You have a new notification!" Seungcheol yells from the other end of the living room.

"I'll check it later, thanks!" You yell back, trying to make yourself heard through the noise of the kitchen mixer.

Seungcheol is a man who values your privacy and would never attempt the petty snooping around on your phone.

But how could he miss the bright notification of your cycle tracking app saying that you're ovulating?

He turns his head to your direction and looks at the shape of your body standing in front of the counter and his mind races at the thought of you bearing his kids and having them run around your legs in the future.

And it makes him want to fuck you until he has made sure you're pregnant.

He gets up from the couch and walks up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

"You sure love back hugs, don't you?" You let out a small laugh.

"How can I not when I have such a pretty wife?" He hums.

"Oh, I see how it is." You turn off the mixer and turn around to face him. "Come on, out with it, big guy."

"What? Can't I just compliment my wife because I feel like it?" He pouts his lips.

"Seungcheol, you never compliment me without any reason."

"I was just thinking...."

"I knew it."

"I haven't even said anything yet!" He complains.

"Oh my God, just say it!"

"I was thinking how pretty you'd look with a belly full of our kids."

Your eyes widen with shock at your husband's blunt words. It's true that you've discussed the possibility of widening your family with Seungcheol and you know he would be the most silly and doting dad ever. But the way he looks at you and his hands tighten on your body makes you feel a tad bit jittery (in a very good way).

"Did you just think of that, or...?"

"Your tracking app said you're ovulating and I can't get it out of my damn head." Seungcheol groans.

"You checked my phone?!"

"I didn't unlock it! It was right beside me and I just saw the pop-up on the screen!"

"And that made you worked up already?" You deadpan.

"God, you have no idea." He drops his head on your shoulder and rolls his hips against you.

"You're incorrigible." You hug him with a light chuckle.

You feel his lips stretching in a grin and he throws you over his shoulder with one swift motion, carrying you to the bedroom. You complain all the way, but he just slaps your ass and puts you down on the mattress, your legs hanging from the edge of the bed.

"I am indeed incorrigible, darling." Seungcheol strips himself down to bare skin and purposefully climbs over you to grab a pillow and place it under your lower back.

"I'll do everything in my power," he hooks his fingers in the hem of your sweats and drags them away from your legs, "to get your pretty pussy," he removes your cotton panties to reveal your cunt, "full of my cum until you physically can't take more inside you."

"C-Cheol-" You watch your husband kneel on the foot of the bed, ready to use his tongue on you.

"Talk to me, darling. Tell me what you want."

"Fuck, I want your kids so bad." You moan and spread your legs, putting your hands under your knees to pull them on your sides.

"That's what I thought too." He smirks and leans down to press a kiss on your clit, followed by full-bodied swipes of his wet muscle from your puffy bud of nerves to your hole, waiting for your pussy to drip just enough to get messy.

"You're so perfect, you know that?" He brings your legs on your chest and puts your ankles on his shoulders, the head of his cock dragging over your pussy. "Perfect wife, with a perfect pussy." He whispers and slides his shaft inside you, stealing your moans with his mouth.

You let yourself get lost in the feeling of his pillowy lips, all while his cock is battering up your cunt. Your leg muscles tense up from being stretched out to their limits, but you don't want to switch up positions.

"Sweet, sweet fucking cunt, all ready to keep my cum safe." Seungcheol groans wildly on your lips, "Want to make you a mommy so bad."

"Fuck, I want you to be a daddy, Cheol, ah!" You throw your head back on the bed, watching your husband plow his hips in you relentlessly, his bottom lip caught between his pearly whites.

"W-Want a pretty little girl, w-with your eyes and lips, wanna treat her like a princess."

"And a rowdy little b-boy, so you c-can play g-games with him." You stammer over your words, but you get the message across.

"Fuck, I love you so much, darling." Seungcheol moans airily and plants his hands beside your head, rutting in you like a madman, sweat dripping down his body and a few drops landing on your chest.

"Cheol, I'm c-close." You sob.

"Me too, baby. Just a little more, please." He begs you to hold out.

You do as he says and you cum undone underneath him, his thick cock pulsing until he has emptied himself inside your cunt, not daring to pull away from you.

A few seconds of silence pass and none of you has moved yet. Your pussy clenches around his cock ever so slightly and you whimper, your legs falling limp on the bed.

"Even your pussy wants more, babe." Seungcheol chuckles and moves his cock inside you, bringing himself back to full hardness.

"You mean you've got more to give?" You pant.

"For you? Always."

[nanamimizz]

tags: 18+ minors dni, / fingering / tit sucking / dirty talk /begging / spit / dacryphilia / fem reader /

john didn’t expect it to go this far.

he thought you would be in his tent, and talk to each other like you do every other night. when you sit in his lap, legs hanging of the edge of his cot with your boots off by the edge of the tent, just enough in sight to let others know you are in here. he can catch the movement of your stocking clad feet as they bounce idly through his story of his most recent adventure. john does not notice how your eyes, prettily framed by soft lashes stay focused on his lips until you say his name so sweetly.

“john? m’ sorry, but can i kiss you?” you ask gently, a hand on the lapel of his shirt as he blinks at you. you can catch a bit of pink on his cheeks and he laughs raspy and rickety at your request.

“you don’t need to ask darling - you know that.” john says grinning in the soft light that you can still get from the fireplace. you press a small one by the corner of his lip first.

“i like asking.” you mumble before pressing a proper kiss to his lips. something in his spine dances a light at the brush of your lips against his - a dangerous sweetness that clouds his mind with a fog that he more than happy to let consume him. it's hard to keep track of what happens next, his mind filled with the gentle brushes of his tongue against yours.

somehow the blouse you wear, the pretty cream-brown one that makes more than most turn their heads to look your way is unbuttoned along with your chemise. your chest is exposed and john isn’t a good enough of a man to keep his hands to himself. your breasts fit well into his hands, his fingers tweaking at your nipples and squeezing hard enough to make you whine into his mouth.

you moan his name and beg, looking at him with pretty glassy eyes and push yourself higher on his lap - the way you hike your own skirts up as if to invite him in makes him chuckle in between your lips.

“want my fingers, my darlin’? that why you’re begging for me?” there’s a wickedness to him when he asks that - a wild hunger that you think the wolves imparted onto him up in the frost covered mountains. you whimper, oh so prettily, looking at him with biggest set of pleading eyes he’s ever seen as you beg for him breathlessly.

“please, please john - can i please have your fingers?” it tastes sweet on his tongue, your earnest eagerness and how you do not hide your desperation from him. john let’s it settle in his mouth and digs his teeth in to not let it go. his hand, so large and scared makes it up the smooth cotton of your stockings and he expects to touch the matching cotton of your bloomers only to be met with the heated silk of your skin.

john hisses, teeth bared at you as he realizes you have forgone bloomers long before you settled in his tent with the desire for him.

“dirty little thing. took em’ off for me already?” you whine, and nod letting your hands come to wrap his wrist to anchor yourself from the lust that wants to bubble over and out of you.

“y-yes, wanted to make it easy for you.”

john doesn’t think he’s had his hands up a girl’s skirt this fast before.

you are wet, sticky and soft for his finger tips as you let out sweet little noises when his index brushes over the bud of your clit. he nips at your lip when you yelp a little too loud when his manages to get his finger inside you. you whimper his name when he curls it inside you, gasping when he manages to slip another next to it. john fucks you relentlessly with his fingers like that, curling and spreading them with his thumb keeping at your flushed clit. all the while you are gasping his name, nails digging and clawing at the pale skin of his wrist as you press yourself closer to john’s sturdy form.

his dark eyes are focused in how the soft inside of your thighs glisten with your wanting in the scant light that bleeds in from the part of tent flap that’s still open. movement catches john’s eyes from where they were pinned - he watches at how one hand goes to play with one of your breasts. each time you pinch or pull at your sensitive nipples you whine a little higher or clench a little tighter and it’s to no one’s surprise that john can’t himself but to bend his head faster than you ever seen him move to take one nipple in his mouth.

your hand that was busy with that pursuit of pleasure flies to your mouth in order to silence the deafening squeal at how good it feels to have john lick and suck at your breast. it’s too much and just want you need - the harshness at how his fingers milk your cunt and the way his mouth sucks at your tight, sensitive nipple,

you cum without warning and only manage to whine out john’s name from behind your hand with a defeated squeal.

“john - john, please, i came -“ you whimper eyes glimmering with tears sweetened by your pleasure as you try to push his head away. john obeys, like the obedient dog he is for you and you alone. it makes you blush, makes your cunt flitter around his fingers that are still inside you at how a string of spit follows his mouth only to break and drip down the hard peak of your nipple from john’s ministrations.

he tilts his head up to kiss your proper, deeply as if you are the deer and he the wolf. you don’t even realize that you’ve been pushed back on the cot until you open your blurry eyes - rimmed with red to look up at john. you are so pretty, if john was a lesser man he’d weep above you at how you look at him with the widest, most trusting gaze in the world to see you like this.

spread out and wanting for him, and him alone.

“gonna give you a sec okay? wanna pleasure my girl real good tonight.” he mutters to you, voice rough like a wolf’s growl in the night. it makes your heart race and you make a noise of embarrassed wanting. you tilt your head up to look at him, hair fanning your face in a way that john could only describe at artful.

“anything you want john.” you mumble, voice soft and tongue loose from cumming once and it makes john grin from above.

“that pretty mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble,” scarred hands have your skirts to your stomach and john moans at the sight of your stockings and garter covered thighs. your cunt is exposed and strands of cum stick to the mound of your cunt in a way that makes him shudder.

“you’re in for a long night, be good and quiet for me, yeah?” you nod, so sweetly, so obediently john is quick to reward you with returning his fingers to your cunt and his mouth to your breasts.

[fionarara]

+ hipster ! kenma .

+ tw : one mention of a drug, cigarettes, slight cat slander, please this is a joke

+ hipster ! kenma . owns a hairless sphynx cat, because cutesy cats with fluffy fur are for plebs + hipster ! kenma . who shows up to a kickback party at kuroo’s place and upon discovering that the fridge is only stocked full of ultra-generic basic beer brands, decides he would rather drink the warm belgium-imported craft beer which has not yet been cooled, because dude would never be caught holding a shitty bud light in hand or drinking a white claw + hipster ! kenma . “knows the DJ” when you walk into this music venue with him, but in actuality, they only had a singular random encounter on the street during one of kenma's smoke breaks from his part-time job at a local arcade bar: this DJ guy just happened to be strolling by when he casually asked kenma if he could bum a cig off of him and come in real quick just to use the bathroom

+ hipster ! kenma . says, not only is it too expensive to touch up the roots of your hair so often with bleach, but it’s also way too high maintenance, and according to hipster kenma, high-maintenance = highly manufactured, super lame. clearly, presenting with two-toned slightly unkempt hair with a heroin-chic grunge look is some sort of torch one can hold about their own authentic individuality against the status quo...and how one is too cool to give a fuck, yeah + hipster ! kenma . who only rolls his own cigarettes, being the loose tobacco aficionado he is, and uses Bali Shag brand–exclusively. shows you how to roll it just right into a small narrowed cone shape that’s precise and comfortable enough to rest between your pretty fingers, demonstrating how to twist the tip’s end of the handmade cig in the most exquisitely cool way so that when you flame it up, it'll flash with a dazzling little light show right before you take a puff and inhaaale + hipster ! kenma . shows you his entire collection of vintage 8-bit video games, his faves are the few that are most rare and special edition versions where only a handful in the world were made (500 copies worldwide to be exact) + hipster ! kenma . will often wear high quality acetate-plastic glasses with thick-rimmed frames – non-prescription. boy has 20/20 vision and, more often than not, has his bicolored strands of hair hanging over his eyes, barely able to see from his own peripheral vision, so can someone please explain why the guy has thirteen different varying-style pairs of them? + hipster ! kenma . who is, duh, a self-proclaimed male feminist. he even has a cat onesie for his hairless sphynx kitty made of organic cotton with the words 'The Future is Female' printed on it. he makes sure to put the garment on his penisy-looking cat before going out on any first date in case he happens to score that night by getting to bring the date home

+ hipster ! kenma . buys and then wears a thrifted 90s D.A.R.E. T-shirt three days in a row, but later that weekend does cocaine off the cover of a vinyl record by The Stokes at this hole-in-the-wall dive bar while attending Yamamoto’s birthday party

+ hipster ! kenma . hates every mainstream video game, yet you’ll still catch him playing Pokémon GO on the DL when he thinks no one is looking because the nostalgia can’t be beat no matter how much his little alt-heart tries, plus deep down he refuses to quit until he’s at least caught the shiny versions of Jolteon and Umbreon

+ hipster ! kenma . has a nose piercing, with a vintage sterling-silver stud that comes with a whole intricate story and history behind it that he purchased at this obscure pawn shop out in the arts district of a super hip neighborhood he heard about + hipster ! kenma . whose newest pair of skinny jeans are so tight on him, they’ve begun to chafe the delicate skin of his thighs and a small rash developed as a result (despite hinata repeatedly mentioning they were probably a bit too snug), so he takes himself in for a yearly doctor’s visit for a simple topical cream prescription fix when his physician informs him they’d detected some curious results of a lower sperm count, asking kenma if for any reason he’d been doing anything as of late that would impact his testicles…oopsie

+ hipster ! kenma . whose favorite beanie is definitely in need of a wash soon, however he can’t just go ruining the ethically-sourced organic cashmere it's made of and risk ruining this special material + hipster ! kenma . would grow a “dope stubble beard” – if only he could, but alas – (and he would use the word, alas, whenever sharing this dilemma with anyone) alas, he—cannot. “...damn my damned genetics...”

+ hipster ! kenma . has not been to see or support a nekoma game as an alumni ever since he seriously started working (–biking to work, by the way, because ‘excess fossil fuels are whack’) in the tech world at this startup company of some trendy new game app…since being associated with any jock conduct anymore is the antithesis of his counter-culture lifestyle now

+ hipster ! kenma . believes heavily in the issue of gentrification in the new neighborhood he just relocated to, without realizing he is part of the problem + hipster ! kenma. has a snide opinion about eeeeverything …

 + hipster ! kenma . part 2 . ⇢ + link2masterlist . ⇢

[thehuggamugcafe]

Temperature Play -Teaser-

Fandoms: Persona 5; Final Fantasy XIII

Rating: M (just to be safe)

Characters: Satanael, Reader

Relationships: SatanaelxReader

Additional Tags: Reader-Insert, L’Cie!Satanael, L’Cie!Reader, Magic Touch, Fingerfucking, a bit of exhibitionism, nightclubs

Summary: Seven days ago, you’re an ordinary woman just going through the motions of life: wake up, shower, eat, go to work, go home, eat, sleep. A mundane lifestyle to be sure, but just once you wished you could have some excitement to spice up your boring life.

They say to be careful what you wish for. It just might come true.

Words: 1,348

Out of all the things you could’ve ever imagined happening to you a week ago, being chosen by a Pulse fal’Cie—a being that is more or less a god as the fal’Cie of Cocoon are seen as, just without the mindless worshippers and cult-like behaviour—to bear a l’Cie brand on the inside of your right thigh wasn’t one of them.

Nor could you ever have entertained the idea that you, a simple errand girl for the Sanctum government, would ever find yourself on the lam from the ones you diligently slaved for day in and day out, simply because you decided you wanted to play the hero and go look for a missing girl who had wandered off into a restricted area.

Seven days ago, you might have laughed at the thought of your family and friends shunning you, of acquaintances and complete strangers casting you out and calling for your head on a silver platter.

You might also have found it funny to be in the company of not one, but two Pulse l’Cies, both of whom are on the run from your government.

Former government. You quietly remind yourself, exhaling a shuddering gasp of surprise past your lips as deft, chilly fingers tease the flesh of your inner thighs.

Earlier in the day, you cursed yourself for deciding to wear a skirt due to wanting more ease of movement, but right now it seems to be a double-edged sword: ease of access for the one who’s touching you, for one; beneath the flashing lights and over the loud music, and even louder screams, everyone is too caught up in their business to take notice of your reaction or your travelling companion’s precise strokes that he blesses the crotch of your underwear with, for another.

Satanael’s breath is stifling against the quivering flesh of your neck; you have only a moment to ask yourself if he’s somehow channelling his magic through his breath before his teeth bite your fluttering pulse, gently. You breathe a sharp gasp, unconsciously bucking back into his rotating hips, lashes fluttering while your eyes throw cautious glances around the immediate vicinity.

As you thought, everybody is either too inebriated or too enraptured by another to even flick a glance in your or Satanael’s direction. Too busy to chance a look down and see what the bastard is doing to you in the nightclub.

Too late do you remember where his other hand is, but the gentle pressure on your hip leaves to trail a path up to your chest, brazenly cupping a breast, fingers teasing the bud of a pert nipple that shows through your blouse, the cotton material damp with sweat.

Why did you think that wearing white would be a good idea?

A week ago, you might’ve had a solid laugh over the thought of a man you’ve known for roughly four days would touch you. You would’ve laughed even harder at the thought of you letting him touch you in places no one’s hands but yours have known, much less in a public setting.

You should feel embarrassed. You should be wallowing in shame. You should be feeling no better than a lady working a street corner. But everything you’re feeling is the exact opposite. Your logical side chiding you for letting a born and bred enemy of Cocoon, of you and everyone else who lives here, touch you don’t even register, aren’t allowed to form in your blank mind as you focus only on two things: the proximity of Satanael’s form pressing to yours, and the calculated, knowing touches he’s giving you—has been giving you ever since you agreed to join him on the dance floor.

“I knew you would make for a wonderful dance partner.” A whisper of heat tickles the shell of your ear; teeth that are all too familiar lightly pinch the lobe; the feeling of a wet tongue licks up a stray bead of sweat as you greedily devour every word, each syllable he utters. “Be grateful that we are not alone. I may be a gentleman, but I am quite less so when alone with a woman.”

It doesn’t surprise you. Rather, it shouldn’t surprise you to know that he is far from a novice when it comes to the ins and outs of a woman’s body. From his first interaction with you and from the first time he touched you, Satanael isn’t at all inexperienced when it comes to charming a lady. But even so, you cannot help the prickle of jealousy that makes itself known, a flame of dark envy kindled by you not being his first. You will never be his first with anything when it comes to matters behind closed doors.

“You are quite a sight, darling.” You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t realize the hand fingering you through your panties is growing more insistent. He’s toeing the line, but if your prior moments with him—both alone and with the other Pulse l’Cie—are anything to judge him by, you know that he won’t tug your underwear aside without your permission. “I can feel every time you shudder; I can see the way you tremble when I touch you. Do I mesmerize you so?” Satanael breathes a laugh at the thought, sounding as amused as he does honoured. “A pity I cannot relish the sight with just my eyes. If it was just you and I—”

Your voice is quick to cut across his, betraying a note of panicked anxiety. “But what if somebody sees?” The words spill past your lips before you can stop and think, before you can stop yourself from uttering them. You say that, sure, but you don’t feel as put on the spot as you know you would be in any other situation. Actually, perhaps especially a situation much like the one you’re in right now.

You feel a smile curling against your neck, pressing a slow kiss to the quivering flesh it finds. “Unlikely. Everyone here is too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to us.”

Your teeth fret against the flesh of your bottom lip, the blunt edges digging gently into the plump flesh. You sneak a quick peak around. No matter where you look, all you can see is evidence that Satanael is correct. It’s like a cocktail of depravity, and you and he are in the dead-centre of it. You see couples and strangers alike exchanging sloppy kisses and sucking on their tongues; you see people dancing in ways you think are fit for more private venues; you see men and women sneaking off to dark corners of the nightclub for some privacy.

“However—” You’re unable to stop the hitched breath that leaves you, no more than you can stop yourself from shamelessly moaning in dismay as the fingers that he’s been tormenting you with all this while slow before stilling altogether. You hear him chuckle at the displeased whine that you voice. “I am a gentleman at heart. I won’t do anything to you without your blessing.”

You freeze, all movement halting as you clue in that Satanael has also stopped moving. If anyone does chance a look at you right now, you’re sure you’d both look like anomalies in a sea of moving bodies, standing as still as statues. You should tell him no. You should get out of his embrace. Better yet, you, he, and your other travelling companion should get out of the immediate area, find somewhere safe to hunker down until things have calmed down.

The thought is laughable to you, if honesty still means anything these days; the three of you will be hunted until your dying days if you stay on Cocoon. But even more laughable is that safety isn’t your immediate concern. A more pressing issue to you right now is Satanael rekindling a fire betwixt your thighs, not at all caring for the fact that his ice magic is being channelled through his Pulse l’Cie brand.

“Fuck me with your fingers.”

[jerry-hornes-foot]

Day Ten - Piercing Kink

1133 words

18+ only

Smut, mild fluff

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington x Gender Neutral Reader

Tags: dom/sub; dom!eddie; sub!reader; sub;steve; pet play (cows); ownership; collaring mention; softdom!eddie; piercing; needled; mild pain; watering eyes; some fluff; some comfort; pet names; baby (reader); Stevie (steve); sweetie (steve); good boy (steve); princess (steve)

"Nearly ready! You guys excited?"

Eddie's eyes sparkle with excitement as he carefully lays out his tools on the little table he's set up in Steve's living room. Moving his finger through the air he mutters a list to himself as he checks that he has everything.

"Alright, I think we're good to go." He beams at you, patting the seat in front of him for you to come and sit down. "You want Stevie to hold your hand?"

You look up at Steve and then back to Eddie. You nod sheepishly, a little embarrassed by how nervous you are. It hadn't hit you until now, after all this had partially been your idea. Eddie had wanted to get collars for you and Steve, an idea you both loved, but you were both a bit apprehensive about wearing them out in a little town like Hawkins. Eddie had been training to be a piercer for a few months now and immediately fell in love with the idea, insisting he should be the one to do them.

"Hey, don't worry about it okay?" Eddie says softly.

You feel a soft squeeze around your fingers as Steve's hand slips around yours. You squeeze back, appreciative of how gentle they're both being.

Eddie unwraps his needle and gets your jewellery ready.

"Now, do you know why it is bulls wear rings?" He asks, raising the needle just under your nose and lining it up to make sure it's straight.

"No?"

"It's the safest way to move them around. It's basically a big handle farmers can use to drag them around."

Your eyes water as Eddie pushes the needle through your septum. Your nose crinkles involuntarily, eyes blinking rapidly as they fill with tears. Your grip closes tightly around Steve's hand and you feel his other hand appear gently on your thigh. Once your face settles Eddie holds your face still and sets to sliding the ring into your nose.

"See, I couldn't help thinking, what a good idea what would be for little brats who can't be trusted to behave." Eddie continues. "Deep breath in for me, baby."

You breath in slowly, keeping your head as still as you can as Eddie pulls the needle out and carefully bends and spins the ring to get it to sit right.

"There we go, that wasn't so bad was it?"

Lifting a small packet from the table Eddie pulls out a tiny silver chain with a trigger clip on the end.

"Now just imagine how good this will be once that's healed." He clips the chain to the ring in your nose and holds it up so its in your eyeline, careful not to pull it taut. "Hopefully this means I can get you under control a little easier."

You smile at him, feeling warmth creep into your cheeks as he smiles back at you. He passes you a mirror, turning back to his table to grab a cotton bud. You admire your new jewellery in the mirror, unable to stop yourself from picturing Eddie tugging at the long chain to keep you in line.

"I love it." You say softly.

Eddie grins, leaning back and admiring his work. Unclipping the chain he puts it to the side, then gently cleans your wound with some alcohol on the end of the cotton bud.

"All done!"

Eddie slips off his gloves and drops them into a bag by his feet.

"Okay princess, your turn."

Steve takes your place on the little stool and you move over beside Eddie.

"Are you sure about this?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at Eddie.

"Oh come on, Stevie! What, you don't trust me? I'm a professional."

"Not yet you're not."

"I've practically got my license, this time next week I'll be fully qualified."

"You seemed pretty happy for me to get one." You say raising your eyebrows at him.

"Yeah but I mean, if yours goes wrong it's hidden in there, I mean my ears..."

"It's not going to go wrong." Eddie interjects confidently. "Come on, princess, don't you want to join Eddie's herd?"

Steve blushes, his stern look melting into a smile. How could he refuse an offer like that.

"Fine." He says, spinning around and tucking his hair behind his ear.

"That's the spirit." Says Eddie.

Cleaning his hands he puts on a fresh pair of gloves then looks up at you with a smile,

"You want to help?"

You nod. Eddie gets you to hold your hands out and squeezes some hand sanitizer into them. Once your hands are clean he passes you the box of gloves and gets you to put some on.

"Okay, come here." He says once you're ready. "Alright so first I'm gonna take this ink and just... like that, see? So we know where we want it. Then we open up the needle... and it just takes a little push so deep breath in Steve..... and.... out. That's it, good boy."

Eddie reaches for your hand, gently guiding it up to the needle through Steve's ear,

"Okay, now see this little plastic part here? Grab just behind that for me and pull that away... perfect! Okay now pull this through for me, gently okay? That's it. Perfect. Now I'm gonna just break off this part... and get this little ball here... and there we go!"

Eddie gently moves Steve's ear so you can see both sides of the new piercing.

"Now usually we'd be done here, but, I've got something a bit special to add."

Lifting another small packet from the table Eddie opens it and tips the contents out into his hand. He holds it up so you can both see it. It's a tiny, yellow cattle ticket, small enough Steve would be able to easily hide it under his hair. In small print across the centre it reads:

Property of E. Munson

Indiana, USA

Eddie slots the top of it onto the back of the helix bar, taking a set of miniature crimps and firmly stapling it closed with a plastic button. Taking another cotton bud he carfeully cleans around Steve's jewellery, taking extra care to get between the tag and Steve's ear. Leaning back he peels his gloves off and beams as he admires the way it looks on Steve's ear.

"Now don't you two look sweet?"

Eddie fires his gloves into the bag at his feet once again and shifts his body out of the way so that you can do the same. Eddie pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your ear as you both watch Steve get up to admire himself in better light.

"Isn't he pretty?" Eddie whispers, lips brushing softly against your ear. "Maybe you'd like to help me milk him later."

[maximillien]

Motifs

Pairing: Cale Henituse x reader (she/her)

Genre: fluff/angst.

Warning: sutures, needles, sewing up a wound, disinfecting a wound.

♪───���────♪

Thumping footsteps could be heard throughout the Henituse estate.

Servants turned their heads slightly to watch their young master walk in hurried steps, a small frown on his face.

Careless.

Cale wondered why (Y/n) was so stubborn all the time, believing it might just be in her nature to do so, or if she did it in spite of his so called 'self-sacrificial tendencies'.

He could tolerate her stubbornness to a certain extent, however when said trait perturbed her well-being

Cale Henituse would not stand to the side and let it cloud her rationale.

Nearing the thick, wooden door he was so familiar with, Cale stopped.

He should knock, it's appropriate and would respect (Y/n)'s privacy.

However his brain was telling him to barge right in and give her a piece of his mind.

Something he didn't do quite often.

But,

She always brought out aspects of his personality even he was not aware of.

Not giving himself much time to think, he entered without knocking.

The figure sat on the other side of the room flinched, stopped bandaging the wound on her thigh, and looked at Cale with dread.

Ha.

Caught you red handed.

The woman stilled, gaping a bit, yet quickly realising that yes,

Cale Henituse had just come into her room, looking very angry.

She cleared her throat.

'What?'

Cale's eyes sharpened towards her making her flinch again at his scrutinising stare.

Seeing as his irritation agitated her, he sighed slowly, calming himself and spoke up.

'You didn't tell me you were stabbed.'

(Y/n) couldn't believe her ears. She chuckled.

'What, and expect you to show some concern over me? I would never.'

Cale's eye twitched.

She was teasing him.

'Am I not allowed to worry for one of my own?'

She stilled.

His own?

Ah.

She put the cotton buds she was using to clean her wound back onto the table, then turned her head to face the large window in front of her.

She hoped that any god out there would be oh so merciful, as to make sure that Cale wouldn't notice her ears burning bright red.

'(Y/n)'

Her stomach churned.

God,

I love hearing him say my name.

'(Y/n), look at me.'

She denied his request, still staring out the window.

Knowing Cale, he'd think this was too troublesome, sigh and walk off.

Not this time apparently, her nerves starting to burn when his footsteps got closer.

His face inching to her side, trying to catch a glance of her face.

'(Y/n). Talk to me.'

She refused again, turning her head sideways a bit more, earning a hiss from herself as she had disturbed the wound on her thigh too much.

Cale started speaking in annoyance.

'What, am I not allowed to look at you now?'

Cale could only think of one thing.

Stubborn.

He sighed.

'I just want to make sure you're okay.'

Her heart leaped.

How sweet.

Well, she wouldn't be swooning much longer.

'That swordsmaster did quite the number on you. Caused a bit of damage, huh?'

Her head whipped around ready to tell him that, actually, she'd beaten the shit out of her opponent, that the wound she was currently nursing was created in a moment of surprise.

Her words died down in her mouth as she came face to face with him.

She felt his eyes stare into hers.

The corner of his lip twitched upwards.

'Aha. There you are.'

She willed herself to not turn red from the close proximity.

God how she wished she could wipe that nonsensical, tiny smirk off his face.

Maybe she'd punch his lower face. Or maybe she'd grab the front of his shirt, and smash her lips on him instead, that'd shut him up-

A chair scraping in the room brought her back from her daydream.

The cotton bud and alcohol lying haphazardly on the table was now in his hands, preparing to take over her previous treatment.

'Hey- wait-'

She stuttered as he poured some alcohol on the cotton bud.

When he was done he looked at her again.

Asking permission with his eyes.

His beautiful, reddish-brown eyes.

She nodded.

He held her thigh with one hand, slowly wiping the blood and dirt off her wound with the other.

She hissed in pain, trying to focus on something else than the stinging going on in her leg.

He started rubbing little circles on her thigh, trying to soothe and distract her from the burn.

And distracted she was.

She looked down at him, enamoured at how focused and precise he was at disinfecting the wound.

His hair caught her eye.

His long red hair.

I want to play with it.

Her hand went down to his head, giving a tentative stroke.

He stilled slightly, but resumed his previous ministrations, seeming to not mind much.

(Y/n) smiled a bit, carding her fingers through his hair, twisting and turning the locks resting lightly between her fingers.

At least that distracted her.

Cale continued wiping at the wound deciding that-

Fuck.

She needs stitches.

'(Y/n).'

She hummed as she platted a small section of his hair.

Maybe I could add a cute ribbon?

'You need stitches.'

She halted her braiding, breath hitching in her throat.

Stitches?

Cale looked up when he saw she stopped occupying herself with his hair, noticing her zoned-out stare.

She started speaking

'I- uh- really don't like needles. I hate them actually. Phobia type of hate.'

Ah, trypanophobia.

'If you don't get it stitched you'll be at higher risk to get an infection.'

'Well, I mean I'd rather risk it-'

She stopped herself mid-sentence at the cold glare Cale have her.

How vicious.

'Haven't you already worried me enough for today?'

She stared back at him feeling sweat slowly build up behind her neck and slide down her back.

Cale sighed.

'You don't understand. I need you safe. I can't have you in danger, or in this case at risk.'

Her skin warmed up again, her stomach keening at his words.

What's up with him today?

He's being unusually open.

He watched her stare at him, deciding to query her again.

'Can I stitch you up?'

She looked at him uneasily.

On one hand seeing Cale be so worried over her, so close- was enjoyable.

But the rational part of her screamed to get those damn stitches done, because do you want to lose your leg?

She sighed.

'Fine. Let me grab onto something though.'

'I'll get it for you, don't move.'

He got up, his back aching slightly from being hunched over.

This body is really weak.

He looked around momentarily, spotting her sword, leaning against the wall.

This should do it, right?

He grabbed it from the wall and brought it over to her, gently handing it to her.

She took it from him and got more comfortable in her chair, as Cale took out a needle and thread from the first aid box on the table.

She squirmed slightly whilst Cale sanitised the needle and thread with alcohol, then fed the thread through the eye.

He hunched back over near her wound, his hand stroking circles onto her thigh continuing its previous activity.

Cale looked up at her once again, securing a second nod of approval before creating the first suture on her thigh.

He felt her tense up underneath him, hearing her hand gripping the sword tighter, seeing her body shaking slightly.

His index finger started drawing patterns onto her thigh with his free hand.

'What is it?'

Her face has started sweating and turning red from holding her breath trying not to scream.

She looked at him quizzically.

'What?'

He continued

'The pattern I'm drawing on your thigh. What is it?'

She made a sound akin to surprise, staring at him incredulously.

He could already tell what she was thinking.

What the hell is he on about?

'Try to guess the pattern I'm drawing. It might distract you.'

Oh.

She decided to play along, might as well make this as painless as she could.

As he started the second suture on her wound, his finger drew a distinctive pattern.

'Is- is it a cat?'

'Nearly. You know this cat.'

She scoffed.

'We know multiple cats, the only thing differing between them are their colours and ages. You'll have to be more specific.'

She hadn't noticed him starting the third suture, but had noticed he'd started drawing something else next to the cat.

'Is that a...cake?'

'Yes. So who is it?'

She rolled her eyes.

'It's Hong of course.'

'You're right. Well done.'

He leaned away from her and it's with much chagrin that (Y/n) realised that he'd finished stitching up her wound.

Maybe I should've gotten hurt a bit more, then he would've stayed closer to me.

He got up from his chair and cleared his throat.

'You need rest.'

(Y/n) faced him.

'I know. I'll get into bed and stay there for a bit.'

Cale hovered over her.

'You'll be staying there for longer than 'a bit'. I'm putting you on bed rest. No buts. I don't want to hear anything from you except your snores.'

She whirled around at him and with a ludicrous look on her face.

'Since when do I snore?'

'You always have, quite loudly in fact. Now-'

He put his arm under her arm to tenderly hoist her up.

'Let's get you to bed.'

Putting her weight on him, she staggered to the bed.

Luckily it wasn't far away, so she got to sit down.

Ah.

My shoes.

I forgot to take them off.

Cale saw her staring at her feet deep in thought and looked.

Oh.

He knelt down to undo her laces.

'What are you doing?'

'What does it look like I'm doing? I'm taking off your shoes.'

'I can do that myself!'

He stopped undoing her laces and stared at her with an unimpressed eyebrow raise.

'With a stab wound on your leg? I think not. Let me do this for you.'

He took off the first shoe and put it on the side, undoing the other and repeating the aforementioned process.

(Y/n) let out a contented sigh, lied down onto her bed and slowly got under the covers.

Her whole body went limp at the soft contact.

She looks comfortable.

Cale realised that he too, suddenly felt very tired and wanted to take a nap.

As he tried to leave he felt (Y/n) tug on his sleeve.

He begrudgingly turned around.

'Thank you. For taking care of me.'

His eyes lingered for a moment as he got closer.

'It's fine. I don't mind.'

They stayed silent for a few seconds, (Y/n) bringing her index finger up and beckoning him closer.

He quizzically leaned down, wondering what she wanted.

She grabbed his shirt, yanked him down and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lip.

The corner that usually lifts up when he smirks.

'Seriously, Cale. Thank you. You've done a lot for me.'

He froze in place as her hands slowly fell back on the bed, her eyes closing, mind drifting into unconsciousness. Noises coming from her being appeared slowly and quietly.

Light snoring.

He brought his hand up to swipe at the corner of his lip.

Dammit, (Y/n).

He scrunched his eyes up and left her room, giving her some rest.

The servants never commented on their young master's red ears as he came out that day.

♪───Ｏ────♪

A/n: my uterus made me so this. I stand by my earlier point.

God, when will it be my turn.

😭 😭 me and who?

[chigirisprincess]

Starring; Porco Galliard.

Warnings; 18+ minors dni + afab reader + sub reader + semi public sex + thigh humping + boot riding + fingering.

Word count: 1.3k

You shouldn’t have been here.

That much was clear the moment you stumbled through the heavy wooden doors of the conference room, your hands tangled with your boyfriends as the two of you sought refuge in a quiet nook for just a few short minutes of alone time. He knew this building better than you ever would, having spent years upon years in and around the space, it was more of a home than his family's house so you could not fathom why he’d bring you here of all places. It was off-limits to anyone below the commanders, the doors were supposed to be locked when the room was not in use. For a moment you wondered if he planned this late-night rendezvous, he waltzed into the room as if he owned it, as if he knew the doors would be unlocked and the space would be ripe for the taking.

“Porco,” you mumbled against his lips, tossing a glance over his shoulder, “We shouldn’t be in here we’ll get in trouble,” your fingers dig into the material of his jacket, “You’ll get in trouble, General Magath will have your head.”

He presses his lips to your neck, chuckling against your skin, “Relax baby, no ones coming in here at this hour,” his teeth graze your pulse point, “Which means there’s no one here to see me do this.”

Pushing your hips into the large wooden table, Porco lets his hands drift underneath the hem of your skirt. Slapping his hands away you tug down the material, your eyes darting back to the doors straining in the low light to get a proper glimpse. He draws your attention back to him with a sloppy, opened-mouth kiss to your neck, the collar of your shirt pushed aside to expose more of your supple skin.

“Can’t we go back to yours? It isn’t too far.”

“We’re here now,” Porco whispers into your ear, “And I don’t think I can wait that long.”

His leg slots between yours, his thigh flush with your clothed pussy. His arms caged you in and a certain glint in his pretty hazel eyes killed the remaining bits of rational thought swirling around your mind. You trusted Porco more than you trusted yourself some days, he’d never lead you astray so if he said it was alright, it must have been. Throwing your arms around his neck, you brushed your fingers against the prickly buzzed hair growing at the back of his head.

Releasing a shuddery breath you catch his gaze, “And you say I’m needy, Pock,” biting back a pleasured sigh you shake your head, “You need me so bad you can’t wait baby? That’s why we gotta do it here?”

Blood rushed to his cheeks, colouring them a brilliant shade of red. He hated when you teased him, always allowing your words to get to him, to get him worked up. It was cute, how flustered he got when he was always working out the best way to get you nervous. Bunching your skirt up over your hips Porco shook his head at you, shifting his legs back and forth between your thighs, his eyes glued to your pussy and the way your panties cling to your folds. Pressing his thumb against your clit, rubbing the engoraged bud through the soft cotton material he marvels at how your pussy drools, dampening your panties. A coquettish squeal passes through you, your nails digging deeper into his shoulders.

“What was that?” he asked, pushing your underwear to the side, “I could hear you over the sound of your pussy gushing all over my fingers.”

Rolling your eyes you chuckle, “Shut up Pock,” your voice cracks on his name but you continue on, “You say that like your dick isn’t hard right now.”

The smile on your lips drops when his fingers prod at your entrance, teasing your hole as his thumb lazily circles your sensitive bud. Stomping your foot down a shuddery moan escapes you and you’re ready to beg him to take you right then and there. You knew you should have pushed harder to leave but he always knew just the right buttons to push to turn you into nothing but mush. Licking a stripe up the column of your neck, Porco hummed under his breath, his nose pressing against your temple.

The sound of boots clicking against the hardwood floor and hushed voices broke you from your stupor. They sounded eerily familiar, you knew those voices, knew them well. Pushing your boyfriend away you leant forward to listen, your ears straining to work out what they were saying.

“Shit,” Porco cursed, briskly pulling down your skirt, “Get under the table and don’t say a word.”

Your eyes widened at his suggestion, “Porco what the hell’s going on?” you ask through gritted teeth, “You said there wouldn’t be anyone around!”

He frantically ushers you under the table, a look of panic marring his visage.

“I forgot we were meeting here tonight,” he groans, pulling his shirt out of his waistband to cover his bulge, “It won’t be long I promise, just be good and keep quiet.”

Glaring up at him you pressed your thighs together, uncomfortably slick and aching. You heard the door creak open, several voices and pairs of feet quickly shuffling into the room. It was the other warriors, their conversation hushed as they huddled around the table. You clamped your hand over your mouth as the chair in front of you is pulled out. The sight of Porco’s worn boots settling before you does little to soothe your nerves. Whatever they were discussing had to be top secret why else would they have met when the building was supposed to be cleared out for the day. Shaking your head you fought the urge to whimper. As you found yourself caught within the depths of your own worries, Porco’s foot inched closer and closer to your thighs until the tip of his boot nudged them apart.

His foot slipped between the space, seeking to press against your crotch. Squeezing your eyes shut you tried to push his leg away but it stayed firm in it’s place. There was nowhere for you to go. You couldn’t scoot any further back, lest you wanted to sit on top of Pieck’s feet. Gripping the leg of his pants you sigh, experimentally rolling your hips. If Porco was going to torture you when you could do nothing but sit there and take it, you’d make sure that you walked away the winner. He tilted his foot upwards so he was pressing down directly on your clit, speaking to the others as if nothing was happening.

Sweat rolls down your temple, your cheeks hot from the summer heat and mortification but the black hole of an ache you feel spurs on your movements. It was rare to have a moment alone and as much as you hated to admit it, you needed Porco so badly you were willing to hump his foot like a pathetic little puppy so long as you were granted an orgasm. The honeyed chuckle he lets out is surely directed at you, he can feel how eager you are, desperately chasing your high. You audibly whimpered at the pressure, a lewd squelching down getting noticeably louder with each thrust. The coil in your tummy tightened, your mouth opened wide as you curled into him. Pressing your forehead into his thigh you quietly sobbed into him as you came. Sparks danced behind your eyelids, your thighs twitching pathetically.

His hand slid under the table to pet the top of your head as you melted against him. Your underwear was unbearably wet, your shirt clinging to your skin uncomfortably but you had to sit silently until the room cleared out. Kissing his leg you sighed, tuning out the words being tossed around above you.

“Porco,” the war chief called, resting his chin on top of his palm.

Turning his attention to Zeke, Porco nodded at him.

“When’s that girlfriend of yours going to come out of hiding,” he asked, “I can’t imagine kneeling by your feet on the filthy floor is very comfortable.

Gulping, Porco sent him a confused look, “I’m sorry but she-”

“Or does she need to finish?”

© all content belongs to dearbraus 2021. do not modify, repost, or redistribute. 

[erodasfishtacos]

mlb!harry or ceo!harry mrs coming home from a night out with the girls, drunk af and wanting her man would be super cool.

When I Come Home (mini blurb)

I’ll do both (no sex though cause H isn’t a creep. Remember if someone is under the influence they can’t consent!)

—

CEO!H (married but pre-Ivy)

—

It’s just so funny because H is so no nonsense all the time except with YN.

She went out with her friends from college, it was a Thursday night, and Harry was stuck in their home office working on a contract.

He hears the front door open with a muttered, “Fuck.”

That’s all it takes for him to know she’s smashed.

Before he can even finish his sentence he’s typing, YN appears in front of him, heels kicked off, and eyeliner starting smudge.

“Hi H,” She smiles widely from the door before sauntering in - trying to be sexy despite her clumsy feet.

“Hi, m’heart,” Harry responds with a humorous smile, letting a puff of air when she plops heavily on his lap like dead weight.

It only takes a moment before she’s starting to swivel her hips down onto his, she was always a horny drunk.

“C’mon pet,” Harry chastises, strong hands coming pause the motions, “Y’been drinkin’.”

“Please,” Her words whiny, “Get me off, baby.”

“I said no,” Harry says firmly, kissing her shoulder to ease his harsh words.

YN let’s out another spoiled whine of displeasure when she can’t move her hips even an inch, can feel him naturally responding to her.

“Don’t be a brat,” He reminds her, tapping his finger against her lips.

She can also be a crabby drunk.

“Wha’s a husband for if you’re not gonna get me off?” YN bites, slipping off his lap and muttering, “Do it myself.”

Harry grit his teeth at the jab of his husbandly duties but grunts, turning back to his computer screen, “Cheers.”

“Dick,” YN whispers to herself, not quietly at all, as she leaves the office without another glance his way.

Harry goes about his own business but it’s mere minutes later when he hears his wife call for him impatiently.

When he steps into their bedroom, YN is sat on the bed with a furrowed brow and pouty lips as she glares at him.

“I can’t get my dress off.”

“Y’just called me a dick. Now you want my help, hmm?” Harry hums with a teasing smirks, widening when his wife glares.

“Help me,” She simply demands, no manners whatsoever.

But Harry’s in love with the pouty, spoiled woman in front of him and he really can’t say no to her when she needs help.

He stands her up, hands brushing the caps of her shoulders before slowly taking the zipper down on the back of her dress.

Harry helps her step out of it, just in a soft cotton thong and he unclasps her bra to let it fall limply to the floor.

She turns around, leaning in to kiss his lips softly, and her hands come to the hem of his tee and lifting it up until the hard muscles of his stomach are revealed.

“Sweetheart,” He says with a disapproving frown but she’s hushing him quiet until she’s pulling it over his head and slipping it over her own.

It makes him soften, “M’so gone for you.”

YN just snorts and says, “Good thing I agreed to marry you then.”

-

MLB!YN.

The three boys were already fast asleep for the night.

Harry was waiting up for his wife in the living room, spread out of the further couch.

The couple had an app where they could track each other’s location and he was making sure that YN was okay constantly.

He must have dozed off because he is a bit disoriented when the front door closes a bit loudly and the sound of shoes being kicked off echos.

Then he sees his missus, looking absolutely gorgeous in a pair of tight high waisted jeans and a lacy bodysuit tucked into it.

“Hi mama, y’look so good,” Harry mumbles, rubbing his eyes and sitting up a bit more to drink in the sight of his wife.

By the bright twinkle in her eye, he could tell she had a nice buzz going still from most likely the blackberry margaritas she loves.

He couldn’t lie, he quite enjoyed when his wife was a bit tipsy. She was already cuddly and sweet without alcohol but it just intensified it.

Harry’s mouth went a bit dry when she shucked off both her tight jeans and body suit. It left her in a strapless bra and nude thong.

YN is quickly making her way to her husband and complaining, “Make room f’me.”

Harry does, wriggling onto his side and moving until his back is against the cushions.

She waste no time in laying down next time him on her side, facing him and nuzzling happily into the curve of his neck.

His hands can’t help but roam her now bare skin, tickling up her sides, squeezing at the plush of her hips, rubbing circles on her tummy.

“Missed you,” YN murmurs against his skin, sleepiness already coating her tone as she hums as he gives her back a few scratches.

“I missed you too. I thought about y’all night, mama,” Harry tells her truthfully, ducking down to kiss her nose.

YN sighs loudly, hands coming behind her to release the tight bra and tossing it to the ground, smushing her breasts up against Harry’s bare chest - it was sexual but it was still intimate.

“Why the sigh, darling?” He asks against her hair, it stills smelled like his shampoo, sandalwood and cinnamons.

“The girls were…talking about how they can’t believe how loyal you are to me because we’ve been together since college and you have all these other girls who are so gorgeous who want you,” YN usually doesn’t struggle with insecurity but every once in awhile a comment would make her unsure.

Harry pulls back and pulls her gaze to his, “The reason I’ve been so loyal t’you since college is because I’m fuckin’ bloody obsessed with you.”

“H..”

“Let me finish, don’t even have time to think about any other woman. I’m too busy thinkin’ about the next time I get t’fuck you, cuddle you, love on you.”

“I love you,” She smiles softly, letting the nasty quell of feelings dissipate.

“Plus, put three babies in you. Gonna put more in you. Best mama, best wife, nobody compares t’you. You’re m’soulmate,” Harry whispers against her lips before lightly brushing them together.

“Speaking about fucking me,” YN giggles coyly, taking her husband’s hands and moving them to her arse.

Harry groans, graciously squeezing the firm muscle in his palms, “Don’t tease me, know we can’t when y’tipsy.”

“Tomorrow?” YN asks hopefully, whimpering at the harsh grip he has on her bum.

Her husband lets out a honking laugh, “Y’act like i don’t try to get your cunt whenever I can.”

“Filthy mouth,” She chastises sleepily, thumb coming to drag along his full lips, dragging down a bit.

“Let’s get you up to bed, darling,” Harry nips at her finger, “Don’t want one of the boys getting an eye full.”

—

The next morning, it’s barely even dawn when Harry’s waking his wife up with suckling, wet kisses along the expanse of her tummy.

“H, fuck,” She groans, luckily not feeling hungover from the night before instead arousal pooling in the pit of her stomach.

“Mornin’ mama,” He rasps, voice scratchy - telling her he just woke up too.

“Did you just wake up and automatically start making a move?” She giggles quietly, running her fingers through his messy curls.

“Mmm,” He agrees without an ounce of shame, “Fuckin’ dream about you, can’t help I wake up wanting y’on my tongue.”

“Okay, go on then. Remind me why I married you,” YN teases but it gets cut off with a moan when he pushes her panties to the side and laps at her clit.

“Remember why you did now?” Harry replies cockily against her folds before dragging his teeth against the sensitive bud.

—

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝙈𝙀𝙀𝙏 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙅𝘼𝘾𝙊𝘽𝙎𝙀𝙎. | 𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙡 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙤𝙗𝙨 (18+)

edit by @raeganlolz <3

∘ requests: I tried to use as many as I could that made sense! Hope you enjoy!

“the things i’d do to meet edgy karl’s parents.”

“ok but next time you want to write smut for edgy!karl...post pregnancy scare...karl having a fixation on readers tiddies...like the whole time. -🧚🏻‍♀️”

“i stg this is my last thing ill send in today about edgy!karl but karl letting reader dom him completely.-🧚🏻‍♀️”

“CONSIDER edgy!Karl saying ‘that's my girl’”

∘ pairing: edgy!Karl Jacobs x fm!reader 

∘ warnings: nsfw (minors dni), mentions of underaged sex, asphyxiation, domination, this being 4k

∘ word count: ~4000 (im so sorry)

∘ links: 𐐪 ao3 𐑂 𐐪 previous part 𐑂 𐐪 submit an edgy!karl edit 𐑂

∘ disclaimer: I made up all the dynamics and Karl lore. This is also an au and I do what I want so

You rolled your shoulders, twisting your back to alleviate some of the stress in your back as your mind raced at the possible outcomes of spending the weekend at Karl’s parent’s place. He seemed to deal with the situation in his own way, a cigarette lazily hanging from his lips as he scrubbed the nail polish from his fingers. You wondered if his parents were sticklers for order, then again, knowing Karl, there was no way they weren’t crazy strict. You thought about your own family and what would happen if Karl were to meet your mother.

Karl seemed almost absent-mindedly going through the motions of visiting them like you had nothing to worry about. There were occasions when he even made it clear that you had your life more intact than he did, so it was doubtful they would hate you.

You peered over at him, taking your eyes off the road momentarily as he paused to blow smoke out of his window. “Why do you have to take it off?” You asked, gesturing to his hands.

He scoffed slightly, sitting up and throwing the dirty cotton ball into the small bag beside him. “My mom hates the dark colors,” he murmured, flicking his cigarette bud outside. He moved a hand to settle over your thigh, wrapping his fingers around the flesh. “Don’t worry, I’ll paint them again when we get back,” he chided. “I know it’s the only reason you keep me around.”

You snorted at this, shaking your head at his joke.

The two of you came to a small stop-over town, swapping seats after filling up the tank at the local gas station. Through the crack in the passenger window, you could hear the cashier greeting Karl as if they were old friends, smacking him on the back and walking him out the door with a smile. As Karl sank into the driver’s seat you furrowed your brows. He looked at you with a shrug. “We vacation around here sometimes,” he brushed off, making your mouth twist in disbelief. He was downplaying the extent of his family’s hold over the town.

As the two of you drove through the main street of the town, your eyes snapped to the various stores with his last name plastered on the signs. You nearly asked him about it, instead opting out as you figured he would give you a half-assed answer and only give you part of the story.

His house had its own street, a long winding road that ended in a looped driveway the size of a suburban cold-de-sac. You willed yourself not to let your mouth gape at the sheer size of the mansion as it stared back at you, blocking the moonlight as Karl opened the passenger door for you to climb out. “Stop treating me like the fucking Queen of England,” you murmured, elbowing him as he pulled on his hoodie, shaking out his hair slightly.

He laughed at you, popping a piece of gum in his mouth, and pressing his lips to yours in a nearly heated kiss as if to give you a taste of what he had in store of you. As he broke the embrace, his nose brushed against yours. “I can treat you worse if you want, pet?” He offered, causing you to shove him away from you.

“We are literally in your parents’ driveway. Chill out,” you urged, making him chuckle as he laced his fingers with yours, pulling you towards the front door. Your heart hammered in your ears as he pushed open the door. You tugged on his arm. “Shouldn’t we knock first?” You whispered, making him pop his gum and shrug.

As if telling you not to worry, he pulled you the rest of the way in the house, only to be greeted with an old man barely reaching over your height. “Karl! My god, you nearly scared the living daylights outta me!” He hooted, as Karl wrapped his arm around the old man, the two chattering away like the best of friends.

You smiled at the warmth between the two, watching Karl blossom. He moved to stand by you, wrapping his arm around your waist and gesturing to the man. “This is my nanny, Leslie. He wouldn’t leave so I think he just dusts the books in one of the libraries,” Karl joked, making the man swat the air in front of Karl.

You raised your eyebrows. “One of the libraries?” You repeated quietly as if to make sure you heard him correctly.

He smirked at you, disregarding your surprise. “This is my girlfriend,” he introduced, rather proudly as Leslie’s face lit up. He grabbed your hands and rambled on about how he had never thought Karl would introduce a girlfriend to the family.

“I thought I heard Karl’s voice. Did he make it?” A feminine tone rang out into the foyer, capturing Karl’s attention a beat before she had started talking as if he had sensed her. You wanted to smirk at the vision, knowing he did the same when he heard you.

A woman came around the corner of one of the walls, her hair and makeup applied to a professional standard and her clothes were cleanly pressed. She looked as if she had just gotten home from an office job with a corner office. Her intimidating aura vanished along with his as soon as she saw him, scooping him up in her arms as he chuckled slightly. She held him out an arm’s length away, pinching his sides and calling him a beanstalk. Another man a few years older than Leslie entered the room, draped in a flowery apron. He embraced Karl as well, the couple fawning over him like they hadn’t seen him in years.

Karl gestured for you to come closer as he showed you off to the pair, introducing them as his parents. Karl’s mom immediately embraced you, murmuring about how Karl hadn’t brought a girl home in ages let alone a girlfriend and you were quickly being to notice a theme amongst the group.

The house was massive, which you had quickly noticed was even bigger than it looked outside, as Karl’s mother looped her arm around yours, giving you the tour and explaining the extensive history of the Jacobs family and their impact on the house. Leslie and she served as some of the most entertaining tour guides you’d ever experienced as they giggling and joked. Karl walked quietly behind the group of you, hands in his pockets as he looked up at the ceilings and pictures as if he hadn’t seen them a thousand times growing up.

You peered over your shoulder, making sure he was still with the rest of you. He set you a wink, lips curling at the sight of you getting along with his family members.

After you were finally beginning to lose track of time Karl broke into the charade, and after vaguely mentioning he was tired, his mother when into a mock cuddling mode, cooing to him sarcastically, yet letting the two of you slink away for the night with the promise of finishing the tour before Karl’s brother showed up in the morning.

Soon it was just you and Karl again, him leading you up a flight of stairs. The hallways were lit with small lanterns that at one time had probably fostered candles but were now replaced with electric ones. You weren’t sure where to look as the walls were crammed with painting and photographs. Half of you wanted to admire the architecture while the rest of you was attempting to identify who the artist was that had done most of the artwork.

Karl sighed tiredly, popping open a door and switching on the lights. You bit back a smile at the view of his room in its pristine condition. The various shades of blues and greys accenting the features of his bed and various pieces of furniture. As you looked around, he threw his wallet and keys onto the dresser beside his bed, shutting the door to drown out the faint music coming from the kitchen. You sat in one of the massive chairs beside the fireplace, your mind running blank with disbelief. A fire was already burning in anticipation of his return.

You ran your finger along the seam in the leather. “When you said your family had money… I didn’t picture all,” you paused gesturing around you, “… this…”

He shrugged with a small smile on his face. “Do you wanna know a little piece of Karl lore?” He asked, smugly.

You perked your eyebrows at his words. “You know I do.”

He gestured with his fingers for you to come towards him as he walked closer to one of the massive windows. He settled his hand in the crook of your neck, turning you to look across the pond at a few of the other massive properties. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder before pointing at one directly in front of you. “I lost my virginity in that one,” he stated, making you chuckle.

He wrapped his arms around your waist. “And to whom?” You queried, as his teeth nipped at your ear.

You could practically hear him smirk. “Her name was Ms. Scarlet back then, but I think she’s been married again,” he answered, making you freeze in his hold. “I think she was between husband two and three.”

“Wait, what?” You turned around to face him.

He brushed his lips against yours. “You jealous?”

You furrowed your brows at him, pulling out of his touch. “Were you of age?” You questioned, voice coming out in almost a winded laugh.

He shrugged, plopping down on the bed behind him, leaning his weight back on his hands. “Not the first time.” He smiled up at you. “She’s a friend of mine’s mom. I cut her grass that summer.”

You rubbed your eyes. “Jesus Christ,” you murmured. “Did you hook up again after that?” It was like he had opened Pandora’s box, a mass of questions echoing like bees within your mind.

He looked at the ceiling. “We stopped before my sophomore year of college, I think.” He furrowed his brows in thought. “Yeah, so almost five years.” Your mouth gapped slightly. “But only when I came back for breaks.”

“You were seventeen?” You stressed. “And when you came back from where?” You sat beside him, attempting to decide if you should be worried or not. Obviously, it wasn’t a fact you could change, but the fact that a woman had him at so young-

He hummed slightly. “Boarding school,” he mumbled, trying not to seem smug. He wrapped his arm around your waist. “I know it sounds bad now, but she wasn’t taking advantage of me or anything,” he assured. “I think you’d like her, honestly.”

“You think I’d like a woman that preys on little boys?” He snorted at your comment and you smacked his chest, making him laugh louder.

He dug his face into your neck. “Age of consent is lower here,” he continued to assure. “Baby, I’m okay.” His teeth nipped at your skin. “Plus, I don’t think I’d know how to make you feel so good without her.” That made you green around the gills. You attempted to put the thought of Karl and an older woman out of your mind. “How did you lose yours?”

You swallowed your questions, deciding to save them for another day. “In a treehouse before I left for college. With my roommate’s twin brother,” you murmured.

He chuckled. “Oh, shit. We’re both bad friends, aren’t we?” He jested.

You shook your head, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I was dating him, actually. It was really brief.”

“The sex or the relationship?” He asked, making two gesture two fingers into the air. He pulled away from you, sending you a small smile. “And what’s his name? I need to know who you’re comparing me to.”

You scoffed. “Clay,” you answered, the image of the boy flashing into your mind for an instant.

Karl’s demeanor changed. “Clay?” He repeated, sounding like you earlier as you wrapped your brain around the extent of the Jacobs fortune. “What does that seem so familiar…” he trailed off in thought. You perked your eyebrow at him, knowing full-well the two could have unintentionally crossed paths on campus.

The next morning, you could have sworn you were on the set of a period piece if it weren’t for Karl’s father’s golfing attire and his mother’s tight black dress as they welcomed various family members into the house. You had finally met Karl’s older brother, an accomplished man with a good job and an even more impressive education, yet each time he attempted to boast about his earnings or the progress he was bringing to the family business, he was swatted off only for his parents to gloat about Karl’s fraternity connections and grades.

You peered over Karl’s shoulder as he showed you Todd’s Instagram post, the two of you scoffing before you liked his picture from your account, making Karl roll his eyes as you snickered.

“… And that being said, renting cars is no longer a strenuous task,” Karl’s brother finished.

Mrs. Jacobs nodded her head slightly. Karl had mentioned the family joke of disregarding what his brother said, even if it was impressive or you were interested. It had been a running gag since Karl was in high school and they weren’t planning on letting up anytime soon. “Yeah, that’s neat. Did you hear Karl learned how to do his own laundry?” His mom boasted with a small chirp to her voice as if Karl were the best thing on the planet.

You bit back a laugh as his brother grumbled to himself, his wife patting his arm reassuringly. “He was also one of the most expensive at KA. Very impressive son!” His dad added, sending him a thumbs up.

You stood with Karl in the living room; his arm draped around the top of a bookshelf you were leaning against as you both listened to one of his cousins talk about a new boat they had just paid off.

Your heels felt tight on your feet as you switched the weight from one ankle to the other, leaning closer to Karl. He moved so his lips were near your ear. “Don’t let him fool you. It’s a hollowed-out log with a rudder,” he chided, making the corner of your mouth twist up.

“It’s not much, but it’s honest,” you mockingly defended. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“Inexplicably,” he murmured back, making you laugh quietly. He let a beat of silence pass between the two of you before wetting his lips. “Say the word and we’ll find a random room and I’ll ruin your makeup,” he whispered.

You scoffed, inching closer to him while your eyes remained on the center of the room where everyone was talking. “How can you be horny around your family?”

You could feel his warm breath against your neck. “Because I’m more focused on you in that tight little dress than Kevin’s boat.”

You took a sip from your cup. “Dirty boy,” you joshed quietly.

Karl smirked at you before his eyes drifted to the front door, a new flow of people filing into the house. You noticed him grow quiet, following his gaze to a woman and a boy around your age. They greeted Karl’s parents happily before integrating into the living room with the rest of you. You could tell by the way his face twisted smugly that the woman was Ms. Scarlet. You drew in a breath as she neared the two of you.

Karl stood up a bit straighter and you bit back a laugh, making a mental note on having to tease him about his MILF. The woman smiled brightly at Karl, pinching his cheek. You attempted to piece together who the boy was and if Karl had mentioned him before.

Karl cleared his throat after they shared their pleasantries. “Uh, this is Nick, but everyone calls him Sapnap, and this is his mom… Ms. Scarlet?” He questioned the last part as she charmingly laughed.

“Oh, no darling. I’m Mrs. Donahue now.” Sapnap rolled his eyes slightly at her words, taking a sip of his drink as she winked at him.

Karl smirked. “Right, congratulations. Anyway, they’ve been our neighbors for years-”

She cut him off, squeezing his arm. “Oh, come on! We were trying to marry Karl off to one of Nick’s cousins and finally join the families, but it’s just funny how things work out,” she stated. You wracked your brain, attempting to figure out if it was a dig at you or Karl. The two of them went off on a tangent about the array of Sapnap’s cousins that Karl had had to take on dates and whatnot.

“So, you’re dating Karl then?” Sapnap asked you, more of an aside as they had seemed to forget about you.

You nodded; the fact still rather foreign to you when given the chance to think about it. “Yeah, I’ll claim him,” you joked. “Did you guys go to the same high school?” You asked, attempting conversation.

He looked at you tiredly. “Yeah, yeah. We’ve been classmates since we were little.” You hummed in interest. “I mean, since he fucked my mom we haven’t been hanging out or anything,” he added as if you had been itching to ask.

You had been.

You snorted at his words as he smiled slightly. “Sorry, that’s not funny,” you apologized, covering your mouth.

He shook his head, laughing softly. “No, it definitely is, don’t worry.”

“How did, uh… that affect you guys?” You asked, biting back your humorous response.

He seemed to relax from his stiffened introduction a few minutes prior. He wet his lips. “Honestly, there’s no going back from that, you know?”

You giggled. “No, I don’t.”

He laughed at your answer, covering it with a cough as Karl seemed to remember you were standing beside him. Sapnap’s mom suddenly spotted an old friend of hers, the two parting from your life almost as quickly as they had entered. You leaned against Karl’s arm.

“I like Sapnap,” you hummed, watching the two leave. “He seems quiet.” Karl shrugged beside you. Your mind wandered to whether Sapnap knew Todd. Part of you wished you had asked him, but you were struggling to remember Todd’s real name anyway. “Did you have fun with your lady friend?” You mocked, looking up at him.

He shook his head, biting back a smirk. “You’re my lady friend.”

You chuckled. “Oh? I thought you’d forgotten.”

Before you knew it, you were pressed against Karl in a coat closet in a remote part of the house, unable to make it to his room before his hands were up your skirt and his lips were attacking your skin. He pinned you against the door as if he were worried you would slip out of his grasp as he ground his hips against yours. His teeth grazed against your neck in a mess of hands and hair.

You pushed him further into the closet before he plopped down in a chair towards the back. The both of you shared a look of confusion as to why it was there yet shrugged and went back to carding your fingers through his hair and tugging at his lips with your own. He moaned into your mouth as you climbed into his lap, his hands gripping the flesh of your thighs before snaking up to slip into the top of your dress and take your breast into one of his large hands.

Kissing him felt strange without his tongue ring; if you weren’t so desperate to get yourself off, you would have complained about missing it.

You ground yourself on his lap, groaning at your newfound friction as he spread his legs further for you, his free hand dragging you against his crotch. You pressed your lips against his neck, biting at the skin, determined to mark him as yours. You weren’t doing it to ward off Ms. Scarlet, no. This was for you, knowing full well that Karl always wore your hickeys with pride.

Your hands went to his belt buckle, impatience taking over as you nipped at his skin, earning moans of pleasure as he let you have your way with him. He pressed his lips to your chest as you freed his cock from its cloth entrapment, stroking him with your hand. “Give me your panties,” he whispered, breathlessly as he hooked his fingers around your waistband. You obliged before angling him at your entrance and sinking down onto him. The two of you let out moans of pleasure, swallowing each other’s appraisal.

The air grew warm around the two of you as you began to roll your hips against him. Your head tilting back as you tried to quiet yourself down, knowing the last thing you wanted was for someone to walk in… again.

Karl’s fingers moved to unzip your dress, exposing your chest to his mouth as your fingers moved to tug at his dark locks. He ground his hips up into yours, a thankful moan slipping past your lips as his tongue pressed against the valley between your breasts.

You pushed him against the back of the chair, capturing his lips against your and slipping your tongue into his mouth. He completely submitted to your actions, wanting nothing more than to taste you as you began to ride him harder. Your nails dug into the back of the chair, your other hand moving to unbutton the top of his shirt and wrap around his neck. “Is she better than me?” You asked; your breath husky and demanding as his teeth flashed back at you, his leering smirk mixing with his blissed-out expression as he tried not to roll his eyes at how good he felt with you taking all of him.

“N-no. Of course not,” he groaned. His lips were pink from your teeth, cheeks flushed with lust and adrenaline as his blunt nails raked up your body to claw at your back. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, voice almost a whimper.

You moved your hand to press your thumb to brush against his bottom lip, loving the pleasured expression on his face as he looked at you like you owned him. “Good,” you answered plainly, swirling your hips and tightening your grip on his neck before you could feel your impending orgasm nearly within reach. He almost smiled up at you. What a little freak.

You moved your hand to fist in the front of his shirt, pulling him up to press your lips against his as you bounced on top of him. He let out a deep moan before you felt him release, making you scoff sardonically. His fingers moved to grip your hips, thrusting against you harder, determined to get you to follow him. You dug your face into the crook of his neck, his teeth digging into your skin.

Shamelessly, you let him drag you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you with a flash of heat and relief. Karl kissed you roughly, desperate to taste your moans as if looking for your approval. "That's my girl," he moaned, smiling against your lips.

As the two of you straightened your clothing and cleaned up your appearances, you went for your underpants in Karl’s pocket, but he grabbed your wrist, drawing you to his chest. “You got to be on top, that means I’m in charge of foreplay for the rest of the night,” he answered, pressing a brief and sultry kiss against your lips to wipe away your shocked expression.

“Fine, then I’m in charge when we get back and I’ll send lewds to Todd,” you threatened with an empty conscious on the matter. “Just to make it spicy. Stir it up a bit,” you joshed.

He groaned, making you smirk. “You’re playing with fire,” he mumbled.

Tag List:

@mrwinemaker @madsbbg @idiotinnit @xxtakechancesxx @chxrrymilkshake @westyywifee @kiritokunuwu @theholycakehole @itgetsatadhazy

[thewayshedreamed]

Hello my lovely! Congrats on 800!! 💋 I have, of course, a smutty Elriel prompt for you. 😉 However, I can’t seem to choose between the two. So, how about you surprise me?

5. Just let me finish this/this level and I swear I’ll go down on you until you finish at least three times.

Or

18. If I have to pull over, you won’t be able to walk for the next week.

👅🥵

Hi, my dear Tay! As requested, here is some shameless Elriel smut for you!

I went with this prompt (I got the other one for Nessian, too, so I wanted to give this one its own)—

5. Just let me finish this/this level and I swear I’ll go down on you until you finish at least three times.

I also combined this with a smut prompt from @achelois-daughter [thank you so much for sending it in!]— “I’ll think about this when I’m jerking off later.”

This is another one that refused to be contained to a word limit. You and @perseusannabeth broke me, but I'm not even mad about it. 

NSFW. At all.

[too many] words.

----

As much as Elain loved watching her boyfriend play pool against his brother, it was causing her some issues. For one, they were in public, so she was trying to keep from ogling him as shamelessly as usual. The game itself created some challenges considering he was often bent over the table, the muscles of his back rippling beneath his charcoal tee as he squared up his shot. The sight was enough to tempt her to slip her body between him and the table, to let him bend her over it, too.

"I know that look," a dark voice rasped. Elain blinked, realizing she had long since drifted into her vivid daydream.

Azriel stood in front of her, holding the pool stick in a loose grip to keep it from falling over. He tapped it mindlessly a couple of times on the bar floor and used his free hand to slide up one of Elain's thighs. She spread them to give him space, hoping his firm ministrations over her skin wouldn't send her toppling backward off the bar stool. She didn't bother with coy.

"We should go."

Azriel leaned in to nip her ear, his rough chuckle sending gooseflesh down to her toes. Her hands settled on his waist, but she couldn't promise they wouldn't wander the longer he stood there.

"The others will know why we're leaving if we go mid-game."

"That's fine," she challenged, leaning her head toward his affections. "Let's go. Please."

He pulled back with a glint in his eye that told her he was pleased with her manners. She wasn't above begging if that's what he wanted, but he wasn't that easily deterred. Azriel could be such a tease.

"Just let me finish this, and I swear I'll go down on you until you finish," he rasped. "At least three times." Dark promise was laced into his every word.

An embarrassing sound left her throat before he gave her a gentle squeeze and resumed the game. With each passing turn, Elain was dangerously close to walking over and shoving each pool ball into a pocket by hand. Finally, Cassian won, and they were shoving through the bar hand-in-hand toward Azriel's car.

His eyes were impossibly dark once they were inside. He gripped her by the back of the neck to pull her into a rough kiss, muttered a low curse, and turned toward the steering wheel to start driving.

Elain was almost squirming in her seat. The tension between her thighs was enough to snap, and with each passing minute, she had to resist the urge to run her hand below her waistband to take care of the ache herself.

As if reading her mind, Azriel gripped her thigh to bend her knee and prop it against the center console. His fingers trailed down the inside of her thigh, and without taking his eyes off the turn he made, he slid his hand beneath the hem of her skirt. His clever fingers dragged over the thin cloth of her underwear, and she bit her lip when they dipped beneath to stroke her.

"Fuck," he muttered, his dark gaze sliding to her and back to the road. "How long have you been this soaked, El?"

Her head hit the rest, her eyes rolling at the divine pressure he applied. She moaned into the quiet car, fighting the urge to ride Azriel's hand.

"I—" Her breath hitched at his increased pressure. She swallowed to compose herself. "I tried to tell you we should go."

"Baby," he chided. "You didn't tell me you were aching like this."

Her teeth pinched her bottom lip, her eyelids suddenly too heavy to keep open. Elain gave herself over to his soft ministrations while trying not to scandalize anyone driving alongside them. Traffic moved quickly, so her odds of being caught were low. Her luck had never been the best in that department though.

Azriel pulled his hand away slightly, but before she could let out a whimper of protest, his finger hooked the elastic of her underwear. He let it go with a soft pop as he rasped, “Get rid of these for me.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Shoving them down her legs, she pulled them from around her ankles and placed them in his outstretched hand without question. Azriel tucked them into the pocket of his jeans to save her any unintentional scandals the next time someone rode in his car. There was no chance she would remember to grab them upon their arrival at the apartment.

Azriel's hand returned to where she wanted him— no, needed him— the most. He parted her with his fingers, trailing down to tease her opening before pushing two fingers inside her. His eyes never left the road, not even when Elain looped her arm through his and dug her nails into the cotton covering his bicep. The muscles worked beneath her hand in time with his fingers, and something about the added sensation beneath her palm had her leaning her head against his shoulder as he worked her.

Elain's breath hitched when his palm tucked tightly against that sensitive bundle of nerves he'd teased before, and she turned her face to muffle her cries against his arm. Her restraint snapped, her hips rolling shamelessly of their own accord. She was already so close, and they hadn't yet managed the 15-minute drive. Azriel curled his fingers tighter, and the intensity of her pleasure had her free arm jutting out to grip the dash.

His breath was warm against her ear when he nipped the delicate skin, his voice gravelly when he asked, "Who are you holding back for, El? I want to hear those sweet little sounds you make."

With another thrust of her hips, her release taunted a blazing bath down her spine. Every muscle grew tired under the tension, and she gave herself over to it, leaning back in her seat and gripping the headrest with her hand. The other still pressed crescent moons into his skin, her whimper filling the car and her back tightly arched. Gods, she hoped no one was in the neighboring lane, but at least Azriel had the good sense to keep her skirt draped over his hand to avoid exposing her. Not that her blissed out expression left any room for imagination.

"Az," she cried. "Fuck. Please. I—" Did she remember how to construct a complete sentence? Did she care?

The heel of his palm ground harder against her, and she shattered. A string of incoherent sounds left her as she came, only interrupted by Azriel's deep groan at the way she pulsed around his fingers. Her hips rolled until the waves settled, her body trembling when he slowly slid his fingers from her. He brought his fingers to his mouth to clean them before adjusting his hardness roughly in his jeans, moaning shamelessly into the quiet. The sound made Elain's blood heat, and she reached for his lap, eager to bring him even a fraction of the pleasure he'd given her.

To her disappointment, Azriel stopped her and laced their fingers together. They pulled into the parking lot, and he whipped into a parking spot with a palm pressed against the steering wheel. The ignition had barely died when his mouth was on hers once more.

"I need to get you inside," he growled, sliding his tongue alongside hers.

Elain grew impatient and reached for him. Much to her irritation, he stopped her again.

"That wasn't the deal. I'm looking forward to having you come on my tongue." He winked and opened the door. The light of the car cast a glow over them and showed the mischief dancing in his bright hazel eyes. "That one didn't count toward your three, by the way." Elain wasn't sure she could manage three more, but she didn't dare discourage him.

With that, he stood and shut the door behind him. His legs carried him over to her door in only a few long strides before he was pulling her out of her seat and leading her to the door hand-in-hand. His urgency was the only thing that kept her wobbly legs beneath her while he fiddled with his keys and gained entry to the apartment. One quick pivot, and he had her against the wall inside, the planes of his body pressing deliciously into hers.

His kiss was sure, demanding. Elain could hardly keep up with how ravenous he was in seeking her pleasure, especially as his strong hands gripped her hips and guided her toward the table in the entry way. Without a word, Elain slid on top, sending various objects careening to the floor.

Azriel was on his knees before she could blink, his tongue parting her in a long, fluid stroke. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of the table with one hand, and the other slid into his hair to allow her some tether to reality. He groaned at the feel of her nails scraping at his scalp, only spurring his eagerness.

Her thighs were perched over his broad shoulders, and his long, skilled fingers pressed into each of her thighs as he worked. He alternated between long sweeps of his tongue and flicks over her sensitive bud, and it only took a few passes to have her throwing her head back as she came again. He tapped her thigh with a finger, but he didn't say a word while he worked her down from her high. She guessed he had plans to move them; further evidenced by his standing, his powerful hands gripping her waist and hauling her body against his on the way to the couch.

He deposited her roughly beneath him, his hands firm and impatient over the curves of her body, her petite breasts. Elain whimpered at the loss of his weight when he eased onto his knees, tearing roughly at her clothes to bare her entirely.

"Fuck," he growled.

She could feel the heat of his gaze over every inch of her body. She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back, knowing the lean lines of her body tortured him and tested his self-control. His knowing gaze met hers while he draped her leg over the back of the couch and shifted back to lay on his stomach. To accommodate his height, he straddled the couch; one leg bent behind him and the other knee supporting his weight against the floor. Elain draped her other leg over his shoulder before he got the chance, filling his expression with sheer determination as he gripped her thighs and pulled her roughly against his face.

His grip loosened on the thigh draped over the couch, and his knuckles dragged delicately along the back in a teasing path. Elain keened at the contrast of his delicate fingers and the strong hold of his other hand, sending her in search of anything to hold onto as he teased her. While she appreciated the delay to give her body time to recover from two earth-tilting orgasms, impatience crept over her skin like a faint breeze. How Azriel managed to kindle both in her simultaneously, she would never understand. She would never complain, either.

Like a man starved, Azriel dragged his tongue in slow torment up her center and back down to her opening. The broad pad of his thumb pressed against her clit, earning a choked cry from deep in her throat. That pressure continued in slow, concentric circles while his tongue worshipped her in time. Elain dissolved into incoherent cries, chopped words and curses, and futile attempts to roll her hips. Azriel's other hand never let up its hold, and it was enough to keep her lower body resolutely in place.

All it took to send her over the proverbial edge was the slide of his tongue against her opening, the way he curved it just inside to press against the textured skin of her inner walls. Elain bowed under the force of her release, crying out to the gods as if it was enough to worship them through the echoes against the walls.

Elain relaxed the tension in the muscles of her back, noting the light sheen of sweat erupting over her body. Azriel applied grounding pressure to her clit while she panted, the fingers of his other hand tapping her thigh. Her eyes snapped open to see his eyes on her, and she tried to communicate with her eyes that there was no way she could manage another change in location. That was until she realized the motion of his fingers differed slightly from before, a gentle double tap against her skin compared to a single tap when she came atop the entryway table. The mischief in his eyes confirmed her suspicion and sent a spark of incredulity down her spine.

The cocky bastard was counting*.*

Elain wanted to be annoyed at his presumption, but who was she kidding? Azriel played her body with the skill of a musical prodigy. He knew exactly what he did to her and how often. The signals of her pleasure were imprinted within the steel trap of his mind, and all she could muster was gratitude for it.

She offered a sleepy, sated smile, running her stiff fingers through his dark hair. The kisses he pressed to her inner thighs were gentle, even though she noticed how his hips ground against the couch cushion. She cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb over his elegant cheekbone.

"You're too good to me," she rasped, her breath hitching when his mouth pressed against her center.

Azriel grunted his approval. "I'm not done with you yet, baby."

Elain drew her bottom lip between her teeth and dropped her head against the couch. "Let me take care of you, too," she pleaded, "before you fuck me boneless."

His dark chuckle made her skin erupt in gooseflesh, and she knew before he said a word that he would refuse her.

"I'm a man of my word." Why did she bother arguing with him? "The last thing I want you to worry about is me, alright?" Another kiss to her core, a flick of his tongue over her clit. "I'll think about this, about you, when I'm jerking off later."

With that, he released his grip on her thigh in favor of pinning her open for him with his other hand. His attention returned to her core, sending her resolve, her common sense, any principle out the window with her pride. She reached over her head to grip the cushion along its seam against the arm of the couch, fighting and failing to keep her hips still in the process.

Azriel wasn't deterred by her undulations. His lips shifted their attention to her sensitive— too sensitive— bud, massaging it with the lightest suction to avoid overstimulating her. His finger slipped into her without resistance, and he halted his advance to pull back and insert a second finger alongside it.

The pressure was divine, the stretch around his fingers— perfect. Elain moaned shamelessly, uncaring that her hips were frantic or that she was covered in that fine layer of sweat from her scalp to the tips of her curled toes. He had reduced her to a rolling, begging mess. The edge of release burned through her tired muscles, screamed against the building tension. How much pleasure could she afford before her body gave up entirely?

Az moaned at her growing wetness, growled at the withering mess she was. Despite the guttural reaction he had to her arousal, his lips remained gentle while he crooked his talented fingers at the perfect angle. Elain's thighs trembled under the force of her climax. Her voice was little more than a sob when she called out his name among other, barely coherent, words of praise. He eased her down from the pleasure and braced her with a hand against her lower abdomen to ease his fingers out of her.

With her eyes screwed shut, chest rising and falling in desperation, she didn't see Azriel shift onto the couch close to her. With tender fingers, he eased her iron grip from the edge of the cushions so that he could lift her into his lap. He didn't bother to tap a rhythm against her skin that time. There was no denying how hard she'd come.

Exhaustion lived in every nook of her body, leaving her limp against him the second her head hit his shoulder. She could feel his hardness against her backside, but he held her as if it didn't exist at all, petting her hair away from her face. His lips were soft against her forehead, her temple, her cheek before he stood and carried her to the bedroom, laying her atop the cool sheets.

"Sleep, baby," he murmured.

Elain barely heard the order before she followed it, tumbling into deep, contented oblivion.

----

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

A/N: So, this is NOT the Angel fic I previewed the other day. That one (and the EZ fic) is STILL COMING, I PROMISE! This just jumped into my head and wouldn’t leave. And I wrote it with a speed I am heretofore unfamiliar with (heretofore? Did I use that right?) I invented a tattoo and an ex-girlfriend for Angel, and I fudged the timeline a bit. So, apologies in advance for that. 

As always, if you want a tag in anything I write for Angel, EZ, the Mayans fandom (or anything else), please feel free to send me a message or an ask, or add yourself to the taglist (link in profile). 

Pairing: Angel Reyes x fem!tattoo artist!reader (as always, the appearance is ambiguous, but the reader is described as having female pronouns/parts. Also, the reader here speaks a bit of Spanish. I’m half Mexican, so I do imagine a latinx reader, but I hope I’ve written this so you can imagine yourself with no restriction.)

Word Count: 15.3K (HAHAHA WHAT THE FUCK all for a TWO AND A HALF MINUTE SONG, ARE YOU KIDDING ME????) of ANGST! (SERIOUSLY THIS IS SO ANGSTY) lyrical nonsense and the remnants of sticky, cotton-candy sadness … fluff that makes you feel empty. 

Warnings: ANGST, non-explicit references to infidelity, sexual references and sexual content, oral (male receiving), fingering and other nastiness -- so 18+ ONLY, please! Canon-typical douchebaggery, references to a past relationship, song references and poetry. (It is me, so yeah, poetry.)

Summary: You and Angel may as well be strangers now. But why? After all, you loved him once. And he loved you, right? Based on the song “Loved you Once” by Clara Mae. Listen here. 

--

We don't need to be best friends, we don't need to hang again. But tell me why we have to be strangers because I loved you once?

What were you doing here? You haven’t been back to the clubhouse in months. Not since -- well, you know. You hadn’t talked to him since then, either. But that wasn’t your own doing. 

No, Angel had erected a veritable wall of silence, and you respected him enough not to breach it. 

That was what relationships were all about, anyway, right? Mutual respect of the other’s needs? So when Angel had told you in no uncertain terms that your relationship was over, you were … upset. Understandably. You wanted to sit with him, talk about where this sudden insistence that you depart his life had come from, but he was resolute. With the absolute air of authority that comes with either a great deal of thought, or borne of virtually sudden external influence, with nothing in between. He clearly didn’t want to sit and talk about it. 

And so you didn’t. 

Ever mindful of his wellbeing, and when he was and was not receptive to communication. 

"It ain't working," he had said. You had settled for merely imagining the faraway look in his large, oilslick eyes, since he was much more interested in staring at his boots and the grooves in his floor, his forearms laid over spread thighs, unmoving and resolute from his spot at the end of the bed. Refusing to meet your eyes. 

From your seat next to him, you made to brush the arm closest to you with your fingers. When you touched, he gave no indication that you were even there. That he even felt you. Which you knew was bullshit. He always felt you. 

"Angel, what --" you hated the way your voice cracked as you tried to ask him what the hell was going on. You hated how you had sounded so small and quavering to your own ears. That wasn't who you were. You were clear, outspoken. It was always one of the things Angel said he loved about you. Loved.

You didn't know this, of course, but Angel hated it, too. How you’d sounded in that moment. Hated that his words had taken the fire out of yours, your voice unfamiliar in its timidity. 

"It ain't working," he repeated. "I can see it. Not my fault you can't." 

That was it. 

No "I'm sorry, querida." 

No "I hope we can stay friends." 

Not that you would expect an apology, or anything as cliché as a "let's be friends," from a steadfast man like Angel. Predictable in his volatility. 

You should have pushed back. Demanded an answer. You hated that you didn’t, the shock and sudden sadness morphing you into a silent, crystalline girl you didn’t recognize. Your eyes welled with tears, turning your head away from where Angel sat -- at least you wouldn’t let him see you cry. Even if you knew he knew the tears had spilled over your lashes and down your cheeks were of his own doing. 

You had arrived back at his place a day after your tense "conversation" to discover that your items you had come to reclaim were tossed into a box and left outside of the door. 

You had knocked once, in the hope that if Angel was home, he’d at least come to the door to shout through it, or, heaven forbid, would open it so you could look him in the eyes just once more while he shattered you. Your knock was met with silence, though you could have sworn you felt Angel on the other side of the door. 

In the months since then, you had cried (obviously), you had questioned (it was sudden, it wasn't just you; your friends were surprised, too), but most importantly, you had persevered. 

You had taken a bunch of new clients and inked some pieces you were incredibly proud of. You had gone out with your friends a few times, always with a wary eye on the door of the local dive, ya know… you never knew who would walk in.

Santo Padre is a small town, after all. And the cracks in your soul were nowhere close to healed. No molten gold to spill in and repair the fissures of your heart, rendering metamorphosis of something broken to something flawed, but beautiful. You sat, alone, still just… flawed. You had never felt less beautiful. Even after all this time. 

And your friend Aneesa, ever the supporter, would stop at nothing if it meant hyping you up enough to leave your cave of blankets, sheet masks, and comfort movies. Your only rule? All nights out with Aneesa were strictly girls’ nights. She was gracious and understanding of this rule, of course. She and Gilly had been together a touch longer than you and Angel. 

And if Angel had ever asked Gilly to ask Aneesa about you? Well… you never heard about it.

Not that Angel would do any of that. Shit like that was so middle-school. 

So, here you were. Back at the clubhouse after months of self-imposed exile for the sake of self-preservation. 

Coco had texted you -- the first you’d directly heard from anyone within Angel’s circle, inviting you to a patch party for some nameless, faceless newbie. The invitation had a string attached to it, of course -- the tattoo artist’s chair in the corner of the clubhouse needed a resident for any partygoers jonesing for new ink. Certainly, the new patch would need something decidedly “Mayan” to show off his new status. 

You had hesitantly agreed -- Aneesa would be in attendance of course, and offered herself as a human-sized buffer to separate you from people you were otherwise hoping to avoid. 

--

Now, perched near the tattoo chair, you busied yourself with setting out your portfolio of completed pieces, sketches and most-requested designs. You wiped down the chair a few more times than strictly necessary, but you wanted to be ready for anyone who might plop themselves down for a new piece of art. 

The main room of the clubhouse was sweltering -- a familiar blend of desert heat, cigarette smoke, citronella, and the smell of citrusy, foamy beer. The dim lighting and thundering bass giving everything a slightly blurry edge in your party-periphery. You glanced across the room at where Aneesa and Gilly sat together on a corner couch, thighs pressed together. Aneesa tossed her head back in a full-bodied laugh at something Gilly had whispered into her ear, swatting his arm -- Gilly’s reciprocal smile demonstrating his pleasure at having garnered such a reaction from his girl. 

A wave of cheers and noise accompanied the thwack of the clubhouse door swinging open -- more Mayans pouring in, jostling one another's shoulders, slapping each other on the arms, and good-naturedly cajoling. 

There was Coco, mid-pull of the cigarette between his lips, quicksilver eyes flashing around the room, taking stock of who was where. EZ followed, million-watt smile on full display as he gently guided a pretty girl with long, inky hair through the bottleneck at the entryway. 

If EZ was ambling his way in, then, surely, not far behind ...

With an arm around a tall, broad guy you hadn’t seen before, was Angel. Midway through a joke with the guy you assumed was the new patch, you took the opportunity to study the man you had once considered the moonlit orbit of your entire world. 

You hated to admit it to yourself, but he looked good… His arms still replete with thick, corded muscle. His hair was a tad longer on top than you remembered, slicked back and belied with cleanly-cropped sides. His smile as warm and blinding as the cruel light at the end of your better dreams, only for you to awake each day alone. 

As you continued your silent study, you were surprised to see -- still adorning his left arm … the tattoo you had given him on the day you had first met. You had thought he would have blacked it out by now … a cover-up on top of a cover-up. 

But there it was --- the soft, leafy greens creeping down his forearm on sharp vines, abutted with bursting blooms -- small, ornate gladiolus buds and a sprig of purpling rosemary. Such a flowery piece on the arm of someone like Angel might have been laughable. But if anyone dared, he would simply stare, stone-faced, with burning eyes and a set jaw, ready to ask just what they thought was so fucking funny. 

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance. 

‘Cause I loved you, once… 

---

You had moved to Santo Padre from Oakland. Hardly an axis-tilting move, but significant enough to you. 

Your friend Oliver had offered you a seat at his tattoo shop. And you? You were positively itching to get out of the city. A few too many bad nights with a few people you could no longer in good conscience consider friends. 

So, here you sat, resident of one of two chairs in this corner parlour off the so-called “main” drag in sweltering, dusty Santo Padre. 

Your books were pretty clear … Not that you attributed much logic to the ebb and flow in any conceivable pattern of the tide that was tattoo shop patrons, but January seemed an agonizingly slow month. You filled the idle time with keeping the shop neat, disinfecting and re-disinfecting every surface, and organizing Oliver’s books. 

And if you weren’t dreaming up new sketches and designs for the more adventurous prospective client, you were jotting idle lines of lyrical poetry in the margins of your sketchbook. 

If the month dragged on like this, you were sure you could publish an entire book of moody, mid-winter prose that would make Charles Bukowski want to drown himself in stiff Cabernet. 

The dinging of the bell above the parlour door yanked you from your doodling stupor. You looked up to see who had come in, your gaze met with a towering, golden-skinned man donned in a leather vest, his boots squeaking on the shop’s linoleum floor as he made his way to the front desk. He leaned over it and rapped his silver-ringed hand against the top with the ease and comfort of someone who had been in many times before. If the ink trailing his arms was any indication, he may as well be a regular, though you hadn’t seen him in before. There was no way you could forget that jawline, and those shoulders. 

“Yo,” he called in greeting, eyes flashing to where you stood, walking to meet him at the counter. You swore you saw his gaze dart over your form, giving you the old up-down. An easy smile graced his full lips as he made himself comfortable leaning against the counter.  

“Oliver here?” 

You shook your head, the action serving to answer his question and --hopefully-- clear your head of the foggy spell this man was casting over you with his presence alone.

“Nah, sorry. He’s guest-chairing at his buddy’s shop in L.A. Did you have an appointment?” 

“I look like the kind of guy with a datebook?” He chuckled at his own joke. “No appointment, corazón.” 

“Walk-in? Always a risky strategy,” you lilted. 

“What can I say? I’m a risk-taker,” he replied with the practiced ease of breezy flirtation. 

You smiled softly, grabbing Oliver’s calendar from the desk, flipping to the following week. “He’ll be back in next week, if you want to wait?” 

“That’s no good for me, babe, I’ll be out of town.”

“Ah.” You huffed a bit through your nose “Bike rally?” You asked, gesturing at his worn leather kutte, cringing internally a little at the teasing edge your voice had taken on. Were you always this bad of a flirt? 

The man looked at you shrewdly for a beat -- seemingly trying to discern just how much fun you were making of him before taking mercy on you and peeling back the slight layer of awkwardness the conversation had taken.  He scrubbed the back of his neck before confirming,

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he rumbled a chuckle. “Why? You wanna go?” He raised a full brow at you in a mild challenge. 

Your eyes widened at his seemingly-serious invitation. You took in the quirk of his lips, causing the slightest crinkle at the corner of his warm eyes -- the look of a man borne of good humor and who smiled often. It was endearing, and if you were honest, made you melt a little. Even if you now realized he was teasing you. 

“Sorry, guapo,” you cracked a smile of your own, gesturing at the empty shop. “As you can see, I’m a very busy girl. Highest of demand.” 

“Claro,” he replied. “So, I better get in while the getting’s good, huh? Your chair open now?” 

“Uhm,” you chewed your lower lip, now slightly nervous at the prospect of spending more time with this man. “¿Quieres esperar para Olí? I won’t be offended. You haven’t even seen any of my pieces.” 

A beat of silence passed between you both, the man seemingly weighing his options. 

"I mean," You broke the silence and leaned forward, lightly tapping a fingernail against his bicep. “What if my art style doesn’t suit the king of the bikers?” 

"Something tells me you'll suit me just fine." His smirk was full-bore now. He didn't miss a beat, did he?

You were silent, probably for a few moments too long. Was he actually flirting with you? You blinked. He probably flirts with everyone ... get over yourself, you internally chided.

"Angel," the man said, recovering the moment and holding out a large, ringed hand for you to shake. You gave him your name, shaking his hand firmly. 

You nodded your head over your shoulder, toward your chair. 

"Well, come on back, Angel, you can tell me about what we're doing today."

Angel followed you back to your station, and you could swear you felt his dark eyes on your form as you walked, the thought that this man was looking at you with any kind of discerning attention made your cheeks warm a little. He folded his long body into the chair you gestured toward, and you took the rolling seat next to him. He proffered his left arm to you, tracing down a spot on his forearm.

"Just wanna cover this up," he paused, letting you observe the offending ink. "It's about time." 

"'Clara Forever,' huh?" You took in the faded, loopy lettering down his forearm. "Who's Clara?" Your tone was gently teasing by nature, but he seemed to clam up a bit at the question, regarding your sharp tongue with sharper eyes.

"Well, it wasn't forever," he finally bit out, shoulders now a little more tense than before.

"Aw, cariño," you sighed in good-natured taunting. "Didn't anyone ever tell you the number one rule of tattoo? 'Forever' is a certain jinx. And a name is almost never a good idea… unless it's your dog's."

You made a sweeping hand gesture over the rest of his person, your eyes noticeably cataloguing the ink adorning most of the real estate on his arms and what little you could see of the top of his chest. 

"How did anyone let you get this far without telling you the rules?"

He relaxed at the humor in your soft voice, comfortable now that he had confirmation that you were teasing him rather than seriously ridiculing. His posture relaxed once more, he waggled his eyebrows at you, also teasing,

"Le sorprendería saber que nunca fui uno para seguir las reglas?” He asked. Would it surprise you to learn that I was never one for rules? 

"¿Tú?" Your eyes widened in mock surprise. “Para nada.” Not at all.  

"Hey," he swatted your arm gently. "Cuidaté, niña. Insulting your customers? I can see why your chair is empty." He chuckled at his own little jab as you busied yourself gathering your supplies.

You turned and reached for him, holding his arm in one hand and running your now-gloved thumb over "Clara Forever." 

"So?" You queried, "What are we doing with this? How do you want to cover it?" 

Angel shrugged, the leather adorning his shoulders creaking ever-so-slightly with the movement. 

"Figured I would just black it out. I've been putting it off long enough. To hell with her anyway, yaknow?"

"Hmm…" you considered his proposal. "I could do that, if that's what you really want. Easy enough. But…" you trailed.

He shifted in the chair, arching an eyebrow at you.

"But?" He pressed.

Now it was your turn to shrug. You released his arm from your grip and gestured to the booklet containing photos of your most prized work. 

"Why waste the opportunity to give yourself something you really want?" You handed him the book. "Besides… from the looks of things, you have limited real estate left on this arm. May as well fill it with something… more you?” You made to hand him the scrapbook. “You can see what else I've done. See if anything sparks an idea." 

Angel regarded you for a moment. Leaning forward in the chair and slightly more into your space, eyes never leaving yours. He took the edge of the book, deliberately brushing his fingers over yours as he did so, making you hold your breath a little. If Angel noticed, he had the decency not to say anything. 

“Why not?”

You exhaled softly as he leaned away again, flipping his way through your book. 

As he scrutinized the photographic renderings of your pieces, you took the chance to really take him in. His strong jaw and full lips were objectively pleasant, abutted by deliberately-shaped facial hair. He had a prominent brow, something that would surely give away his feelings, even if he decided not to verbalize them. There was no hiding a frown or a smile on that face.  You fiddled with your fingers as he flipped through the pages. 

“This is some seriously top-notch shit, querida,” he voiced his approval, followed by a warm smile. He flipped his way through your minimalist renderings, floral pieces, lines of script, and one particularly involved piece with a burgundy phoenix and lifelike flames...

“Yeah?” You couldn’t hide the pleasure in your voice that he might think of you in a positive light. “Which one do you like?” 

He flipped the book to you, gesturing at a geometric planetary canvas piece you had etched down a prior client’s thigh. 

“Did you think of that one?” 

“The client had their ideas, I just execute, I guess… That was a fun one.” You shrugged, glancing at your shoes scuffing at the linoleum, suddenly feeling very shy under his scrutiny.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he leaned forward once more, his fingers gently brushing along your chin to bring your eyeline to his. “Don’t downplay your talent. You’re a badass. Own that shit.” He gave you a soft wink, releasing your chin from his grip.

Um, wow.

Was it always this hot in the back of the shop? Or were you just spontaneously combusting? Did that seriously just happen?

All you could do was nod. 

“Aight,” he crossed his legs at the ankles, making himself comfortable in the chair. “I’ve decided.” 

“Yeah?” You breathed, “What’ll it be?” 

As if he was doing nothing more complicated than ordering fries, Angel pointed at your book. “Dealer’s choice.” 

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t believe he was just going to trust you to cover up his ex’s name etched into his arm. “¡Oye! Did you hear nothing I said earlier about walk-ins being risky? Nothing about the rules?”

Angel scoffed. “About as well as you heard that I don’t give a shit about rules, babe,” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You like rules, huh?” 

Oh. The rumbling tone his voice had taken on with his last question did not go unnoticed by you. If there was any heat to spare in this shithole desert-town, it was now one hundred percent flooding through your body. 

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d had that effect on you… (although, let’s be real, he probably, definitely, already knew).

“Fine, Angelito,” the mocking tone had returned to your voice. “But unlike Clara, this one’s gonna be forever. If I find out you cover up my art, I’m gonna blacklist you at every shop in Southern California.” You raised an eyebrow at him in a challenge. “Can you live with that?”

Angel nodded. 

“Do your worst, Vince.” 

You wrinkled your nose at the moniker. “Vince?” 

“Yeah,” he seemed so assured in his own cleverness. “Like Van Gogh?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Van Gogh!?” You feigned offense, hand-over-heart, lashes batting. “Not even Frida? Come oooon, Angelito.” 

He chuckled. Shifting in the chair and offering his arm to you so you could get him ready. 

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.” 

“Everyone’s a critic,” you sigh, shifting your focus and taking stock of the space on Angel’s arm and what you had learned of him so far.

Someone who was seemingly confident and breezy, whose rough exterior belied something softer that was just out of reach. Someone who clearly cherished things and people he adored, if the tribute you were now covering was anything to go by. And, by the same token, more than a little impulsive. He wore his heart on his sleeve, apparently literally. 

You gathered your inks and began to work, your playlist and the buzzing of the tattoo gun filling the silence. 

It’s not like you had any reason to know it, but Angel considered you as you were working, admiring your focus and the intensity with which you afforded your art. Was he a little nervous about the fact that you were free-handing a design for him off the top of your head? Maybe... But what was life without a little risk? And he certainly wouldn’t mind a little risk with you. You were, it was obvious to him, very pretty. It was more than a little off-putting how easily you traded quips with him, seemingly unaffected by his presence and everything that came with it. If it wasn’t for the little hitches in your breath when he gently flirted with you, he wouldn’t have anything to go off of in terms of your interest. Something that was both respectable and maddening to him. 

He reached his other arm over to the side-table, grabbing your sketchbook and idly flipping through the etchings. 

Not only was the book filled with little designs, splashes of watercolor mixing with pen and charcoal, but he noticed the cramped words in the margins, perusing at his leisure and ignoring the itching buzz of the needle on the skin of his other arm.

“So, not only a Vince, but a Frost,” he broke the silence. 

You paused your work, wiping your brow with the back of your hand and looking at him with a question in your eyes.

He tapped his finger along the lines of prose in your book. “A poet,” he said. 

“Ah,” you said. “Uhm, more like a bad poet,” you chuckled, embarrassed. You made to begin again, when Angel gently gripped the wrist of your free hand. 

“The fuck did I just say?” He lightly tugged, forcing you to look into his maddeningly honey-dark eyes. “Don’t brush off your shit. Would Frida do that?” 

You regarded his eyes for a moment longer, darting your gaze to his pouty lips, resolutely set in their mission of imparting some of his confidence onto you. 

“Point taken, Angel,” you pulled your hand from his grip, which he released, trailing his fingertips over your hand as he did so. “I’m the greatest poet who ever lived, you’ve convinced me. Fuck William Shakespeare.” 

“Yeah,” Angel boisterously agreed, pleased to be bolstering you but surprising you with the little barking shout, “Fuck that dude!” 

You chuckled, shaking your head and silently returning to your work, the silence filled once more with the pleasant buzzing as you drew away. 

When you were finished, you released Angel’s arm, allowing him to inspect the clean lines of the greenery that you had drawn out of his former-love tribute. What were once loopy, cursive letters were now vines creeping steadily along his forearm, soft, yellow and red gladiolus buds emerging from where Clara’s name had once sat, neatly finished with the clean lines of the purpling sprig of rosemary along the edge of the piece. 

Angel was speechless, leaving you to marinate in your nerves. 

“It’s …” he started, “... flowery,” he supplied, lamely. 

“No shit it’s flowers,” you shot back, feeling a little defensive now, but wanting to make a quick recovery. “And they’re for you, Angel.” 

He seemed puzzled. 

“Gotta say, Vince, this is the first time a chick’s gotten me flowers,” he chuckled, “Guess they won’t die?” 

“They won’t,” you assured. “They really are for you, you know? Look at you, the rest of your ink. What it covered. You’re clearly a man formed by your experiences. It only seemed right, si? Gladiolus? They’re for remembrance. Rosemary? Symbolizes thoughtfulness and memory.” 

You continued as you began wipe the piece clean before wrapping it in new saran-wrap, “Your memories and choices make you who you are, sure. But you never know… something good could bloom from them, through the cracks."

His silence at the end of your little soliloquy was deafening. He hated it, you were sure of it. Fuck. Why did you have to get so fucking clever with him? You should’ve just done some black ink in something tribal, something masculine. What the fuck was wrong with you??

You dared to sneak a glance at his face, only to find that he was already staring at you, lips softly upturned in the hinting bloom of a smile, tarpit eyes twinkling with a good-natured mirth he would come to reserve just for you. 

“Fuck Shakespeare. That was damn beautiful, Frida.” 

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly. 

You stripped off your gloves, and made to turn your way to the counter, gathering the aftercare sheet and balm for Angel to take with him. 

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

“Oh! Can I take a picture?” You held up your phone, shaking it lightly. “For the ‘gram?” 

“Sure thing,” Angel dutifully held his arm under the lamp you had used to work, letting the fresh ink and colors pop against the golden dunn of his skin. 

You took a few photos, deciding to scroll through your camera roll later on and post your favorite. You made quick work of wrapping his arm in a sheet of clean plastic wrap before relinquishing your hold on his arm, turning to walk back to the counter. 

“Uhm,” you trailed … the telltale squeak of Angel’s boots on the linoleum indicating he was following you back to the front of the shop. You assembled everything into a bag for Angel to take with him, grabbing one of your cards from the front card-holder, and quickly jotting your number on the back next to your where the instagram handle for your art page was neatly printed, hoping he didn’t notice your sneaky little move. 

Angel resumed his comfortable lean against the counter, turning and tilting his forearm, scrutinizing your work. 

“It’s gonna be a clean one-fifty, Angel.”

He looked slightly surprised at the figure, a light frown dusting his features. 

“You sure about that? For the size, and the color, and time and everything? It’s been, like, hours.”

You shrugged. 

“We’ll call it the friends-and-family rate.” 

He gave you a long look, very clearly looking you up and down now, a prolonged edition of the greeting he had graced you with when he had entered your shop mere hours before. 

“And is that what we are now, querida? Friends?” 

How was it even possible for his voice to reach such a low register when he said these things to you?

While your insides flip-flopped at the flirtation, you hoped your face was the impassive mask you were trying to school it into. You subtly brushed your slightly-sweating palms against the frayed hem of your shorts before bringing an elbow up to the counter, resting your chin in your palm, lightly batting your lashes at him before responding...

“Sure,” you replied. There! Easy, breezy, cool-as-you-please. How does it feel, Angel?

“One day with you and friends already?” He rapped his ringed hand gently against the counter. “Can’t wait to see where we’re at tomorrow.” 

He swiped the bag off of the counter, tossing a few crisp bills onto the countertop and a wink over his shoulder before exiting the shop. 

You counted the bills on the counter, watching as Angel left the building.

Holy shit.

Three hundred bucks. He had tipped you 100 percent of what you charged him.

Cheeky.

Maybe Santo Padre wasn’t so bad, after all… 

---

Now, staring at him from across the room made you feel like you were drowning in the sickly-sweet cotton candy of sugared dreams, now lost to time. The saccharine balm melted to acrid wax, leaving you with only the tinge of bitterness. 

You were jostled out of your reverie by the sudden appearance of EZ’s blocky frame, ambling toward you with the same girl from before on his arm. 

He greeted you with a slow wave and a soft smile. 

“Hey, girl,” he greeted, clearly unsure of how much friendlier and closer he should approach you. 

You took mercy on Angel’s sweet, (big) little brother, opening your arms slightly for a hug. EZ took to the gesture like an over-excited golden retriever, scooping you up and spinning you once, before putting you back where he found you, slightly dizzier than you were before. 

He offered your name to the girl by his side, who looked pleasantly amused at the spectacle before her, her amusement melting to recognition at the name EZ had imparted to her. 

Ah. So she knew who you were. 

You tried not to let that realization sour your encounter, easing a practiced smile onto your features and offering your hand to the girl to shake. 

“Oh!” EZ chuckled. “This is Gaby -- er, Gabriela.” 

“Encantada,” you eased, gently shaking her hand before having a realization of your own. “Gaby, as in Leti’s friend?” 

She nodded, a warm smile illuminating her already sunshiney features. You could see why EZ obviously liked her. She had the practiced social grace of a debutante, but the friendly aura of someone you had known for your entire life. 

“I hope you’re keeping Ezekiel out of trouble,” you teased gently. 

“Only as well as I can,” she replied. EZ rubbed the back of his neck as you two gossiped about him like he wasn’t standing right there. 

“Listen, hermanita,” EZ began, swirling the dregs of his beer around the bottle clutched in his hand as the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence, “About Angel --” 

That was a hard no. 

“Coco!” You called as you spotted the lithe man prowling through the crowd after obtaining a drink from the bar, effectively shutting EZ up. 

Coco sidled over, slinging an arm over your shoulder and nodding in greeting to EZ and Gaby. 

“Wassup, chiquita? Over here with all the cool kids?” 

“You know damn well I was never cool enough for the cool kids,” you knocked your shoulder into Coco’s good-naturedly. 

“Dunno about that, pequeña,” Coco took a drag of his cigarette, sighing as he exhaled. “I’ve got some pretty cool body armour thanks to you.” 

“All in a day's work,” you mock-saluted. You were doing great. Keep it light, keep it friendly. You may be able to make it out of this unscathed, after all. 

Gaby and EZ were speaking softly to one another just to your side, as you and Coco continued your conversation. 

“So, who’s the new guy?” You asked, nodding over to where Angel and the still-unnamed newbie were tossing back shots. You tried to ignore that each one had girls placed on each of their laps. Well, mostly you were trying to ignore one girl placed on one lap; tried to ignore as ringed fingers trailed up and down her thigh hypnotically as he howled in laughter at something the new guy had said. 

The longer you stared at the way he was touching her, the more You thought you could feel it on your own skin. And you knew all too well how that touch felt. Memories, make you, right? 

You blinked harshly, turning your face back to Coco’s, only to find his hawkish eyes trained on you as he continued to smoke. Now you were certain he had seen everything you had, and more. And you cursed yourself for slipping. Because nothing slipped past Coco. 

He took mercy on you nevertheless. 

“Andres. He’s aight. You may not remember him from before, when he was just a prospect.” 

“Guess not,” you agreed, shrugging amiably, suddenly very interested in toying with the hem of your flowy little summertime skirt. 

“Mierda,” you heard Coco hiss, glancing up to see none other than the new guy -- Andres -- walk over, his arm around the waist of the girl from his lap, accompanied by none other than Angel Reyes, furnished with his own lap-turned-arm candy. She was giggling in his ear, popping her gum and bumping her hips against Angel’s as she walked by his side. 

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side. 

Great. 

The easy smile you’d had when conversing with Coco now felt positively screwed into place, settling unnaturally, a stranger's face made up of your own features. 

Andres smirked at you in greeting, eyes trailing over you -- the most unwelcome iteration of that gesture in this context to-date. 

“I hear you’re the girl to see about some ink.” 

You bit back the snarky response that rose to your tongue. You see anyone else here, tonto?

“Sure am,” you replied, cool as you pleeeeaseeee. Maybe a little too cool. The ice in your voice was obvious to everyone except the strangers before you. 

You really were doing great, weren’t you? 

“Great,” the new meat brushed the girl off from his side, plopping unceremoniously into your chair. “You did that right?” He pointed behind you to where Angel was standing, gesturing at his arm and your miniscule mural of memorial greenery. 

“Cierto.” You nodded, sparing Angel’s arm the barest of glances.

“Aight, well, none of that girly shit, alright, sweetheart? Angel may have had the good grace not to say anything, but flowers ain’t really my style, yeah?” 

What the fuck.  

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Coco visibly tense next to you, obviously displeased at the uncalled-for critique of your work. Of a piece he himself had often admired. He would never admit it, but he thought the story behind it was even better. It’s like you had walked out of some shitty romcom Leti watched with her tittering friends and into Angel’s dreams, sinking yourself beneath Angel's skin like a dream he would recount to all of his friends. Coco knew the most about you by nature of Angel's second-hand stories when you were together. Although Coco thought, once he had met you, Angel's stories didn't do you justice. How wonderful and talented you were. How warm and welcoming.

Angel watched the exchange silently, clearly none too keen to defend the piece you had designed for him. That had come to mean so much to you. 

That stung.

You winced, almost imperceptibly. But you were certain Coco saw it, not much escaping his sniper’s eyes. EZ, with his owlish perception and photographic memory, certainly would have seen it, too. If Angel saw it, it’s not like he was going to say anything now. 

Where the fuck was Aneesa? Wasn’t she supposed to be heading this kind of shit off? You glanced over at the couches in the corner where your friend had previously been sitting with GIlly, and was now nowhere to be seen. Fuckin’ typical. 

“Aight, no más flores." No more flowers. “What were you thinking, then?” 

That was you, ever the professional. 

Andres showed you his phone, a rendering of an old-style beastly cat, like a panther from an old folktale, pulled up in his image search. 

“Something for a warrior,” he puffed his chest slightly. “I was thinking here,” he shrugged out of one side of his new kutte, tugging the button-up to expose one side of his chest. 

“You got it.” 

You set to work, cleaning the area to be inked and getting your tools ready. The rest of the group drifted as the project progressed, clearly not feeling the need to stand there for the entire duration of a tattoo. 

You were acutely aware that Angel hadn’t stepped as far away as the others, circumventing the periphery of yours and Andres’ space, not close, but not far. And he still had yet to even look in your direction. Or acknowledge your existence. 

You tried your best to ignore the icy shard of Angel’s indifference that was currently wedging its way between your ribs and lodging itself firmly once more into your heart. At this point, you guessed it would never heal. 

“Sooooo,” Andres lolled his head to the side of his chair to face you, slinging back the beer from the bottle dangling in his free hand. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You were around a little bit when I was prospecting.” 

You opted not to respond, aware that Angel was likely listening, and you would need to choose any words carefully. Andres had no such reservation, clearly uncaring about who might be listening. He pressed on, each word more infuriating than the last. 

“You were Angel’s little sidepiece for a while, right?”   

You tried to keep your despairing sigh to a quiet little nothing. 

“Sure.” You offered lamely. “Sorry, man, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really work better when I’m not talking.” 

“S’alright, jaina. I can talk enough for the both of us.” 

You hmm’d nonchalantly at that, lip imperceptibly curling over your teeth in distaste at the moniker. You chose instead to focus on the piece. You wouldn’t give a shitty tattoo, even if this guy was a douchebag. And the pleasant buzz of the tattoo gun. Maybe you were etching the lines a little sharper than strictly necessary. If he noticed, Andres gave no indication, continuing on with his diatribe: 

“So, what happened? I mean, Angel knocked that other chick up? Ouch, right?” 

You were now seeing red, the edges of your vision blurring slightly with angry, pinpricking tears. Thank fuck you were just about done with this. 

“But that’s the life right? I mean, we’re not exactly known for being steady with just one chick. You know how it goes ...” He eyed you up and down again, lingering a little too long on your legs before finishing his thought with a smirk “... Clearly.” 

You hated his use of “we,” like he was in any way, shape, or form worthy to be in the class of man EZ, Coco, Bishop, or, hell, even Angel, was. None of them would talk to you like this. No matter what Angel had done. 

You shut off the gun, pushing back from the space with Andres, spinning in your chair, and grabbing the clean wipes for Andres’ fresh ink. As you dabbed the area and made to bandage it, the oblivious biker grabbed your wrist. None of the teasing fun or gentleness in the same gesture that Angel had imparted when you had first met. No, Andres’ grip hurt. It was all bruising possession and entitlement. 

“I think we would have fun, you and I.” He leaned forward and far too into your space, the stale stink of warm beer heavy on his breath. 

You wrenched your grip from his, standing quickly and offering him a tight smile, cheeks flaming with your anger and embarrassment. How dare he speak so trivially of your relationship with Angel. How dare he think you were so easily won with his kutte and shitty attitude. 

“Uhm,” you tugged your fingers agitatedly through the ends of your hair, chewing your lip. “You’re all set, Andres. Aftercare sheet is on the table next to you. It’s on the house. Happy patch party!” Your voice sounded so shrill and fake in your own head, but you just didn’t have it in you to care at the moment. 

With that, you quickly whirled on your heel, in a distressed flurry past the Angel-shaped blur who had been watching the entire encounter, and out of the clubhouse door into the cooler late-night air. 

Getting heavy to breathe in this room together. It’s so awkward, we can’t seem to do it better. Can’t we just fake a smile and put our shit to the side? 

---

Angel had waited a whopping 18 hours to text you after your clandestine tattooed meet-cute. 

You were in the middle of exchanging consultation e-mails with a prospective client when your phone had buzzed. 

“Vince?” The text read. 

You bit back a smirk before responding,

“Vince? No Vince here. This is Frida’s phone.”

You watched as the little bubbles appeared in the corner, disappeared for a second, and then reappeared. You were grateful for the little manifestation of Angel’s hesitance. It made him seem more human. And it made you appreciative that he was clearly trying to choose his words with you, when words had seemed to come so easily to him when you had met. 

“My bad. Oh, beautiful, talented Frida.” 

You couldn’t hold back the smile on your features now. Grateful it was still you and only you in the shop so that no one could see your “obviously-texting-a-cute-guy” face. 

“It’s nice to hear from you, Angel. Good thing you didn’t throw away the card.” 

“That card was clearly a gift, querida. Much like the pretty flowers on my arm.” He snapped you a picture of his tattoo, the healing process underway. 

“Looks great!” You sent, cringing at your lack of ability to effectively flirt via text. It was something that your friends had teased you relentlessly about back in the Town -- your notorious lack of game. No! New home, new you! Be cute. Be cute. 

“So, if I’ve given you all the gifts, what do I get?” You sent with a “thinking” emoji. 

Angel at least had the decency to wait a minute or two before replying, either thinking about his response or keeping you in suspense… you weren’t sure. But you were grateful for the little opportunity to catch your breath. How did he make you so speechless when he wasn’t even in the room with you? Some things just weren’t fair. 

“Niña, I paid you for this ink. What more could you possibly want from me?” 

Tricky Angel. Zorro. Like a little fox, he had effectively maneuvered the conversation back to you -- the ball was in your court. Would you tell him what you wanted?

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding. 

“You texted me, boy. Are you sure it isn’t you who wants something?”

If only your friends could see you now. That was damn smooth. 

“Boy?” 

You snorted to yourself. Trust a guy like Angel to get hung up on something small like that. The bubbles reappeared. 

“I was thinking about this pretty girl I met the other day. Hell of an artist. But a shit poet. Thought I would see if she was free sometime?” 

Angel was merciful. You could kiss him. Had he seriously just taken all the weight out of this conversation? Your heart felt a million pounds lighter in your chest, knowing he was asking you. The wave of relief that he wanted to see you again crashed through you, replaced in the tide with the backdraft of a feeling of mischievousness. You wouldn’t let him off so easily.

So you waited before responding. Let him sweat a little, right?

Only… you weren’t sure Angel was sweating as much as you were, fingers itching with the desire to text him back and accept immediately. 

When what had felt like an eternity (but in reality had only been about seven minutes) had passed, you picked up your phone, opening the conversation with Angel. 

“She’s free next Thursday … After your bike week, el rey de los bandoleros.” 

You put your phone back down on the counter, grinning like an idiot, feeling like you had just swallowed a bunch of bubbles. You entertained the notion that if your combat boots weren’t keeping your feet weighted to the floor, you would have floated away. 

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.” 

Time passes slowly the more you want it to go quickly. And whenever you have a deadline you’re dreading, it gallops ahead. Time really is that bitch, and she does not give a fuck about your feelings. 

The following Thursday felt like it took a year to arrive. But it found you closing up the shop, your stomach fluttering with butterflies and pop rocks, adorned in your favorite pair of jeans and boots, a clean, flattering tank top that showed off your own ink. You hoped it was fine for whatever Angel had in mind. 

Honestly, he hadn’t said anything about your date. A few flirtatious texts here and there? Obviously. You sent him photos of the pieces you had done for new clients. He sent you ridiculous selfies and a couple of group pics of him and his friends at the biker event. One guy who kept popping up in the photos, Angel had told you, was his “little” brother. But there was nothing “little” about that dude. 

You loved seeing all of Angel’s goofy, smiling faces. Treasuring the photos in your small moments of quiet downtime. 

The rumbling of a bike engine greeted your ears, like the seductive purr of a large cat. You glanced up, a full Cheshire grin alighting your features at the sight of Angel’s gorgeous, deep forest green bike, and the man of the hour looking very at home on the seat. 

He rolled to a stop in front of you, unclipping his helmet and dismounting with his winning trademark smirk, ambling over to greet you. 

“Frida,” he scooped you into a hug, his tall frame causing you to lift, your toes now barely brushing the ground as he brought you to his height. He pressed a soft kiss to your check, setting you down gently and letting you get your bearings, chuckling pleasantly at the obvious, dizzying effect his greeting had had on you.

“Angelito,” you returned. “Back in one piece?”

“Hail to the king, baby,” he countered. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, scuffing the toe of your boot into the gravel of the lot. “So, where are you taking me, o benevolent one?”

“Just gonna hafta find out.” He handed his helmet to you, helping you clip and tighten it beneath your chin. “Ever ridden before?”

“Uhm, well, sure” you replied too assuredly, quickly realizing your slip. “I mean, no. Not like that. I mean, yes, like that. But not on one of these.” Fuck. Could you be more embarrassing? 

Angel released a full-bellied laugh at your response, his head tossing back a little. 

“You’ll have to tell me more about alla that later, cielo.” You put your head in your palm willing the embarrassment to go away. Angel quickly pried your hands away, cupping your cheeks with his own warm hands, long fingers brushing your cheekbones reverently. “In the meantime, just hang on, okay?” 

You nodded, still cursing your idiot-brain that had partnered with the dirtiest corners of your mind to take over your mouth. Shut the fuck up, dumb-dumb. 

You clung to Angel as he drove, your hands roaming his firm torso probably a little too-familiarly. You enjoyed the way the wind whipped around you, tugging at yours and Angel’s clothes as you made your way up the canyon overlooking the desert that was Santo Padre. 

Angel parked his bike on the ridge overlooking the town, the sun beginning its descent in the desert sky in swirling hues of pastels and cotton candy pink-purple-blue overtaking the orange hue. 

You had never been up here before, and you told Angel as much. He looked pleased at that, pleased that he was the one to show you the best view of the Santo Padre sunset. 

Angel busied himself unpacking the bags on the side of his bike while you enjoyed the scenery. Pulling out a couple of wrapped sandwiches and bottles of water, he handed yours to you, coming to stand next to you on the ridge. 

"Thanks," you acknowledged, looking at the offerings. "What, no beer?"

Angel chuckled a little at that.

"I ain't tryna liquor you up, niña. Besides, you want warm beer that's been rattling around on my bike all afternoon?"

You crinkled your nose a little at that. "No," you decided. "Never mind. Besides, I'm more of a whiskey girl."

Angel glanced at you, sipping on his own water idly.

"Really?"

"Really," you confirmed. "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who thinks it's impressive when a girl drinks whiskey because it's such a 'man thing.' "

Angel held up one hand, defensively. 

"Nunca. Just took you for more of a… dunno? Maybe a rum kinda girl?"

"Don't think so. For now, though? Water and sandwiches do me just fine. Whiskey can come later." You took a bite of the now-unwrapped sandwich. "This is good," you confirmed around a slightly-full mouth. "Did you make this?"

"Of course. Pop owns the butcher shop down the street from your parlour. Sliced the meat myself, an' all," he said, a little proudly now that he knew you approved of his sandwich-making skills.

"Bueno," you giggled. "Thank you for this, Angel. Really. This is one of the nicest nights I've had since moving here." You shuffled a little closer to where he was standing, looking in his eyes as you thanked him.

"Bah," he waved away your compliments, "it ain't alla that. This can't be the most exciting thing you've done since getting here."

"Maybe it is," you pressed. "I dunno. Maybe I'm too boring for the king of the bikers?"

"I doubt that very seriously, querida," he turned his body so he was facing you now, sandwich long gone, fiddling with the water bottle in his hands. "You play your cards right, I'll introduce you to the rest of the club. Then things'll get really exciting."

You blinked. One date and he already was thinking about introducing you to his friends? Your inner shy romantic (okay, not so "inner," right? You're pretty clear about who you are) was doing little somersaults in your chest. 

You must've been silent a beat too long because Angel was quick to supplement, "Only if you want."

"I'd like that," you confirmed, nodding and smiling gently. 

"So, are you gonna tell me what brings an East Bay girl here?" 

You raised a brow. You didn't remember telling him where you moved from. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck nervously, realizing you'd caught his slip. 

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

You finished your sandwich, thinking about how much you wanted to tell him.

"Just time for a change of scenery. Olí is an old friend, and he offered me a job. I think he wants to travel more." You shrugged, "It just felt like it was time. Plus, I dunno… I like it here. Much quieter."

Angel nodded at that, not having the heart to tell you that his club was not at all quiet and was the source of the disruption in the otherwise-quaint town. 

You kept talking, telling him about the friends you'd left behind, your old shop, weekends spent in the park surrounding Lake Merritt, and going to Raiders games. Angel took in your features as you spoke, the golden light of the sunset making you glow like something out of a dream he'd had once. Your eyes sparkled as you talked about things you loved, the books and art that inspired your poetry. How you'd gone to art school. You were something.

"-- Sorry, I'm rambling," you breathed in a rush, flush with the amount of talking you'd been doing in a record amount of time. "What? Do I have something in my teeth?"

Angel realized he'd been staring as long as you'd been talking.

"No, querida. Nothing in your teeth." He gave you a dazzlingly white smile.

"Oh thank God," you returned his smile with a small one of your own, shying a little under his gaze, and wondering how long he had been looking at you like that as you'd talked.

He leaned over you now, his height giving him the definite advantage as he'd -- not unwelcomely-- invaded your space. He brought one hand up to cup your chin, his dark eyes revealing flecks of sparkling gold in the pastel wash of the sunset as his gaze once again met yours.

You saw his quick glance down at your lips, you unconsciously giving a small nod before his warm lips met yours.

Oh.

You had obviously been kissed before, been the recipient of past romantic attention. All of that paled in comparison, melting away as Angel's full lips maneuvered over yours, both of his large, calloused hands gently brushing your cheeks as he cupped your face, sliding one hand down to rest on the side of your neck.

You sighed lightly, one of your own hands twined into his shirt, the other resting on the side of his firm torso. 

Angel took the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips, your own brushing against his as the kiss deepened.

 You were in no hurry for the kiss to end, enjoying the way everything about Angel was so warm, something that was surprisingly welcome, despite the ever-present desert heat of Santo Padre. You could get used to this. 

You had only known Angel a short time, realistically. Your one meeting spawning a series of flirtatious texts and snaps, and now this date that, while low-key, felt almost too perfect to be real. He made you feel safe, desired.

You could already feel him slipping beneath your skin to rest in a special place in your heart. And while you as a person were generally reticent to share that part of yourself with anyone, you had a feeling Angel could take up permanent residence there. If he wanted. 

You dropped from your tip-toes, effectively breaking the kiss.

Angel blinked, looking down at you and noting the pleasant glow on your skin, lips now slightly swollen from his kiss. He could get used to this.

The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur, trading quips and stories as the sun went down. Angel told you about his club, his brothers. About his pop and Ezekiel, and how at one time, he enjoyed being the bigger brother, teasing, pranking and lording over EZ until EZ had hit his growth spurt and could (and would) definitely hit back. 

As he drove you home, you snuggled a little bit against him, pressing yourself into his back and enjoying the way you swore you could feel his heart pounding through the kutte and over the rumble of the bike and the road.

He'd dropped you off with a parting kiss and the promise of another date.

Another date turned into several. Time you weren't at the shop was now spent with Angel, showing him what you were working on, inviting him over for dinners and to watch mindless television while he told you what he could about his day. 

The both of you were slowly peeling back the layers around your respectively guarded hearts, revealing more of yourselves only to be met with pure acceptance by the other. Even blindados had to take off their armour at some point. 

You cherished your time with Angel, and he quickly found himself stumbling, head over his own biker-booted heels for you.

After a few months had passed, he had brought you to meet the club. You had manifested nothing but general acceptance of his lifestyle and were eager to meet the people Angel had so obviously cared for. Who had helped shape him into the brash but conscientious person he was with you. 

And one sunny afternoon had found you bringing lunch you had made for the entire club over to the scrapyard, Angel agreeing with your plan. You never were one to show up empty-handed. 

As you walked across the yard, past the gate, and into the clubhouse, your eyes adjusting to the dim interior from the blinding sun outdoors, Angel bounded over to greet you. Taking the bag full of homemade goodies from your arms, he pressed quick kisses to your cheeks, and one to your forehead. 

He turned, met with the pleasantly-surprised stares of his brothers. He announced your name to the room before turning to you, pointing at each man and supplying a name. You nodded, smiling and offering a warm wave to each. 

The man you knew to be EZ from all of Angel's initial texts and photos quickly strode over to you, shaking your hand in his impressively firm grip before bending down to press a quick kiss to your cheek with a,

"Bienvenido, hermanita. Angel's told me a lot about you. Won't shut up, really," giving you a sly wink as Angel swatted EZ's arm in annoyance at his brother's revelation.

Boys.

The smaller man with the sharp eyes and full curls you knew to be Coco made his way over to where you were now seated as Angel went to get you both drinks, the other men digging into your offerings as you made yourself comfortable.

He sat next to you, tossing you a, "You mind?" Lighting his cigarette after you’d shaken your head.

He studied you through his own plumes of smoke before leaning across the table and speaking to you, lowly and with an almost conspiratorial rasp to his voice,

"You did that cover-up for Angel?" He asked on a smooth exhale.

"Mhmm," you nodded. "He gave me free reign. I was nervous he'd hate it."

Coco seemed to chew over your words for a dragging moment. You shifted in your seat. He was definitely sizing you up.

"Bold move, pequeña, giving the secretario of a biker club a sleeve of flowers." 

"I suppose it was," you sighed, more than a little uncertain now. "But it felt meaningful, right, I guess. I just sort of… started drawing. I… think it worked out, though?" You trailed off.

Coco nodded. "It's a fuckin' good piece, mami. Angel told me what you'd said about memories making you who you are." He snorted lightly through his nose. "It's funny. We've never even met before, and you're already sounding like me." 

A small smile played across his lips, returning it with one of your own.

"I'm glad you approve," you nodded. "Angel's opinion obviously matters, and don't tell him I told you this, but it means alot coming from one of his family." 

And that's what they were. His family. You could see it. The obvious camaraderie and care underlying each of their actions with the other. You admired the system of support, cushioned by good humor, despite being flung regularly into harsh reality. It was clear -- they were there for one another.

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

"Maybe you got space for me in your books one-a these days?"

Your small smile was a full-blown, sunny grin now.

"Of course. Anytime you want to drop by, you're more than welcome." 

"Gracias, chica." Coco leaned across the table and patted your shoulder before getting up and taking his leave.

And so it went. The boys would filter through your shop. Olí teasing you about his offense that all of his most lucrative, inked clients were now going to you. 

You enjoyed the time working on pieces for them afforded you -- offering you a glimpse into their inner workings, what they felt was important enough to take up permanent residence along their skin. Making idle chit-chat with you while you worked. And always, always sharing embarrassing little anecdotes about Angel. 

The months passed with you and Angel, finding comfort in your unpredictable, but welcome, respective routines. 

One night in particular found Angel wrapped up in your embrace, the physical embodiment of your gradual and growing trust in one another.

He had arrived home more than a little rattled, his eyes wildly darting to the corners of the room before settling in you, exhaling a shaky breath before striding the length of the room and crushing you to him, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips. 

You understood he probably couldn't tell you what had happened, but you asked anyway, needing him to know you would hear him.

"Angelito, everything okay?" 

He shook his head softly in the negative, but didn't elaborate. 

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"Okay. We don't have to talk about it," you wound your arms up and around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. "But it's going to be okay. I've got you. I won't let go."

He gripped your wrists, pulling your hands from his neck and sliding your arms down, bringing them to rest around his waist. Once he had positioned you where he wanted, he brought his hands to cup your cheeks, eyes heavy and dark with the weight of his stormy thoughts. 

He nodded at what you had said before bringing his lips back to yours. 

You brought one hand up to meet his, where it rested along your cheek. You twined your fingers through, joining your hands while breaking the kiss. You lead him through the apartment, bringing him to the bedroom. You had music softly playing from your speaker in the corner, candles lit to bathe the room in ambient glow and a warm, honey smell, all in anticipation of Angel's eventual arrival home.

You silently gestured for him to sit on the edge of the bed, where you took your seat next to him. 

You tugged the leather kutte from his shoulders, folding it reverently and placing it on the chair near the bed. He exhaled in relief, shoulders sagging once the leather manifestation of his obligation to a darker world had been removed. The weight of the world a little less on the mantle of his shoulders. 

You turned your attention to his feet next, unlacing and tugging off his boots. Then, his belt. 

Once he was just in his jeans and his t-shirt, you resumed your seat at his side, bringing him back into your embrace and carding your hands through his hair, as his head rested on your shoulder. 

Angel spoke, voice cracking as he broke the seal of silence in the room. 

"It was… it was awful, Frida." He sighed. "I do everything they ask. It's my job … Fuck. Sometimes I wonder how much more my heart can take. But then, I get to come home to you." 

His breath was shuddering now.

And while you didn't always know what to say -- it was a rare sight to see Angel so rattled. But you were a caregiver by nature, ready to give him the pieces of yourself that would make him feel whole.

You guided him down so that he could recline, you came to rest at his side, winding your arms around his torso, your face turned into his neck, cuddling him as he came down from the mania of his emotional high.

The moments passed, Angel's breathing leveling again as you stroked his hair in time to the soft music.

He turned his head to look at you, admiring the flutter of your lashes as you blinked at him, your gaze warm and adoring, full of twinkling fairy light and starshine. 

"Te amo, querida," Angel breathed. This was not the first time he had said it to you during your months together. But each time felt as momentous as the first, each declaration of love felt like the slip of something sweet, and you were determined to store it in your heart and mind forever.

"I love you too, Angel. More than anything," you murmured. "I love your smile, your sense of humor, your strength." You pressed kisses to his face and neck with each admission. "Mostly, I love your strength. And that you trust me enough to tell me when you don't always feel it."

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

"I love your mind. How creative you are. How you see everything so beautiful, just like you," he hmm’d. "Mostly I love your trust. And that you choose to give it to me." 

You kissed him again, leaning over him with your entire body, pressing your palms gently into his shoulders. 

As your kiss deepened, you each began to tug at the other. His hands carded through your hair, tugging gently, but firmly. You lifted his shirt from his torso, the kiss breaking so you could peel it away.

You divested one another of each layer, baring yourselves to the other, body and soul. Again, this wasn't the first time you had done this. But this felt momentous nonetheless. 

Angel skimmed his hands over your form, running his hands softly down and over your breasts, loving your soft sigh at his touch. 

You leaned over him once more, reluctantly removing his hands from you, and placing them gently down at his sides. 

"Your heart is mine, mine to protect," You hummed softly, invading his senses and placing kisses down Angel's neck and to his chest, trailing your lips lovingly over Angel's heart, and pressing one last deliberate kiss there. "And I take my job very seriously." 

As you kissed him, you lightly trailed your fingers down his torso, coming to rest at his hip.

Your declaration was met with silence; you glanced up at Angel through your lashes only to find him already looking down through heavy-lidded eyes at you, his now swirling with some unnamed, weighted emotion.

You trailed your hand across his hip, not breaking eye contact as you took his hardening length into your hand. He inhaled sharply at the sensation of your grip, but refused to look away as you began to pump him slowly, still pressing kisses to his hips, torso and thighs. 

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

"Please, what?" You murmured back, your voice taking a throaty register you reserved strictly for private moments with your beloved.

"Please… use your pretty mouth?" 

You nodded. 

"Relájate, baby, I've got you," you assured. Sweeping your hair back, the action washing Angel with the sweeping comfort of your scent as you made your way lower down his body. 

Angel slumped back against the bedspread, glittering galaxy eyes still trained on you as you lavished him with attention. 

You took the opportunity to flatten your tongue, licking a broad stripe up the length of him, one hand braced against his firm thigh, the other holding him gently at the base of his cock as you worked.

You swirled your tongue around the tip of him, delighted at his throaty moans, feeling the effect they had on you, making you feel like you were burning from the inside, feeling the slickness from your own center as your thighs rubbed together. 

Taking Angel wholly into your mouth now, you bobbed over him, relishing in the heavy feel of him in your mouth and the throaty groans you received from Angel in response. 

Before you could spend too long lavishing him with attention, Angel tugged on your hair at the base of your neck. Following his grip, you lifted your head and released him from, watching (a little greedily) as his thick length bobbed against him when you relinquished him from the confines of your mouth. 

He guided you up his body, hand still knotted in your hair, pushing his mouth onto yours, uncaring of the saliva on your lips and chin, and the taste of himself on your tongue. 

You straddled his hips, surging the rest of the way up his body and effectively deepening the kiss. The hand that was once in your hair now made its way to loosely grip at your throat, the other skimming his way down your breasts, across your ribs and toward your center.

As his fingers traced through your folds, you involuntarily rolled your hips into his hand, alight at his touch, and desperately seeking more. 

Angel touching you was like the shock of a live wire. Every time felt just as electric as the last, goosebumps erupting across your flesh as his fingers traced across your skin. 

He chuckled through your fused mouths, drawing back at your reaction and the wetness he found between your legs.

"Eager, amor?" Every word fell that fell from his lips sounded like a dangerous purr.

You nodded, drunk on the way Angel's hand gently squeezed your throat, while the other was teasingly making its way to-and-fro across your wet folds, occasionally making his way up to lightly circle and press his thumb over your clit, making your eyelids flutter. Your hips continued to rock against his hand, silently begging for more, his teasing touch making you more than a little crazy.

"Yeah?" Angel asked, his voice thick and syrupy, the timbre like dark clouds. "That shit turn you on? Sucking my cock?"

His words combined with his touch made another rush of heat flood through you. You were certain you would pass out, that your knees would buckle. And you were doing so well, holding your place up and over his hips while he played with you.

The hand on your throat gripped a little tighter, causing your eyes to flutter shut.

"Nuh-uh, baby," he shook you lightly, all mirth gone from his eyes, no more pleasant, smiling crinkles at the corners. His full lips pressed firmly together. "I asked you a question. You answer that shit"

He pressed two fingers teasingly against your entrance, refusing to insert them, despite the little roll of your hips.

"Y-yeaahh," you sighed, head tossed back, "I-I fucking love it -- love you, Angel."

He rewarded you by sliding a long finger into you, allowing you to ride his hand. The hand still around your throat guiding you forward, over him, allowing him to press hot, open-mouthed kisses, first to your lips, dirty and raw, like an exposed nerve in his unabashed want for you. 

He relinquished his hold on your neck, allowing him to trail his lips and his tongue there, kissing you softly behind your ear, down and around your neck to your collarbones, all while his fingers continued their earnest treatment inside of you, his thumb now pressing to your clit, your warming crescendo building.

Using his height and the fact that you were straddling him, Angel encouraged you to lean forward, allowing him to capture one of your breasts in his grip, his mouth following. His warm tongue swirled around your nipple before he sucked the bud into his mouth, grazing his teeth ever so gently over your sensitive flesh.

Angel's attention was rewarded with your gasping sighs and breathy moans. How anyone could make you feel this good was beyond you. Angel had an uncanny ability to elicit responses and feelings like no other person before him.

You felt the thrumming hum and warm, sticky wave of your orgasm building as Angel worked his fingers inside of you, stroking that particular spot from within that he knew would be your undoing.

"O-oh," you whined, keening noises caught in your throat. "Please, baby, I n-need you. Need you inside." 

The room was sweltering. Or was it just you? Angel withdrew his fingers smoothly, not sparing you the chance to be disappointed at the loss of feeling as he smoothly flipped the two of you, guiding you down to the mattress and hovering over your trembling form. 

"Yeah?" Angel asked. "You ready for that, querida?"

You gazed up at him through your lashes, longingly. He would give everything, anything, that he had in the world if you only looked at him like that forever, gaze full of warmth, heat, and unfiltered, starry adoration. 

"Mmm," you nodded, "Please? Angel?"

He was only a man, after all. Who was he to refuse when you asked so prettily for him?

He gently turned you over so that your back was to him, running his hands down the slope of your back and guiding you to your knees, propping your hips up.

Positioning himself behind you, Angel resumed his grip on your throat, using it to guide your head around so that he could kiss you again while he guided himself inside of you. You moaned into the kiss at the sensation, never tired of feeling every ridge of his thick cock sliding into you like he belonged there.

Angel groaned, breaking the kiss and shaking his head, chuckling darkly, his eyes flashing as he swore, 

"Never fuckin' get tired of that shit," he began to move his hips, using his other hand that was gripping your hip to guide you along his lengthy, meeting his thrusts. "Never tired of your pussy … You're so … good."

Angel's words coupled with his thrusts were driving you crazy, causing you to eagerly meet him with the momentum of your own hips, the heat in the room spliced with the distinctive noise of his skin meeting yours. 

Angel, leaning over your back, crowded your every sense, the taste of him, of his kisses still lingering on your tongue. Your ears met with the harmony of your two bodies and the filthy words and sounds coming from Angel's mouth. The sight of him was as intoxicating as ever, as you looked over your shoulder at him, the shadows of the room playing across his tawny skin, glimmering in the low light with the sheen of sweat you knew was also present on yours.

“Say my name,” Angel pants into the slick skin on your back, kissing a line down your spine, his body covering yours possessively.

You were too caught up in everything Angel, failing to respond quickly enough for his liking as you gasped at every thrust.

A crack of heat flashed across your ass, Angel swatting you there once. You should be annoyed, but you couldn't lie -- you fucking loved it when he was like this. Only for you. 

"A-angel," you sighed, the crescendo of your orgasm climbing, threatening to burst any second, you tightening around Angel.

"Bueno," he purred. "You close? Yeah, you fucking are," Angel snarled, taking in the way you threw your hips back desperately to meet him, squirming one hand beneath you to touch yourself. "You can have it, baby, I'll make it good. You just gotta ask pretty for me." 

You deepened the arch in your back, flexing your hips back toward Angel, and gripping the bedspread before you in your fingers, face pressed flush with the sheets, your other hand still pressed to your clit.

Angel tilted your head, leaning over further and gripping your jaw, squeezing to pucker your cheeks. He kissed you, sucking your lower lip between his. He kissed you gently, a deceptive contrast to the hand gripping your face, his hips snapping into yours at a now-brutish pace. He pecked another light kiss to your lips, followed by another, gently biting your lip and dragging it lightly as he drew his face from yours.

He released your lips as you whispered another plea into his mouth.

"Come on then, baby." 

Your orgasm washed over you, pinpricks of striking matches splintering across your skin, followed by a euphoric wave of white-heat, blissfully soothing every nerve it had just lit.

Angel followed, emptying himself into you with a few final thrusts, groaning at the way you tightened just so around him. 

He withdrew gently, collapsing next to you as you both caught your breath. 

Your lashes fanned your cheeks as you blinked hazily at the form of your love through the soft glow of the room.

"I do love you, Angel," you told him, leaning across the sheets to rub your nose back and forth against his, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, grazing your soft fingers against the lines of his forehead, easing them away into an expression of soft serenity. "Always."

---

Now, you walked out of the clubhouse, around to the side of the porch, a quiet corner away from the noise. Willing yourself to calm down as small, hot tears trickled their way, uninvited, down your cheeks. 

Your thoughts were moving a million miles a second, the battle of luck you were waging with the universe saw you quickly losing. 

The year you spent with Angel replaying itself in your mind. Every word, every touch, that goddamn tattoo. Remembrance, my ass. How you would hold him when he came home too high-strung and strung-out emotionally for words. How you would save the best leftovers for him when you knew he had been away and would be craving the Chinese food from the place down the block when he got back. How he felt inside of you on the coldest nights and in the most tender mornings. How he would whisper enchanting endearments into the shell of your ear as he rolled his hips into yours, your mind and body completely his. How you would wear his shirts and overly-large socks around his apartment, leaving doodles and scribbled poems on sticky notes for him to find in his moments alone. How he kissed you warmly, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like syrupy possession that you never wanted to end. 

How it did end. How he had thrown out your world, crumpled it into a crushed paper ball and tossing it away with the carelessness of a child. Ending things with seemingly no spare thought for your feelings. How EZ had let slip when he saw you in town that Angel was expecting a kid, the timing of everything suddenly making a little more sense. How it made you feel, now that you knew you were wholly his, but he was never entirely yours. How you had kept to yourself in the months that followed, the cracks in your heart widening until you felt like you would drown in them. 

The pulse of your feelings for him, always strong; they warm you. But it was still you they all left behind. 

Your thoughts were still swirling when, off to the side, you heard the porch door open and close again, and you prayed that whomever was coming outside was going to have a smoke out front, or that they were on their way out. That they wouldn’t find you. 

But of course, these things never worked out how you wanted them. You cursed any god you could think of for just how un-fucking-lucky you were sometimes. 

Because, really, who other than Angel was making his way around the porch to you? Taking in your hunched form as you leaned over the railing, looking anywhere but at him. 

Of fucking course.

You kept your eyes down, focused in your clasped hands as you leaned over the railing, refusing to look at him. 

And now? Now he was looking at you, and it's the one time you wished he wouldn't. 

One thing you wouldn't do, now that he was here, was break the silence first. He didn't want to hear what you'd had to say, so why would you grace him with your thoughts now? Petty? Sure. But you weren't the one in there with your hands on some ass while a so-called friend harassed your ex. 

A few uncomfortable beats dragged on before Angel broke the silence, shattering it like glass with a verbal hammer.

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

"What the fuck did he say, Frida?" His voice angry now, demanding. The same tone he used to break your heart. 

"It ain't working. Not my fuckin’ fault you can't see it."

You rolled your eyes, another shard of icy glass painfully wedging into your heart at his use of the name. Still refusing to look in his direction when you replied, softly but sharply, 

"You know exactly what he said. What I'm trying to figure out is why, exactly, you care."

"I care, Frida," was all he offered.

You snorted in response. Undignified, sure. But couldn't he see this was killing you? Where was his mercy?

"I do," he insisted, the thud of his boots across the wood of the porch indicating that he was crossing to you, coming to stand a ways behind you.

"I'm not going to do this with you. He said some shit. It's over. We move on. What more could you have to say about that?"  

Keep it simple, keep yourself safe. You gave him nothing to say back. And then… 

"And if I told you I wanted you? I wanted you back?"

You whipped your head around to -- finally -- meet Angel's eyes, which you did for a fleeting moment before zeroing in once more on your shoes, staring resolutely at the ground. You were not going to let him see you cry again, godfuckingdamnit.

The fleeting glimpse of his face, of his eyes meeting yours once more after all this time, was enough. He looked more tired up close than he had before. Still unfair in his striking beauty, his midnight eyes still enough to pull you in, drown you in their oceanic depths. You hated it. Hated that he still had that power over you. But try as you might, you couldn't hate him. 

Your silence was killing Angel with the precision of a thousand miniscule cuts. Each deeper than the last. Until he couldn’t take it any longer. He reached through the space between, for where your hand rested on the railing. You saw the gesture coming, and whipped your hand away at the last moment, cradling it to your chest like he had burned you. You faced him fully now.

You chuckled softly, wryly, and devoid of any humor before you muttered, "You don't want me, baby. Please don't lie."

“And how do you know that’s a lie?” Angel mumbled thickly, working his tongue around the words, through his own emotion. 

You scuffed your toe into the hewn wood of the deck, shrugging before you responded, simply, 

“If I was what you wanted, you wouldn’t have gone looking elsewhere. And you certainly wouldn't have found someone else. You wouldn’t have said what you said, ended it like you did, with everything on just your terms.” You sighed deeply, with the rattle of tears lodged into your chest before you spoke again, “You made up your mind and never even let me say a word. If you wanted anything to do with me, you could have at least given me a word.” 

Angel blinked, hard. The familiar pressure of real tears building behind his eyes. You were right of course. And fuck, weren't you always? You'd always told him like it was, harsh truths that only you could cushion in your gentle, empathetic way. 

"Please, querida, just let me explain what happened--" 

You held up your hand, shaking your head firmly, effectively silencing Angel.

"No!" Much softer now, "No. I- I'm sorry, Angel, I don't mean to be rude. But, no." Your voice small, but clear, as you'd finally gotten your opportunity to say something back to him. "I, uh, I don't want to hear any explanation, and you really don't have to?"

You lilted the last part like it was a question, but continued on. 

"You, um, you've had a lot of time to tell me something, anything, about what the fuck happened. And you didn't. You left me with nothing. Just confusion and hurt, and I've made peace with that. It's taken a while, but … I just… I don't need that from you. I gave you space, always respected your decisions and opinions, and now you won't do the same. You're still trying to take from me. Offering me an explanation now?" You scoffed. "That isn't for me, and don't fuckin’ act like it is -- it's for you. And I understand that, that's fine. I'm not angry at you for that, but I'm also not going to humor it." 

You exhaled shakily, you couldn't believe you'd said all of that, that you had made it through.

Angel was speechless. It made your heart feel even sicker -- all of this silence from him for so long, and he'd offered to explain himself and you'd (gracefully) told him to fuck off. Why had you done that??

It was about time you'd stood up for yourself, that's why. 

An explanation would be nice, sure. But where Angel's words, whispered affirmations and heady declarations of love, had once made your soul swell and sing… now, you knew, anything he'd had to say to you would only serve to do the opposite. 

And your heart, perpetually bruised by nature of you being a hopeless romantic, just couldn't take it. 

You hopped off the porch, spinning around to face Angel, finding his eyes on you still. Hadn't you wished for him to look at you? To really see you once more? 

"I'm out," you tossed a thumb over your shoulder toward where you'd parked your car. "Sorry, I don't mean to abandon the old post, but uh, I'm sure you guys have someone to fill in. I'll text Aneesa to grab my stuff, don't worry about it." 

Like he would, you thought.

You were mostly rambling to yourself, and not really to Angel, as you backed away, fleeing to your car. 

Angel watched you go, the resonant ache in his chest that had been ever-present since tossing your stuff out, amplified when Luisa had left him, and now sure to be permanent, buried in cement beneath the weight of his every decision, and every word.

You looked good, he thought. Your hair was longer than when he'd seen you last. Your little skirt flouncing as you strode away. Your skin still glowed, full lips still twisted into that wry smile of yours that he had seen from across the room. All of that was true, but your eyes were also tired, and your smile never quite reached them. 

The thought that he was responsible for dimming that sparkle made him feel sicker than he already had. The way you had brushed off Andres, despite his obnoxious insistence, and the things the cocky  new patch had said to you -- may as well add those to the ever-growing pile of things stained and tainted by Angel's guilt.

And he was left alone with that guilt as you left the lot. He turned back to the party. His cool facade slipping back into place. Not ready to face the wrath of EZ and Coco, surely waiting inside to proverbially beat his ass.

What would you say if I come over? And we stand face to face now that we're older?

---

Angel shuffled into his apartment, the late hour catching up to his weary form as he ambled over to his bedside, flicking on the lamp. 

Rubbing a large hand down his face, he sat on his bed in a huff of exhaustion. Your first encounter in months since he'd all-but tossed you from this very room was pricking him with a kind of nauseating nervous  energy. But all he wanted to feel in that moment was you, whether he deserved it or not.

He'd still had it, didn't he? Where was it?

He pulled open the drawer of his nightstand, fishing through its contents for what he hoped was still in there.

His fingers curled over his prize -- a slip of paper adorned with your handwriting. Scrawled lines of poetry on a neon pink Post-It note, curled with age and disuse, something you had left for him while he slept in one morning. 

“I was thinking of you,” you had said when he had asked you about it later, shrugging as if it were the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. 

Your love for him was clean in its simplicity and forwardness, whenever he could wade his way through the mire of your shy demeanor. You had stuck the Post-It to his nightstand while he was sleeping and you made your way to work. Your words were cramped and crunched into the small paper square, but ready to greet him with the shining light of a sunny new day. 

“I see your ardor through a pearlescent lense, and all is pleasantly pink and blurry with you-- Resplendent in your love's solar hope. You are so warm beneath the brush of my fingertips, and I burn. So in love with you, as I am and as I do."

Now, his eyes scanned the words for the millionth time since you had written them. He had committed it to memory by now, wishing he could hold you instead of this crumpled piece of paper, mocking him with its annoyingly bright pink hue.

But how could he? Angel was the kind of man who simmered in his emotion -- burning slowly, lowly, only to reach a pitch. He kept to himself until he couldn’t any longer -- and then it was all bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve. 

He had done what he had thought was right. Cutting you out with all of the brutality and finesse of a battleaxe, to focus on Luisa and his unborn son. He thought she was what he wanted. But now, he didn’t even have them. He had nothing to show for his decisions but the lonely, sick feeling ever-present in his chest. 

The you at the beginning of your relationship would have kissed each bruise in his soul, one by one, until they were better. Would have gifted him with the warmth of your time and attention until he was made whole again with the molten heat of your gracious heart. But the you now? 

Angel could never, would never, cover the tattoo on his arm, though he had thought about it. Blacking it out once and for all, so the piece of you he wore on his sleeve would finally match the  pitch, and emptiness inside. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was, as he’d said all that time ago, your gift to him. And he’d made you a promise that he wouldn’t. 

All he wanted was to look you in the eyes so he could remember that he loved you once.

And not that he had any reason to know it, but across town, you had made it home. Your phone shoved to the bottom of your bag, lighting up with texts from Aneesa, EZ, and Coco. But the only person on your mind was Angel. 

How much of what he had said was true? You weren't sure. But you were sure that you knew where you stood, still painfully alone and in love as ever, the cracks in your heart only fillable by the very person you had brushed off earlier.

And, while Angel readied himself for bed, snapping the lights off and attempting to cut through the oppressive darkness by staring at the ceiling with his own penetrative gaze, the empty side of the bed had never felt more cavernous, but more weighted. Mocking. 

If Angel was being honest with himself -- something he was never too keen on being in his more sobering moments -- he didn't love you once. He still loved you.

Thinking after all this time, I just wanna meet your eyes so I can remember why... Why I loved you once.

Tagging:

@themarcusmoreno @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @steeeeeeeviebb @qveenbvtch @mxsamwilson @ifimayhaveaword @huliabitch @pettyprocrastination @phoenixhalliwell @flightlessangelwings @cinewhore @velvetmel0n @moonlight-prose @rebeccasficrecs @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @aerolanya @djvrins @jenrebloggingfics @ciriswife @justanotherblonde23 @superhoeva @witching-hour​ @luckyharley1903​

[shemarmooresfedora]

HI!!

I’m so happy for you to have hit 200 and now 300 followers!! You deserve a gold star ⭐️

I was looking at the prompts I think 4, 6, 12 sound good!! Again, I’m super happy that at your follower count. You’re a great writer and I can’t wait to see wait else you come up with 💕

You Don’t Ever Have to Hide From Me

Summary: You and Spencer are forced to share a hotel room but insecurities get the best of you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content/Warnings: internal angst due to body image issues, fluffy ending!

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: why did i just write and edit this whole thing to avoid editing my other WIP which would have taken me less time. i just have been feeling in a bit of a rut lately so i needed some good old-fashioned spencer reassurance. prompt requests close tomorrow at 5 pm EST

Masterlist

Hotch came back from the receptionist’s desk, “We’re going to have to double up on rooms. They’re a little short.”

JJ and Emily paired off together immediately to no one’s surprise.

“I’m not sleeping with Reid,” Derek shook his head.

“Alright, Morgan, you’re with me,” Hotch stated, handing the last card to Spencer, “Sorry, they only have a king room, not twins.”

You groaned internally, flashing Spencer an awkward grin that he returned with his classic tight-lipped smile.

You had nothing against Reid, in fact, you would go out on a limb to say that you would call him your friend rather than coworker. But, all you wanted was to relax and let sleep take over you and now you would be up all night, afraid of snoring or anything else you could do to possibly embarrass yourself in front of your newly-budding crush.

You and Spencer rode the elevator up to the second floor in complete silence. Spencer slipped the key card into the slot on the door and pushed it open as it blinked green. He gestured for you to enter first because he was always such a gentleman.

“You can take a shower first if you want,” you offered to diffuse some of the awkward tension.

“Okay, thanks,” Spencer collected his change of clothes and headed into the bathroom.

As you gathered your belongings, you fell onto the bed in exasperation when you realized you only packed a cotton bralette and PJ shorts to wear to bed because you hadn’t been expecting to share a room at all let alone with Spencer.

“All yours,” Spencer smiled softly as he exited the bathroom, ruffling a towel through his curly locks to dry them.

“Thanks,” you murmured, reluctantly grabbing the skimpy clothing and heading into the bathroom.

Spencer was reading with only the nightstand lamp on when you finished your shower. You exited the bathroom with your dirty clothes balled up in front of you to hide your bare torso.

You crawled into bed on the opposite side of Spencer, putting as much space between you as possible. You were practically falling off the edge of the bed in an attempt to keep your distance.

You cleared your throat, “I’m putting a pillow between us. Under no circumstances do you cross it, okay?”

You took one of the extra pillows on your side and placed it right in the middle of the bed.

“Understood,” Spencer nodded, clicking off the lamp, “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Spencer.”

-

You awoke to the feeling of arms wrapped around you. You could feel Spencer’s soft, even breaths against your neck. But then you felt his hands touching your exposed stomach. You cringed as the insecurities bubbled up.

You leapt up from the bed which startled Spencer awake. Your arms were crossed tightly around your front to shield Spencer from seeing any more of your body in the morning light.

“I-I told you not to cross the pillow,” you spoke softly.

Spencer noticed he had gravitated to your side of the bed throughout the night.

“Y/N, I am so so sorry. I swear I was asleep, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable at all. I’ll sleep on the floor tomorrow night,” Spencer sputtered.

“Don’t bother, okay? Just forget it. I can take the floor or hopefully a new room will open up by then,” you gave him a small smile to show you weren’t mad and grabbed your bag, heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

-

You sighed, looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror the following night. No new rooms opened up and you didn’t ask to switch with anyone because you didn’t want to cause a fuss. You also didn’t want Spencer feeling bad because you knew he hadn’t meant to do it on purpose.

You had practically begged Derek to lend you his biggest sweatshirt for the night. When he asked for a reason, you just shrugged, muttering something about the air conditioning in your room being broken and he gave it to you.

Spencer was reading once again with the lamp on when you exited the bathroom, much more covered this time.

Spencer immediately stood when he heard the door open.

“I already made a bed on the floor for me. I was just using your bed to be close to the lamp while you were in there,” Spencer quickly explained, getting himself situated on the floor.

“Spencer, I really don’t mind taking the floor,” you said.

“I was the one who crossed the boundaries, Y/N. I am taking the floor, I should have taken it the first night too. I’m so sorry I made you uncomfortable,” Spencer stated.

“It’s okay, Spencer. Night,” you yawned.

“Night, Y/N,” he sighed.

Spencer heard your breathing even out but he couldn’t go to sleep.

It all made sense now. You got upset when he cuddled with you last night, rightfully so, but he couldn’t figure out why until now. You and Derek must have a thing. Why else would you be wearing Derek’s sweatshirt? You were trying to send a message to him.

Spencer rolled over and eventually fell into a restless sleep at the thought of his crush liking Derek.

-

“Just so you know, Derek’s a good guy even though he may put on a bit of a ‘player’ act,” Spencer stated to you as you were packing your bags.

The case had wrapped so you were heading home on the jet soon. You could finally have a room to yourself, not that Spencer wasn’t great company but it was just nerve-wracking to be constantly over-analyzing your every move when with your crush.

“Um okay?” you zipped up your suitcase and set it by the door.

“Is it serious or is it more of a casual thing? When did it first start? You guys should probably fill out the HR paperwork to cover the team from any liabilities,” he began to ramble.

“Spencer-”

“Don’t worry. Your secret's safe with me. I don’t really have anyone to tell anyways besides you and Morgan but obviously you two already know-”

“God, can you just listen to me for a second?”

This caused Spencer to close his mouth.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you but I figured I should save you the breath. Morgan and I aren’t dating, seeing each other, or in any sort of romantic relationship,” you stated.

“But you were wearing his sweatshirt last night?” Spencer’s brow furrowed.

You pursed your lips and closed your eyes, “I’m not exactly the most comfortable in my body...especially around people I like.”

“Can I hug you?” Spencer asked softly.

You nodded and you felt yourself being enclosed in his warm embrace.

“You don’t ever have to hide from me, Y/N. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever and will ever lay my eyes on, inside and out,” Spencer whispered in your ear.

“And I like you too,” he added, “Not that you need them but if you’re going to be borrowing anyone’s clothes, they’re going to be mine,” he smiled.

“Good to know because I’ve had my eyes on that purple sweater of yours for a while,” you grinned.

taglist: (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

Personal Training (Choi Jongho + Song Mingi) Rated

Pairing: Dilf! Choi Jongho × Younger! Reader (Female) × Dilf! Song Mingi

Genre: Smut, Slight Angst, Fluff.

Summary: Wanting to get closer to her P.T for so long, who would have thought it would take his friend to be able to break the tension between them?

Word Count: 4.6+K

Warnings: Age differences (but still within legal boundaries), public sex, thigh riding, oral (male and female receiving), face fucking, orgasm denial, slight size kink, slight degradation, brief mention of the word 'daddy', unprotected sex (always use protection), creampie, threesome, Dom! Jongho, Dom! Mingi, Sub! Reader.

Taglist: @galaxteez @multidreams-and-desires @little-precious-baby @yunhofingers @yunhoiseyecandy @brie02 @deja-vux @daniblogs164 @couchpotatoaniki @a-soft-hornytiny

· • • • ✤ • • • · ·· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·· · • • • ✤ • • • ·

"Oh god no."

The muscular male let out a long and exhausted sigh as he watched the perky and enthusiastic trainee wave at him as she poked her head at the entrance door to the gym. His athletic friend next to him heard his exhaustion and looked to see what the source of the trouble was.

"Who's that Jongho?" He pointed to the girl who was letting herself inside the gym, hassling a little when her bag got caught as the door was closing.

"That's Y/N, the newest person I'm training. You know? The one I told you about?"

The light bulb went off in his friend's head, recalling Jongho mentioning bits and pieces of information about the new trainee that enlisted his help. He looked back at the young woman, assessing her briefly with his eyes.

"She's cute."

Jongho shook his head as he picked up the weight he had dropped when he heard the excited voice call out to him.

"Yeah I know Mingi. Too cute." He grumbled.

The lively girl ran up to her P.T and the stranger that she had never seen before, but one look at him and she was just as mesmerized by him like she was with her trainer. He was taller than Jongho and although not as bulky as him, he still had a handful of muscles that were making her weak.

"So what are we working on today?"

Jongho gave her a puzzled look.

"Ummm we're not scheduled to train today Y/N. Remember? It's sort of a holiday, hence why the gym is empty." He reminded her, although it didn't surprise him that she'd show up just to see him.

"If we're not supposed to be here, then why are you here?" She counteracted his statement, arms crossing over her chest as her foot tapped against the floor mat.

Jongho looked over to Mingi, who looked like he was about to burst out laughing, lips pursed tightly to keep from making a sound.

"Me and my friend were actually just leaving now Y/N, so it was really pointless for you to come. Just go out, have fun with friends. Have a little cheat day if you even want." He tried everything to get the girl to leave, hoping she'd get convinced. He thought he made good progress when she slumped her bag over her shoulder, but he was wrong. Y/N wasn't about to let him go that easily.

"Then may I join you two? I don't have any plans for the day and I'd just...really like to spend some time with you today Coach." She bit her lip at him, hoping he'd get the hint.

Jongho's eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets, his friend turning around to take a sip of his water bottle as he slowly walked away from the pair, smirking to himself at how funny the situation was. Clearing his throat, Jongho stood up straighter and looked Y/N in the eye.

"I'm- I'm sorry Y/N, I think that it'll be best for you to go now."

He turned around and began picking up his stuff, trying to ignore the fact she was not only still standing behind him, but was actually coming closer to him.

"Do you not think I'm pretty coach? Am I not attractive enough for you? Have you never thought about me in that way.....even once?" He could hear the heartbreak in her voice, positive that if he turned to look at her, a childish pout would be plastered on her features. Indeed, as he glanced briefly back at her, her bottom lip was slightly quivering.

"I think you're very beautiful Y/N, but thinking about you in that way, much less getting into a relationship with one of my trainees is very unprofessional. So I think it's best if we keep our ties strictly business related. Plus..... I'm way older than you."

She shook her head at that,

"So? I don't mind the age difference and it could stay a secret between us if you'd like." She took his hand in her own, squeezing them as if her life depended on it, her eyes begging him to finally say yes.

"Y/N I..... I'm sorry. I can't."

Pulling his hand away, Jongho quickly gathered his stuff before rushing past her to make his way to the showers, leaving the helpless girl there stunned and with a hollow feeling. She looked at his figure that disappears with a heartfelt longing. She couldn't understand why he was so cold to her. There's no way he wasn't attracted to her, she'd caught him staring at her one too many times while she did squats and there was even that time where he nearly kissed her as he helped her do crunches. So why did he avoid her as if she had the plague. She didn't realize that she wasn't completely alone until she felt a figure looming behind her.

"Tsk tsk tsk. What a shame to leave such a pretty and young woman like that when she's practically throwing herself at you. He always was rather dense and stoic you know."

Placing his hands gently on her shoulders, Mingi rubbed his thumbs on the top of them, a slight smile tugging at one of the corner's of his lips.

"If I were him, I wouldn't hesitate to say yes to someone like you."

Y/N shuddered slightly when she felt his lips press against her ear.

"I'm not Jongho, but if you wanna forget about him for a few minutes, I'll be in the male sauna room. If you're interested of course." Even though she couldn't see his face, Y/N could practically feel his lascivious smile bearing down on her smaller figure, and it made her press her thighs together. Patting her on the bum with a firm grip, Y/N inadvertently exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding in as she watched Mingi send her a flirty wink before making his way down the hall and out of her sight. Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip as she pondered over Mingi's words. She wasn't going to deny that he wasn't attractive. He was devilishly handsome, not to mention tall as hell and the size difference between them was making her soak her panties even more. And she had absolutely nothing else to do......

What was the worse that could happen?

· • • • ✤ • • • · ·· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·· · • • • ✤ • • • ·

Hearing the door open then close immediately, Mingi smiled at the figure that had just came in, her body covered by the small towel tucked around her chest. Looking her up and down, Mingi not so subtly grazed over the bulge that was already poking out from underneath the towel tied around his waist.

"So you actually came. I'm actually quite surprised."

Patting his lap, he beckoned for her to come over and place herself on top of it, which she obediently did with no hesitation. When she sat down, the knot at the front of the towel came loose, nearly falling down, but luckily she caught it just in time before anything peaked out.

"Oh come now little one, don't be shy. Why don't you show me that pretty body of yours?" Mingi lifted his hands to her waist, smoothing out the cotton fabric that was keeping him from gazing upon her bare figure.

Lifting herself up just slightly, Y/N slowly peeled the towel off herself, letting it drop to the floor before perching herself back on top of Mingi's thick thighs.

"Oh geez. You're even more stunning than I imagined. Absolutely breathtaking."

Y/N closed her eyes as she let Mingi wander his large hands across her bare body. She felt embarrassed about being unable to contain her soft, murmured shaky breaths as he cupped both breasts in his palms and massaged them amply. She shuddered when his thumbs brushed back and forth across her nipples, highly sensitive to any touch placed on them. Mingi of course knew this and thus decided to take advantage of it. He tweaked and pinched at her tiny buds, enjoying the tiny shrills she was voicing out.

"If you're already like this with my hands on your chest, how will you be when I play with that pussy of yours my little one?"

Y/N emitted a long groan, her already aroused core secreting more slick that was pooling on the towel underneath her. She didn't think that nickname would affect her so much, but it was definitely doing something.

"Like being called that? Like being reminded that I'm not only taller but also much older than you doll?" And he hit on another one of her weaknesses, turning her into absolutely putty, even more so as his hand came down to brush against her mound.

"You really are something else doll. Jongho told me several things about you. Showing up in skimpy workout clothes just so he'd look at you, purposefully bending over so he'd check out your ass. Even asking him for help during stretching just so he'd lay his hands on you. By the looks of it, you're just a little slut that wants to get fucked so badly."

Y/N whined as his fingers came down to work on her clit, swirling around it in a slow and gentle pace.

"You're so dirty you even accepted to get fucked by your crush's best friend because you're that desperate." Mingi shook his head with a fake disappointment. His fingers started to go a little faster, rubbing fervently across her little button. Y/N's breathing started to quicken as well, her hips grinding against Mingi's thigh to the rhythm he moved his fingers on her clit.

"It kinda irks me to know I'm just a replacement for Jongho......" He let out an amused scoff as he suddenly halted all movements on her clit.

"Guess I'll have to fuck you so damn hard so you forget he even exists."

Y/N gasped when she was suddenly pulled off his lap so he could turn her to face him. Y/N's face turned a bright crimson color when Mingi pulled the towel off his waist, his cock springing free and standing erect. She couldn't stop staring. There was no mild way to put it: Mingi was huge. Bigger than anything she'd seen or taken in any of her holes. It scared yet thrilled her to think that cock would be in her at any moment. Mingi clasped a hand on her chin, making her turn her gaze back to his face.

"Glad to know you're drooling over my cock. "

Taking hold of her waist once again, Mingi guided her so she would be sitting right on top of his right thigh. He exhaled deeply when he felt her wet folds come in contact with his bare skin. He couldn't wait to feel her come undone all over them. Giving her ass cheeks a tiny squeeze, he dropped one hand down to strike against one of them.

"Don't just sit there little one. Rut yourself on my thigh like a bitch in heat." He ordered her.

Steadying her hands on top of his broad shoulders, Y/N began to grind her hips down onto his thigh. Mingi's thighs were extremely thick, toned, and the muscles were absolutely amazing for riding. Everytime she'd push herself up, Mingi would make sure to flex his thigh so that her bundle of nerves would be more stimulated. She kept a nice and easy pace so far, feeling bliss at rubbing her core all over his thigh. Mingi didn't seem too pleased though.

"Come on darling. I know you can do better than that."

Taking it as a challenge, Y/N gripped tighter onto his shoulders as started moving faster. She shut her eyes as her mouth began heaving out harsh pants. She rode Mingi's thighs as if it was the last thing she was going to do. His hands which were on her hips decided to take control, moving her down as they wanted her to. Mingi forced her even faster on his skin, his eyes fixed on seeing how her folds were coating the top of his thighs with her slick. And he could tell she preferred him guiding her pace, her breathing had hitched and become more intense when he took over her.

"Oh? Are you going to cum already?" Mingi chuckled when he noticed she started whimpering.

"I- yes." Y/N admitted shyly, her hands dropping from Mingi's shoulders to his chest, palms pressed against the top of his pecs.

"Damn. How horny and needy were you that you're about to come undone this fast?" Mingi teased her, to which Y/N pouted.

"Very."

Of course she was, Mingi thought. She came all the way over just to see if Jongho would fulfill her fantasy and fuck her, so no doubt she was horny since she left her house. Luckily for her, Mingi was a very giving individual.

"Then go ahead little one. Cum all over daddy's thigh."

Y/N let out a sharp and high pitched cry as she started to cum all over Mingi's thigh. He held her in place, continuing to rubbed his thigh against her clit to further heighten the sensation of her climax. Leaning his face forward, he placed tiny kisses in between her breasts as she started to recover from high she went through. With her back turned and Mingi's face buried in her chest, neither one of them noticed the door opening until the one coming in slammed it close behind him in am angry manner.

"What the fuck?!"

Both of them turned to see a very furious Jongho standing there, fists clenching and unclenching as he took in the state the two people in front of him were in. While Y/N looked horrified to see him there, Mingi had a shit eating grin plastered on his face as he gripped the girl closer to him.

"Nice to see you Jongho. Came to watch the show?" Mingi snickered.

"What the hell do you think you're doing with her Mingi? You're taking advantage of her!" Jongho accused in an indignant manner.

Mingi raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm not taking advantage of her when she herself came to me willingly. Honestly I'm just doing what she wanted you to do to her."

Jongho widened his eyes at that.

"Wait what are you-"

"Come on! Stop acting dense man. You know she's been wanting you to fuck her since the day she met you, yet you barely even bat an eyelash at her. So I'm giving her what you won't and she's not complaining."

Lifting her up, Mingi turned her to face Jongho, setting her back on his lap as he made sure to spread her legs so his friend could see the mess that had already been made in between her thighs. Although he tried to look away, being faced with his trainees nude figure had an immediate effect on him, which his friend obviously noticed.

"Just look at her lust filled face, look at her wet pussy begging to be fucked and tell me- No.... tell her you still don't want her."

Jongho looked up to find Y/N staring at him with pleading eyes, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. He started to have an internal conflict with his mind and body, one reminding him to stop and turn around right then while the other screamed at him to just give in.

"So what'll it be Jongho? Are you really gonna leave this beautiful girl, who's lusting for you, just like that?" Mingi spoke up again.

Before Jongho could say anything, Y/N's voice finally piped up.

"Please Coach. Just this once? Don't you want to fuck me?"

Jongho stifled back a groan at her persistence, his resolve was growing even weaker, more so when he saw Mingi lean in and start kissing across Y/N's neck. He pressed his lips against her, murmuring something which she seemed to agree with. Next thing Jongho knew, Y/N got off Mingi's lap and went over to him, getting on her knees in front of him as her hands reached for the towel that was girded at his hips.

"Wait- what are you?"

"Just let her be man. She just wants to show you how much she wants you."

Jongho gulped when he felt Y/N's hand wrap around his base. Looking up at him, she started to pump her hand up and down his shaft, her thumb circling around his tip so his precum could help in easing the handjob she was giving him. Y/N hummed as her eyes fell from Jongho's face to his cock. He was so thick, thicker than Mingi, although not as long as his friend. Nevertheless, he was packing a lot and his size made her mouth water. She began thinking about how far it could reach in her mouth. Itching to find out, she brought the head to her lips, tongue dipping into the slit before swirling around it to coat it with her spit.

"Fucking hell.." Jongho gasped, hands coming out to cup her jaw as she eased her mouth down his length, not stopping until she gagged when she felt him hit the back of her mouth, surprisingly not just the man in front of her, but his friend who was anxiously watching in the back.

Y/N closed her eyes and hummed as she pulled off his length before sinking it back inside her. Every time she stuffed him back in, she made she to give his length a long suck that made Jongho moan out in ecstasy. He couldn't deny it, he was enjoying it. Enjoying watching as his hot, young trainee was slurping around his cock, head bobbing as her tongue stroked all over him, making sure that not one inch of him was left dry or unsucked. Her cheeks were stuffed with all of him, tongue too busy occupied with making him feel good. Too good in fact. Before Y/N could even realize it, Jongho was pulling her off him. He chuckled lowly when he heard her disappointed whine as he made her stand up again.

"As much as I would have enjoyed watching you swallow me, I think I'd prefer to cum inside that little hole of yours. If it's all right with you of course." Jongho smiled so innocently at her, thumb grazing over her upper lip as he pushed her back to sit down on the upper deck of the sauna, right next to Mingi. He moved her so she laying right in between them, parting her legs so he could drop his head to hover right above her mound.

"I know someone who would be more than willing to have you swallow his cum though." Jongho signaled towards Mingi, who shifts himself so his cock could be right in front of her face. He smirked at her surprised face, slapping each of her cheeks with his tip.

"That is if she can even make me cum." Mingi challenged, sparking the competitive side of Y/N.

"Trust me, you'll be spilling yourself in her before you even know it." Jongho assured him.

Y/N parted her lips and moaned as Mingi engulfed her wet heat with his long dick. He gave a few experimental thrusts, wanting her to get comfortable before he got rough about it. He loved playing that game, starting off sweet and gentle before face fucking his lovers until they were a complete and utter mess around him. He rested his fingers on the sides of her cheek, carefully guiding her movements so she could suck him as he liked. He was caught off guard when she suddenly moaned loudly around him, the vibrations being felt all over his lower half.

"Jongho can you at least give a warning?" Mingi had looked over to see Jongho already burying his face in Y/N's heat.

"Nope. I prefer the surprise factor." He winked over at him.

Parting her wet lips, Jongho licked a long stripe along her slit before laying his tongue flat against her little button. Alternating between flicking his wet muscle on her clit and then tugging it forward with his lips as they lightly nibbled on it, Jongho's ears were attentive as he tried to listen to any sound coming from her mouth that were currently muffled by Mingi's cock. But her body reactions were enough to let him know she was enjoying it, given how she'd grind her hips up closer to his face.

"Someone is enjoying getting eaten out." Jongho smirked as continued suckling onto her clit.

"Yeah so much that she can't concentrated on sucking me off."

Deciding that it was time to get her attention back, Mingi gripped her jaw as he pushed his entire length until she was choking around him, holding it there before pulling out. Y/N had just enough time to take a deep breath before he was plunging his cock back inside. She was spurting out garbled whines, drool starting to trim down the sides of her lips and falling on the sides of her cheeks. She was so stuffed with Mingi's cock while Jongho ate her out to the fullest and it only fueled the growing arousal piling up inside her. She concentrated on relaxing her jaw and slurping around the cock lodged in her throat while simultaneously trying to enjoy as her coach's mouth worked on her core, expertly bringing her closer and closer to the edge with each swipe of his tongue. Feeling Mingi's dick twitch, she herself was about to spill over when Jongho dipped his tongue at her entrance, nose pressed down agains her clit.

"Fuck! I'm gonna cum- cum inside that pretty mouth of yours."

Without any further words, only shaky grunts, Mingi held her face in place as he furiously rutted his hips up, pumping his cum into her mouth which she gulped back with no problem. Once he came down from his high, he pulled out his softening dick, a line of spit being drawn as he removed his cock. Her lips were swollen and covered with a mixture of her saliva and his cum, making her look even more irresistible, especially when her bottom lip was poking out, presumably due to the fact the man between her legs had detached his lips from her heat a few seconds ago, denying her from the orgasm that she was just about to have. With a frown plastered on, she looked down at Jongho, who was sitting up and climbing in between her body.

"Don't give me that look you little vixen. It's only serving to make me want to fuck you even harder." He admitted, lips ghosting over her own.

"So why don't you?" Y/N questioned him, to which Jongho responded by pulling both of her legs and resting them on his shoulders. Taking hold of his dick, he rubbed his bulbous tip along her reddened clit before slapping it a couple times.

"Think I won't?"

Pushing in with one quick thrust, Jongho's immensely thick cock started working her open, walls stretching out to accommodate the intrusion of his member. Y/N could feel him so deep inside her, she was sure if she be able to, she'd probably feel him on her lower abdomen. She could already feel him rearranging her organs from how hard he was pounding into her, it would be a miracle if she'd even be able to walk afterwards. When she tried to close her eyes and drop her head to just succumb to the feeling, she felt Jongho's hand clasp around her chin and hold her face up so she could look at him.

"Don't shut your eyes. I want to see every expression you make as I fuck your tiny pussy. After all, isn't this what you wanted?"

Y/N cried out louder when his pace got faster and harsher. She tried desperately hard to keep looking at him but it was unbearable, especially when her inner thighs were starting to get sore.

"Wanted me to fuck you? Are you happy you finally got what you wanted?"

She could only manage to respond with groans and pants. Their heated and sweaty bodies began sticking to each other, the loud slapping of skin resonating through the room. Jongho kept his eyes fixed on her, staring with fiery intensity at her. He kept driving his cock into her, pounding so deep that he'd be able to break her if he wanted to. But he was content with watching her slowly come undone by him, her shaky breaths and trembling thighs signaling him that she was on the verge of exploding all around him.

"Awww you're gonna cum already? Are you that easy? Or is it cause your finally getting fucked by a real man that you're coming undone so fast?"

Y/N whimpered and started writhing underneath him, tears pooling at the sides of her eyes as the knot in her stomach was seconds away from breaking loose. Jongho's hands gripped down on her thighs to keep him steady as his hips continued slamming against hers. His fingers dug into her soft skin, threatening to leave bruises from how strong he was clutching at her. His face continued to look smug and full of pride as he looked at how worn out his trainee was looking. He'd never outwardly admit it, but he enjoyed seeing her disheveled appearance after working her so hard and push her limits. Only now that feeling was intensified by the fact his dick was getting wet by her juices.

"Cum all over me then. Cum all over my fat cock you little vixen." He ordered her, eyes filled with lust and desire to see her break in front of him.

Unable to keep her eyes open anymore, Y/N scrunched her eyes shut and blood rushing to her head as her walls contracted around Jongho's cock, clinging to him as a flood of release was spilling all over him. Her palms were heavy pressed onto the wood deck under her, laying flat as she began to unwind from her orgasm. Just a minute later after savoring her reaction, Jongho's hips jerked sporadically as he started emptying himself inside her. Keeping himself lodged in her warmth, he slowed down his thrusts, making sure to pump all of his essence inside her before gently pulling out of her. Both of them released hisses at the sting and emptiness of not being connected anymore. Jongho looked in fascination as the brim of her hole was still leaking out his white, milky cum, a sense of pride washing over him at seeing a part of him be plastered into her body.

"You ok?"

Y/N let out a tired groan as Jongho helped her sit back up.

"I don't think I can walk." She wrapped a hand around her stomach, already feeling a burn on the muscles. Jongho giggled at her, pulling her against him as he kissed the top of her head

"If you want, I can take you off the schedule until you recover properly." He offered.

"And not see you?" She raised an eyebrow.

Poking her nose, Jongho shook his head.

"Silly silly girl. Obviously I'll come over to check up on you."

Y/N's face brightened up with a smile as she realized what he meant. A loud and exaggerated clearing of a throat broke them out of their little world.

"Well since obviously I'm not needed here anymore, I'll just take my leave now."

Picking up his towel and wrapping it around him again, Mingi went over to the door to give them privacy, but not before making sure of something.

"Just be sure to invite me once in a while to join you both."

[comfortwriting]

I Hate You - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Requested/About: Enemies to lovers smut! Fred is constantly getting his classmate into trouble, and Y/N is finding herself spending more of her evenings in detention with him - her hate for him growing. One evening, something out of the ordinary happens between them. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, mention of blood, smut, fingering, handjob, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex.

"Stop shaking the desk!" you hissed at your transfiguration partner.

Fred smirked and squinted at you "no" he replied, his ego popping out in his voice "if you've got a problem go and sit somewhere else"

You watched Fred waving his wand at the mouse that cowered in front of him, letting out little squeaks each time Fred failed to transform it into a large cotton bud.

How this feud started between the two of you - you couldn't remember - you were past caring. All you know is that Fred hates you, and you hate him, his face pisses you off and your face - your body frustrates him.

He thought about you constantly, almost as if you were invading his mind on purpose just to taunt him - you appeared in his dreams and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't figure out why this was happening - why he would dream of you feeling nothing but hatred, only to wake up with his ejaculate spilling on his bedsheets.

"Don't ask me for any help during potions class, then." You replied, taking out your wand, the mouse suddenly going stiff, then turning round fluffy, losing its legs, ears, facial features, and tail.

Fred scowled at you, poking the cotton bud with the tip of his wand "I wasn't going to" he slouched back in his chair, pulling apart what once was the mouse, grumbling under his breath. "This is kids stuff" he huffed "It's only why you're good at it."

You rolled your eyes and snatched the cotton bud out of his hands, 'Reparo!' putting it back together and transforming the bud back into the innocent, shy, creature that curled up into and started to tremble in your hands.

"Miss Y/L/N, I think your partner can do his own work" Miss McGonagall spoke out, staring down at you whilst walking past your desk "Sit up Mr Weasley!" she hissed at Fred, hurrying to the front of the classroom.  

Fred sighed and sat up grudgingly, "It's alright for you, being a good girl who never makes mistakes, who everyone loves so dearly."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes "you talk so much shit, Fred Weasley!" you huffed "I actually spend my time revising because I actually make mistakes, something I'm sure you've never given the time of day to work on!"

Fred huffed "You sound just like my brother Percy, it's as if he never bloody left!"

Whilst the back and forth continued to unfold between you and Fred, the class was dismissed, everyone leaving - you and Fred didn't notice, too wrapped up in arguing, his brother George and friend Lee stayed behind, watching and enjoying the entertainment.

"Well, you know what!" you raised your voice, picking up your bag and pushing your books inside "sod you! you're on your own next lesson, don't come begging when Snape rips you a new one!" you stood up from your chair and stormed off.

"Nice one Fred" George called out, walking out of the great hall and towards the dungeons "you're going to suffer in there, mate."

Fred pulled a sour face "she's the most obnoxious bitch I've ever met"

Unfortunately for Fred, you were in earshot of his insult "Obnoxious bitch?" you laughed out, catching up to him "lads like you are all the same, threatened by smarter women"

George laughed, bashing Fred in the ribs with his elbow, Fred felt mortified and could feel himself wanting to grab you and shove you against a wall, the thought of doing it however made him feel something he didn't want to admit...

he couldn't

no way

feelings for you? oh please...

Fred rattled his brain, trying hard to shake this intruding feeling out of him, he hates you, love is out of the question, anything intimate is a red flag.

"Well, with what you lack in looks and personality you make up for in IQ, I'm not threatened by you, you're just disgusting to look at and be around. My skiving Snack boxes wouldn't change your appearance you're that bloody ugly." he snapped.

Ugly.

Your heart pained at the word, why? you didn't know, whenever anyone attacked your looks and your body, you didn't care, it meant nothing to you - so why your heart is suddenly hurting did more than baffled you.

Why should you care?

It's not like you're in love with him or anything

You could feel your stomach doing flips, your blood boiling, how dare he!

"it's a shame because your dick will never match the size of your ego, regardless if it's flaccid or hard." You snapped back, pushing past him, bashing into him on purpose, storming towards the dark and dingy dungeons.

Fred went bright red, infuriated that you shamed him in front of his twin, especially for something that he believed determined his value as a man, his blood - like yours, now also boiling.

He wanted to storm after you, grab you by the wrist, pull you into him so you couldn't escape, he wanted to stare down at you whilst demanding an apology, hell, he wanted to show you - show you just how wrong you were.

"Come on now, Freddie" George spoke out, breaking him out of his thoughts "don't let her bother you, all the lasses say shit like that - if you let her get under your skin, she's winning."

she's winning

Fred couldn't and wouldn't allow that to happen, never in a million years - you wouldn't get away with embarrassing him like this, you were in for it, without a clue of what Fred is capable of.

Potions were nothing short of pure hell, you weren't able to switch seats, forced to endure two long hours with Fred who had never looked so angry before, he shot daggers at you, practically seething and speaking through gritted teeth when he needed to look over the ingredients and steps.

"I told you not to bother asking me for help" you snarled, stirring your cauldron, Snape watching the two of you argue in pleasure behind his test papers he should be marking instead.

Fred huffed "Well until you budge over, quit being greedy and let me pick what I need or I'll keep bloody asking!"

You bit your tongue, trying not to swear "Look, you forgot your book, either go and ask Snape if he has a spare or bugger off!"

Fred could feel himself losing his temper, his body temperature increasing, his heart thumping, his fists bunching.

"The two of you will have plenty of time to discuss during detention" Snape spoke, dragging out his words.

You shot Fred an angry look, your eyes widening and your nostrils flaring, Fred looked back at you, shaking his head whilst your Professor walked away, causing the two of you to argue even more.

"Look what you've done now! Thanks a lot!" you raised your voice, stirring your cauldron so angrily, specks of dark amber liquid splashed onto the desk and your skirt, hissing away.

Fred scoffed and stood up, snatching your book away from you, gripping it in his hand "What I've done?" he shook his head "You've caused this!"

"One more word and one detention will become a week's worth," Snape warned.

"Caused what?" You stood up, puffing out your chest "I haven't done anything! You're just an idiot, a dumb idiot who is jealous because I'm going somewhere in life and you aren't because you're fucking stupid!" You yelled, the whole room becoming silent.

Fred stared at you, his heart hurting, he wanted to cry.

idiot, dumb, fucking stupid, going nowhere in life.

"You're a fucking bitch, who everyone laughs at, who everyone thinks is a loser!" He yelled back.

These two weeks of detention would change everything and the two of you had no idea.

Arriving early in the Hospital Wing which surprisingly had empty beds that had been stripped from their bedding, Madame Pomfrey waved you over to her, a forced smile spreading across her face.

"You're rather early"

"I know" you sighed "It's to make up for Fred being late" you grumbled, the thought of hours with him this evening making your head pound.

"Well," Madam Pomfrey wandered around the hospital wings, laying out dirty bedsheets, pillowcases, pyjamas, empty dishes, and medicine bottles "the two of you - when he arrives - will be cleaning everything, without magic" she emphasised that last part, "I thought I'd be rather easy on you this time, you won't be scrubbing any bedpans this week."

You nodded, realising that she wouldn't be sticking around to watch you or Fred, you walked up to the long table and popped on the large purple rubber gloves, sitting down on the stool, waiting for your nightmare to turn up.

"You can only start when he arrives" Madame Pomfrey reminded you "Whatever you can't finish, you'll do tomorrow, and if there are any patients, you'll have extra work." She walked out of the hospital wing, leaving you behind, the waiting game beginning.

Two hours passed by, two long and dreadfully boring hours, you stared at Fred's matching purple gloves, itching to just get started and clean up; but you couldn't.

Instead, you filled the large bucket with laundry detergent, there was no point in adding any hot water, it would be left to cool anyway if Fred didn't show up soon.

Fred waltzed in, laughing and waving goodbye to his twin, shutting the door behind him. His face dropped when he met your eyes, he noticed your gloves and smirked, laughing lightly "you look ridiculous."

"I don't care what you think," you snapped "You're two hours late, everything just piles up you know, it doesn't just go away."

Fred pulled out the wand from his pocket "Oh come off it, love."

Love?!

Fred fell quiet, he felt embarrassed, mortified, and you stared at him confused, horrified even, your eyebrows knitted together. You brushed his mistake aside, knowing that pulling him up about it would just strengthen the argument.

"We can't use magic." You pointed to the line of buckets, sponges, scrubbers, mop, and broom "Everything has to be done by hand, the muggle way."

Fred's face fell, even more, something you thought wasn't possible, you picked up his matching purple rubber gloves and threw them at him "put them on."

Fred wanted to argue, but he couldn't, he didn't know what to say - the feelings inside of him confusing him, making him question everything, he felt sick, he could feel a strange fluttering inside of his stomach, something he only felt when he was in love.

Why was he feeling this now? How was he such a thing... love for you? He hates you.

Fred caught the rubber gloves and put them on, not saying a word. You filled up the empty buckets with warm water, the cleaning liquid making the water foam up with bubbles.

"You sweep" you passed him the boom "I'll mop after you've done, we'll take turns washing the bedding, pyjamas, dishes and bottles."

Fred's hate for you suddenly went through another wave, the fire igniting in his belly, he snatched the broom from you. "Just shut up and let's get on with it." He snapped, starting to sweep the dusty, grimey floor.

You walked away from him and sat down, huffing so the hair in your face moved away over your head, you placed the bucket on your lap, grabbed the pyjama shirt and laundry stain remover soap and started to scrub, focusing hard on the fresh spots of blood.

"I wasn't the one who turned up two hours late," you muttered under your breath, scrubbing the shirt harder, the red liquid slowly getting lighter.

Fred had swept the majority of the floor, he looked over at you, stopped sweeping and glared.

"Shut up," he grumbled

You grinned, the sight of him in purple gloves making you burst out into laughter.

"You look ridiculous" you laughed, dunking the pyjama shirt into the warm water, the stain finally lifting and ready to dry.

Fred dropped the broom, its long wooden handle clanked against the floor, you looked up at him as he stormed over to you, pulling off his gloves and throwing them across the room.

The way he walked with the expression on his face made you flutter, your crotch heating up and getting excited as he inched closer and closer to you, his hands now gripping on the table. You sighed and placed the bucket on the table, squeezing the water out of the pyjama top and handing it up to dry, Fred still staring at you.

You turned around, looking into his gorgeous brown eyes, sighing and pulling off your rubber gloves, setting them down on the table.

"What?"

"Don't what me."

"Well stop staring!"

Fred pushed the buckets of water off the table angrily, the water splashing as the buckets collided with the swept floor, the foamy and suddy water spilling everywhere.

"What was that for!" you yelled.

Fred reached out for you over the table and pulled you into him, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't ignore these feelings, his feelings, his wants, his needs, he couldn't deny himself of you anymore. When his lips crashed against yours, something that you couldn't describe clicked, like the missing piece to a puzzle, and you kissed back.

The kiss was hungry, passionate, lustful, and the two of you just wanted to fuck.

Your hands got lost in his hair, pulling at it as Fred gripped onto your waist, both of you now mounting the table, the dishes, bottles, bedding, and pyjamas fell on the floor, absorbing the water.

Moaning against his lips, Fred's hands pulled at your top, you moved your hands away from his hair and lifted your arms up, your top being pulled up before falling to the floor, being soaked by the water. The sight of you in your bra made Fred's face heat up and go red, he quickly unfastened your bra, unable to control himself.

He took your breast into his mouth, sucking your nipple, you lolled your head back and moaned, one of your hands held his gentle face as he sucked, the other fell down to his trousers, slowly undoing the buttons and pulling down his zipper. Your hand sneaked underneath the waistband of his boxers and you took hold of his erect length - you were wrong - his cock was as big as his ego, and you knew when you were able to look at it, it would be even bigger.

Fred's free hand dived under your skirt and went into your underwear, whilst wanking him off his index circled around your entrance hole - you were so wet, the thought of being this close to him usually repulsed you - but right now, you wanted nothing more than him inside of you, fucking you as much as he hated you.

His index finger slowly pushed inside of you, you moaned out and tugged on his cock harder, he started to finger you faster, knowing part of him was inside you made you so wet, and got you so excited. Fred added his middle finger, now pumping them faster as your walls tightened around his fingers, he pulled off your red and saliva coated nipple and attacked your neck with kisses, then sucking, leaving his marks all over you.

Fred pushed you down on your back so your body was now pressed against the cool table, he continued to finger fuck you, you pulled down his trousers and boxers with both hands, already missing the feeling of his throbbing cock filling one of them. You glanced down - you were definitely wrong - his length was large, definitely outshining his ego.

"You wanted me to shut up, didn't you?" you asked Fred, he pulled away from sucking on your neck, a confused expression formed on his face.

"Is that what you want?" he smirked, catching on "you want me to shut you up with my cock?" he withdrew his fingers, now coated with your juices, sucking them clean.

Fred leaned back, taking his cock in his hand "go on then" he encouraged you "suck my cock."

"Make me."

Fred grabbed you by the hair - but not roughly or too hard - you were actually quite surprised by his gentleness. You were on your knees now, sucking Fred's large length, choking on it as you went down deeper and deeper, taking more of him in your mouth.

Fred loved the sight of you sucking him off, the sight of your mouth being so full you couldn't say something stupid, the sound of you choking made him happy, he was finally shutting you up - but part of him didn't want to shut you up, he wanted to listen to you speaking about your interests, your hobbies, what you thought of Hogsmeade and Zonko's Joke Shop.

This part of him pulled you off him, you caught your breath and wiped away the laces of saliva that were hanging from your mouth, swinging as you moved back with the back of your hand. Fred pulled you into a kiss, this time it wasn't lustful, it was gentle, caring, soft - it made your heart skip a beat and it made you weak at the knees.

Once more, your back was against the table, Fred pulled down your skirt and knickers whilst still kissing you, your hands back in his hair, massaging his scalp, Fred propped your legs around his hips, you pulled him closer to you.

Fred grabbed out a condom, but you stopped him.

"Don't bother with that crap" you sighed, wanting him inside you already "I'm on the pill."

Fred nodded, confident that this would be enough, and he applied lube onto his length.

You wondered why he had brought condoms and a sache of lube, Fred didn't know why - he never usually carried these items, but after weeks of the same dreams that he couldn't explain - that small part of him kept telling him, over and over to bring it.

Fred looked into your eyes, searching for your permission, you nodded your head.

"I'm ready, Freddie." you breathed.

Freddie.

He had never expected you - of all people - to call him that, but he liked it, and he hoped that he could hear it again.

Fred rubbed his erect length against your folds teasingly, and then slowly pushed himself inside of you, the two of you moaned and exhaled - he felt amazing - stretching you out, and your walls felt amazing - tightening around him. He started to fuck you faster, his large length plunging deeper inside of you as he bucked his hips, your legs tightened around him, as did your walls, your hands now resting on his back, your fingernails digging into him leaving marks of your own.

His moans were beautiful - perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. How could you hate him? How could you be so mean to him, insult him, mock him and shame him, he was perfect, everything about him - your heart now reaching out to his - how could you be so wrong?

You didn't hate him, you were madly in love with him.

Fred couldn't take his eyes off you and your body - the perfect shape and size of your breasts, your tummy, the feeling of your insides engulfing him in warmth, your gorgeous eyes staring into his, the feeling of your fingers tips gliding over his back, then your fingernails scratching him.

Fred felt stupid, he felt awful for what he said to you - the way he treated you - calling you ugly - you were far from such a thing. This moment felt better and meant more than any dream he ever had - this was real, this was the moment he had been waiting for - his heart finally finding yours.

"Fuck!" you moaned out, reaching the edge "Please don't stop, fuck me, I want to cum!" you wailed.

Fred couldn't stop, he didn't want to, even if he was getting tired and over working himself.

He continued to fuck you, feeling himself getting close, you lolled your head back, your eyes rolling in the back of your head and released - your cum spilling onto his length, your moans filling the hospital wing. Your orgasm face pushed Fred over the edge, he spilt himself inside you and collapsed, holding you in his arms.

The two of you said nothing, you were trying to make sense of this all, and you were in trouble - after tonight, you would have a lot of explaining to do - not just to one another, but to Madame Pomfrey who would be back in half an hour.

After coming to, Fred pulled out his wand and dried your clothes, so toastie to put back on. You started to mop the floor as Fred speedily washed the pillow cases and bed sheets, hanging them up to dry, then starting on the dishes. With the floor sparkling clean, you joined him, cleaning and rinsing the bottles.

"You're not an idiot" You spoke out, breaking the awkward silence "You're not dumb either, and I don't doubt that you're going to go far in life."

This meant a lot to Fred, it made him feel secure.

"You're not ugly" Fred replied, scrubbing another bowl "You're not an obnoxious bitch."

Looking up at Fred, into his deep brown eyes, your pursed your lips for a moment.

"I don't hate you."

"I don't either."

"I don't want to hate you, I-"

"I feel things for you too, Y/N."

Madame Pomfrey burst through the door, staring at the rows of dirty bowls and bottles that needed cleaning.

"Looks like you two will be back here tomorrow!"

You and Fred shared a glance, smiling, with a flush of pink across your cheeks.

These two weeks were the start of something special.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @horrorxweasley @sebby-staan @onlyfreds @lucymfer @escapingrealitybyreading @freddiemylovelg @pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx

[plush-rabbit]

Peaches and Cream

Warnings: Mommy Kink, Lactation Kink

Word Count: 5.1K

A/N: I,,, was not going to post this here so who knows maybe when im rested I’ll probs delete this,,, i wanted to make him cry a bit and be needier than the first one i posted

Tomura Shigaraki stands under the showerhead, warm water running down his body and making his hair stick to his skin. His body is sore, joints that ache and scream the longer that he stands with his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes closed and nostrils flaring as he tries to keep a control over his breathing. His hand pumps at his shaft, quick movements that drag as the water acts as lubricant, thin, watery strands spill from his slit and fall onto the tile where it disappears. He shudders, a shiver coursing through his body as he reaches his high, a low whimper muffled by his lips as he can feel the orgasm inch closer with every movement. He whines and bucks his hips, his grip tightening around him as he humps himself against his palm, hissing with every thrust, releasing his bottom lip to let his tongue loll out, pupils dilated as he can feel the heat course through him, burning and making him grunt your name in passionate whispers, slurring together and water slides down the bridge of his nose, dripping off the tip and onto the back of his hand and he whines, chest heaving as he moan your name, muscles clenching together and pulling taut as his right leg jerks with spasms. Thick, white discharge spills from him, spurting out as he gives himself a few more pumps, shaky and weak, watching with hazy vision as it dribbles out and splats onto the tile, mixing in with the soap suds that are fluffy white and iridescent bubbles. 

He rolls his tongue over where his teeth have indented into his skin, watching as his length bobs, jerking with every touch as he wipes himself clean. The deep red has faded into a soft pink, glistening with water and with a hesitant hand he wraps his hand over himself, whining and bucking his hips at the sensitivity. He lets out a shaky breath, toes curling as he can feel another orgasm close in on him.

A sharp knock on the door makes him hiss, wrapping his hand tighter around him. “Tomura?” You call, voice muffled by the door. “Are you okay in there, sweetheart?” His hips buck at the affectionate name. “I heard my name.”

“I need-” his voice cracks- “my towel.” He gives himself another pump, the warm water slowly turning cold and chilling down his back. “Please.”

“Of course,” you reply and he can hear your steps fade as you rummage around the room for a towel. 

He lets out a shaky breath of relief and wipes his hands away, taking a step away from the drain where the suds had pooled around and slowly disappeared. The cool water lowers his heat, makes him flaccid. The fear that he had done something makes him jittery, shaky as he turns off the water and stands in the cold for a few seconds, water dripping from the showerhead and his body in untimely rhythms that make him all too focused on one thing, missing the warning that you give and when the door opens, his name on your tongue, he yelps.

“Shit-” he shakes his head and pulls the shower curtain aside- “no, no, sorry,” he waves off your apologies and holds his hand out. “I wasn’t paying attention.” The towel is dry and fluffy, a pure white that dries his skin. He sneaks a glance at you and turns his head. “Thank you.”

You take a step closer to him and take the towel from his hands, holding it in yours as you take his face, cradling it in towel covered hands and patting him dry. You give him a soft smile as you curve your hand and dry behind his ears. 

“What made you so distracted?” You ask, wiping gently under an eye, a smile titling your lips as you see his face flush. “Lower yourself,” you mumble and he does as he’s told, letting out a breath through his nose as you dry his hair. “So?” You press further tapping him on the shoulder when you're done, moving down to his arms.

“Just,” he trails and licks at his lips, “thoughts.” He raises an arm and blinks as you take a hand and gently pat it dry, rolling the towel between each digits, bringing his hand up to your lips and pressing soft kisses against his fingertips. “You don’t have to dry me,” he mumbles, lightly tapping at the tile, water splashing softly. 

“You’re always too rough with yourself Tomura.” You drop his arm and grab at the other, the towel brushing lightly against the scarred skin, repeating the process and gently brushing your lips over the skin. “Let me take care of you, him?” Your eyes are closed, lips fluttering over his hand and he takes a deep breath, warmth pooling in his cheeks and he gives you a silent nod. “You smell so sweet,” you comment, the towel brushing over his chest, whining as you brush over his nipples. You quietly shush him, pecking above his pectorals in a calming touch, pressing the towel close to his chest, watching as his nipples bud under the soft touch. “So sensitive, too,” you croon into his neck. “Is that why you called my name?” The towel slips and you catch it around his hips, the fluffy, soft fabric tickling at the base of cock. “Did you want Mommy to take care of you?” Your breath is warm and against him, and he takes an inch of a step towards you, the towel lowering until it reaches at his thighs, softly patting at the skin. He lets out a soft whine and mumbles his words, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “I can’t hear you, baby,” you whisper, the towel around his prick, the soft cotton warming around his cock.

“Take care of me,” he mewls, bucking his hips into the towel, letting out a harsh breath as he drags himself against the towel. “Please,” he nuzzles further into you, “Mommy.”

You hum in content, running your hands down his hair, watching as the water slides down the curve of his back. “There’s my good boy,” you praise, turning your head to press a kiss against the side of his head. “Go to bed-” you pull away and grab at his hands to hold the towel in front of him- “let get something first, okay?” He nods and you watch as he wraps the towel around his waist, a small tent growing underneath. He slips out of the bathroom, a trail of water droplets marking his trail. 

He lays on the bed, head under the towel, hands shaky as they brush away the wet strand from his face, red eyes that are blown out as they stare at the ceiling, his body covered in goosebumps as he waits for your arrival. He covers his eyes with the heels of his hands, breathing heavily as his vision is taken away, toes curling as the remnants of pleasure still make his body tongle, only enhanced by your soft touch and words. His semi pulses with want, blood warming it to an uncomfortable degree, and his fingers flex, an urge to grab at himself and play with himself as he waits. His apple bobs, pink muscle slipping past his lips, heels digging into the mattress while his heart pounds away in his chest, waiting for the urge to pass, wishing that you would come here quick to take care of his itch.

“Mommy,” he whines, hands flat against him as his fingers knit into his hair. “Mommy, please,” he croaks.

“You’re so impatient, sweetheart.” Your voice fills the room and his body twitches in response. He can hear the sweet melody that is your laugh fill the room. “This is why you wait for me to help take care of you.” He sucks in a harsh breath when he feels your hand on his knee, nails poised above before spreading out, hand laying flat before twisting slightly above in a tender touch. “You always get too needy.” He hears a click and jerks. “Just cream dear,” you reply, letting your hand trail up his thigh and he lets out a raspy grasp as the tips of your finger barely graze him, a teasing touch that makes him cry and jerk a leg. “You're allowed to look, baby,” you comment, wrapping your fingers around his wrists and pulling his hands away from his eyes.

He looks up at you, your body adorned with a soft pink nightgown, dark magenta lace around the top of the cups that hold your breasts that threaten to spill over with the slightest touch, accented with dark magenta lace at the bottom of the gown that barely covers your clothed core. You crawl above him, straddling his hips, watching him through half-lidded eyes as you place lotion on your palms. He hisses when the cool cream touches his skin, your hands warm as they glide over him, and slowly the delicate aroma of peach wafts through the air, sweet and soft, mixed with jasmine and apples. The cream is light on his skin, seeping into his pores with every soft brush, and you lean back, his bare cock against the silk fabric of your gown. He sighs and lets his eyes flutter close, breathing growing more ragged as your hands curve around his body, cupping at his bare breasts and letting the pads of your fingers roll his pebbled nipples underneath.

A soft blush creeps up his chest, light pink that darkens the farther it travels upwards, resting along his cheeks in a candy shade of red. He opens his eyes, pupils dilated with a rim of red and he watches you with tears in his eyes, tentatively rolling his hips against you, pre-ejaculate leaking and staining the back of your gown with a small dark spot. He stops at the disapproving look, whimpering as an apology and mouths a plea. His tongue peeks out, licking at his lips and before it has a chance to return to the wet cavern, it’s caught between an index and thumb. He whines and opens his mouth, tilting his head backward and letting his eyes roll. 

“I told you to stop licking at your lips.” You kiss the tip of his tongue and smile when it flicks against you, the muscle straining to break free. “Keep your tongue out,” you command as you reach over, breasts softly bouncing in the process and he has no issue following the command, tongue raised as it tries to lick at the soft, teasing breasts that move in front of his face. When you catch his eye, he sees a tube of chapstick in hand- passion fruit.

Eyes watch as you roll the tube onto your lips, rolling your lips until satisfied and you cup his face, lowering yourself against him. You peck at his tongue and slowly, with yours, you pull it inside of your mouth, capturing him in a kiss where you taste sweet. His hands shake as they rise, coming to hold your waist where you give an appreciatve moan, his cock jerking at the sound.

His tongue moves against yours, the muscles swirling around each other as you push yourself closer against him, lifting your hips, the fabric tickling at his erection, staining you in a darkening pink. The ends of it a soft brush against his cock, the lace dancing above his slit that leaks. 

Your lips leave his, dancing downward, covering him with frantic kisses until you reach at his neck, tongue flat as you lick around the curve of his neck, pressing against his rapid pulse. Teeth bared in a sharp grin, canines pressed against the beat as you feel him quicken in pace, his body in short bursts of shivers, when you suckle on his neck, marking his skin in bright splotches of red. You move your head to the other side, lips brushing and pausing above his apple, feeling how it bobs underneath you, an audible gulp taken when you press your lips against it, a simpering grin on your lips as he calls your name. You mark the other side of his neck all the same, pride swelling in your chest as he’s covered in red spot, shining in spittle underneath you, red in the face and jerking his hips. 

“So cute,” you mumble, peeking his temple. “Remember the person who’s making you feel this good, eh?” You whisper against his ear, lips pulled over your teeth in a predatory grin.

He nods his head, the first syllable of your title passing through his lips until cut off by a gasp when you rub your clothed cunt against him. You push against him, with careful and precise movements, feeling the hard feel of his cock against the thin fabric of your panties, whining under you, back curving into a soft arch, teeth gritted as he tries to hold his composure, slowly loosening into a smile until he covers his face with his hands. Slick puddles out of you, movements wet and slippery as you begin to ache with a want for him. 

Underneath you, he’s hidden behind his hands, whimpering at the touch, crying when you pull his hands away, taking away the false privacy he had. He turns flustered under your smile, eyes darting away when you give him a cute smile. His length bobs, aches and strains against nothing and he wants to be buried deep inside of you, to push himself against you and fuck at Mommy’s tight hole. 

“Oh Mommy,” he gasps, hips jutting into the air. His eyes water and pinch shut, mouth opening into a soft ‘o’ as a breathy moan sings out. “Right there. Oh, it feels so good.” Your clothed cunt rubs over him, slick slipping past your entrance and slipping past your underwear and sticking to the inside of your thighs. His hands cover yours, fingers twitching above yours as you fingers pinch at his nipples. His groan is light, rippling past his lips as he throws his head back, his spine curving into a soft arch.

“Oh, Tomura,” you murmur, lips brushing against the shell of his ear, suckling on the ear lobe, “you’re so cute- Mommy’s good, little boy,” you coo, pressing hot kisses against the shell of his ear, dragging them along until the reach the corner of his lips, stopping against him for a second, and your move up, brushing your nose along his where he looks at you with a betrayed expression, eyes pinched and a soft whine on his throat. “You’re so needy today.” You glance down at his prick that blushes with a deep shade of red, glistening with arousal. “What did you do in the shower?” You peck at the scar above his eye. “Hm? Did you touch yourself?” He nods and you bite lightly at his cheek. He yelps, legs bending and he presses further against you, his cockhead threatening to peek past your underwear and enter you. “Use your words,” you sing softly, kissing where the bite has softened into a dull pain. 

“Yes,” he rasps out, “I- I touched myself.” He groans when your hand trails down and pinches at a nipple. “I- I was so needy and-” his voice cracks and slowly lowers into a whisper, breathy and high- “I didn’t want to bother you.” You roll over him, hips swirling and dragging on the underside of his cock until they reach his tip, the slick dripping onto his stock and he groans, lifting himself up, breathing ragged and deep. “Mommy,” he calls in a whiny tone, “please. I promise to be good. ‘S a mistake,” he gasps out, hands lowering to grip at the bedsheets. He lets out a moan when you raise yourself above him, his tongue lolling out and eyes wide.

“Tomura,” you lightly reprimand, pinching at his nipple until it blooms into a bright red, rubbing your thumb over when he lets out a keen whine. “You know you aren’t allowed to touch yourself-” you roll back to sit on his thighs, gown flowing against you, too short to fully cover your thighs- “you get too needy, baby.” Your hand leaves his chest, grazing down his stomach that contracts under your touch, the muscles tight as you travel past his belly, and reach the base of his cock, the tip of your fingers running above him, slowly encasing the tip of his cock into your palm. “You can never just stop at one.”

“I won’t do it again,” he says, eyes glazed over as your thumb runs over his slit. “Promise. Just- touch me, please,” he begs, breaths stuttering as you slowly begin to pump him.

“We both know that’s a lie,” you mumble, tugging on his cock, watching with interest as it leaks. “You know you need a punishment.”

“No, no,” he repeats, a frown on his lips, tears already sprung onto his eyes and catching on his eyelashes. “I’m a good boy,” he whines. “I promise! Please Mommy- I’ll come to you next time- Mommy,” he gasps, hands coming up to cup at his chest. “I’ll be good. I’m a good boy,” he snivels, mouth stretching into a frown as he whines underneath you. 

“Baby,” you sigh, a hand coming up to comb at his damp hair, “don’t cry.” You peek at his cheek and a tear meets your lips in a salty kiss. “I know you’re a good boy,” you comfort, brushing your nose against his cheek. “Such a good boy.” You pull away and he watches you with wide eyes. “But-” his eyes knit and he shakes his head, mumbling “no’s” under his breath and you groan, dipping your head. “You’re a good boy, right?” He nods his head. “You’re Mommy’s perfect, baby boy.” He nods again, a shudder of a breath escaping his lips. “How about we play a game?” He opens his eyes, confusion written over his face. “I suck on your pretty, pink dick-” he gulps and you hold a coy grin on your face- “and if you can hold on, until I’m satisfied, then you don’t get a punishment.” 

His eyes dart and dip into your chest. “Wha- What’s the prize?” He stutters, eyes focused on how your chest rises and dips with every breath. 

You raise a brow. “The lack of punishment should be incentive enough but I’ll let you have something else.” You tilt your head and grab at his hand, holding it close to your chest, smiling when his hand curves around the breast, your hardened nipples poking between the thin fabric and into his palm. “What do you have in mind?”

He squeezes your breast, thin, calloused fingers welcoming the soft fabric of your gown, fingers pressing into the supple fat of your chest. “Can I have milk?” He asks, eyes already half-lidded, tongue licking at his lips, fingers pulling down to roll the bud over, watching it darken the fabric and moisten his fingertips. 

Your grin widens and you pull away, his hand in a soft curve around the ghost of your breast. “The prince is hungry, huh?” You tease, chuckling when he nods, meeting your eyes for a brief second, a heavy blush in his face, dark around his cheeks and spreading into a soft pink against the tip of his nose. “If you can last until I pull away, then you’re free to suck on Mommy's titties.” His breath is shaky, hot as it leaves his lips and he gives you a nod, agreeing to the game.

Your hands leave phantom traces against his naked skin as they trail down, your head dipping down, lips that ghost past his collarbone, your pink muscle licking at an old scar that pales against his skin. You leave kisses against the top of his breast and trail it between his valley, nose brushing lightly above his abdomen, smiling against his tummy, giving him feverish kisses along his soft trail, dark in color that fades into a silvery white. Hands that rail down hisbside, leaving his tensing his muscle under the feathery touchy, fingers that soften as they grab at his hips. You blow cool air against his base, tongue peeking past between your lips, to give him a soft kitten-like lick.

He murmurs your name, soft between his lips and jerks his leg to get your attention. You hum in response, your tongue flat against his base, nose against the underside of his thickness. "Am I allowed to touch you?"

You smile and pull away from him, hands sliding to grab at his base, slipping and turning to pump him steadily, passing the foreplay, and gripping onto his shaft, his pre-ejaculate acting as lube as it slicks up and down, your palm dragging for a few pumps until it smooths over and glides across his skin, soft clicks with long pauses in between.

“No baby,” you murmur, “not right now.” he groans at the answer and his hands twist into the bedsheets. “You win the game, you can touch me all you like, sweetheart.” You lean over, pressing your lips against him, slow and feather light, a ghost of your touch on him, where he whines, arching his back into your chest, the whines growing louder as his bare chest rubs against the lace. “So pretty,” you whisper against his lips. “Such cute, little noises leaving your lips.” You pull away and your hand stops, thumb sliding over his slit, his arousal sticking and stretching onto your skin. “Remember to hold it until I say so,” you remind him, tone sweet and you inch backwards and dip your head. 

He twitches as your breath hits him, soft and warm, and he has a second of stillness where he waits for you to envelop him, waits patiently, leaking as he closes his eyes. It’s a shaky intake of air where he chokes on his spit as you swirl your tongue over his head, lips covering teeth as you lower, the gummy part of your cheeks soft around him as you lower yourself further, cheeks hollowing to wrap tight around him. He twitches in your mouth, jerking and pressing himself against the roof of your mouth, the sudden motion causing your lips to slip, teeth grazing on the underside of his cock, trailing at a vein. A croak leaves past his lips, soft and broken, with hands that twitch the fabric, nails pressing deep into the sheets, a faint scratching sound is lost to his moans as you push yourself further down him, your own moan vibrating against him. He cries your name, hips lightly pushing upwards, his cockhead hitting at the curve of your throat, his discharge bittersweet as it oozes down your throat in thin strands. 

“Mommy,” he calls out to you, his member pulsing in your mouth. “Mommy, please,” he whispers in a hoarse voice.”

You pull your mouth close to him and slide away, lips pressed against his opening. “Hasn’t even been that long-” you kiss at his tip- “don’t tell me you’re already close.” Your eyes glance towards him, his face flushed and you trail down his neck, following his shoulders, to his elbows, to his hand that strain, veins bold against his skin, cartilage sticking out against his skin, hands poised and dug deep into the thin fabric. You sigh softly at his hands, tilting your head with a loving smile on your lips. “You’re so cute,” you compliment. “An absolute delight to be around with,” you sigh, eyes meeting his for a second before you dip your head back onto his cock.

He’s thick. All the space in your mouth is erased by him, consuming and pulsing inside of you, pulsing with heat as you lower your head, nose against the base. He whines as you do so, panting as you choke around him, thick dribbles of spit that slide past the corner of your lips and curve around your shin, dripping onto him and latching onto his thighs. You struggle to breath, tears coming to your eyes as you take him whole, fisting your hand in order to distract you, whinging and feeling slick pool out as you keep yourself for one, two and on the third, you slide off of him, honey-thick strands connecting you to his cock, your lips swollen and tongue rolled out past your lips, as you look up at him with glossy eyes. His cock spurts, thick, white discharge pooling out past his lips and he calls your name in a pitiful moan, thrusting his hip against the air, hands that reach out to grab at you and with a roll of your eyes, a lazy smile on your face, you slide your underwear past your ankles and situate yourself on him, letting out a breathy groan as your walls accustom to his girth. 

All it takes is a simple swivel of your hips for him to spill his seed inside of you. Thick and filling as it paints you white and slips past him, squelching as you lean forward, hands on either side of his head and he’s quick to accept his gift. His hands reach squeeze at your breasts, pawing off the silk, a right hand pinching around the bud, watching as sweet milk spills past and he latches on, cheeks holling, tongue flicking the bud, rolling it with the tip of his tongue, urging the sweet milk to spill, moaning as it watches on his tongue and spills down his throat, filling his belly with warmth, cock twitching with joy inside fo you.

Your hand goes to play with his hair, parting the strands, sighing above him in breathy pants as his hand comes to rub at the neglected breast, palming the nipple under, and pulling away with a scooped hand when it catches your essence, brining it to his mouth, the leaking bud dripping onto his lips and side of his palm as he drinks from his hand, returning to your bud.

“Tomura,” you croon, moving your hips in a soft swirl, “that- oh, you’re so good. So pretty and good,” you slur together, tightening around him, walls flexin and urging him to spill again inside of you. “What a good boy.” You moan against him, his cockhead hitting at a songy part, rubbing alongside of it, bare and hard, your tongue lolling out, the hand on his hair in a tight grip as you ride him. “What a good boy. So sweet for letting Mommy ride his prick,” you pant. Your hand loosens and slides down the ruffled hair. “Do you like your prize?” He moans against you, nodding, eyes half-lidded and glazed over, focused on the breast brimming with milk as he palms the other, thin, white strands, spilling past and splashing onto his skin, burning as it trails down, his other hands coming to press down your back, inching you closer to him. “Drink baby,” you encourage, smiling down at him. He looks up at you with doe eyes, blinking innocently as he bats his eyelashes, tears shining in the corner of his eyes. “Just let Mommy ride your cock, hm?” You flash him a sweet smile and he mumbles around your nipple, kissing at it and pulling away, tongue out as it leaves a trail on your chest, until he reaches your other breast. 

Your walls are soft against him, pulsing around his own throbbing member and your hand finds its way to your clit, moving between the two bodies that stick with a thin layer of sweat, fingers pointed and softly circling over the twitching, sensitive bud. You sigh and let your eyes close, lips pouted as you press your chest against Tomura’s needy mouth, cooing and slurring words of praise together until they’re lost in soft murmurs, your hips lightly patting against him as you swirl above him in soft circles, close to reaching your high as your stomach pulls taut against, heat wet with slick as you call his name.

“”M a good boy,” he mutters against your chest, a drying trail of white on the corner of his lips, suckling on your ample breast, drinking at the honey-sweet milk. “Good boy for Mommy,” he mutters, pushing your breasts together watching as they leak, his tongue serpentining over your leaking nipples. 

“Such a good boy,” you reiterate, licking your lips. “Letting Mommy milk your cock while you milk Mommy? Fuck baby,” you moan, closing your eyes in a tight pinch, “good boy. So sweet and pretty. My pretty boy,” you whimper, scratching softly at his scalp. 

“Close,” he mewls, slapping his hips against yours, “‘M close,” he says, nuzzling his face further against you, mouth opening to catch at the soft bud in his mouth. “I love you,” he says, repeating it in a softer tone, your name muttered under his breath, stilling his hips as you pap against him, breathing harshly, cheeks hollow as he sucks your milk-filled breast in his mouth. 

It’s his declaration that makes your walls pulse and tighten, spongy walls that twitch and spasm around his cock, sweet, honey-like strands of arousal that seep and mix with his thick, white arousal, clicking in the room as you come to rest on him. His name sweet on your tongue as your fingers still circle over your pearl, whining and pulling on him tight, his moans vibrating against your chest, eyes closed as his mouth stops the harsh treatment, tongue poking at the pert bud, light strands of milk slipping past his tongue and down his throat. 

He pulls his mouth away, kissing at the swollen bud, watching as milk leaks and catches on his lips, his hips experimentally moving only to stop with a hiss at the sensitivity, heavy cream, slipping down and coating him in warmth and stickiness. 

“How do you feel?” You ask, raising yourself off of him and laying on your back next to him with a light groan. “Personally, i’m tired-” your hands cupping at your sore chest, wincing at the feeling- “and sore.”

“Good,” he nods, replacing your hand with his, pinching at a still sore bud, licking his lips when a pearl of white beads out. “Can I?” He gestures to your breasts, already rising above, fingers poised at your entrance, slipping inside the gooey entrance, digit massaging your inner walls. “I’ll make you feel good,” he promises, wrapping his mouth on your breast, wide and holling his cheeks as he lazily pumps his fingers.