#He's been here just over a week and seems to be settling in quite nicely <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[cxpperhead]

Belated munday post but the little one is settling in nicely! He's taken to watching me when he thinks I'm not looking at him, horrible camera quality as the angle is wonky but the tank looks better/is more sizable than it appears from the side!

Unfortunately I forgot that flash was enabled and he slipped back into his cool hide after. Sorry for startling you, sweetheart. 😔

[webism]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎HOT ROD !

After getting hooked on your taste, pornstar!satoru invites you and your pornstar boyfriend to shoot a threesome in the countryside.

pornstar!suguru x pornstar!satoru x fem!reader | part one, two

cw; ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she/her pronouns used for reader, unprotected sex, creampies, oral (m and f receiving), anal (m receiving), mmf threesome, voyeurism.

The sun has barely risen, the typical tangelo orange of a morning sky is yet to develop—instead, you watch a dull pink canvas the sky, turned more of a rose colour through the car's windshield. Suguru Geto, your lover and costar alike, keeps his hand on your thigh as he drives. Occasionally, he'll tap his fingers against your exposed flesh along to the beat of the old niche rock song blaring through the radio. You have the volume up too high—which isn't good for your ears, but is great for the soul—and the windows rolled all the way down. The wind is in your hair, which aids the setting heat of Summer in Japan. It's quite pleasant out here. You're filming at a location you can only reach through an open road that goes right past some very scenic hills, and you're having a lovely time just enjoying your lover's company. Nothing but the two of you. 

That being said—something sits at the forefront of Suguru's mind. You can tell his thoughts are preoccupied, having been with him so long gets you a sweet look into that pretty mind of his. So, when the strings of an electric guitar die out, you turn the radio down and shift in your seat to face him better. 

“Cold feet?” You ask. 

His hair is up and out of his face, save for a stand that falls over his eyes, though it’s pushed back by the wind regardless. He glances at you, smiles, and looks away.

“I don’t get cold feet," he says flatly, looking at you for half a second before his focus returns to the road. “I'm just interested to see if he'll fuck as good with me there, of if the poor guy will get performance anxiety."

Ah, jealousy it is. The flat kind, because your sweet-boned lover never gets openly jealous. You have to settle for half-bitten quips. You smile, "he didn't seem like the type to get performance anxiety."

Suguru hums in a noncommittal way, his lips pulling inwards. He squeezes the fat of your thigh and taps a finger against your skin.  Your skin heats under his touch, it always does. You might earn your living through the most sensual of touches, but none of them quite set you alight like Sugurus does.

Well, except for Satoru. You try to avoid closing your eyes, in fear of being met with the memory of his cock sinking into you rather than the darkness of your closed eyelids. You feel half-guilty, despite Suguru's obvious itch to see you laid out for Satoru Gojo of all people. You know him, you wouldn't be driving forty minutes through the countryside if Suguru wasn't at least a little bit obsessed with the fantasy.

Satoru Gojo, a known name in the porn industry, got to fuck you stupid only a week ago. He had asked you out for drinks after, and though you rejected him verbally, you’re starting to fear that your mind didn’t reject him in the same regard. You had come home that night to your sweet Suguru, and told him all about being hit on by your co-star, to which he laughed.

And oh the irony, that your Suguru was balls-deep inside of you that night when the two of you got an email from Satoru’s agent– an offer, an expensive one. One shoot, a week from then, a threesome between his new favourite love birds and, of course, him.

Suguru remembers Satoru like he was the season prior, like the winter that bled into you, the spring. They did a few films together, Satoru got a little too stuck in Sugurus mind and then, once their contracts were up, they never spoke again. 

The rising sun makes him squint against the road— he almost misses the turn off to the countryside estate you had been told to meet at. The place is nice, big, and you’re starting to wonder just how widely distributed this porno will be if the producer is shelling out so much money just for an estate to rent out for half a day. 

“With how much they’re paying us, I half expected the budget for location to allow for a crack den at most,” Suguru snorts as he pulls in through the large paved driveway. 

“No kidding,” you hum. With this paycheck, you’d just be greedy looking for work in the next few months. 

Suguru parks and undoes his seatbelt with a sideways glance in your direction. “We’re a bit early,” he notes. “But it never hurts to get a feel for the place, talk to our co-star for a minute or two.”

You smile. “Mhm, talk.”

“Ready to get fucked for cash?” Suguru snorts, and opens his door to get out of the car. You follow suit, rolling your eyes at his crude words when your feet hit the ground and you’re closing your door behind you. 

You walk around the car to meet your boyfriend, and he greets you with a pinch to your ass and a kiss to your temple. You’d recognise something poetic in the contrast of his actions if your mind wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of performing for him in only a few moments. 

Despite both being pornstars, you rarely take scenes together. Threesomes aren’t a frequent venture— this is something relatively untapped for the both of you. And though you’re sure it would never jeopardise your relationship at all, you can’t help but entertain the worries that creep in. Will Suguru really not mind sharing? 

You aren’t sure what’s worse— the thought of him getting overly jealous of Satoru and cutting the scene short, or the thought of Suguru not minding in the slightest as you get fucked stupid by another man. A little possession never goes unappreciated on your end. 

“Hey,” Suguru’s silken voice brings you back to the now. “You okay? We can turn around and speed off into the sunrise if you want to leave.”

You grin. “I’m good. Excited, even.”

Your boyfriend nods and leads the way to the estate's front door. It’s closed, which is a little odd considering the production crew will be coming in and out with equipment and the such. You furrow your eyebrows and realise your car is the only one here—maybe you’re earlier than you realised. 

“You checked the shoot time, right?” you ask. 

“Yes, love,” Suguru makes it to the front door and tries the handle only to find it locked. “Fuck, maybe I should have triple checked.”

He presses a thick finger to the doorbell button and glances to you as the sound of an overly upbeat chime echoes through the estate. Maybe it’s the wrong place, too lavish to be true. Maybe it’s the wrong date, even. Maybe—

The door swings open, and standing to greet you with a knowing grin is Satoru Gojo. 

His eyes meet yours first, and then drop to take in the rest of you. Something soft flashes over his face. Lust, perhaps, or appreciation, maybe both.  His arms cross over his chest, leaning his body weight on the doorframe as he flits his gaze to your boyfriend, and his eyes return.

“Long time no see, lovebirds. Just on time," he chirps, stepping aside to let you in. "Excuse the mess, I just moved in."

It takes a moment for your brain to register his words, and Suguru is right behind you in thought. "This is your place?" he asks, appraising the foyer as he walks in. 

“Mhm,” Gojo replies, and though you expect his lilt to be more cocky, he speaks smooth like silk. “The city is too… busy for me. Plus.. saves a dollar on renting out a house to film in, right?”

You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips: from the looks of his home you doubt he’d blink an eye at paying rent for a night of filming. Still, you don’t know if he’s just trying to show off, or if he really wants his home to play backdrop for the shoot. But whatever the case, he definitely thinks it’s clever on his behalf to lead the both of you here. It worked, you give it to him, but damn.

You look around, taking in everything that catches your eye – the sleek furnishings, a wide kitchen to the left, and an elegant living room straight ahead. All of it feels clean and welcoming. You wonder, idly, what it's like for Gojo to live in a space like this all alone – if he is alone, that is. The question remains unanswered as Gojo leads the two of you down the hall until you reach another door and slip inside.

The bedroom you end up in is stunning; a double bed dominates the centre of the room with fluffy duvets thrown haphazardly over top, whilst the walls are painted a warm, calming shade of grey. The carpet is plush and dark brown in colour, the curtains hanging at either side of the grand windows allow for plenty of natural light to flood the room. There's a tripod set up with a very expensive looking camera pointed directly at the bed: Satoru points to it and grins at you and Suguru, "our camera crew."

You furrow your eyebrows, but Suguru speaks up before you can. "It's just us?" 

Satoru nods, crossing his corded arms and he flits his gaze between the two of you. "Yes. I did specify it was a private shoot, lovebirds."

Your boyfriend settles in closer beside you than before, you can feel the heat from his body as he crosses his own arms, a mirror of the white haired man in front of you. "I figured it was a private production shoot," he speaks cautiously. "The email I got was from an agent, not you directly."

Satoru looks unperturbed. "'Course," he says languidly. "She handles all my correspondence."

Gojo turns to the dresser and, from the top drawer, pulls out two white envelopes. Your eyes linger a little too long on his slender fingers as he hands them over to you, one each. As you peek into the envelope handed to you, you find an obscene amount of cash neatly sat inside. 

"As agreed, plus... a little extra for the commute," Gojo shrugs. "You can take it and go, if this isn't what you want. If it is, well..." He gestures to the bed. "I'm kinda dying here."

You glance down at his insinuation and find that he's beyond hard. His pants are tight and tented, making his arousal painfully evident. You have to force your gaze elsewhere – to Suguru, who is staring almost shamelessly at Gojo, his brows creased in the middle as he thinks.

The silence is deafening, you can feel the tension rising between the three of you, vibrating off the surface of your skin and permeating the air itself. Suguru seems to have made his mind up, because he turns to you with an awfully familiar look on his face: desire.

"Thoughts, darling?" he asks, and your stomach flips. 

There's no point in pretending that there aren't things wrong with how your mind still reels after Satoru's touch. This entire thing has been confusing and disorientating; you're confused about everything – your feelings, your career, your sexual desires – and now, in your current situation, you’re downright torn. And yet, despite that, despite all the questions swirling around in your mind, as soon as your eyes land on Satoru's again – you know you'd die without another taste of his pink glossed lips. That feeling, the desire, the forethought of how he'd pant and whine after you've fucked him senseless – you'll do anything to achieve it. 

This doesn’t feel like work anymore, not with the way these two men are looking at you. The camera isn’t even rolling yet, and yet you find yourself ready to fuck them both to the brink of oblivion.

So, without so much as a second of hesitation you pull away from your train of thought and turn to press your lips to Suguru's in a searing kiss. The action, so swift, causes Gojo's breath to hitch in his throat at the sight. Suguru kisses you back, of course, the hand that isn't holding his envelope quickly makes its way to your waistline and pulls you flush against him, leaving nothing but your clothes between the both of you. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck as Gojo watches the two of you intently, gaze burning into the meeting of your lips. You can feel him watching you, his spectatorship dizzying, and you bite Suguru's bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the moan bubbling up your throat.

“Jeez, didn’t know this was a cuckolding shoot,” Satoru sounds whiney, threadbare with lust. “Though I wouldn’t mind that… another time maybe.”

You place a hand on the planes of Suguru’s chest as you disconnect your lips and turn your head to the white-haired pervert with heart-shaped pupils. Your grin is sweet, sultry - "another time, huh?"

You pull apart from Suguru and move past Gojo, making a point not to glance in his direction, until you're crawling onto the bed and turning to rest with your elbows propping you up. Both Suguru and Satoru standing, your observers - admirers, is a sight for sore eyes. The camera sits between them, propped up and set on you. In spite of it, you feel oddly at home. The same sweet excitement builds within you that you normally feel when it’s just you and Suguru at home. You didn't know the air could weigh so intimately in front of a camera.

It takes a moment of staring at you, jaw slack, for Satoru to finally spring into thought. He steps towards the camera, makes sure everything is looking good, and then clears his throat as he presses record. He almost looks nervous, and if he weren't so cocky in his usual demeanour you'd think he's getting cold feet. But you remember the way his eyes glossed when he pushed into you, how that confidence of his melted into carnal need in just one thrust. You know what you do to him, and god does it seem amplified tenfold with Suguru here.

And your black-haired lover must know it too, because the second Satoru makes a move to speak, Suguru cuts him off with a step towards him and a burning kiss pressed to his lips. Satoru's sound of alarm at Suguru's lips on his is almost enough to send you dizzy, but the true aphrodisiac is the sight of your lover taking charge with him; lips locked onto one another, the lewd noises they make as Suguru cups Satoru's face with one hand and scratches into the back of his hair with the other. Satoru's moans become louder and more desperate, as Suguru's tongue explores the recesses of his mouth, sucking hungrily upon the flesh of his lower lip. When the two break apart they're both breathing heavily, panting as they catch their breath. An undoubted look of longing is etched into every last one of their handsome features.

You feel your stomach roil with anticipation as you watch them, realising the camera is only pointed at you, capturing your wanton expression. But then, it snaps, and suddenly your lovers are pulling apart to instead lay their gaze on you, resting back on Satoru's wildly comfortable bed sheets with a lust-driven smile pulling at your lips.

“You’re a fucking lucky man, Suguru,” Satoru coos, blue eyes raking over you in appreciation. You’re hardly undressed, and yet you feel naked under his gaze. “Don’t know how you can do porn when you’ve got such a pretty thing waiting for you at home. It’d ruin my performance.”

“I know,” Suguru says plainly, truly. "You've never been good at multitasking, have you Satoru?"

"Harsh words," Satoru pouts, giving his best imitation of an overly dramatic frown. "I can multitask just fine, do you need me to prove it?"

Without a word further, he plucks the camera from its tripod and points it at Suguru. "For example," he sing-songs, "I can fuck and film at the same time."

“Can’t do it dressed,” you point out, to which both men turn to find you already stripping yourself of your clothes. Satoru turns the camera onto you, finding it a sin to not capture you revealing yourself with such delicate fingers. You look into the lens, eyes sultry as you’re known for doing, and wonder just how many people are going to slip their hands under their waistbands at the sight of you. 

Once you’ve laid yourself bare, your naked skin feels static with the tension in the air, you reach your hands out and make grabby-hands at Satoru. “Pass the camera,” you hum. “It’s your turn.”

A glance between themselves, and then Satoru is leaning over the bed to slot the camera in your hands. It’s heavier than you’d thought it would be, but feels nice and cooling against your otherwise sweaty palm. Satoru’s fingers brush over yours as he hands it over, something electric stills the room for a moment, and then he pulls away with a cough.

He hadn’t realised that Suguru had fallen into place behind him, because when he steps backwards and his back hits your boyfriend's chest, Satoru gasps. You capture the pink blush that speckles at his cheeks, and the beautiful way in which Sugurus hands snake around his body to caress down his chest.

Suguru has always been gifted in the way of sparking intimacy. It’s why the porn he shoots is usually so artistic, he’s sensual. And Satoru, not for the first time, is falling victim to his seductive ways. The gentle traces of his fingers down Satoru’s chest is testament enough to just how narcotic Suguru’s touch is. When he reaches the hem of his shirt and starts lifting upwards, unwrapping his next meal, Satoru can’t help but lift his arms and help move the process along — he’s feeling beyond restless. 

Now exposed, Satoru’s chest and torso are now at the mercy of Suguru’s searing touch. Each trail of his fingers down the white-haired man’s chest, each tweak over his surprisingly sensitive nipples, each rough kiss against the column of his neck, they all elicit the most pornographic moans from Satoru Gojo’s throat. You study them both through the camera’s screen, and watch as Suguru presses his lips against Satoru’s ear.

He speaks in hushed tones, enough so that you know the camera isn’t going to pick up on his words. You can hear them though, only just, they're low and sensual and entirely full of sin. "You're lucky I'm letting you fuck my girlfriend for a second time," he purrs. "You know, she hasn’t stopped thinking about your last shoot. We watched it together the other night, I matched your rhythm, let her pretend it was you. She’s obsessed."

You're almost embarrassed by the confession, a burn sheens your skin, but the way Satoru's eyes darken impossibly further calms you. Suguru grins, catching your gaze from over Satoru's shoulder, and presses a kiss to his earlobe. "It brought me back, too," he says. "To when I got you to myself. You remember our films, hm? You're just like she is." 

Satoru nods, the tips of his ears turning redder. His breathing is shallow, ragged, needy; and in a split second he's turning around and returning his lips to Suguru's. Desperate hands lift at your boyfriend's own shirt, exposing his tattoo-laden skin underneath. His jeans soon follow, and then so do Satoru's pants.

For a moment it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Satoru's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Satoru takes Suguru's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Suguru's throat.

And when they part, it's obvious just how much heavier the air has gotten. Suguru turns your white-haired tryst and pushes him towards where you sit on the bed. "Move your ass before I fuck that too," he deadpans.

Satoru doesn't blush like you expected he would. Instead, he grins. "That would be a big change from last time, don't you think?" he sing-songs, eyebrows raised as he steps further towards the bed. "Or maybe you don't remember crying from how well I stretched you out, I sure do, all pretty and—"

This time Suguru does flush crimson, and you laugh out loud at this revelation. "I didn't know you bottomed for him," you shake the camera a little with your laughter, capturing the way Suguru glares at Satoru from beneath long eyelashes, "that's something I've got to see."

"Hah," Suguru climbs onto the bed and snatches the camera from you, settling on his knees as he points it down at your form. There, his fingers graze lightly against your bare skin, making you arch your back in anticipation. "Tough luck, pretty."

His black boxers are beyond tented, and he slips them off easily enough, allowing his cock to spring free, perfectly poised and ready for your hand. The sound of Suguru's moan as your fingers wrap around his length is paired with the shuffle of Satoru climbing onto the bed too. He hovers above you for a moment, watching you stroke Suguru through the camera, before taking it from him with a grin. 

Satoru returns the camera to its stand and checks its positioning before climbing back onto the bed and settling himself just behind you. You turn to smile at him, and then gasp as his hands tentatively find your shoulders. He peers over you, to the sight of Suguru’s drooling cock in your hand, and presses a kiss to the skin just under your ear.

“You know I’m fucking obsessed with you, right?” He purrs, glancing down to your boyfriend's cock before pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you. I dreamt of breaking you and your boyfriend up until I found out it was Sugu, here. Wanted you all to myself, pretty thing, but I think I’m happy enough to share now, because god do I want to see your lips wrapped around his cock.”

“Mm,” you hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you’re making demands?”

Satoru smiles, his lips glossy and so perfect you could cry. “I want to taste him on you.”

His words light a fire in your core that licks through your body, ravenous. You can't help but oblige at his words, returning your gaze to sweet Suguru before dipping your head down and pressing a chaste kiss to the weeping tip of his cock. Suguru and Satoru both inhale sharply when you do so. You wet your lips with your tongue and then meet his cock again, drawing lazy circles across his tip before closing your lips slowly, reverently around the shaft of Suguru's cock.

Satoru's hand pushes down a little on your shoulder, and you're forced forward onto your lover's length. Your moan betrays you and sends narcotic vibrations down his shaft, making Suguru grunt and buck his hips forward a little. Satoru, who remains behind you, gently takes hold of your hips and manoeuvres you into more of a doggy-style position — your fingers splayed over Suguru's thighs to try and find purchase as Satoru leans over you. 

Gojo's chest presses against your back, skin-to-skin intimacy broken by the feverish kisses he presses to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, your spine, His kisses become hotter, wetter, open-mouthed as he moves down to your waist, large hands playing with the flesh of your ass as he kisses a path down. You moan and shift against his grip, moving your hips in an effort to push yourself back against his boxer-clad erection, but Satoru only snaps you forward, and you choke a little as you're forced to take Suguru's cock even deeper down your throat.

"Fuck," Suguru hisses, pretty purple eyes meeting yours as you look up. Drool glosses his length, slick and hot and heavy against your tongue when he finally gives you a moment to breathe. 

Your mouth immediately goes back to work again once your breathing steadies, hollowing out your cheeks and dragging him down, deeper, faster, more desperately. The receipt of pleasure etched into Suguru's tight-wound face is enough to spur on your own needs, but you nearly choke when Satoru Gojo bites into the fat of your ass. Your body arches up and you squirm and whine, but Satoru is relentless, licking over the indentations left behind as Suguru snaps his hips into your open mouth over and over again.

You barely have room to move before Satoru is pushing your knees apart with a strong hand, the heel of his palm firm against your ass as he spreads you open. He takes a moment, heavy breaths fan against your exposed slick, and you’re suddenly all too aware of yourself. You’d protest, tell him not to stare if your mouth wasn’t full with your heavy-lidded lover's cock. You don’t even know why you’re embarrassed — you’re a pornstar, your job is to lie subject to the most intimate of ogling.

Your thoughts melt into the bedsheets, however, when Satoru groans and connects his lips to your pussy. Stupid off the taste of you alone, he whines against your slick heat, enamoured. His tongue flicks over you, circling your clit repeatedly and making your insides burn. You moan, and it comes out muffled and breathless around Suguru's dick.

"You taste so fucking good," Satoru speaks against your cunt. One hand slips between your legs, running two fingers through your folds in collection of your arousal, whilst his other hand tugs down at his own boxers, pulling his cock free and growling against your pussy as he starts to stroke at himself. "Fuuuuuckkk..." He pushes two fingers into you, easy with just how wet you are, and curls them in tandem with each pump of his cock.

Each thrust of his fingers pushes you just that little bit further onto Suguru's length. And you're thanking god that he's there, because without his muscled thighs to hold onto, you fear you’d be fucked too dizzy to keep yourself upright. You figure you must look a mess now, hair mussed and eyes bleary and drool rolling down your chin and all over Suguru's pulsing cock. 

You feel pathetic with how quickly your orgasm crests. Satoru must feel it too, how you clench around your fingers, the subtle tremor in your thighs, because his tongue only speeds up in its assault.  He's still stroking himself, keeping you open and willing as he sucks your clit harshly. Once you're right at the brink, teetering off the edge of ecstasy, Suguru pulls out of your mouth and leans down to crash his lips against yours. 

"Come," he orders into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. "Come for us, darling, come on now."

You're overwhelmed by Suguru's rakish lips over yours, and Satoru's relentless tongue over your sex. Before you can even try to present yourself for the cameras, you're cumming, hard. You writhe against Suguru, and your nails scrape across his thighs until you can hardly draw breath. The world slows down around you, leaving nothing but pleasure to consume.

"Holy shit," Satoru’s breath comes out in a hitched sort of laughter as he pulls back, not bothering to wipe away the sheen of your lust that coats his mouth and chin. “My head’s spinning, I think I’m in heaven. Do I still have a pulse?”

He makes a show of checking his pulse, despite the way you roll your eyes. You’re still coming down from your climax as Suguru peppers feather-light kisses over your face. Satoru, feeling more hungry than doting, brings his two fingers to his own mouth, licking them clean. Suguru catches sight of the action and gently pulls back from you, something knowing in his eyes.

You assume he’s going to redirect your head back to his cock, let you finish your job, but instead he tuts and nods his head to your shared tryst, who is still diligently working at tasting you some more on his fingers. 

“Think someone’s a little pussydrunk,” Suguru grins, and you do too at the sight of Satoru Gojo so blatantly desperate for more. Your eyes drift down to his cock, long and hard and weeping with precum. 

Though, you don’t want to neglect Suguru, so you turn back to him — “you didn’t finish,” you make a move to reach for his cock, still rock hard and achy-looking, but your lover shakes his head gently. 

“Got other plans,” he nods subtly to Gojo. “How about we show our stalker here just how much better the real thing is?”

You grin, catching onto his drift, and watch over your shoulder as Satoru rolls his pretty blue eyes. “You know, I’ve had the real thing, from both of you.”

“You haven’t had both of us,” Suguru shrugs. “And I know you’ve fucked your fist to the thought of it. Don’t lie, or you won’t enjoy this as much as you could.”

Satoru’s loaded remark gets stuck in his throat as Suguru pulls away from you entirely, though not without a gentle kiss to your forehead first. He stands by the bed, rolls his shoulders and nods to Satoru — “go on,” he gestures to you, still on your hands and knees. “Taste me on her lips.”

Satoru would probably blush if he weren’t so dedicated to the promise of a taste, because he’s got a hand under your stomach and is flipping you onto your back with ease in only half a second. You sigh at the reprieve of the strain on your hands and knees, and revel in how soft Satoru’s mattress is, when he’s collapsing on top of you with a strangled growl and his lips are meeting yours.

It’s a strange thing, to taste both Satoru, yourself, and Suguru at the same time. You taste Satoru in the way he kisses, hungry and listless, with knocking teeth and exploratory tongues. You taste Suguru in the remnants of his cock in your mouth, the precum that has coated your tongue, mixed with your saliva that now mixes with Gojo’s. And you taste yourself glossed on Satoru’s lips; your climax, the buildup of pleasure he had gifted you with both his mouth and fingers. 

A strange mix, maybe, but a perfect one nonetheless. You have to close your eyes to stop yourself from growing too dizzy, and also partly to stop yourself from worrying too hard — how were you meant to enjoy anything to its full potential now that you know how this tastes?

Satoru’s cock presses against the inside of your thigh; you can feel the gentle thrum of its pulse — a testament to his aching need. His arms box you in on either side, settled comfortably between your still-shaky legs. When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips to his, and his eyes are darker than you remember. 

“I need to be inside of you, need. You’re fuckin’... god I can’t think.”

As if by instinct, your legs part further, allowing him the access he so craves. It’s a fluid movement, the way he moves one hand down to direct his cock to your slick folds. He rubs himself against you, his tip kissing your clit teasingly. You suck in a shaky breath between parted lips, and when he doesn’t hurry up despite his desperation, you feel like you could cry.

Though, before a complaint can leave your lips, you're watching as Suguru joins you two on the bed, kneeling behind Satoru and running his long fingers gently down the white-haired man's bare back. Satoru's head falls forward at the touch, and as your boyfriends hand runs lower and lower on his back, you realise exactly where this is going. 

"You're gonna fuck her good," Suguru purrs, graceful in his touch. "Because I'm going to help you -- that okay?" He reaches back up, brushing his knuckles from between his shoulder blades, down the curve of his spine until he reaches his tailbone. 

Satoru's eyes are locked on yours as he answers your lover. "Yes," his exhale is beyond needy. "Please, god. Yes."

And from there, things move with practised ease. It feels normal to submit yourself, your body, to Satoru. As Suguru takes hold of either side of his waist and guides him into you, the stretch is searing. You remember just how hard it was to adjust to his size the first time, having to try and keep your face melted neutral for the cameras. You don't feel that same pressure now, despite Satoru still filming, and your nose scrunches up at the feeling of Satoru inside of you.

"You're..." you try, words stuck in your throat as Suguru pushes Satoru's hips into yours a little more. "Please."

Satoru takes control of the pace, his breath hot and heavy on your cheek, his body moving in sync. You moan as he starts thrusting slowly in and out, stretching every muscle in your body as you get used to the feeling. With every thrust, you feel him getting harder and deeper within you, and his mouth dips down to trail along the sensitive skin on your neck.

It's a narcotic, the way he fills you. He's longer than Suguru, though not quite as thick, but he reaches depths that aren't typical for you. As he sheathes himself deeper and deeper inside of you, with the help of Suguru's hands on his waist, You slowly become spineless; relaxing into the pleasure of his sweet push and pull.

Sweat beads at your skin as Satoru quickens the pace, pulling out and plunging back in again with unbridled whimpers as Suguru works on taking his fill. Your boyfriend, domineering though still gentle, starts working your tryst open with one of his fingers.

"Ah- fuck," Satoru's words are heady with need, the initial discomfort of Suguru's fingers pushing into his ass are quickly forgotten, replaced with a deep yearning for more sensation. It sends his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out inside of you at such depths you can't help but cry out. It's a symphony of wetness and gasps of air, each syllable punctuated by Satoru's frantic movements. Your body grows tighter and tighter around Satoru with every pass as he gets worked open so beautifully by Suguru.

Your mind is clouded by everything Satoru has done to you and by the sheer force of him filling you with his cock and all that comes with it. You're completely and utterly lost in the moment, consumed by Satoru, who is consumed by Suguru, who is consumed in the pleasure of serving you both in turn. 

"More," Satoru is barely able to get the word out as he slams deeper and deeper inside of you. "Fuck, more."

And Suguru isn't one to deny a pretty thing like Satoru such pleasures; he's pulling his fingers out of him in seconds and replacing them with the head of his cock at his ass. Suguru is gentle, but unrelenting as he thrusts himself into Satoru in one fluid motion. The pressure is enough to prick tears at Satoru's pretty blue eyes, which you reach up and wipe away from underneath him. 

A moment is shared, a chance for Satoru to breathe the best he can, before he's testing the waters and pushing back a little, onto Suguru's cock, before thrusting his hips forward, into you. 

This is ecstasy incarnate. The two men seem to merge together, their bodies melting as they meet. Suguru fucks you through Satoru, each thrust into him is a thrust into you, into the both of you. It almost hurts, you'd wager, the way your whole body throbs in synchronization with theirs, the way Satoru moans as Suguru drives you both to insanity. It's a weird way to connect with your lover, but one that works nonetheless, the both of you seem to share an awful yearning for the man sandwiched between you, fucked mindless. 

And then he's driving your entire being towards the edge, and you feel the orgasm coming on, the rush of blood to your head, your muscles tightening around Satoru. It's a strange feeling of being connected to something bigger than yourself, a system working in tandem with each other to chase climax, but it's a feeling you're quickly growing addicted to. It's warm, it's comforting, and most importantly, it's yours. This man right here, his body pressed tight between yours and Sugurus, is yours. Even if only for the early morning.

"Gonna cum," you whine, lips ghosting against Satoru's. He nods, eyes locked onto yours. 

"M—fuck—me too, baby. God, you have to let me come inside of you, doll, can't deny me, please. You—"

"You better," Suguru cuts in, his voice biting from behind Satoru. He thrusts sharply into Satoru, sending him keening forward into you, pressing right into your sensitive g-spot as Suguru hits his prostate in a mirrored pleasure. "Wanna watch you claim her," he bears down, "gonna fill you up, you fill her — watch her face, Satoru. Watch what you do to her."

You gasp as Satoru's fingers dip down to rub frantic circles over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm with each knock of his hips into your, of Suguru's into his. the room is filled with a chorus of moans and whines and desperate pleas for more and more and more. You know you'll never recover from this level of arousal if you don't come soon, but before you can find purchase in your body and begin your descent into bliss, Suguru is first to come undone.

His hips snap forward into Satoru, head craning into his neck, biting down on the muscle of his shoulders for some sort of physical gag — ever the one to stifle those beautiful noises of his. And the feeling of being filled in such ravaging volumes must be enough to send Satoru over the edge, too, because he's knitting his eyebrows together and cumming ropes into you in only moments.

"Fuck," he whines, once again tears prick at his eyes, overwhelmed by the duality of his pleasure, of you and Suguru, so close to you but also never close enough. He wants to be one with you, a complete unit, bound by sex and soul and the sweet sounds of the most powerful orgasm he's ever had in his life. 

You come in tandem with him, it's completely blinding. Your legs fall apart as you cry out, nails scraping across Satoru's bicep as the world melts away and the sensations start swirling about in your mind's eye and the last thing you register is Satoru collapsing forward, breathing raggedly into your ear. 

You catch the salty flavour of him as you suck in a lungful of air and smile in response, fucked stupid and blissful and never ready to give this feeling up. Never ready to give anyone else this feeling- god, you already despise whoever gets to taste Satoru Gojo next. 

Suguru has to pull out of Satoru slowly, and you wipe at his face with the pad of your thumb when it scrunches up in protest of the loss of Suguru’s stretch. Before he can truly call the scene over, though, Satoru leans down and presses the most gentle of kisses to your lips. A myriad of ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’s spill from his tongue as he does so, each word cut by a kiss to the expanse of your face.

And when he pulls out of you a sickening gush of his cum follows. It spills from your aching pussy and onto the bed sheets beneath you, though Satoru doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He swipes his finger through the mess he’s made of your sex, smiling when you hiss at just how sensitive you are, and brings his cum-coated finger back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. 

Your stomach flips at the sight. Great, he’s gone and fucked you lovestruck.

“Satoru,” a clean voice cuts in. Your head constricts in your fucked out daze when you turn to see Suguru standing by the tripod, his eyebrows raised and pretty purple eyes beyond amused. “It’s not even fucking recording.”

Instead of being confused, Satoru looks sheepish. He flops down onto the bed next to you, eyes glossy and cheeks blushed pink. “I…. can explain? I think I’d rather die than share the two of you with the world. But I’d really die if I didn’t get my hands on you both.”

You meet your boyfriend's gaze. Something passes between you, something knowing. In a weird, probably unhealthy way, you both feel the exact same. This was never a scene for the cameras, anyway— not when such strong… feelings are involved.

“I’m not proposing marriage here,” Satoru huffs when he catches onto your shared gaze. “I just, you enjoyed it, right?”

You giggle from beside him, your sweat-soaked skin cool against the air. Suguru chimes in with his laughter, melodic and beautiful. He folds his arms and watches the two of you laid across the bed. 

“Let’s get you both cleaned up, then,” Suguru hums. “I’m not fucking either of you again until we’ve shared a shower.

TAGLIST: @sugurubabe @fullbelieverheart @starrysho @meowforluv @ch3rryistheg @miizuzu @okayiamkassandra @inconcise @sexcults @hotgirlgoob @mistalli @ourfinalisation @graceloveslanadelrey @blessed-princesa @plinkuro @pe4rl-diver @sugojosgf @beachaddict48 @chimmysoftpaws @blendingcaramal @dongh9e @caramelised-onions @kyluskaye @sammywo @4evrglow @hiraethwa @stinkinstuffie @tomiokasecretlover @ser0t0nln @yuzu-ku @lagataprrr @dear-fifi @hel-lhound @kensqueent @sserafin @dabisdolly @zoroisminty @angelkazusstuff @reinam00n @kaeyakaikai @bunny416 @littletittygothgirl @glitterbitch1 @saccharine-nectarine

cont in comments !

[gyuuberryy]

professional-ish!

pairing: boss!jake x reader

synopsis: you’re just trying to survive your 9-to-5 without spontaneously combusting, but your painfully attractive boss seems to think you’re flirting. every awkward smile, accidental wink, and misfired message only makes it worse. now he’s looking at you like you’ve got some secret agenda. the truth? you just short-circuit around hot people. it’s not seduction—it’s social malfunction.

genre: workplace romance, crack, accidental flirting(?), some suggestive content

warnings: making out, some touching, jealous!jake, swearing, the writer has slapped all the office lingo known to her

note: sorry for the late post!! this is the last installment for the 2k event yayy! i feel like the ending is kinda rushed, i rewrote the last half so many times i kinda hate this. also i realised this is lowkey similar to the tutor!jungwon fic after writing haha. anyway i hope you enjoy reading!

word count: 4.4k

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

2k event | previous

three days. that’s all it had been. 

three days of nervously memorising names, of smiling too wide at people whose roles you hadn’t quite figured out yet, of laughing a little too loudly at jokes you only half understood. but you were getting there. you’d even found a few coworkers who didn’t seem to mind your presence—who invited you to lunch, who nodded at you in the hallway like you belonged. it was progress.

and then today happened.

you’d walked into the office that morning feeling oddly optimistic. the sun was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the coffee in your hand was still warm, and you’d actually managed to pick an outfit that didn’t make you look like you’d dressed in the dark. for once, you didn’t feel like an imposter.

that should’ve been your first warning.

your hr manager, ms. cho, had intercepted you before you could even reach your desk. “good, you’re here early,” she’d said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “let’s go introduce you to your boss now—he’s been out of town, but he’s back today, and he wants to meet you.”

your stomach had twisted. you’d known, logically, that you’d have to meet him eventually. but you’d hoped for at least another week to settle in, to maybe practise not sounding like a complete disaster in front of someone whose opinion could dictate your future here.

ms. cho led you down a hallway that felt too long, your heels clicking against the polished floors in a rhythm that matched your racing heartbeat. the air smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and expensive cologne, the kind that lingered in elevators long after the person wearing it had stepped out. your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your blazer, your mouth dry as you mentally rehearsed your greeting. nice to meet you, sir. looking forward to working with you, sir. please don’t think i’m incompetent, sir.

then the door opened, and all those carefully prepared words dissolved into static.

because jake sim was—

well.

he wasn’t just your boss. he was a vision.

he stood near the window, the morning light catching the sharp lines of his profile, one hand tucked casually into his pocket like he’d been waiting for you without a single ounce of impatience. his suit was immaculate, the fabric draping over his shoulders in a way that made it clear it cost more than your rent. his hair was styled just so, not a strand out of place, and when he turned to look at you, his lips curled into a charming smile that showcased his quiet confidence.

your felt like you had been submerged into thick viscous honey, your brain too muddled to function.

“ah,” he said in an unfairly smooth and deep voice. “you must be the new hire.”

your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

this wasn’t happening. you were a professional. you’d practised this. you’d literally rehearsed in the mirror last night.

so why were your palms sweating? why was your pulse hammering in your throat like you’d just sprinted up a flight of stairs?

“nice to—nice, sir. i mean. meet. you.”

the second the words left your mouth, you wanted to claw them back. your voice had pitched up, cracking like you were fifteen and going through puberty all over again. your face burned, your ears hot with humiliation, and in a desperate attempt to play it off, you let out a laugh—or at least, the mangled, high pitched attempt at one.

it echoed in the silence.

ms. cho coughed politely. jake’s eyebrow lifted, slow and deliberate, his smirk deepening like he’d just discovered something fascinating.

you were going to die.

in your panic, you took a step back—only for your heel to catch on the edge of a decorative potted plant. your arms pinwheeled, your balance teetering dangerously, and for one horrifying second, you were certain you were about to crash directly into the very expensive looking side table beside you.

somehow, you didn’t. but the damage was done.

jake’s gaze flickered from your flailing limbs back to your face, his expression shifting into something dangerously close to amusement. like you were the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.

oh god.

you wanted to vanish. you wanted to teleport directly into the nearest trash chute. you wanted to go back in time and never apply for this job.

you see, you had a problem.

a big, humiliating, soul crushing problem that no amount of deep breathing or positive affirmations could fix. it wasn't that you were incompetent—far from it. you'd graduated top of your class, aced every interview, and somehow landed this prestigious position through sheer skill and determination as your first job. no, your problem was far more specific, far more devastating in its simplicity:

you malfunctioned around attractive people.

and not just the casual, oh-they're-nice-looking kind of attractive. no, you short circuited around the kind of devastatingly gorgeous humans who moved through the world like they'd never once doubted their place in it. the kind who could reduce you to a stuttering, blushing mess with nothing more than a glance.

and jake sim?

jake sim was the human embodiment of your downfall.

when hr informed you that you'd been reassigned as his junior assistant, your first reaction had been to laugh—a high, slightly hysterical sound that made the hr manager eye you with concern. 

"this is a great opportunity for you to learn," she'd said, her tone suggesting she didn't understand why you looked like you were about to pass out.

you'd nodded mechanically, your mind already racing through every possible disaster scenario. daily interactions. emails that required actual coherence. eye contact. 

how were you supposed to maintain eye contact when looking at him for too long made your palms sweat and your thoughts scatter like startled birds?

the first week was a special kind of torture.

you arrived early every morning, rehearsing conversations in your head like an actor preparing for a role. you studied his schedule like it was a sacred text, memorising every meeting, every deadline, every detail that might give you even the slightest edge in appearing competent. you told yourself you could do this. you were a professional. you'd worked too hard to let something as trivial as a pretty face unravel you.

but then he'd walk into the room, all sharp suits and effortless confidence, and your carefully constructed composure would crumble like a sandcastle at high tide.

like today.

you'd been reviewing project updates at your desk, your notes meticulously organised, your thoughts clear and focused. you were prepared. you were ready. and then—

"did you get those figures from marketing?"

his voice, smooth and deep, came from directly behind you, closer than you'd expected. you could smell the faint, expensive scent of his cologne—something warm and subtly spicy that made your stomach do a slow, treacherous flip. your fingers froze over the keyboard.

you'd meant to say, "i'll get you those files right away." but what came out was:

"i'll get you anything."

the second the words left your mouth, time seemed to slow. your brain, in its panic, replayed the sentence on a loop, each repetition more horrifying than the last. your pulse pounded in your ears, a frantic drumbeat of oh god oh god oh god.

you tried to laugh it off, but the sound that escaped was less a laugh and more a strangled wheeze, the kind of noise that made people edge away slowly. the silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

jake didn't move. when you finally dared to glance up, his expression was unreadable—just the slight tilt of his head, the faintest arch of one eyebrow. then, slowly, his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"that's a dangerous thing to offer," he said, his voice low and far too amused.

before you could even attempt to salvage the wreckage of your dignity, he was walking away, leaving you sitting there with your face burning, your hands clenched into fists in your lap.

you wanted to disappear. you wanted to rewind the last thirty seconds and try again. you wanted to march into hr and demand a transfer to a department where you'd never have to speak to another human being again—preferably one located in a remote, soundproof bunker.

but instead, you took a shaky breath, straightened your shoulders, and opened the marketing files with exaggerated focus. you could do this. you would do this.

even if it killed you.

the office whispers started innocently enough. a stifled chuckle when you dropped your pen for the third time during the monday meeting. knowing glances exchanged over cubicle walls when you developed a sudden, intense interest in your shoes every time jake entered a room. at first you thought nothing of it—until you overheard lisa from accounting whisper "someone's got a crush" loud enough for half the floor to hear.

today had been particularly catastrophic.

early in the morning, jake had leaned over your desk to point out a formula error, his crisp white sleeve brushing against your forearm. 

"the pivot table in this spreadsheet needs adjusting," he'd said, his voice dipping into that low, measured tone that did something inexplicable to your breathing patterns. 

and then—god help you—you'd giggled. not a polite professional chuckle, but a high- pitched, borderline hysterical sound that seemed to startle both of you. jake had frozen mid sentence, his pen hovering over the document like he wasn't sure whether to correct the numbers or call hr.

"i—sorry, sorry," you'd stammered, your face burning as you desperately tried to salvage the moment, "it's just—pivot tables are so—they're just really—" 

you'd waved your hands vaguely, as if this explained anything. jake had simply blinked, slow and deliberate like a cat observing particularly baffling prey, before continuing his explanation as if nothing had happened. which was somehow worse.

later, you'd been printing reports when jake appeared beside you—silently, like some sort of corporate vampire—reaching across you to grab a stack of documents. his forearm brushed against yours, warm and solid through the fabric of his dress shirt, and your entire nervous system short-circuited. your breath hitched audibly, your fingers spasmed on the copier lid, and for one dizzying moment you were certain you were going to either pass out or vomit directly onto the machine's control panel. 

from the way your coworkers suddenly found reasons to walk past the copier area, you weren't as subtle as you'd hoped.

"you know," maria from marketing had said later in the break room, stirring her coffee with exaggerated casualness, "if you wanted his attention, you're doing great." the grin she shot you was equal parts amused and merciless.

"that's not—i'm not—" you'd sputtered, your coffee cup trembling in your hands. "i have this thing where i just—when people are really—i mean my brain just—" your words dissolved into incoherence, which only made her smirk widen.

the worst, most embarrassing thing was the email disaster which happened at 3:17 pm on tuesday. you remembered the exact time because you'd stared at the timestamp in mute horror for a full minute after hitting send. 

you'd meant to type "i need you to look at it" regarding the quarterly report draft. what you'd actually sent to jake's inbox read: "i need you to look at me."

your blood turned to ice. for thirty full seconds, you simply sat there, fingers hovering over the keyboard like you could somehow un-send the message through sheer force of will. your first instinct was to feign a sudden illness and flee the country. your second was to claim you'd been hacked. 

in the end, you'd settled for sending a follow-up email with the subject line "CORRECTION" in all caps and the body simply reading "THE REPORT. I NEED YOU TO LOOK AT THE REPORT." you didn't explain further. you couldn't.

the afternoon meeting was where everything came to a head. you'd been doing remarkably well—keeping your gaze firmly on your notes, responding in complete sentences, even managing to contribute to the discussion without sounding like you'd suffered a recent head injury. then, as you reached for your water glass, your traitorous hand trembled just enough to send the glass tipping. water cascaded across the conference table in a shimmering wave, soaking documents, laptops, and—most horrifyingly—the front of jake's perfectly tailored trousers.

the room fell silent. your pulse roared in your ears. the water droplet sliding slowly down jake's thigh was the most obscene thing you'd ever witnessed.

"i—oh god—i'm so—" you shot to your feet, knocking your chair over in your haste. napkins appeared as if by magic from various coworkers, though none of them made a move to help, this was clearly too entertaining to interrupt. 

"i'll just—bathroom and paper towels—" you managed to choke out before fleeing the scene, your heels clicking a frantic staccato against the polished floors.

as you rounded the corner, you could have sworn you heard jake murmur something under his breath. later, you'd learn from multiple "helpful" coworkers that what he'd actually said was "she's something else," in a tone that could have been exasperated or amused or—most terrifyingly—intrigued. 

the office gossip mill had already spun this into at least three different romantic subplots by the time you returned with a wad of paper towels and the shattered remains of your dignity.

the worst part was that this was only tuesday. you had three more days of this to survive. as you sat at your desk later, staring blankly at your computer screen, you made a mental note to research whether it was possible to die from secondhand embarrassment—specifically, embarrassment generated by your own inability to function like a normal human being around your unfairly attractive boss.

things escalated in the worst possible way when jake started hovering more.

it began subtly—a coffee cup appearing on your desk when you hadn’t asked for one, the rich, bitter scent wafting up as you stared at it like it might be a trap. you’d glanced around, searching for the culprit, only to find jake already walking away, hands tucked into his pockets like he hadn’t just disrupted your entire morning with an act of kindness you weren’t equipped to handle.

then came the project updates. suddenly, he was asking for your input on things that weren’t even under your purview, leaning against the edge of your desk while you fumbled through explanations, your throat dry under the weight of his attention. 

and then things somehow got worse when he started leaning down towards you. not enough to be inappropriate, but enough that you could smell the faint, expensive cedar of his cologne, enough that his voice dropped into a low, private timbre that sent your pulse skittering. it felt deliberate. it felt like a test you were failing spectacularly.

like today.

you’d been caught staring. again. 

this time during a department meeting, your gaze drifting helplessly toward where jake sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled under his chin, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the too-bright conference room lights. you hadn’t meant to look. or maybe you had. maybe you were a glutton for punishment, for the way your stomach swooped when his eyes flicked up and caught you, his eyebrow lifting just slightly.

"you good?" his voice was quiet, just for you, the words curling around you like smoke.

your brain short circuited. you could feel the heat creeping up your neck, your fingers tightening around your pen like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. play it cool, you begged yourself. just say something normal.

"low blood sugar," you mumbled, the lie tumbling out before you could stop it. you weren’t even sure what that meant in this context—were you implying you were dizzy? hungry? medically compromised?—but jake didn’t call you on it. he just smirked, slow and knowing, like he could see right through you.

you should’ve known then that you’d made a mistake.

because after that, snacks from him started appearing. protein bars tucked into your desk drawer. a banana left beside your keyboard with no explanation. once, horrifyingly, a lollipop—bright red and obscenely shiny—placed directly on top of your morning report. you’d stared at it for a full minute, your face burning, before stuffing it into your bag like contraband. 

you swore he watched you eat them. not obviously, not in a way you could call him out on, but in those fleeting moments when you glanced up from unwrapping a granola bar to find his gaze already on you, dark and unreadable.

it all came to a head when you thought he was out of the office.

you’d been ranting to yuna in the break room, your voice a hushed, frantic whisper as you paced in front of the microwave. 

"he keeps looking at me like i’m trying to seduce him," you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "i’m not. i just—i don’t know how to behave around him, it’s like i’m socially defective."

yuna had opened her mouth to respond—probably to laugh at you, the traitor—when a cough cut through the room.

your blood turned to ice.

jake stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, his expression perfectly neutral. how long had he been there? how much had he heard? your stomach dropped straight through the floor as your brain replayed your own words in brutal, high definition clarity. socially defective. oh god.

for one endless second, no one moved. then jake tilted his head—just slightly, like he was considering something—and walked away without a word.

you died a thousand deaths in that moment.

you expected things to be awkward after that. unbearable, even. but the next day, jake was... different. he smiled more—slow, deliberate smiles that made your palms sweat. he stared longer, his gaze lingering even when you ducked your head, even when you pretended not to notice. and then, over lunch—a lunch he had invited you to, a lunch you’d agreed to out of some masochistic impulse.

he leaned back in his chair and asked, casual as anything, "what kind of guy do you like?"

you choked on your drink.

your mind raced through a dozen possible responses—professional, respectful, not my boss—before settling on the dumbest possible answer. "alive," you croaked.

jake snorted, his lips quirking in a way that made your chest ache. "good start," he said, and something in his voice that sounded warm and interested, sent your heart into freefall.

the office that night was too quiet, the silence pressing on your ears and making them ring. 

you'd stayed late to finish some work, the blue light of your computer screen the only thing cutting through the dark. outside, the city hummed—car horns, distant sirens, the occasional burst of laughter from people who still had lives at this hour. your coffee had gone cold hours ago, but you kept sipping it anyway, the bitter taste matching your mood.

when the door creaked open, you didn't even look up. probably just the cleaning crew. but then you caught that scent—something expensive and faintly spicy, cutting through the stale office air. your fingers froze over the keyboard.

"still here?"

jake's voice was rougher than usual, tired around the edges. when you finally turned, he was leaning against your desk, two fresh coffees in hand. his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing those stupidly perfect forearms. his tie hung loose around his neck like he'd been yanking at it all day. he looked rumpled in a way that made your stomach do something complicated.

"uh. yeah." you swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry your throat was. "report."

he set one of the coffees down in front of you. the good stuff, from that place around the corner that charged way too much. "drink that before you pass out."

you wanted to say something clever. instead, your fingers fumbled with the lid, the plastic making an embarrassingly loud crack in the quiet office. 

jake didn't leave. just sank into the chair across from you with a quiet groan, stretching his long legs out until his shoe bumped yours. you jerked back like you'd been shocked.

for a while, the only sounds were your typing and the occasional sip of coffee. except you couldn't focus, not with him sitting there watching you. your fingers kept slipping, typing "jaje" instead of "jake" before you could stop yourself. you deleted it so fast your mouse clicked echoed.

"you're staring," he said suddenly.

you choked on your coffee. "i wasn't—"

"you were." he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "at my mouth, specifically."

your face burned. you had been. just for a second. because his lips were chapped from the cold outside, and he kept worrying at the bottom one with his teeth, and—

"am i distracting you?" his voice dropped, taking on that low, teasing quality that made your pulse jump.

"no," you lied, your voice cracking.

a beat passed and then a tiny, pathetic noise escaped you—something between a whimper and a hiccup. you wanted to die(again). 

jake's eyes darkened, his smirk turning predatory. he leaned in closer, close enough that you could see the faint stubble shadowing his jaw, close enough that his knee pressed against yours under the desk and stayed there.

"if i didn't know better," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek, "i'd say you like me, sweetheart."

your brain paused all activities and all you could manage was a strangled "jake—" that sounded more like a plea than a protest.

he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his grin all sharp edges. "i'm kidding."

but the way his fingers brushed yours as he took your empty coffee cup said he absolutely wasn't.

over the past few days, something subtle had shifted between you and jake without either of you acknowledging it. the nervous stuttering that used to plague your conversations had faded into something smoother, something more natural. 

the late night coffee incident had been weeks ago, but its ghost lingered in every interaction since. you'd noticed the shift—how your pulse no longer raced quite so violently when jake entered a room, how your hands remained steady when passing him files. you still noticed the way his dress shirts stretched across his shoulders when he reached for files, still caught yourself staring at his hands when he typed, but the panic those observations used to trigger had mellowed into a warm flutter low in your stomach. you could even hold his gaze for entire sentences now without feeling like your skin might catch fire. progress, you'd thought. until today.

the copy machine hummed its familiar tune as you leaned against it, listening to the new marketing associate—ethan? evan?—recount his disastrous first client meeting. 

his animated storytelling had you laughing, the sound louder than intended in the quiet office. when his hand brushed your arm in emphasis, you didn't stiffen like you would have weeks ago. which made jake's sudden appearance and grip on your elbow all the more startling.

"conference room. now." his voice carried that particular edge you'd come to recognise—the one that brooked no argument.

you barely had time to mutter an apology to not-ethan before jake was steering you down the hall, his fingers burning through your blazer sleeve. the break room door clicked shut behind you with finality. 

jake paced like a caged animal, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair until it stood in disarray.

"you and the new guy looked awfully friendly." the words came out clipped, his back turned as he pretended sudden fascination with the microwave's keypad.

you blinked. "we were just talking."

"talking." he scoffed, finally turning. the fluorescent lights caught the tension in his jaw. "is that what they're calling it now?"

the realisation dawned slowly, then all at once—the way jake's coffee deliveries always seemed to coincide with your conversations with others, how he'd suddenly taken interest in your lunch plans, the barely concealed irritation whenever someone lingered too long at your desk. your stomach swooped.

"wait." you stepped closer, watching his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "are you... jealous?"

jake's laugh was humourless. "don't flatter yourself."

but his eyes, dark and stormy, betrayed him. you saw it then: the insecurity beneath the polished exterior, the fear that your newfound ease around him wasn't comfort earned through shared late nights and inside jokes, but because your attention had wandered.

the elevator ride down that evening was thick with tension. jake stood unnaturally still, his reflection in the metal doors betraying clenched fists and a ticking jaw. you watched the floor numbers descend, exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders.

"you think i'm playing some game," you said quietly, not quite a question.

jake's reflection met yours. "aren't you?"

the doors opened on the empty lobby. neither of you moved.

"all those blushes and stammers," he continued, voice rough. "the way you'd trip over yourself whenever i got too close. and now?" his hand shot out to stop the doors from closing. "nothing. like i've become... ordinary."

the raw vulnerability in his words stole your breath. you turned, really looking at him—the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his tie hung slightly crooked. the man beneath the polished veneer.

"jake," you breathed, stepping closer. "you could never be ordinary."

something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "prove it."

the first kiss was all collision—lips bruising, teeth clashing. you gasped as jake backed you into the wall, his hands finding your hips with a possessiveness that set your nerves alight.

"fuck," he growled against your mouth when your fingers tangled in his hair. "you have no idea how long i've—"

you cut him off with another kiss, revelling in the way his body shuddered against yours. his palms slid under your blouse, calloused fingers mapping your skin like he was committing you to memory.

"still think i was seducing you?" you managed between kisses, arching into his touch.

jake nipped at your bottom lip, drawing a whimper you'd deny later. "sweetheart," he murmured, breath hot against your skin, "you've been wrecking me since day one."

some distant part of your brain registered the security cameras, the professionalism you were shattering, the inevitable hr disaster. it was drowned out by the way jake's hands trembled as they traced your ribs, by the broken sound he made when you scraped your nails down his back.

when you finally broke apart—lips swollen, breathing ragged—jake rested his forehead against yours. his thumb traced your cheekbone with unexpected tenderness.

"we're going to get fired," you whispered, even as your fingers toyed with his belt loop.

jake's grin was all sinful promise as he stole one more kiss. "best damn termination notice i'll ever receive." (don't do this guys)

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[amnxp]

You in my arms

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x fem!reader

warning: lots n lots n lots of kisses, and mentions of some insecurities on Joaquin's part

Wordcount: 2.5k

summary: You kiss Joaquin's scars as he sleeps.

A/n:something cute something nice something also entirely self indulgent be i couldnt stop thinking about it after his crash he would 100% have scars tagt he was insecure about n just imagine kissing them all uhhhhh yes please me and the other 5 joaquin fans woulddddd

Oh also there is a aecond part of i'll see you in a minute in the works:p

Toodles

Masterlist

English is not my first language please be aware!

He had been released from the hospital a few weeks ago. According to Sam, he wasn’t allowed on any type of mission or even to get information about said missions. No, what he had to do was lie down and rest. Did he do either? Mostly no, but still, you managed.

At times, you’d find him training, either in the gym or in his room, and you would always scold him endlessly for it. He had just gotten out of the hospital why the hell was he so eager to send himself right back? You knew his physical therapist was just as against his intense training as you were, and still, he refused to listen. To you, or to anybody else, for that matter. At some point, you decided to just give up, not fully, but you did ease up on him after some time, because you realized what this was. He wasn’t outright trying to be annoying or undo his recovery. He was trying to get back a sense of normalcy in his life after not being able to do anything for so long. And maybe you’d been a little selfish not to notice that sooner.

Right now, you were rummaging around the kitchen, looking for something to snack on. After about five minutes, you found nothing, so you gave up and went to search for Joaquin. Maybe he had a secret stash of sweets or snacks somewhere near him. Pushing his (your) bedroom door open, you spotted him—shirtless and in shorts, sprawled out in a full starfish pose across the bed. His chest was slowly rising and falling, indicating that he was in a deep slumber. Softly trudging in, mindful not to wake him up, you settled down next to him. On your side, with your hand propping up your head, you admired him—his sharp nose, his long eyelashes, his lush black curls and slowly your eyes began to drift. Not in a perverted sense, but rather in a quiet, homely one.

Your eyes found countless scars littered all over his torso, with one huge scar stretched across his chest the very same area where they’d laid him down open on the surgical table. You remembered the scene as if it were unfolding before your eyes all over again. How cold he looked. How gone he was. All you could do was stare. You didn’t know if your grief should start, or if he would pull through. All you knew was fear. Paralyzing fear. Your eyes darted back to his face. Before you knew it, you let out a small, shaky sigh possibly out of relief, of just having him here, in your arms.

You placed your hand lazily on his chest, then stroked your thumb over his skin. Your thumb traced each small and large scar you could find with his chest bare in front of you. He was still soundly asleep, but by now, his eyebrows had started to furrow, perhaps he was having a troubled dream, or maybe he could feel what you were doing.

You knew Joaquin. All his training and all of his avoidance when it came to talking about that mission stemmed from his insecurities. He was scared that that was the end of his superhero life and he was ashamed of it. When he had come back to his senses after the coma, you had yelled at him. There’d been little to no bite in it, but still you’d warned him. You told him how stupid and how selfish it was of him to ignore Sam’s orders and just dive headfirst, quite literally, into danger.

He hadn’t seemed like he cared. All he did was stare at you and mumble that you should stop talking and just kiss him already. You smile at the memory, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. Your eyes linger on the scar in the middle of his chest. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward and placed one soft kiss on one of the smaller scars. Your eyes flitted up to check if he had woken, but he was still in deep sleep. So instead, your lips found purchase on another scar. And another. And another. Each one that was longer earned several kisses peppered along its length. When you reached his neck, your kisses slowed, became more sincere. Thanks to his fall, he’d gotten a large burn scar along the side of his neck.

The last one remaining free from your soft attack was the biggest one, the one across his chest.

You let out a sigh before your index finger gently grazed down the length of it. You leaned your head forward and pressed one long, slightly wet kiss, because you’d wet your lips beforehand onto the edge of the scar. Shifting carefully, you moved your legs to straddle both of his, mindful not to put any actual pressure on him. Once again, you admired him. It didn’t matter how mad or how sad you were at Joaquin—his beauty, to you, was still ravishing. Sometimes, you just wanted to stuff him in your pocket and never let anyone see him again. Only you. But alas, you couldn’t. And you were sure that if Joaquin knew how you felt, he’d tease you about it until the very last day of your life together.

Your lips found purchase at the beginning of his scar, and slowly but surely, you drew kisses along the entire length of it.

“Baby,” his voice cut through the silence, rough and still thick with sleep. You felt his hand gently running through your hair. “Morning, baby,” you smiled, pulling yourself up toward him, your lips hovering just shy of his. Your smile grew into a full-blown grin you couldn’t hide, even if you tried.

Through the window to your right, the sun was shining through, casting a golden light that illuminated Joaquin’s features just perfectly. “You look perfect,” you muttered, finally closing the distance to plant your lips on his.

He let out a soft sigh, both of his hands cradling the sides of your face as he kissed you back. Slowly, he pulled himself upright with you still against him, lips not parting even once. Even as you pulled away slightly, he quickly leaned in again, shaking his head at the loss of your mouth on his. Ever the romantic. Muffled against his lips, you called his name. “Joaquin.”

“Hmmm?” he hummed, still chasing the kiss. Finally, his lips parted from yours. “What were you doing?” “Nothing,” you replied, though your smile gave you away completely. His eyebrows raised in fake mockery. “I felt you, you know.” “Mmhmm, so?” you teased. “Can’t I admire my beautiful boyfriend?” Your eyes flickered across his face before you leaned in to plant more kisses on his neck. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders while his hands found your waist, settling there with a soft grip.

His skin was warm beneath your lips, comforting and familiar and yet, somehow, still addictive. You couldn’t stop. Not that you ever wanted to.

But then you felt him squirm beneath you, and reluctantly, you slowly pulled away, glancing around the room in search of your phone. “You already distracted? You just woke me up in the best way possible, baby—what the hell you looking for?” His lips land against yours again before you can even answer.

You hum into the kiss, your hand curling into the soft, messy curls at the back of his head. You kissed him back with the same kind of care, the kind that told him he was safe here, that every scar, every part of him, was loved.

“I was gonna take a picture,” you whispered as he pulled away just slightly, his nose brushing yours.

“A picture?”, he tilts his head slightly eyes finding yours.

You nod, sheepishly. “You looked really pretty in the light. And I wanted to remember this moment.”

A soft pink spread across Joaquin’s cheeks, something that always made your chest squeeze. He was good at pretending to be cocky, but at the core, he was so tender, so humble, it broke your heart a little every time.

“Next time,” he mumbled, burying his face in your neck. “Right now I just want you close.” You smile and shift slightly to the side, letting him pull you back onto the bed beneath you, arms wrapping around your waist like he was scared you might vanish if he let go. Arms cup your ribs. “I mean it,” you say into his hair. “You’re beautiful, Joaquin. All of you.“, you see his eyes dart to the side, his eyebrows furrowing in an unspoken question. Even the scars? „These scars“, your hands trails one softly „They’re not ugly. They’re proof you made it home. To me. And that you didn’t give up.” He exhales deeply against your skin, and it feels like something loosens in him. Like your words reached the part of him that still worried he wasn’t enough—not strong enough, not good enough, not whole enough to be someone’s hero anymore. Or more importantly your hero.

“I was scared,” he admits quietly. “When I woke up… and you just weren‘t there. I couldn‘t feel anything i could barely even see anything. Sam just looked at me which such…guilt. I thought surely you left me snd that was why you weren‘t there.“

You pull back just enough to cup his face between your hands, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones. “Never,” you whisper. “God, Joaquin, I could never leave you. You think any of that matters to me? You being here, you being alive, that’s all I care about. Can‘t say though that i wasn‘t mad at you for being reckless. Me and Sam talked shit about you for hours”, a small chuckle left you. „Wowww...even in a state of half-death you still find it in yourself to torture me. Ouch“ he fakes a pout that you just couldn’t resist. Your lips find his again, this time slower, deeper. The kind of kiss that said stay, that said heal, that said you’re mine and I’m yours and we’ll figure it out together.

When you pull away, he’s smiling through a shaky breath.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers.

You roll your eyes fondly. “Don’t start with that. You think I kissed your entire body just for fun?”

“Maybe a little for fun.”

You grin and lightly smack his chest. He catches your wrist, then intertwines your fingers with his. For a few moments, the silence is the only thing that speaks—soft, warm, comfortable.

“I missed this,” he says after a while. “Not just lying in bed. I missed you.” “You were right here the whole time, dummy.”, you let out a soft sigh. “I’m glad you’re back, my love.”

“I love you,” he says, barely above a whisper.

You smile against his skin, letting the words settle like sunlight across your chest.

“I love you more.”

“You always have to win,” he murmurs, already starting to doze off again, smile still lingering on his lips.

You press one last kiss to the center of his chest, right along the scar and let yourself relax in his arms. The world could wait. For now, all that mattered was this—his heartbeat, your breath syncing with his, and the silent promise you made every time you kissed a scar: I see you. I love you. You’re still mine.

And this time, you knew he finally believed it too.

[luffington]

hihi, how are u⁉️ may i request jealous crocodile and/or doflamingo smut? i am OBSESSED w ur fur & feathers story, you’re an amazing writer!! thank you sm 🙏🫶💓‼️

➤ pairing: sir crocodile x afab!reader

➤ word count: 2.6k

➤ warnings: dom!crocodile, possessive behavior, spanking, degradation, praise, belly bulge, overstimulation, mentioned breeding kink, established relationship, fem reader

aww i'm glad you like it! i decided to give crocodile some love since i already have a few fics about doffy :3 i had really bad horny brainrot writing this he drives me insane

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Deciding not to join Baroque Works was your own choice, but you shouldn’t be suffering for it.

The crime syndicate’s leader and you had been in a relationship for quite a while. You’d long since accepted his dedication to his job and his workaholic tendencies – a serious job required someone just as serious. But recently, it had gotten to be too much. 

He spent sixteen hours a day holed up in his office, pouring over documents and answering calls and meeting with Miss All Sunday. Grunted quiet greetings when he came home at night, climbing into bed beside you then falling asleep immediately. He’d barely said three words to you all week. 

You were jealous of the fucking Transponder Snail for how much attention it got. It was time to take matters into your own hands.

So you put on your sluttiest dress, a nice pair of heels, and flashy diamond earrings, then wandered around the massive Rain Dinners casino looking for easy prey. You settled on a drunk average-looking man with a winning streak at roulette. He openly ogled your body as you approached, and smirked lecherously when you asked if the empty seat on his left was taken. 

The man clearly wasn’t a local. He didn’t recognize you, even though you weren’t shy about hanging onto Crocodile’s arm in public. And he was much too stupid to notice the casino staff’s constant nervous glances. While laughing and holding your drink, you brushed a flirty hand over his shoulder and pressed your body against him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Crocodile emerge from the staff-only hallway to survey the room. Everything about him commanded attention – his abnormal height, his expensive clothes, his intimidating presence. In a flash, he materialized behind you. Half of his body was still reforming from a whirling sandstorm. Menacing golden eyes shone down at you, but his expression was eerily blank. 

The entire casino fell silent. Everyone’s focus was on you.

Crocodile exhaled a pungent cloud of cigar smoke. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Bullshit. He’d hardly looked at you at all for nearly two weeks. Ignoring the shivers running down your spine, you decided to continue taunting him.

“I’m watching my good friend here play roulette! He’s very lucky, he might take all your money home with him.” You didn’t even remember the man’s name, but you lied with a cheeky grin and firmly patted his thigh twice.

Much too friendly for Crocodile’s liking.

Your lover’s eyes narrowed in on the empty martini glass in front of you. “How many of those have you had?”

“I dunno, three? Four?” You turned to the stranger with a saccharine smile. “Were you keeping count?”

The man was frozen in place, terrified into silence at the sight of the eight foot tall Warlord towering above him. His all-consuming fear made him seem like a small animal staring into a Bananawani’s open jaws.

“You’re drunk. You should sit down.” Crocodile’s tone was steady but dangerous. Always aware of his public image, his carefully chosen words made him seem like the perfect gentleman. 

“But I am sit–“ 

A murderous glare cut you off mid-sentence. You realized you’d taken your bratty act as far as it could go – any more might be threatening to your well-being. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you rose from your seat and automatically moved to his side. Tucked yourself into the folds of his coat, choosing to look down at your heels rather than his face.

“Make yourself comfortable in my office, darling.” The Warlord patted your shoulder, causing you to flinch. His voice dropped an octave as he growled, “I’d like to speak to this lucky gentleman in private.” 

Crocodile’s pristine office was unnervingly quiet. You took a seat on the plush couch facing his desk, nervously bouncing your legs and trying to calm your racing heartbeat. With the lights off, the room was only illuminated by the water surrounding it. Dark shadows of swimming Bananawani regularly moved across the walls. Silly little prey, willingly walking into their nest.

The door suddenly slammed shut behind you. Heavy footsteps slowly approached but you didn’t dare turn around. Rich cologne flooded your nostrils and his golden hook flashed in your peripheral vision. 

Your lover stayed quiet, patiently biding his time until the silence finally got to you. Timidly, you asked, “What happened to that man?”

“What man?” Your lover cocked his head to the side, feigning ignorance. After a moment, a sadistic chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Oh, you mean the mummy in the back room. Let’s say he mysteriously disappeared.”

You whipped your head around with wide eyes. “You killed him for me?” 

Oddly, you didn’t feel bad about it – that man was a creep. Getting rid of him was probably a blessing for the women of Alabasta.

“Of course. I’d do anything for you, dear.” He sounded sincere, but then leaned down and fiercely whispered, “Except play this stupid game of yours. I like showing you off, not sharing you.”

Soft breath tickled your cheek and the fur lining of his coat brushed against your skin. You felt a fire ignite in your core – he was irresistibly sexy when he became possessive (well, more possessive than usual). 

“Have I done something to upset you?” Crocodile kissed and licked down the column of your neck. “Or were you taunting me for fun?”

“Y-You’ve been so busy lately, I was–” The word ‘lonely’ died on your lips when he sunk his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder. 

“Oh, my poor dear. Are you feeling neglected?” He cooed when you shyly nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to the bite mark. “I’m very sorry. Work’s been out of control recently, but everything will settle down soon. You have my attention now.”

The tip of his hook slid under your dress’s thin shoulder strap, then cleanly tore through it. He repeated the action on the other side until the torn fabric slipped down to reveal your bare breasts. 

“Not even wearing a bra?” Your lover clicked his tongue, roughly cupping and caressing your right boob then smacking the soft flesh. “If that man looked down your dress, then his death sentence was too lenient. I should’ve tortured him.”

“You’re so scary,” you giggled, letting your head fall back against his sturdy chest with a content sigh. Grainy fingers traced your areola then rubbed over your hardened nipples. Thankfully, you knew you’d never experience the true extent of his wrath – he adored you.

Without warning, he wrapped his cold hook around your throat. The proximity of its sharp edge to such a dangerous area made your hair stand on end. 

“Bend over my desk,” he commanded, gently nipping your ear. “Darling.”

You stumbled over to the enormous desk, legs shaking from anticipation and arousal. Bracing your arms on the polished wood, you arched your back and presented your ass to him. The Warlord took a moment to admire the view, amused by your visible impatience.

“I bought you these,” Crocodile drawled, tracing the waistband of your silky panties with the curved back of his hook. You never saw their price tag, but they felt expensive. He poked your earlobe. “I bought you those earrings, too. They cost more berry than that pathetic man could ever make. Everything about you belongs to me – seems like I have to remind you.”

A large hand came down on your ass hard, jiggling the soft flesh and making you cry out in delight. The collection of rings on his fingers added a delicious extra sting. Three more spanks followed rapidly in the same spot, then four on the other cheek until every part of your ass ached.

Crocodile snickered when you rubbed your thighs together like an animal in heat. A wet spot had already dampened your panties. “Silly little slut. If you wanted to be spanked, you should’ve just asked. No need for all the theatrics.”

“Didn’t have a chance to since you were talking to that Snail all fucking day.” Your petulant mumble quickly turned into a yelp when his hand brutally struck the crease of your thighs. Making sure you’d feel the sting every time you sat down. He grabbed the roots of your hair and yanked your head back. 

“Watch your tone,” Crocodile growled. The Warlord released you, catching you before your limp body hit the desk and easily flipped you onto your back. A wicked smirk almost as wide as his scar spread across his face. He hungrily observed your body like a predator about to pounce. 

He pulled down your panties with an unnerving carefulness – he didn’t want to damage his property, after all. Then he roughly spanked your bare pussy. Your surprised cry of pain echoed throughout the empty room. Satisfied with your reaction, he did it again and again until your folds turned puffy. 

Crocodile spread your cunt using the back of his hook so he could land a direct hit on your sensitive clit. The impact on your bundle of nerves sent electric shocks throughout your body, your back arching painfully off the table. Your lover chuckled and swiped two fingers through your drenched folds. 

“Who else can make you this wet?” Crocodile webbed your juices between his fingers before bringing them to your lips. Obediently opening your mouth, you suckled and swirled your tongue around them. Paying extra attention to his rings, making sure the precious jewels shined with your spit. Though it was a rhetorical question, he pulled his fingers out to hear your response. 

“No one.” You answered honestly, your eyes dilated with lust and chest heaving. “Just you.”

“You’re damn right.” Crocodile unlatched his belt, letting his trousers hit the floor with a metallic clang. His enormous dick smacked against his pelvis, rock hard and leaking pearly precum. You unconsciously licked your lips at the sight. “Can’t let another cock can satisfy you, either. I need to ruin you for anyone else.”

Demanding you to look directly at him, he lined up his tip with your hole and thrust his hips forward. Slowly at first – his massive cock often met resistance in your tiny cunt – but after the first few inches, he slammed the entire length inside. Knocking all the air out of your lungs, your head lolling back on the desk. Crocodile stayed like that, appreciating the pretty bulge in your belly. 

“Crocodile, please…” 

“My name sounds perfect on your lips.” That predatory gaze was back, the need to possess you overwhelming his thoughts. Your lover pulled back until only the tip remained in your dripping pussy, then harshly rammed his dick in all the way. 

Quickly setting a rough pace, Crocodile palmed at your tits with rough hands then leaned into the crook of your neck, whispering a dizzying mix of praise and degrading phrases. All of your coherent thoughts vanished from your brain. 

You clutched onto his coat to ground yourself, to not get lost in the sea of pleasure washing over you. His cock was too fucking big. Too fucking good. It bullied its way inside your wet walls, permanently reshaping them to the perfect fit as he called you his pretty little cocksleeve.

Over a week’s worth of pent-up sexual urges were quickly coming to a head. Crocodile knew your body so well that he immediately recognized the signs of your impending orgasm. He reached his hand between your bodies to rub circles on your clit, pinching and pulling the sensitive nub for good measure.

“H-Holy fuck, ahhh, shit, I’m gonna…” 

The Warlord smirked cruelly and paused his movements with his cock halfway inside you. “Apologize for being a brat. For even looking at that worthless man.”

If you had a stronger resolve, you could’ve kept this game going even longer. Asked him to apologize for ignoring you. Maybe even gotten a few more spanks out of it. But you needed to cum, and you desperately needed his giant cock to move. 

“I’m sorry,” you panted desperately. “I won’t be bratty anymore, I promise. You’re the only man I’ll ever want. I’ll do anything, just – please, please, let me cum.”

“Very good girl.” Crocodile rewarded you by sensually rolling his hips to stir your insides around. Snickering, he admitted, “Although, I do enjoy when you act up every once in a while. You’re especially sexy when you submit to me.”

Your lover resumed fucking you hard enough to make the desk creak. Legs shaking with every thrust, your eyes were unfocused and the only thought in your head was how full you felt. Looking down, you dreamily watched the bump in your stomach move up and down as his dick rearranged your guts.

“Scream my name loud enough for the entire casino to hear when you cum. Let them know who owns you.”

Just one scream wasn’t enough for you – you chanted his name like a prayer as your orgasm hit you in full force. Juices gushed around Crocodile’s cock and dripped down his balls. He lazily fondled your clit to help you through it, only pulling away once the aftershocks had subsided. You lay limply on the desk, face flushed and chest heaving. 

Belatedly, you realized that Crocodile hadn’t budged. A concerning sign.

“You… you didn’t cum?”

“This soon? Of course not. I didn’t commit murder for one measly orgasm,” he chuckled. “Evidently, I have a lot of lost time to make up for. Your cunt better be prepared.”

“W-wait, give me a minute –”

“No, dear, you were right. I spent too much time ignoring you. You deserve all my love.” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust that knocked his mushroom tip against your cervix. “And affection.” Another thrust. “And every inch of my cock.”

Filthy squelching sounds and your lover’s balls slapping against your ass accompanied your overwhelmed scream. Tears pricked at your eyes as he increased his pace, your brain becoming as mushy as your cunt. 

“Such a perfect pussy. Only a real man like me can treat it properly.” Crocodile murmured smugly. Leaning down to press his body flush against yours, his muscular pecs squished against your tits. His normally slicked-back hair was coming undone, strands sticking to his forehead from sweat. Dizzying pleasure washed over you when his fingers found your clit again.

Crocodile felt his balls tighten, but held himself back from the edge by slowing down to a relaxed grind, focusing all of his attention on you. You fucking lost your mind when he spelled each letter of his name on your sensitive bundle of nerves. A second orgasm washed over you in a bright light, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you murmured absolute nonsense mixed with cries of his name. 

Your cunt clamping down on his cock like a vice sent him over the edge. At the very last second, Crocodile pulled out to spurt thick stripes of cum across your stomach. With a deep, satisfied groan, he jerked himself to completion until your skin was painted white. Fully marking you as his own. 

Satisfaction and exhaustion made your eyes flutter shut, but Crocodile ensured you stayed awake by giving you a surprisingly tender forehead kiss. Cradling your cheek, he asked, “Feel better?”

“My ass hurts, but yes. I feel great.” You nodded with a fucked-out grin, chasing his lips for a real kiss which he eagerly granted.

“Good. As pretty as you look covered in my cum, the next load is going inside you. I need to fuck a baby into my beautiful girl.”

His next load? Your eyes widened when he began stroking his cock again, still soft but beginning to twitch with interest. Turning your head, you met the downward-turned eyestalks of his shut-off Transponder Snail. 

[demonvibez]

Showering with Diavolo

Characters: Lord Diavolo x GN Reader Word Count: 2.3k+ Rating: Mature/Explicit [MDNI] Tags: a lil fluff, unprotected penetration, outercourse, fangs/marking, gn body parts A/N: Received this request as a comment under this fic so of course I had to write a lil headcanon/drabble about my husband, lol. Anyways, hope y'all like this - I could go on about Showertime Dia forever ♡

-> Typically Lord Diavolo has to adhere to a very strict schedule, his life filled with routine. Sadly, his hygiene regiment is no different - quick fifteen minute showers, six days per week, with the exception of his weekly bubble bath. 

-> Most of his showers are quite quick and methodical, starting with his hair and working his way to washing his body. At the end of the fifteen minutes, Barbatos is usually there to greet him with his towel and uniform, eager to get the Young Master's very busy day started.

-> He has probably been gifted every hair-care and body gel to ever exist in the Devildom. But instead, his favorite is one you gifted him, and he is sure to use it everyday. The moment the musky-amber scent hits his nostrils in the morning, it reminds him of you, and he just knows he'll have a good day that day.

-> On Saturday evenings, however, the Prince has a little more time to himself - he pours himself some Demonus and settles into his jacuzzi-style bathtub, the water jets melting away the week's worries.

-> He usually uses the time to catch up on whatever popular shows he's missed, the television in his bathroom being a new addition. You had given him this idea - you told him that 'even the future king needs a little bit of me time,' and he started crafting an Akuzon order almost immediately after you walked off to class.

-> He lets himself drift off into his own peaceful oasis - too often falling into slumber, as thoughts of you turn into dreams. Lately though, he can't help but to feel like something is missing - that sitting in this jacuzzi makes him feel a bit lonely.

♡ "If only you were here with me now," he whispers to himself, before letting out a sigh and sinking beneath the water's surface.

-> Luckily for Lord Diavolo, the stars would soon align in his favor, and the fates would push you two closer together. It all started on a camping trip with the usual crowd from RAD. Diavolo had volunteered to help you gather some firewood - a rather simple task, one would think. Instead this task ended with the two of you running into a pack of wild hellhounds, and getting pushed into a mud pit while attempting to play with them. Barbatos looked rather perturbed when he saw the two of you arrive back at camp, but you assured him that everything was fine. 'Come on, let's get cleaned up,' you say with a smirk to a slightly shocked (and very giddy) Diavolo, your fingers entwining with his as you pull him towards the camp showers.

-> He isn't usually a shy demon, but when it comes to stripping down and getting into this shower with you, he can't seem to keep the blush on his face under control. What started as a nice shower together, washing each other's hair and giggling as you splash each other, ends with the two of you in a passionate embrace. With your legs wrapped around his torso, your lips collide as the cool shower's water cascades down Diavolo's toned back. It definitely would have gone further, had the two of you not been interrupted by Mammon and Levi banging on the door. (He did invite you back to his tent afterwards, so the night was not completely lost. Mammon and Levi were also lectured by Lucifer, 'for their shame and disrespect' as he puts it - but that's a different story.)

-> Ever since that night on the camping trip, your relationship has blossomed, and the two to of you spend as much time together as possible. You usually alternate between staying over with each other - most of the time you go over to stay with him in the Castle, but every now and then you are able to convince Lucifer that the House is clean enough for your Royal Boyfriend to spend the night.

-> The first time he stays over, of course the two of you shower together! You ask him if you should text Barbatos to bring over some of his shower supplies, but Diavolo insists on using yours, excited to smell like your signature scent for the rest of the day. He'll always insist on using your products - a light breeze of that scent helps him get through those endless meetings! (Although it does tend to make his mind wander...)

♡ Showers with Diavolo are always a mix of spontaneous and sensual. One moment you're splashing each other with soap suds, playing 'keep away' with the loofah…the next he has you pinned to the wall, unable to resist the way you look up at him, and he can't stop his lips from crashing onto yours. 

♡ It doesn't take much effort for him to pick you up, cradling you in his arms as the shower rains down onto the both of you - and now you can finally finish what the two of you started on that night camping; what Diavolo has been fantasizing about ever since. Your hands slide his damp crimson hair back out of his face, gripping it in the back as your tongues collide. You can feel Dia's thick throbbing cock teasing you, and all you can do is grind against him. 

♡ He slides into you so effortlessly - as if you were made for him. Your arousal made you putty in his hands, your tight little hole adjusting to him after only a moment - but you still couldn't help the gasp you let out at his size, your eyes widening at the sensation.

♡ Every thrust in this position feels new, an unfathomable pleasure previously undiscovered. A new high, with no sight of the top. Each stroke hits so deeply within you with an electric feel, the rush of pleasure getting sent up to your brain, overstimulating all of your senses. The euphoria continues to build, and you don't know if it will ever end - if the tension will ever snap. 

♡ The rising pleasure within you is starting to overwhelm you, having never felt so full before. Just when you thought you couldn't handle much more, the Prince slides one of his hands down to your sex, massaging you in tandem with his pace. Your nails dig into the flesh of his muscular shoulders as he finally pushes you over the edge. He finds himself following suit not long after, the feeling of your tight hole clenching around him making him unable to hold back any longer.

♡ Both of your moans fill the air as you ride out your climax together. Gasping for air, you hear a knock on the glass of the shower's door - you were so wrapped up in this moment together that neither of you heard Barbatos enter the bathroom. He waited until it sounded as though the two of you were finished before he interrupted your 'shower' - and now he's reminding you of the Young Master's busy schedule for today in a scolding tone, as he holds out towels for you both. Oops.

-> Anyways, you also love spending weekends at the Castle with him - it's easier to flow with his schedule that way. And of course Diavolo is going to invite you to his Saturday night soak; you're his favorite human, his lover, his partner…and it was originally your idea, in the first place! 

-> Just know that this demon spent extensive time planning out your first bubble bath together - he had to pull out all of the stops! 

-> The Friday morning beforehand, Barbatos comes in to wake up his Young Prince, only to find him already awake and making a rather large Akuzon order on his DDD. Scented candles, chocolate covered hellberries, vintage spirits - he was even considering calling in one of his favors to see if he could get some Celestial bubble bath expedited from the angelic realm. Cost is of no issue to him, wanting nothing more than to ensure the night's success. Barbatos scolds him several times throughout the day, the Prince seemingly distracted and prioritizing his night in with you over his paperwork. 

-> When the time comes to set everything up, Diavolo insists on doing everything himself. He even threatens bribes Barbatos into going to Purgatory Hall for the evening - all so that he can do it all alone, eager to show you how much he cares about you. He has a brief moment of doubt as some of the Celestial bubble bath accidentally overflows onto the floor...but you're worth it, and he finishes fixing it all up right as you ring the front entrance anyways.

-> The scene set in his bathroom is so romantic, you wonder for a moment if you're actually in a movie. Abyss flower petals scattered around the floor. Candles set around the tub, the flickering glow dancing against the bathroom's tiles. Scented bubbles gently fizzing and popping, the light aroma filling the air and instantly making you feel relaxed. A bottle of champagne, specially ordered from the human realm, and set in an enchanted bucket of ice next to two hell-crystal champagne flutes. And your gorgeous Demon Prince standing in front of you, gently grabbing your hand to press his lips to your knuckles before he leads you over to the tub. If this is a dream, you definitely don't want to wake up...

-> After the two of you disrobe, you settle into the jacuzzi, and Diavolo gets you each a glass of champagne right after he presses the button to start up the water jets.

♡ It doesn't take much bubbly for the two of you to find yourselves in another heated moment - but the truth was, neither of you could hardly wait to jump the other from the moment you entered the bath's warm water. And now you find yourself in his lap, bouncing on his huge throbbing cock, the feeling of it filling you surprising you yet again. Every new position with the Prince feels like new territory, the way he strokes so deeply within you. Making you feel things you never have before - hitting spots you didn't know existed. This type of adventurous pleasure could become addicting...

♡ His golden eyes smolder with lust as he watches you, every gasp that escapes your lips pushing him closer and closer. Your little human hands grip at his scalp as his own fingers sink into the flesh of your hips. His lips find your neck, and his kisses gradually turn into light love bites, his fangs nipping little marks onto your skin as he thrusts up into you.

♡ "So good...all mine," he mumbles possessively against your neck.

♡ Your moans grow louder as Diavolo starts thrusting faster, taking the reigns as you let the building bliss take over your senses. He pulls away from you to see the way your eyes roll back in ecstasy as his hand glides down to your sex, massaging you in that spot that he knows drives you absolutely wild. Consumed by pleasure, that warm feeling of euphoria washes over you, your orgasm making you feel weightless in Diavolo's muscular arms. 

♡ He's not done with you yet though - not even close. Switching positions, he picks you up in his arms and sets you down on the recessed bench in his bathtub. His hand grips under your thigh and pushes your leg up, a groan escaping his lips as he slides himself back into you. It had been merely a few moments, yet he had already missed the feeling of your tight warmth squeezing him so perfectly.

♡ He thrusts into you roughly and suddenly, the bath's water splashing and rippling against his gorgeous caramel skin with each stroke. You hadn't even come down from the high of your first orgasm, still feeling the aftershocks as Diavolo begins to fuck you faster and faster.

♡ Losing all restraint, his demon form slips out only a few moments before he hits his climax, causing his cock to grow even bigger. Your eyes widen as you feel him, his wings outstretched as he fills you with his royal seed - and you can't help but to join him, your orgasm overtaking you as well.

♡ Both panting for air, he picks you up and sits down with you in his lap, still throbbing deeply within you. He wraps his arms around you to hold you as you both catch your breath. Neither of you can help the smiles plastered across your faces, that blissful feeling still remaining as you sit with him in his loving embrace. Your cheek rests against his chest as his rests on top of your head, and he just knows that this is the happiest he's ever been in his long, demonic life.

-> Afterwards, as the two of you get ready for bed, Diavolo can't help the way his heart swells when he sees the way you've settled into his room. The way your things line the counter of his sink. The way you go to his wardrobe to retrieve your pajamas, instead of your bag. It's almost as if you live here in this Castle with him already - a thought as sweet as candy for the Young Devildom Prince. 

-> And as you lay there snuggled up in his arms, your face buried in the crook of his neck, Diavolo contemplates asking you to move in with him right then and there. But you've already drifted off to sleep, so that will have to wait for another time. Looking down at you lovingly, his heart feels so full - he presses a kiss to the top of your head before laying back on his pillow, his eyes fluttering shut.

♡ "I love you so much," he whispers as he drifts off into his own slumber. With you in his arms and in his dreams, the Future Demon King can't help but to smile in his sleep. 

· demonvibez ♡ 2024 · do not copy, repost or modify · · comments, reblogs and likes are deeply appreciated! ♡ ·

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 5

Chapters 5 and 6 are done! Yippy! Chapter 7 is going to be a slice-of-life type of thing because I don't want to time skip straight to the bats finding out quite yet. Also, did y'all know that Gothamite also means an inhabitant of NYC? Whenever you see me use that just know I mean an inhabitant of Gotham City.

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 5 >>next

NYC was hell on earth and that’s coming from a Gothamite.

Sure- did a rogue attack 3 times a week, maybe more, in Gotham? Yes. But NYC felt lawless and without rhyme or reason. Every day something was happening, every day a building went down if it wasn’t a whole street, every day a hero would almost run you over while you were just trying to chill in the air.

At least on the third Tuesday of every month, there would be no robberies in Gotham, at least if something happened to the city and Batman wasn’t around the rogues would keep the people safe. Here it seemed to be everyone for themselves, and the rent was heinous for the type of bullshit that went down, in Gotham it was pennies compared to NYC. The constant feeling of being watched didn’t help either it irked at the back of your head every time, only stopping in the safety of your home.

The shadows stopped talking to you as well, you could barely hear them anymore, your theory being that NYC was simply too bright compared to G. City. Visiting Midnight City helped keep you connected to them, it felt somewhat like Gotham. But Darkwing felt too much like Batman, making you paranoid, so you never truly lingered for long. You missed them. Missed the rogues, the garden, the kids, the manor. The house really grew on you.

But you liked it. You liked the chaos, the myriads of heroes, the aliens that kept trying to conquer the world, and you enjoyed how the heroes knew that sometimes the best course of action was to kill the threat.

You were still bitter about how Joker took Jason from you, about how Mr. Wayne hid that from you, so seeing Omni-Man, War Woman, Immortal and so many more deal with clearly deadly threats as they should be dealt with felt nice. They would never let Joker live, the clown wouldn’t have millions of kills, and he wouldn’t have gotten Barbara and Jason.

Of course, you’ve heard rumors that while Batman doesn’t go out of his way to kill, he lets others do the dirty work, everyone in Gotham has. You’ve seen Lois Lane cover some of the bigger, worldwide alien attacks that the Justice League helped with. Batman didn’t seem to have a problem with killing or seriously injuring them. He was either a hypocrite or afraid to lose it once he did kill a human, either way, both were bad options.

So, you put up with it, found yourself a studio apartment owned by an old woman, overlooking the fact that the whole building may have been owned by a gang, and kept on doing your online schooling. Kept on making art, donating to charities and shelters, found yourself a nice job pet sitting, and even did some volunteering at local shelters when they needed an extra hand.

You got better at flying, getting so fast you could go around the globe in 5 minutes. It was fun visiting the places you heard Bruce talk about to the others, Algeria, Argentina, Australia, Austria, Bangladesh, Belgium, Brazil, and China. You were planning on visiting every city in every country with this newfound freedom. It was fun, and Bruce didn’t even notice as you used more and more of your allowance.

Sadly, your moments of peace and happiness always seemed to last for a short while. You were happy with just flying, it opened opportunities you didn’t even think were possible, but you’ve never seen a meta whose ability was only flying, not if they didn’t have wings, and maybe paranoia settled in.

Were you just dreaming? Was this just a really long dream? Were you dead? Would you go off the rocket when or if other powers showed up? What will you do when they do show up? You wanted to be an artist, to paint until your heart gave away. But if people needed help you wouldn’t be able to stay on the sidelines knowing you’re more than capable of lending a hand.

You knew you already had some strength power active- you wouldn’t be able to fly that fast without your skin peeling right off. Maybe it just made your skin stronger? Well, that’s how you ended up in a forest, or deep in a park- you weren’t sure, you flew without thinking, your thoughts and theories eating at you until you had to act.

The tree in front of you had an average-sized trunk, maybe on the smaller side compared to the others around you. You’ve been staring at it for a bit, debating if this really was something you wanted to see if you could do. “Ignorance is bliss” flew through your mind, but the full sayings of these quotes always rang at the back of your head. “Where ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise”.

Your fist met the trunk with a small thud, you didn’t feel any pain, nothing was happening, so you bit your lip, closed your eyes tight, and punched the trunk harder. You heard the wood splinter before you saw it, your eyes flying wide open at the sound. The trunk had a dent in the shape of your fist, not quite all the way through. You still felt nothing.

Maybe you shouldn’t have tested out your strength this much, Ivy would have been quite mad at you for destroying so many trees, each one thicker than the last, but you were simply curious and made sure to clean up after yourself. It was weird. If you hit fast enough your arm could go right through quite cleanly, but there was no pain, none at all… Is this how Superman felt?

In your excitement, you didn’t even notice the figure above you, watching your every move or the flying orb camera doing the same. And while the figure kept watching you grow in your powers for a year, watched you help around in small ways, mostly clean up and small muggings, the orb stopped after a few months.

It took a while for you to be able to lift as much as you could now, for the first half of your newfound power you had to break stuff like big rubble down before you could lift them, you still found it amusing how Red Flash stayed quiet about you, but how could he not when you shushed him the first time he tried to tell the others. The man wasn’t about to fuck with Cecil’s worker, even though he might have said a word or two to the old man’s face about child labor.

Despite all that you truly felt happy, fulfilled even. You were doing art, helping people, and despite still working on having friends during the day part, you were glad you left. You were on cloud nine, well, literally more than figuratively. You were flying above the clouds, basking in the sun. Nothing could cloud your life anymore.

…Where did the sun go? Your eyes opened, blissful expression turning into a frown as your eyes caught a dark figure flying just a few paces over you, its eyes glowing, a wide grin showing a full set of teeth, cape billowing behind it.

What. The. Fuck.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion

hope I didn't forget anyone 😬

[callsign-rogueone]

relaxing

Bodhi Durran x reader (darling!) words: 1.9k 🏷: NSFW. my first official kinktober post (better late than never???) Bodhi is a simp, he wants to "help you relax", nothing else..., oral, some mild body worship, soft loving energy, penetrative sex at the end and I cut it off there because I couldn't get the ending to feel right. sorry :((

This is the first moment of true relaxation that you’ve had all week. This month, maybe. It feels too good to be true — almost a little wrong to be laying here, freshly showered, the book you’ve been neglecting open in your lap as you sit up in bed, leaning back against every pillow you own. Bodhi’s room is a serious upgrade from Basgiath, even the third year wingleader rooms. 

The door to the adjoining bathroom opens, and Bodhi steps out, clad in sweatpants, rubbing a towel over his hair. You peek over the edge of your book and take a moment to admire the cut of his torso. His skin is still a little damp, glistening in the low light of the room. 

You’re almost a little disappointed when he tugs a shirt over his head, returning your attention to the book. 

The towel is discarded, draped over the nearby desk chair, before he climbs onto the mattress. He slots himself under your arm, putting his lower body between your legs and resting his head on your shoulder. You fit together nicely, his arms wrapped around your waist, your legs tangled together. 

He skims his nose over the side of your neck, nuzzling his cheek into your shoulder with a soft sigh. “You smell good,” he murmurs. “That the new soap you got?”

You hum in response, bringing an arm down to wrap around his shoulders and squeezing gently. 

He adjusts his position, draping himself over you like a heavy blanket. The warmth and pressure is welcome — melting the lingering stress away. His lips press against your collarbone, trailing little kisses up to your jaw while his hands smooth over your hips.

“Bo,” you remind him gently, “I’m reading.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He backs off, returning to his earlier position — scooting down a bit so his head is now resting on your chest. He moves his arms from around your waist, idly kneading at your hips. 

You look down, intent on telling him to quit it, or go find something else to do, but your resolve crumbles when you see the pouty look on his face. You bring a hand down to brush back the curls that are hanging down over his forehead — he could use a haircut soon.  

He kisses your palm, nuzzling his cheek into it cutely. “I know how busy you’ve been with all that wingleader stuff,” he begins, his hands gliding down to massage your thighs. “Can I help you relax?”

He must see the hesitation on your face, because he increases his efforts, pouting up at you. “Please? You can keep reading.”

You consider it for a moment — you really do want to finish this book, but it’s been over a week since you’ve been able to do anything intimate together… and you suppose letting him grope you a bit and call it a massage would count as relaxing. “Alright. Go ahead, baby.”

He presses another soft kiss to your hand. “Thank you. Comfy?”

You hum in affirmation, settling back against the pillows and returning to your book. He takes that as a signal to continue, moving both of his hands to your left thigh. 

You part your legs instinctually, holding the book a little higher to cover your face as you realize, a little embarrassed. He doesn’t seem to mind at all, rubbing his hands over the soft skin and gently pressing his fingertips into the muscle, moving them in small circles. “You’re so tense. Just relax for me.”

You take a breath, trying to loosen up. Maybe you needed this more than you thought. You let your eyes fall shut for a moment, just appreciating the warmth of Bodhi’s hands on your skin and the feeling of his thumbs pressing into the aching muscles, coaxing out all the knots and stiffness.

“Good,” he murmurs, starting to kiss down the side of your neck to your collarbones, his hands moving to your other thigh.

You tilt your head to the side, giving him better access, but he doesn’t continue. It takes an effort not to whine in complaint when you realize he’s stopped. 

“Can I keep going?” he asks softly. 

“Yeah,” you reply, trying to seem unaffected, but you know he sees straight through you — you want this just as badly as he does, but you’re too proud to beg. 

He carefully unbuttons your pajama top, a sly smile crossing his face when he realizes you aren’t wearing a bra underneath. He continues his trail of kisses, starting to squeeze at the soft skin of your breasts and admiring the way they move under his hands. 

He’s always loved your chest; not-so-subtly staring whenever you wear a low-cut or tight-fitting shirt, spending extra time “washing” that area when you shower together, and what he’s doing now — playing with your nipples and feeling them harden under his fingers. His thumbs swipe back and forth in slow strokes, the soft stimulation sending a pleasant buzz through you. 

You sink deeper into the cushions, sighing softly. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just relax for me, cridhe.” He shifts around, getting more comfortable, and starts pressing kisses down your sternum.

Your breath catches as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, lapping gently at your left nipple the way he would do to your clit when he goes down on you. You bring one hand down to stroke his hair, and he hums happily, letting his eyes drift shut as you gently scratch at his scalp.

You know he’ll be content to stay like this for a while, so you return to your book, re-reading the last page — the words aren’t sticking, your mind too occupied with the feeling of Bodhi’s tongue swirling around one nipple and his fingers gently pinching the other, rolling it between his thumb and index. 

If you just close your eyes for a moment, maybe that will help clear your head.

Nope. That only serves to intensify the feelings. You need some kind of attention between your thighs, and you need it now.

Ever-observant, he starts another trail of kisses down your tummy, stopping at your waistband, and tugs at the hem of your pajama shorts, pouting up at you cutely. 

You know what he wants, and you’re not going to deny him — this may have been his idea, but you’re aching for it now after the attention he’s paid you. You wordlessly lift your hips, letting him pull them down your legs along with your underwear, and return to your book.

“Thank you,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your hip. 

You hum in response, spreading your legs a bit further and turning the page. 

He starts to knead at your thighs, pressing little kisses over your hip bones and working his way down. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, settling down onto his stomach and laying a soft kiss on your clit before he starts to lick at it, soft little laps of his tongue that drain all the stress away almost instantly.

You set the book aside carelessly, not bothering to get your bookmark — you can find the page again later. Right now, you have better things to do. 

You let your body fall back against the cushions with a soft sigh, just enjoying the moment. It’s been too long since you’ve been able to relax like this, and you don’t want it to end. You’d be content to stay here for days, laid in a bed of soft pillows and blankets, lazy pleasure flowing through you, building up slowly…

Your hand finds his hair again, your fingers running through the soft curls. “Just like that, baby,” you say softly, earning a happy hum from between your legs. “Feels so good…”

It’s clear that he’s in a state of pure bliss right now — having his hair played with while he laps at your pussy like it’s the best-tasting thing in the world, and being praised for how well he’s doing it. 

He continues to knead at your hips, but picks things up a notch, flicking his tongue a little faster and applying more pressure. It’s clear that he’s determined to make you cum, and he’s going to in a minute or so if he keeps doing what he’s doing — it’s been too long since you’ve been able to do anything like this, and you’re a little more sensitive than usual.

The book falls from the mattress, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

“Bo,” you pant, tangling one hand into his hair, and clutching at the bedspread with the other, “Please don’t stop…”

He hums in response, squeezing your hip gently; a signal that he’s not going anywhere, and you’re free to cum whenever you want. 

The pressure between your hips continues to build, coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps, hitting you like a wave. Bodhi doesn’t stop, even as you squirm in his grip, undecided between chasing the pleasure and running from it. You squeeze your thighs together, pushing him away, and he finally takes the hint, slowing down and giving you a few more soft licks before he pulls back to kiss each of your hips again. 

“Holy shit,” you pant, your grip on the bedspread relaxing as you come back down to reality. “It’s a little unsettling how good you are at that.”

He grins, his lips still slick with your arousal. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“That makes you sound like a slut.”

He gasps, offended. “Hey! You know you’re the only person I’ve ever practiced with.”

“I do know. And I like it, a lot. Take your pants off,” you order, sitting up again and pulling him toward you by the collar of his shirt.

“Yes ma’am,” he breathes, making his way back up to you and tugging down his boxers. “Do you want me to…” his sentence is cut off by a soft gasp as you push him back against the pillows and climb into his lap.

He’s already rock hard, throbbing in your hand as you guide him to where you need him most. You whine softly as you sink down onto him, adjusting to the stretch that always remains no matter how many times he’s been buried inside you. 

“Hey,” he says softly, nudging his nose against your cheek. “Are you sure you’re ready? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You know he’s been aching for it since he got out of the shower, but he’s still taking it slowly, making sure you’re okay. Yet another reason to absolutely adore him. 

“I’m ready,” you promise. 

He presses a kiss to your temple, smoothing a hand over your hip. “Okay. But if it hurts at all--”

“I’ll tell you.”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too -- oh, fuck…” he breathes, his fingers digging into the softness of your hips as you start to move. 

This may as well be a full workout with how fast your heart is beating. But it feels so good, and he looks so pretty underneath you, his relics on full display across his muscled shoulders, his lips parted in panting breaths, soft praises spilling out… “Gods, you’re so pretty… Feels so fucking good, honey…” 

Every drop of your hips against his nudges the head of his cock against that special little spot, sending a deep, dull pleasure through you. Combined with the love and care you can feel radiating from his touch, from the way he looks at you… It’s melted all the stress from your body, and washed away any thoughts other than Bodhi, and how much you love him, how good this feels…

Maybe this does count as relaxing after all.

[acanthasdreams]

an eligible bachelor - charlie dalton  ₊˚⊹♡

Uploading bc it’s the first thing I’ve written that I actually finished. Thank you to the people that replied to me on the Dying Poets Society community board as well ! Also I dunno what the fanon idea of charlie is just yet (im new), I’m just going based off vibes, aura, and other (few) fanfics I’ve read.  Warning: May have used “smirked” like 1000 times. Pls be nice 2 me. xo, acantha

🐇 . *. ⋆·˚ ༘ *༄

Charlie Dalton was laying on his bed, smoking a cigarette while his stuck up roommate Richard Cameron wasn’t there. Cameron would occasionally participate, but when he was knee deep into playing the tradition, honor, discipline, excellence student bullcrap, Charlie knew wouldn’t hear the end of it for smoking in their shared dorm. 

He had decided to skip the usual Friday evening study with the boys. 

He’d studied enough, he thought. Meeks had already helped him memorize all the necessary Latin phrases anyways. They now seemed to be constantly repeating a loop in his head

Amo, Amas, Amat…Agricola, Agricoli…

All Charlie wanted to say was blah, blah, blah.

So he took the rest of his day to rest, smoke a cig, read a dirty mag….something to chill him out. And of course, he was waiting for you. 

His childhood friend, you were the only person he could actually rely on outside of school. As children of two good business partners, you’d both found friendship amongst the fancy business dinners his parents and yours would host. It was safe to say you’d known each other long enough for him to call you up whenever he had the urge to, which was as often as he could.

You lived nearby and attended Henley Hall so of course he’d find any reason to bother you, asking you to sneak into his school, calling you up, or hanging out on weekends. Now three weeks into the new school semester, he needed to see you in person to have someone on the outside of Hell-ton to talk to. You were busier this year, and he hadn’t seen you much since the summer in which you’d spent the majority of your time together. He was getting withdrawals.

But of course, you almost always put up with his antics. His ways of finding rebellion in conformity was the small taste of rebellion you needed in your otherwise mundane life.

So here you were, skipping through the Welton corridors trying your best not to get caught by a Professor- or worse Mr. Nolan himself. Your casual clothing, that was definitely not up to the Welton dress code for males, was covered with Charlie’s Welton coat. It wasn’t cold enough yet to wear, but it’d have to do with helping you blend in when there were still boys roaming the school, settling in to start the weekend after a long week of rigorous classes.

Finally walking past the recognizable row of doors that made up the dormitories, you take a chance to more swiftly enter a familiar door. You let out a sigh of relief over making it safely, you lean back against it looking at the boy in question, who simply smirked up at you.

“Look what the cat dragged in” He greets, a cigarette hanging from his lips like an old pirate would with a pipe.

You blow a raspberry, taking off and tossing his coat at the end of his bed. All the walking mixed with the adrenaline of sneaking into his school made you warm.

“The cat being you, Charlie Dalton…Though I’d say you remind me more of a puppy dog.” You greet back, getting comfortable in the room you’d been in many times. Tapping his leg with your fingers, he moves his legs for you to sit before laying them casually over your lap.

“A puppy dog?? Ouch…you wound me, darling.” He says, pretending to be hurt as he holds his hand to his heart. But his lips were curled in amusement, inciting a small laugh from you. You pat his leg again, seeming to be quite settled in.

“Okay, okay…so what was the emergency you were calling me about, huh? Cameron irking you again or what?” 

“He usually is. Latin class is too. But,” He lets out a sigh as he puts out the cigarette on the metal headboard of his bed,“Can’t a guy just wanna see a pretty gal?” 

He leans over to ruffle your hair and you respond with a soft giggle, smoothing your hair back down.

“You see me far too often, Charlie…” You almost blush a little at him calling you a pretty gal, almost. “You know, my mother is actually starting to worry about your influence on me.”

It seemed you’d unintentionally spent the majority of the summer hanging out with Charlie, sometimes just a little bit past curfew. It was something your mother was not exactly keen about since it was often just you and him alone. Not proper for a young lady, she’d said.

Now it’s Charlie’s time to blow a raspberry, it seemed to be something he picked up from you and your reactions to him.

“I am a perfectly good influence on you, missy. Maybe your mother should worry about your influence on me.” He crosses his arms over his chest as he looks at you, a dramatically serious expression on his face. 

You both knew you had little influence on the free thinking, go-with-the-flow soul Charlie naturally was.

“Sure she should worry…who knows what I could put you on next. Today it’s cigarettes and pipes, tomorrow marijuana.” You act guilty, shaking your head slowly while holding back an amused smile.

“Do you actually know where to get marij-” 

“Charlie!” You playfully smack his arm and he laughs, raising his hands in defense. 

“Kidding, kidding…” Knowing him, you weren’t entirely sure how true that was.

“On a good note,” He starts, his cocky smirk coming back to his face. He seemed to even puff out his chest a little as he shares, “I know your father really likes me. He says nicer things to me than even my own father does to my face.”

I find yourself snickering as he seems to be extremely proud of his reputation with your dad. You had to admit, he was right. Much to your mother’s dismay, your father was constantly bringing him up at dinnertime, “how’s the Dalton boy”, “I heard this from his father”, “such a bright boy that Dalton”. You already heard from Charlie himself a lot, your years of friendship had him invading your life even when he wasn’t there. Your father loved him, and Charlie used it to the best of his advantage. It was really the only reason your father didn’t scold you for your summer shenanigans.

“I’ve heard, Charlie. Trust me” You chuckle to yourself just thinking about it, but you both knew exactly why. “I’m sure he thinks that the more he hypes you up to me, the more likely I’ll be to swoon for you.”  

Charlie lets out a chuckle with that, but anything relating to swooning had him back to his cocky act quite rapidly.

“Like I need him to hype me up, I know you swoon for me everyday darling. Who can resist all of this.” He puts his hands behind his head as he leans against his headboard, lifting a brow and smirking. 

The smirk was an ever present characteristic of him, since the moment he’d turned 15, he seemed to have mastered it. It amused you, probably his most charming characteristic.

“Oh, I’m swooning right now.” You roll your eyes before pretending to swoon, lifting a hand to fan yourself from his swoon-yness. That gets him laughing, the way you’d play along with him. He realized a long time ago that you didn’t realize how charming you were, but it was fine with him, only because that meant he got to appreciate how natural you were at it in secret. 

His laugh fades out, instead staring right at you. His smirk appears on his face yet again, an air smugness in it. 

“I guess your father’s plan worked after all then.”

The plan, both your father’s plans actually. They’d been scheming since they realized how close you’d gotten, which for fathers was actually not too long ago. Probably a year now.

“Ah, yes…turning you into an eligible bachelor in my eyes.” You snort amusedly, your eyes diverting from his own before the butterflies begin fluttering in your tummy.

It had become no secret to you and Charlie that your dad’s had been planning for a “union of families”, when you’d eavesdropped on them talking after a dinner party. They were good business partners, and longtime friends. With their children already being so akin to each other, it seemed the light bulb had gone on in their heads. 

But you knew Charlie. 

While he went along with what his father wanted, he only did it because he had to. Wellton, an ivy league future, business school. You knew that deep down, he wished to do something he wanted to do. Figure himself out, be a teen. Seize the day, as his new teacher had told him on the first day of his class. 

While you played around with the idea of being future Mrs. Dalton in your head, a thought formed from a crush that had been deeply stuffed away in your heart since you’d found out about your fathers plans. The inkling of anxiety over that plan told you that he secretly hated the idea of being pushed onto you. Maybe not because of yourself, but because it was yet another thing written into his future by his dad.

The last thing you wanted was to continue denying him a chance to write his future for himself, even if it meant pretending you weren’t on board with the expectation you’d both wed each other. Allowing it to continue being something you joked around about.

“Well, babe, I already am an eligible bachelor.” Giving his signature smirk, he puffs out his chest again and runs his hands through his hair dramatically, looking suave. 

This makes you laugh softly, but quickly your smile falters as you keep thinking about it. Charlie, being more perceptive than one would expect, notices this and nudges you softly on the shoulder.

“What? Am I that terrible of a possible husband?” He says jokingly, trying to keep up the playful atmosphere.

You chuckle lightly in response, trying not to ruin the mood. “No. You’re not…you’re a good friend, Charlie.” 

The atmosphere still seemed to change at your genuine compliment, Charlie’s own heart seemed to bloom, and he didn’t know what to do with that. He had never known what to do with it, pushing down his own feelings with the same idea that you didn’t want to be with him. 

Funny, since he was the one to flirt with you first, constantly trying to get your attention. He loved having your eyes on him, and only him.

He mustered a playfully toned comment.

“You make me blush.” He says, giving a much more authentic smile to you with a hand to his heart. Truly, it had skipped a beat. Knowing you saw him as a good friend was good, even if he wished it was more.

Silence seemed to fall between you, a comfortable one it seems as you lean your head back on the wall. Both of you seem to ponder it, the thing. But none of you knew what to say.

Finally, you’re the one that speaks up, “How would you feel if our dads plan worked?”

Another beat of silence.

“I know you don’t like doing what your father wants you to do, what he plans for you.”

Your eyes dart Charlie’s face, searching for an answer. He was looking at you pretty intensely, seeming to ponder the idea more deeply.

This is the first time you’ve seen Charlie seem so serious, and he was with reason. He knew what you meant to say, and it’s something he had thought about since the summer you two had shared ended.

Would he mind if you had fallen for each other, outside of your fathers pressure? 

Charlie grabbed the pack of cigarettes laying beside him and opened it, and placed one in his mouth. Though he didn’t light it up, it was more of a comfort thing. He was never one to be so serious, and this was both your feelings you were talking about. The last thing he wanted to do was say the wrong thing. 

And honestly, he adored you. More than he could ever say. Why else would he want your presence so constantly?

He hummed for a moment before speaking.

“I don’t like doing what my dad wants…” He admitted, his voice seeming quieter than usual as he takes the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. “But honestly…this is the first time I feel like I wouldn’t mind. Honestly, it’d be more of a personal decision”

His smirk returns, this was his way of seizing the day. He didn’t want to waste time going around the topic any longer when he knew deep down that you were the only girl he’d ever thought about, as flirty as he was generally. His gaze returned to you, And he was happy he did, because his answer had made your cheeks turn pink. You seemed almost flabbergasted by his answer. 

He’d willingly be with you.

“You wouldn’t mind?” You seem almost confused, but he seemed all too casual about it now that he’d seen how adorable you looked at his honest answer. 

He was choosing honesty today.

“I wouldn’t…I’m eligible, your father likes me, you’re a pretty girl.” He lists off, seeming sure of himself. He adjusts himself, removing his legs from your lap to scooch closer to you. His hand reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and your heart seems to flutter out of your chest. His heart did as well, but he was much too suave to let it show. 

“Seems like a winning hand to me.” 

It seemed…like his actions left you speechless. You were able to speak eventually, cracking a small smile.

“Seems like the winning hand was our father’s, in the end.” You say in a jokingly sardonic way, chuckling softly. 

“And the losing hand of your mothers.” He snorts right back. “Point is, I win in some way or another.”

He couldn’t help himself, he really couldn’t when it seemed like the perfect moment. 

Damn it Charlie, just do it, he thought before leaning in to steal a soft kiss from you. He’d always wondered if the gloss you wore was flavored. It smelled of cherries, and as he learned- it tasted like it, too.  The kiss was surprisingly tender, his hand still on your cheek. You eventually collect yourself enough to kiss back, your heart soaring. It was too early for a full blown make-out session though, so you both pulled away after a few moments. 

Dalton felt way too smug with himself about it, very proud of his ability to be assertive for once, after almost two years of crushing on you. You, on the other hand, could only give him a shy smile and looked away.

“I did not know this was how this evening would go…” You admit meekly, unable to meet his eyes after the kiss you shared. 

“That we’d seal the deal of you becoming Mrs. Dalton? Honestly, me neither, but…” He shrugged, his hand going to your chin to force you to look at him, “Carpe diem.” 

He leaned in again, but this time almost full blown tackled you into yet another kiss. Albeit, it was much more passionate than the first time. You couldn’t help but get lost in it, wrapping your arms over his shoulders, letting his hands into your hair to hold you in place. 

You’d have to find a way to thank Mr. Keating for this moment of carpe diem sometime, but you didn’t have a chance to process the pondering on that at the moment.

It was the most magnificent moment.

“Dalton- everyone is asking why you- oh!”

Pulling away with eyes wide and cheeks red, you look to the doorway to see someone who was equally as red-faced as his hair.

“Damn it, Cameron!” Charlie tossed his pillow at him, standing up to push his back out of the door, “We’re having a moment in here, please!”

He closes the door behind him, looking back at you, you were still in complete shock over being caught. 

“I think that’s my queue to head home, Charlie.” You say sheepishly, chuckling in embarrassment as you get up and begin putting his coat back on. The sun could be seen as it was beginning to set outside the small dorm window anyways. 

Charlie’s little heart almost stopped beating, he wished to spend more time with you after this new development of your relationship. And his want was a lot, with how clingy he already was. But you were right, Cameron had ruined the mood enough. He mentally cursed Cameron even more.

“Fine.” He let out an exasperated sigh, but then quickly put on a satisfied smirk on his face, grabbing you by your sides, “But we’ll finish this another time, future wife.” 

That made you laugh, leaning up to give him a kiss on the cheek. You’d done it once or twice before, and after the kisses of today, they still felt extra special. 

“I’ll see you later, Charlie.” Putting the hood of the coat on, you slipped out of his room ready to sneak your way back out of Wellton...the things you did for this boy. 

Charlie was sure you’d taken his heart with you… and for once, he was happy his dad had already pre-approved of you as part of his future. He’ll take business school if it means he’ll get to take care of you comfortably.

🐇 . *. ⋆·˚ ༘ *༄ 

“I went in- and they were all over eachother- and…!”

Charlie Dalton was determined to strangle his roommate as he walked into the dormitory lounge. 

“Cameron.” He said through grit teeth as he walked up to the group. Apparently, Cameron was already spilling about what he’d seen in their dorm to the rest of their friends. Way to keep his business private.

Everyone was already teasing him about it, making smoochy noises, and holding him back from an expulsion waiting to happen. 

“Oh shut up Knox, like you don’t want to make-out with that Chris girl.” The boys all laughed at this, Knox seemed to shut up real quick though (it was true).

“So, what did happen with her Charlie?” Asked Neil, who patted him on the shoulder in a proud manner. He of all people had seen the development of this crush over the years.

“Heh…” Charlie couldn’t help the smugness to come back, the feeling of her lips still lingered on his and it made him feel like a real man.

“What can I say boys…I siezed the day.”

The boys gave him sounds of cheer and pats on the back, impressed by him taking Mr. Keating’s message so deeply into his heart. 

“Are we still studying trig-?”

“-You don’t get it, do you Cameron?” Charlie rolled his eyes.

“...What?”

[dearest-nell]

reality.

s. harrington x reader, 3.2k

summary: steve has fallen in love with his best friend without even realising, and now there's nothing left for him to do but continue to fall. friends to lovers, steve is pathetically in love, gender neutral!reader, mentions of drinking.

a/n: literally can't think about anything else but this little romantic idiot loverman, so here we are. unproofread, sorry!

Steve was not sure when it was that this all became real to him. Time seemed to blur together in flashes of colour and memory. There were so many days with you, so many moments that had changed his life or altered his very being. How many moments could he name that might have been the one to shift delicate sands between you? Your friendship spanned years – wonderful years filled with the warmth of summer sun soaking into your skin on the beach of Lovers Lake, sweaters shared so often between the both of you that even the woollen fabric could not decide who it smelled most like. 

He remembered movie nights in the dimness of Hawkins theatre, half empty rows of midnight screenings where your horrified cries over every slasher could be muffled by his shoulder, his arm around your waist, tucking you safely away from every fright around. You were the only person who slept in his bed just to talk, to stay up all night whispering dreams and hopes and secrets. You were full of his secrets, after all, sworn to protect and sworn to keep. He wanted to keep you more than anything else in the world. 

Steve couldn’t pinpoint the moment his deep, unwavering affection for you had become something new, something so tenderly romantic that even he himself had been shocked by. He had been in love before, sure, but not like this. Steve Harrington had never considered himself capable of loving another person quite so much. It was greedy, and selfish, and selfless, and all consuming, and so peacefully quiet that he was sure nothing else might ever settle him quite so nicely. 

The attraction had always been there, after all. You were ethereal, otherworldly, angelic in a way that Steve was sure no one had ever been before. It didn’t matter what anyone else had said, you were the most beautiful creature to ever grace his life. Even as friends, he knew it. He’d watched you swim in the chlorine mess of his pool clad in nothing but your underwear, leaving Steve swallowing thickly around the unshiftable lump in his throat that seemed to appear just for you. He’d run his hands across your sides in the deep blue of the night, memorising the curve of your hip with trembling hands that ached to hold you tighter. He’d been lost in your eyes so often that sometimes the colour of them was printed on the inside of his eyelids, haunting his dreams with visions of your smile - your hand in his. 

He couldn’t name the moment it changed, but he could name the moment he knew. It was an ordinary night by anyone's standards; the kids, now graduating, had rented a VHS of some film he likely should  have known the name of. He thought the actors had looked familiar, maybe recognised the hit song on the soundtrack, but the rest seemed a blur to him. He’d been half exhausted from a day at work as it was, and you had promised to take him home early if his social battery began to dwindle. It was incentive enough for him to try, though about 35 minutes into the film, Steve had felt that wave of exhaustion slip over him. He wanted his own bed, wanted the silence and dark of his shitty apartment to swallow him whole. He’d moved to whisper to you, hand squeezing your knee beside him only to discover your quiet, even breaths as his only response. Your head rested so fittingly on his shoulder, one curve perfectly slotted into the other, a soft place for you to land. It wasn’t often that you fell asleep during movies, but Steve knew you were just as exhausted as he was from an even longer work week. 

Steve did not look back towards the dingy, yellow hazed television screen even once after he’d spotted you. He was fixated on the gentle peace that had settled across your features, brow line soft, unmarred by worries of the day. He wondered what you were dreaming about, what thoughts and wishes filled your imaginings tonight, and whether he would get to hear about them once you’d woken. It was one thought that had shaken him, though. One that made him stop to think, that lost him to his surroundings entirely, consumed by questions. 

Are you dreaming about me, too? 

The overwhelming sense of hope was what had alarmed him, hope that perhaps you wanted him, wanted him with you even in your dreams – wanted him just as badly as he seemed to want you. How had he not noticed before? How had he not understood that every moment without you just felt like another moment spent trying to get back to you. 

Oh god, it was love. There was nothing else to call it. It was love of a friend and so much more. It was love of a person that Steve hoped never to face life again without. It was a desperation to keep you close that left a tightness in his chest, unmoving and unshakable. There was restraint enough in him that kept him from waking you just to pull you tighter, suddenly so aware of this need that had shadowed so closely at his heels all this time. 

He stayed the entire film just so you could sleep right there on his shoulder, undisturbed and so entirely loved. 

How he managed to keep it to himself after that was beyond all understanding. Steve didn’t keep secrets, or at least not his own, not from you. How exciting it was to be falling in love like this, and yet all he could think about was how horrific it was that you were none the wiser. Hadn’t you felt it too? That shift between you? It was all he could think about, and it left him twitchy, nervous and bumbling, ungraceful compared to his usual charismatic charm. Though you smiled at him like you always did, watching him as if he were still your most favourite person in all the world, and Steve had never felt more alive. 

It was why here, now, all he could do was watch you. Weeks later, still pining, still so incredibly in love with you, he was helpless but to stand by your side, drink in his hand idly sipped just to give him some kind of distractive reprieve, the taste of whisky heavy on his tongue as you watched the band before you. The lights were luminous, flashes of blue and yellow and white swallowing you in their glow, your body swaying contentedly to the rhythm of music he had half forgotten to listen to. He’d been excited to see this band weeks ago, and now all he could do was stare at you. 

You’d dressed up; hair styled, body wrapped in fabrics that Steve wanted to run his fingers through. There was glitter on your cheeks that glinted in the neon lights, and if Steve had not seen the cheap packaging himself, then he might have considered it the mark of an angel gracing your skin. 

Steve had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his life. 

How he had gotten away with such blatant staring was a mystery, and he chalked it up to the masses of people pressing in closer and closer together as the night went on. No one was watching him, so no one was watching him watch you. 

As if triggered by some divine intervention, you turned to smile at him, yelling something about how great the band was, the sound muffled by the buzz of electronics and minute long guitar solos. He nodded back dumbly, his own smile a perfect mirror of your own, a free hand running through his now sweat slick locks. 

“So good.” Was all he could yell back, trying to peel his gaze away from your own, his own personal boulder up the hill; an unwinnable battle. 

His staring paid off, at least, when he caught the way the masses seemed to close in around you. Your view was more and more obstructed with every new beat, bodies taller and far less considerate than the two of yours huddling in tighter. He watched as the perception crossed your mind and on pure instinct, Steve was pulling you into him, slotting your body into place right before his own. He was wrapped around you like a protective barrier, arm hooked loosely around your waist, hand gripping possessively at your hip, his drink knocked clean out of his hand as the man by his side threw his arms up to the music. He tried not to glare, not for the loss of his drink, but for the way it so easily could have come tumbling down on you. The drink seemed like the least of your worries though. Steve offered you an apologetic grimace only to be met with another of your smiles, the warmth of your regard smoothing out the roughest edges of his trepidations. 

Your hand slipped into his, eliciting the softest of sighs from Steve to feel your comforting touch, and he felt his body relax as you pulled his other arm snuggly around you too, your entire body now encased in the safety of his hold. Somehow he knew that you had done this for him, that snuggling yourself in deeper like this was to ease his worries, not your own. He was here protecting you, and somehow here you were, still soothing him without so much as a thought. He wished he understood how you knew him so well, how you seemed to know intrinsically what he needed. It felt foolish to hope that maybe it was for the very same reason that he knew you so well. Maybe this is just how friends are. 

This did not feel like friendship, though, not with you pressed so tightly against him, bodies swaying as one to the steady rhythm of the melody around you. Your arms were crossed around yourself, hands gripping onto his forearms as if you could hold him right back. You were holding him, he realised. Holding him as best as you could from the position you were in. You had relaxed entirely into him, head resting back against his shoulder, movements languid and comfortable in his arms, fingers tracing secret scribbles into the goose-prickled flesh of his skin, so reactive to even the smallest of your touches. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, couldn’t decide where to look or what to say or how to breathe, even. Breathe, Steve, breathe. 

“Are you comfy?” You called out, head angling up to catch a glimpse of his expression. Your palm flattened out comfortingly against his arm, and Steve tried not to melt under the tenderness of it. 

He nodded, dipping down to speak a little more closely, using the volume of the room as his excuse to allow his lips so close to the plush curve of your cheek. “‘m comfy. Is this okay?” 

He squeezed his arms around you once, twice, to emphasise his concern. You inched your face higher, views of one another now more clear as the space between you dissipated, your noses bumping clumsily against one another as the crowd continued to shift around you.

“Yeah, thanks.” If he didn’t know you half as well as he did, Steve might have missed the way your eyes seemed to widen at him, mouth parting imperceptibly as if you were about to continue, words dissolving right at the buzzer. 

His brow lifted curiously, nose nudging yours with purpose to ease the words from you. The look you gave in turn was enough to steal the very breath from his lungs, his chest constricting with the nerves that such intensity always seemed to summon in him. You looked pained, somehow, and Steve didn’t miss the way your arms seemed to tighten around his own, leaving his hands to squeeze at your sides reassuringly, one slipping its way to cup at your jaw. The wide of his palm engulfed your cheek, his rough, calloused, fingers stroking soothing circles into the curve of your skin, holding your gaze to him. 

“What’s wrong?” He mouthed, not wishing to raise his voice when you were pressed so closely to him. He was preparing to pull you away at a moment's notice, to flee the crowd and tuck you somewhere safe in some dark corner of the room to catch your breath. He knew something was wrong, could feel the weight of some unspoken thought pressing down on you. He’d steal it if he could, take it on as his own so you could smile again. It had only been a minute and he was already aching to see it once more. 

It all seemed to move in slow motion for him – time slowed to a standstill as the room seemed to fade away. There wasn’t anyone here but you, but him, standing here in this crowded empty space, looking at no one but each other. He watched you tug your lip between your teeth, one moment of contemplation that had him second guessing everything before you moved, lifting up onto the tips of your toes to reach him, his arms tightening again to keep you steady. 

Your eyes flickered, shifting nervously between his eyes and his lips, and Steve felt his own part as the surprise of your boldness hit him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him and this was your way of showing it. He could see the way you tried to inch closer, watching through hooded eyes as you evaluated his reaction, drifting somewhere between closer and further with every breath. 

No one could blame him for his eagerness, not really. Not when you were looking at him like it would kill you not to kiss him, not when he felt so entirely needed, so entirely worthy of this moment. He brushed his hand at your cheek, nudging forward slowly, his eyes imploring as he watched, waited to know that this was really what you wanted. 

You just smiled up at him, and Steve might have died right there to know that he was the reason why. 

Steve’s focused remained heavily on his movements, head lost somewhere in the necessity that he needed to kiss you right. He felt like his very happiness relied on it – like he would die right here, right now, if you did not know just how much he wanted you. Needed you. 

He moved unhurriedly, lips tracing so softly against your own that he thought he might be dreaming. There was no conceivable way that a person could be so delicate in his hold, so plush and divine and perfect. It was a moment out of time, kissing you like this amongst the ever constricting crowds, the violent noise of a band crescendoing around you all the while. 

And you were kissing him too. 

He could taste it in your touch, the eagerness, the way you tried to reach further, twisting in his arms to fit closer to him. He wished he could swallow his grin, helplessly amused by that gentle desperation in you – how could he not smile over the neediness in your touch? You tried to speed up the kiss, to grip him tighter, one hand curled into the fabric of his shirt, the other tugging him down by his hair. 

His groan was involuntary, and his purchase at your face was all he had to usher you, slow fingers coaxing you back into a relaxed state, pulling himself back to look at you with desperate eyes. 

He had no words, nothing that he could say that could convey the meaning of this moment, nor the depths of his feelings for it. He could see that glaze in your eyes, feel the way you swayed on the tips of your toes as your balance betrayed you. He didn’t mind – it was his excuse to tug you all the closer, setting the pace once more as his lips slotted against your own. 

He felt your sigh rather than heard it, could feel the way your muscles relaxed under the press of his hand at your back. It was a sick sort of pleasure that flooded him, pride taking over to know that he had this effect – this power over you. If only you knew how much more you had over him, how he’d do almost anything you could ask of him just to keep you here. 

A knock from a burly looking man was what it took to break the kiss, and Steve might have been thankful had he not almost dropped the two of you in a brief lapse of balance, his head turning venomously to glare at the man who Steve certainly could not take in a fight. He might really have gotten his ass kicked there and then over his petulance, a child raging over his favourite treat being ripped from his hands. Was it so much for him to want this moment to be perfect? He wanted 5 minutes to enjoy it, to kiss you senseless, to solidify that this would not be the only time  to do so. 

Thank god for you, really, to remind him that he was still in the moment. Your hands at his face tugged him away from his anger, focusing his attention back on you, your own amused smile soothing away that spike of rage that had stolen his attention so briefly. You dipped up, pecking his lips so suddenly that all he could do was stare. He felt like an idiot, and maybe it was because he was one. He was a fool in love, and perhaps now you were starting to see it. 

“Lets go.” You urged, thumbs circling at his cheeks, the adrenaline in his body dissipating into something peaceful at the tenderness of your touch. 

He nodded dumbly, not a moment wasted considering anything else in the room but you. Who could have possibly cared that the show was only half finished, that neither of you had heard your favourite songs yet, that you had been dying to try the specialty cocktail of the night that was plastered across posters behind the bar, when Steve could be the one to take you home? Fuck literally anything else here because your hand was easing its way into his own, and his cheeks were sure to ache at the strain of his smile on his face as he shouldered his way through the crowd, parting bodies to ease the two of you through the masses, and nothing could have been more important to him in that moment, or any other moment to come, than you. 

Forget it all, because Steve was going to kiss you again as soon as the night air broke around the two of you, and by the way you clung so tightly to the back of him, he’d never been so assured that you were just as pleased by the notion as he was. 

Steve could not remember the moment his feelings for you had become real to him, but he’d never forget the moment yours had.

[haikyu-mp4]

Infiltrating Seijoh – Kageyama x reader wc 738 – gn!reader

When Kageyama went to the Aoba Johsai campus to spy on their volleyball team, he thought his excellent disguise of normal gym clothes and an angry walk was enough to make him blend in.

He didn’t notice all the people whispering as he passed, only focused on the gym facility until-

“Hi! Would you like to sign up for the pottery club?” you asked him, bright as ever.

Kageyama stopped abruptly and gaped at you, stuttering over his words. His eyes glanced between you and the building he was there for. “Uh- Uh-“ If he says no, maybe that reveals he’s not from your school, he thought. “Y-Yes!”

Your eyes brighten as you gasp with joy, bouncing slightly on the pads of your feet. “Great! I just need your name and e-mail address on this form to register you.”

He pursed his lips, once again thinking that might have him busted. However, you held out the paper with such a happy aura that he signed it automatically as if enchanted. “Can I go once without being registered? Just to… Try it?”

You hummed briefly, shrugging your shoulders as you seemed to settle on an answer. “I don’t see why not.”

That’s how he sneaked back into Aoba Johsai two days later. Luckily, there was one day they didn’t have volleyball training back at Karasuno.

Somehow, he managed to find his way to the basement where you hosted the pottery club. The windows were high on the walls, barely above ground level, to give a hint of sunlight. Four tables combined into a square in the middle of the room, with some tools at each station.

You bounced over to him the second he entered. “Kageyama! Hi, how are you?”

Kageyama blinked in response, clearing his throat. “Good. You?”

“Very good, now that you’re here.” That’s when he noticed you were the only two people in the room.

“There’s no one else?”

You awkwardly scratched the back of your head. “They’re just late, but we can get started without them.”

So you spent about forty minutes showing Kageyama the ropes of pottery, getting him started on some basics and talking him through it.

He wasn’t very good at this art form, but he wasn’t useless, either. You noticed how well he took directions, and overall, it had been a nice time so far.

“So, Kageyama. Tell me more about yourself,” you encouraged, sitting quite close to him to help with his creation. Definitely not just because you enjoyed how his ears burned from your closeness. “Do you have any hobbies?”

Kageyama was nervous, but now it was more because of you than the infiltration of another school. “I play volleyball.”

You perked up with a questioning sound falling from your lips. “So you’re on the volleyball team with Oikawa?”

The flustered boy answered without a second thought. “No, I’m in Karasuno.”

The silence that fell over you wasn’t uncomfortable, and he took his foot off the pedal to the turning board so he could glance sideways at you and gauge your reaction. Just as you were about to say something, the door burst open as two girls and a boy entered, making quite a ruckus.

With a gulp, you took Kageyama’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “About time you guys showed up.” You chuckled and headed for the door with Kageyama’s wrist clutched in your hand. “I’m just going to show Kageyama out, you guys can continue our projects.”

You escaped into fresh air, and both took big gulps of it. Kageyama couldn’t look away from you, a question mark seemingly emitting from his blueberry eyes. “Are you going to report me?”

With a scoff, you stared back as if the question was absurd. “No.”

“Why?”

You looked around for the closest exit off campus where Kageyama might escape without getting caught, then turned back to him. “I quite like your company.”

Weeks later, you’re the only Seijoh student in a crowd of Crow supporters, hiding in the bleachers at the qualifiers. It was terrifying to betray your school’s team that way, but you were lucky enough to get a black uniform jacket from Kageyama before you came.

As the game began, any worries fell off your shoulders along with his jacket. There was no such thing as being too loud in cheering for Kageyama.

After all, he’s taking you out on a date after the game.

masterlist

[saturneras]

Private Eyes II

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It has been a couple of weeks and the job has worked you to the bone. You haven't finished your shift at the station once during daylight hours and the tasks keep piling up. The worst of it all? Joel Miller has made himself scarce and you only ever see him leaving the office exactly when you appear. One could assume he is trying to avoid you on purpose. Be as it may, after what happened in the archives, you are not letting him off the hook this easily. After all it is your brother's poker night and you know a certain chief of police who hasn't missed a game in weeks. Isn't it a wonderful night for a game?

Note: I am so happy you guys liked the first part and I hope this one makes you kick your feet.

Part I

When you sort the last report into the file and place them on the rookie's desk, you let out a big sigh. Finished. And it is not even eight o'clock. What a win. Almost everyone is already gone for the night and as you gather your jacket out of the little cubicle Lori assigned you on your first day, Daniel calls out from behind you.

"Still here?"

"Justice never sleeps,” you joke and pull on your jacket.

He grins, "I feel like this is something I should say."

His smile is handsome, attractive even. His uniform is very well fitted and you can tell that he probably works out regularly. Does seem like a guy who drinks an insane amount of protein shakes and doesn't do caffeine though.

You shrug and grab your bag. "You can use it, I won't tell."

Another laugh and you brush past him toward the door. If you’re quick you’ll catch them right when they’ve already had a drink or two. Alcohol makes for lose tongues and quick tempers, equaling lots of fun.

“You need a ride?” Daniel asks.

You shake your head. "I'm good, but thanks."

Before you turn around again, Daniel takes a step toward you. "It's no problem, really. I'm just finishing up myself."

"Actually," you reply. "I'm just on my way down to Mickey's."

His eyebrows lift up. "Oh no way, I was just heading over there myself."

That's probably a lie and you can tell by the way he so desperately wants to seem nonchalant, but you don't care and would rather take the 10 minute drive than walk for 30 in this heat.

"Oh, what a coincidence," you say and can't help the slight sarcastic undertone. You like Daniel, just as much as the next girl likes a nice guy. He has had you work on some reports he had to write and let you draft up a proposal to the city for some funding allocations last week that you actually put a lot of work into. But you can't shake the feeling that he seems like the kind of guy to take credit for other people's work.

"Yeah," he says and smiles easily. "Funny."

"I just need to change really quick, is that okay?"

Daniel nods, "Of course, take your time."

You quickly change into some jeans and a white tee in the women's changing rooms.

Out in the station's parking lot he opens the door for you. Daniel drives a BMW, which does seem like quite a fancy car for a police officer. "You like the car?" He asks.

You can't help but chuckle slightly at his eager tone. You don't really care for cars, but reply, "Sure."

Daniel starts the engine and you smoothly glide out of the parking lot and the buildings rush past you on the side of the street. You lean back into the seat a little and close your eyes for a second, letting the work day fall away.

"Have you been settling in nicely?" Daniel breaks the sweet silence between you two.

You turn your head to face him and say, "You do know that this is my hometown, right?"

He laughs as if you had made a joke. "Oh sure, sure, I just meant with the station and all."

"It's a lot of work," you reply honestly. "I just wish I could see some operations, some action, you know?"

"Right," Daniel replies. "The chief likes you in the back office, huh?"

"I don't think the chief likes me to do anything," you say a little too snappy.

Daniel grins. "He isn't the most accommodating person here, let's be real."

When you say nothing, he adds, "But not everybody is like that. I really appreciate all the stuff you've been helping me out with. Your report was really good, by the way. Maybe I can take you out on a ride that's not too dangerous some time."

"Sounds good," you say. "I'm glad I could help."

"It actually went pretty well, the city agreed to all the terms you suggested. You're really good at this."

You laugh. "Maybe they're just easily convinced."

Right when you pull up into the parking lot at Mickey's, Daniel says, "I bet you can be pretty irresistible, huh?"

You know how this goes and are not in the mood for a "I'm just a nice guy trying to be nice" kind of conversation and just ignore the comment. He pulls into a spot in front of the entrance and you can't make out your brother's truck anywhere. Maybe you've mixed up the days?

When you step into the bar, the first couple of notes of Two Dozen Roses fills the air and your ears immediately. You've always liked it here, even though as a teenager you never used to drink go. Mickey's seemed more like a bar for dads and older brother's who didn't like to talk or listen to anything other than country. And as a 19 year old all you want to do is talk and listen to anything but country. You can tell Daniel is somewhere behind you, rambling about something.

"I'll go get us a drink," Daniel says and puts one hand softly on your back faster than you can react and struts off to the bar.

You take a look around and see the usual crowd hanging around the bar and the little dance floor. But just as ocean calls to the shore, you can sense his eyes on you even before you spot him a couple of tables further in the back. He is sitting facing the entrance, like a good chief of police should, in between his brother Tommy and some guy you haven't seen before. You spot your brother with his back turned toward you, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"You should've thought of that before you invited him to join, Tommy," Casey says between laughs.

Joel Miller hasn't stopped looking at you this whole time you're standing in the middle of the room. His eyes are like honey stuck to a spoon, lazily clinging to every bit of you. The chief also has changed out of his usual white shirt and tie and is wearing a dark green flannel that stretches over his chest the moment he leans back into his chair, taking a sip of his drink. The ice cubes slide toward his mouth and the thought of the warmth of his lips melting the ice with each sip hits you like a curveball. For some reason, inexplicable to you, it makes your stomach tighten. Okay, that's a lie. You can admit, perfectly indifferent, of course that Joel Miller is .. not hard to look at. His dark eyes are still on you. Taunting. As if he's reading your mind, he raises his right eyebrow and you can't help but make your way over, as if he's got some gravitational pull forcing you to submit. Calling something inside of you that you hadn't realised was there.

"Well well well," Tommy says loudly. "Who do we have here? Isn't it the future attorney general?"

You can't help but smile at Tommy, who gets up immediately, moving around the table to engulf you in a tight hug. He is the friendliest man you've ever met and you're happy your brother chose someone so lovely to build a business with. Casey turns his head and grins.

"Off before midnight?" Casey asks mockingly. "What's gotten into you?"

"Midnight?" Tommy barks. "What have you been making her do, Joel?"

All eyes turn to him and he doesn't even flinch, just looks at his brother and says, "Nothing she can't handle."

Your eyes meet for a split second and then he glances at his brother again.

"This sounds like a case of employee exploitation, if you ask me," Tommy says.

"Nobody did," Joel replies gruffly and gets up from his seat.

"Hey," Tommy turns to me. "You want a drink?"

Just in time, Daniel materialises behind us, two bottles in his hands. "Hey, guys."

Casey turns toward the table again, mumbling something that did sound quite a lot like hell nah. It takes a second before Tommy's furrowed brows ease up and he smiles. "You brought the little Sheriff?"

"Who?" You ask, confused.

Tommy points to Daniel, whispering in my ear. "His dad is the Sheriff."

"Oh," you say. "I didn't know."

Tommy nods and takes the beer out of Daniel's hand. "Thanks bud, you play poker?"

Daniel looks as if he might protest but then remains silent and nods his head.

"You can join if you want," Tommy suggests and elicits a muffled groan by Casey and the other guy. "I think Joel has stripped us of enough money tonight."

"Yeah, sure," Daniel nods eagerly. "I just need to call my Dad to let him know I won't make it to dinner."

Joel huffs and grabs his glass from table. You take a step back and let Daniel slip into Tommy's seat, while Tommy mumbles something into his brothers ears and pats him on the back. Joel turns around and heads for the bar. You watch him go and then watch them play for a bit. You've played enough poker with your dad that you realise they're all trying hard not to make Daniel look like an idiot, who continuously makes every possible mistake.

"I'll be right back," you say to Casey and make your way to the bar, turning left toward the restrooms. Behind a cherry red door leads a narrow hallway. You open the heavy door and after having stepped inside for a couple of steps, collide with the broad chest dressed in a dark green flannel button down.

"Didn't I tell you to be more careful?" His voice is calm and has the tiniest bit of bite to it.

"I probably wasn't listening," you reply.

"Why did you bring your puppy?" He says.

"My what?" You say and then realise who he is talking about. "Oh, Daniel just gave me a ride from work."

"Since when do you dress for work like this?" Joel's eyes graze down your body in a calculated measure. You think you must imagine the way his eyes darken when they roam over your white shirt. And you can't help but cross your arms under his scrutiny, feeling like it's burning through you.

"You know there are changing rooms at the station and you would know what I had been wearing to work if you would ever bother to show up yourself."

Now it is his time to cross his arms defensively. "I've been busy."

"With what?" You press.

"With shit that is none of your concern," he replies roughly.

"So it is only my concern, when you need someone to do your shitty paperwork?"

"You wanted to see how the real world works," he says. "There you go."

"Daniel at least lets me do some actual work and not just digitalise files from the 70s," you say.

"I knew he did not fucking write that report," Joel mumbles more to himself than you. "He shouldn't have done that."

"I enjoyed writing it."

"I don't care if it made your little lawyer heart race," he says. "It was Riley's job and he didn't do it."

"It got done, didn't it?" You say.

"That's not the point," Joel says sharply. "He had a direct order and he disobeyed it. It's not your job to do his work. I assigned him that task to make him familiarise himself with the issues our station is facing."

You stay silent and Joel clears his throat.

"Never mind, he'll hear the end of this."

"I didn't realise I was disobeying your order," You say.

Joel furrows his brows. "You weren't."

"You sure?"

"Believe me," he replies. "If you were disobeying my orders, you would know."

His gaze is lowered down to you and you feel your body tensing.

You let your arms fall to your sides and slightly lean forward. "Remind me to never disobey your orders then."

"Following orders does not seem like your strong suit." His face remains impassive.

You grin slightly and focus on his face. It would only take one small step to close the distance between you two. Not even a second.

Once again his eyes have turned to molten chocolate and you can't help but watch their specks of gold catch the dim light. He looks like he hasn't shaved is beard in a couple of days and you wonder what his stubble feels like scraping against your neck. The sudden thought surprises you. How would it feel to be pressed against his front with his arm around you and his tongue on your neck? The sudden image of it runs on a loop inside of your head, when Joel interrupts, "Casey can't drive you home. He's been drinking."

The change of subject confuses you for a second, as if you both were watching the same movie but he switched the channel.

"I know," you say. "But I'm staying a bit later anyways."

"You need to call your daddy first, too?" Joel asks, raising his eyebrow. And you know he cannot not like this, enjoy this understanding between the two of you.

"Which one?" You retort and he isn't quick enough at hiding his surprise.

He grunts and leans the slightest bit toward you. "Why do I feel like a broken record when I tell you to watch your goddamn tone."

"Maybe you should ask nicely," you say.

"That is not something you should say to your boss, sweetheart" Joel says.

"As I am officially clocked out and due to you not carrying your badge or your gun it is safe for me to assume you are off duty. So technically, you're not acting as my boss right now, sir."

"Just because you can't see it, does not mean it isn't there," Joel says and you raise your eyebrows.

"A grower not a shower, huh?"

Joel's eyes narrow. "You need to watch it, Darlin'."

He turns his body, forcing you to do the same, so your back is pressed against the wall of the hallway. You're trying to concentrate on his words but his smell makes its way up your nose and seems to cloud your brain. He is so close that you can feel his hot breath on your skin, laced with a hint of whiskey. You thought it would be much easier to navigate this conversation but now it seems almost redundant and you slowly forget why you wanted to talk in the first place.

He raises his arm and places one hand next to your head. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a piece of work?"

Your chin raises slightly in defiance. "You're not the first one who has given me such a compliment."

Joel's jeans touch your bare legs and if he wanted to he could flush your bodies by the push of his hips. He is towering over you, his eyes looking like they're looking for something on your face, they haven't been able to find yet. And you feel like telling him you want him to never stop searching for it. You hear the first couple of notes of Chris Stapelton's "You Should Probably Leave" resound from the bar, as he lifts his other hand slowly as if not to startle you.

When his large hand has almost touched your hip, he says, "Let's see if I'll be the la-"

The door to the bar opens and Joel immediately yanks his hands away and puts two step between you.

Daniel appears in the doorway and his eyes widen in surprise. "Oh, there you are."

"Here I am," you say, trying to sound relaxed. Probably failing. What the fuck was that just now?

"I was just gonna say that your brother just headed out over to Tommy's house for more drinks and I need to go to my dad's house to pick some stuff up," he says.

It takes you a second to figure out that he is waiting for you to relieve him of the duty to give you a ride home.

"No worries, I'll just get an Uber," you say exactly at the same time Joel says, "I'll take her."

You turn around and glare at him. "That won't be necessary."

"Awesome," Daniel exclaims. "Thanks, Chief. See you tomorrow."

And with that he steps back into the bar, leaving you standing there with Joel.

"I can just get an Uber, it's no big deal."

"I'm taking you home and it's not a topic of discussion, so you can shut it," he says and starts walking toward the door. You follow his steps quickly.

"I am an adult, I can get home by myself," you protest.

"Do you even know how many women get kidnapped or assaulted by their driver?"

"This isn't New York, Miller," you say. "We are in Texas."

"What do you think I'm doing at my job?" Joel says and opens the bar entrance door for you to walk through. "Cutting ribbons and issuing speeding tickets?"

"Something like that," you say and stop in front of his truck.

"Why do you think we established our office hours for women?" He looks at you as if he's actually waiting for a response, but you know he isn't. "People are dangerous and it is my job to protect you."

"I don't need protection," you snap and add, "From you."

"You might not need it," Joel says, opening the passenger door. "But you sure as hell will get it. Now get in the truck."

You don't attempt to make a move and he shifts his weight.

"It might make it easier," Joel warns. "But I don't need a badge nor gun to make you get into this truck, Darlin'."

"I'd love to see you try," you press and almost see a grin appear on Joel's face.

"I ain't above throwing you over my shoulder."

"Is that supposed to make me feel scared?"

He stoically remains next to the passenger door and just watches you. "Just get in the goddamn car, will ya?" Once again is voice is pure cool ice and it impresses you how he can say something so decisively, leaving no room for disobedience.

You sigh and walk toward him, stepping onto the side step of his truck. Now you're at his eye level and without thinking, your head moves to the side, hovering directly in front of his. A strand of hair has fallen from his head into his eyes and you feel the urge to push it back. The urge to run your fingers through his hair hasn't faded ever since that moment in the archives. When his eyes lower themselves and cling to your lips, you can't help but release a soft breath. His jaw clenches almost imperceptibly, but he slowly steps out of the door and moves to the side for you to sit down.

You wait for him to shut the door but it doesn't happen. Instead you suddenly feel that familiar breath on the side of your neck, dancing down your neckline. Goosebumps give away your receptiveness to his warmth, but you can't turn your head, you can't risk to look.

Joel has one arm propped on the car, one is holding the door. His shirt is pulled across his chest, revealing a slither of his tanned skin. You inhale shakily, when he whispers only for you to hear.

"And I didn't even need to ask nicely," he says. "Such a good girl."

[jarofstyles]

Growing Pains

Hey lovely people 🫶 here is a bit more of the Stacy’s Mom universe. Its a nice mix of angst, smut and fluff. Let me know what else you'd like to see from them if you'd like to see more!

Read Stacy’s Mom here

Check out our Patreon for early access and 180+ exclusive writings

WC- 5.9k

Warnings- smut, unprotected sex, age gap relationship, cream pie, bellybulging, praise kink, use of 'mama', angst, not too long tbh, mentions of misogyny, etc

-----

Harry was really good at ignoring what other people thought. 

It had always been one of those personality traits that people said they envied, but his whole life’s philosophy is why care if you’re happy? If he wasn’t hurting anyone, if he was happy and solid in what he was doing, why did it matter what someone else thought? 

He knew there would be inevitable pushback against him being in a serious relationship with Y/N. And it was serious, as he had made abundantly clear. It wasn’t at all conventional and in their small, gossip ridden town, it wasn’t a shock in the slightest that the rumor mill began buzzing as soon as they stepped out into town together for the first time, Harry taking her to dinner at a decent place of her choosing. 

Their dates had been majority in the towns over just so they could enjoy their little bubble of happiness. Y/N spent time at his place when Stacy was home for the first few weeks, Harry going to hers when she was away, but he had to assure her that he knew Stacy would be upset and he’d talk to her himself. 

It was a hard thing to navigate considering Y/N utterly adored her daughter. She’d been pushing her mother to go out on dates , get back out there, all of the girl power stuff since the divorce was finalized- but the woman highly doubted she meant with someone in her friend group. 

All things considered, the pros and cons had been weighed and juggled and there had been no reason to keep hiding it after two months in. For a bit, Y/N had been holding on to the secrecy because she was afraid he’d tire of her. That she’d damage her relationship with her daughter and in the town for a fling that the younger man would be bored with after a bit. It was unfair to think that of Harry, she knew that, but considering her ex husband had essentially done that very thing to her? It had lingered in the back of her mind. 

To his credit, Harry had been nothing but understanding and patient with her. He didn’t push too hard to go public, but he didn’t hide his desire for it either. Y/N was his, and he wasn’t ashamed of her in the slightest. He’d go up to bat for her again and again if it meant he got to keep her. The man wasn’t stupid- he knew a lot of the backlash would fall onto her. Something he’d happily take the burden of if he could. It was a conversation they revisited quite a few times, Harry holding her against him as his fingers traced the curves of her face while she expressed her fears. Luckily, it seemed that his feelings for her had proven it a worthy risk after he started talking more about the future. 

Maybe with anyone else it would be coming on too strong. Hell- it had come on too strong at first, spooking Y/N when he’d asked if she was open to having more kids. If she wanted to get married again. Both things she hadn’t given much thought to before he brought it up. It had sent her spiraling for a few days, worried that perhaps she wouldn’t be able to give him the things he needed. That he’d be throwing away his youth for her instead of exploring, that she would be essentially trapping him. Her worst fear was him resenting her for settling him down. 

It had caused their first fight, one of their only. His jaw had been tight when he showed up to her place after being ignored all day, arms crossed as she opened the door. He’d been dirty and sweaty from work, the sun hadn’t set yet but he had been worried sick when she had stopped replying after their initial good morning messages. 

“Are you alright?” Eyes scanned her all over to observe for sickness, injury, but found nothing. His features twisted as his eye scanned her pocket, jaw ticking when he saw the phone sitting inside of it. “What's the problem?” He asked lowly. “Worried me fuckin’ sick all day, but I see the phone in your pocket. Don’t play those games with me, Y/N. You’re a grown woman and that’s part of why m’so gone for you.” 

She blanched, swallowing the lump in her throat as she dropped her eyes. “I…” a shaky inhale interrupted the chirping crickets. “I don’t want to hold you back, Harry. I don’t want you to wake up one day, thinking about how you wasted the rest of your twenties on me. How… how you jumped in feet first, landing hard and buckling your knees because I’m exciting for a while.” It hurt to even think about, let alone say out loud. “I’m terrified that you’ll hate me for it. I think we’re going too fast.” 

Harry didn’t answer for a moment. All she heard was a sharp exhale, seeing him tip his head back in her peripheral vision. Like he was exhausted, trying to collect himself before speaking. Rolling his neck, he looked back at her. “So you’ve worked yourself up over a situation that hasn’t even happened. That won’t happen, considering I’ve been thinking about having you since we fuckin’ met. Is that right?” He sounded mad because he was. Frustrated, more so, at the situation. He’d been able to feel her pulling away a little bit the last few days but he’d felt that sickness in his stomach the whole day when she had been quiet and not responsive to his messages. 

It wasn't like he was a super clingy guy. He knew that he could be in person, he liked to be touchy, but he rarely expected constant communication. Y/N was her own woman and he liked that about her, but this wasn’t something he was a fan of. 

The tone of his voice made her reel back, eyes snapping up to him at he looked at her with an irritated expression. He never spoke to her like that, let alone looks at her like she was being ridiculous. It wasn’t a nice feeling in the slightest. “Let’s be honest here, Harry.” Her irritation rose. “Yeah, I’ve worked myself up over a situation that could realistically happen. It’s one thing to fuck older women, but it’s another to settle down and be in a committed relationship with one.”

It was the wrong thing to say, simplifying their relationship like that, and she knew it. His nostrils flared as he looked at her with slight disbelief. “S’that all we’ve been doing, Y/N? Fucking?” He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Cause I was under the impression that you were my girlfriend and we were figuring it out. Silly fucking me then. Just a little boy, huh?” 

“No- Harry, don’t you do that.” She growled back. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that I could be a lot of fun right now but later on down the line it maybe won’t be. Ill slow down faster than you, I’ll get wrinkles before you, I won’t be able to keep up-“

“And you know what I’ll do then?” He stepped closer to her. “I’ll slow down with you. I’ll get wrinkles too. I could be bald. Are you gonna leave me if my hair starts to thin?” 

“N-no.” She whispered, wind leaving her sails as she replied. 

“Yeah; I know you wouldn’t. Just like you should know I wouldn’t.” There was a pregnant pause, the warm early evening stinging her skin because, fuck. She was just terrified. 

“I wouldn’t. I’m not like him, and I know he… I know there’s that underlying trauma and stuff there. I know and m’so sorry an ass like that ever got his hands on you at all. But please try and see that I’m not him. There is no boredom. If there ever was- which there wouldn’t be- I’d come to you, I’d talk to you. I’d never cheat on you.” Stepping closer to her, his fingers curled around her cheeks, searching her face for something she couldn’t place. Apparently he found it, though, because his shoulders dropped and he nudged her face up in his grip, thumbs rubbing her the apples of her cheeks.

 “I’ve dreamed of you for years, Y/N. If I’d get tired of you, I’d have done it already. But honestly?” Licking over his bottom lip, he pinned his gaze to hers. “I don’t see how that’s even remotely fucking possible. You’ve become everything t’me so quickly it should be scary, but m’not anything but ecstatic. Giddy. Please give me some credit. I’m younger than you, but I’m not stupid. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve got the most incredible, intelligent, kind, generous, beautiful woman in my hands. Do you think I didn’t get a little nervous at first?” 

No, actually. No she didn’t. Harry hadn’t even hinted at it, but it grabbed her interest, confusion marring her features. To be truthful, he’d never seemed to waver when it came down to her and this relationship. “I didn’t.” She admitted, feeling a bit of shame for not even considering it. 

“Before I went for it, I was… it was hard to tell if you’d be alright dating someone so much younger than you. If you’d think I could handle you.” He smiled sadly. “There were a few times I was going to try and get you alone t’talk about it but fate was in my hands when you called me that night. I was over the fuckin’ moon, but still nervous. It made me feel better when I could tell you were looking at me, that I wasn’t makin’ it up in my head like I’d originally thought. And then…” his lip curled in a smirk at the memory of taking her against the counter. It was one of his favorite memories of all time. “Then I was pretty settled, but there were still nerves that you’d push me away like this. I thought I was in the clear this far along, that I’d proven how much m’utterly enamored with you but it seems I’ve got work to do.” 

The anger was gone from his body, replaced with a sadness. He didn’t like the thought of her hemming and hawing over if he would get bored of her when he constantly needed to pinch himself over the knowledge that she was his. “I just need to reassure you that since I was a kid, I’ve been set in my ways. I still like the same food as I did as a child, the same shows, the same music. If I really like something? It’s there to stay.” He wasn’t obtuse. Of course relationships had their issues and there was no expectation of perfection 24/7, but he wanted to keep it as peaceful as he could. 

Y/N’s face scrunched, bottom lip trembling as tears glossed over her eyes. It was embarrassing to cry over this, but the words were the reassurance she had desperately needed. “I’m sorry.” The apology was a little whimper before he sighed, pulling her into his body. Large hand running up and down her back, the woman leaned into the comfort of the larger man and relaxed into his form, burying her face in his neck. He still smelled like a bit of oil and sweat but his sweet and fresh soap lingered underneath, giving her the comfort she hadn’t known she needed so badly all day. 

“S’okay, darling. Let’s go inside and sit for a bit, hm? We’ve got t’talk a bit more about what’s bothering you.” 

And they did. They talked for hours that day, Harry holding her legs across his lap as he watched her express the fears she’d been holding back. In all honesty he knew it had needed to happen to make them stronger, and it did. 

It was showing a bit tonight, though. 

“What’s the matter?” His voice was delicate as his palm ran over her hip, curling his fingers into the soft shirt. “Hm? You’re bein’ awfully quiet tonight. Can tell something’s bothering you.” 

Y/N still was shocked at how perceptive the man could be. He seemed to know the slightest shift of her mood and  it had spooked her a bit at first, but now she realized she couldn’t hide much from him. Perhaps it was her own life lesson that she needed to trust someone, but still. 

“It’s silly.” She sighed softly, reaching a hand up to cup his stubbly chin. The comfort of his touch had only gotten stronger since they’d gotten together, the mixture of feeling delicate in his hold but empowered considering she knew he would move the moon if she asked him to. 

“Not silly if you’re thinking about it.” He clicked his tongue. “Off with it then, pretty girl.” 

“It’s… one of those women, the one you slept with from Stacy’s swim club… she was awfully bitter about us being together. Tried to tell me that I was just a phase of yours- which, I see your eyebrows, I know that isn’t true and that isn’t why I’m upset.” She laughed quietly, gently pinching his cheek. “I just couldn’t believe the audacity of her. Trying to tell me how passionate you are in bed, doing all sorts of catty things… I know she’s jealous, I’m rational enough to deduce that she’s just a bit crazy but it irritated me that she talked as if you’re some sort of object. Like you’re… an accessory or something.” 

Y/N had found herself very defensive of the man in the months they’d been together, and while she was aware he had slept with other woman, she hadn’t expected them to be so awful about him. 

“Darling…” Harry chuckled, shaking his head at the thought. “To her, I am an object. I gave her nothing of me besides physicality. And I can assure you, it wasn’t very passionate. It couldn’t hold a candle to you. In all honesty, I haven’t thought about another woman in months. Forgot about her, actually.” Harry had no woman on his radar except her. He was so utterly smitten with the woman in front of him that he knew he would never think of another woman in any sort of way again. 

“Yeah. It is silly, because I know you’re devoted to me-“

“And I am, Mama.” He purred, his hand gently tugging on the ends of her hair to lean it back to where he wanted it. “I’m completely and utterly devoted to you. You’re my goddess, didn’t you know that?” The hushed voice made her swallow thickly, the hand on her hip pushing under her shirt. “There is no one else I think about. They don’t exist to me. The only woman occupying my brain is you.” Lips pressed against her forehead, exhaling slow and heavy through his nose. “I’m obsessed with you. Don’t you know?”

“I-I do.” She stuttered. Somehow, the man years younger than her had a way of completely making her fall back into the shy younger girl she used to be. Giggly and giddy, shy when he would express such sweet things to her. Her ex had never been this verbally kind to her, let alone wax on about how much he adored her. It still shocked her. 

“Mm… good. Because I have no problem reminding you, baby. None at all.” His nose brushed hers, letting their breathing mingle. “I’ll be happy to remind you every single day that you’re the woman of my dreams and the other people I’ve been with don’t exist to me. They’re nothing compared to you. My dream girl.” 

Y/N took the first bite, pulling him down to kiss her. It was a need now, not even just a want. She needed to feel him, to taste him. It was still new to her, how adored he made her feel, and all she could do was hope he knew she felt the same. “H….” She whispered, breaking apart from their kiss as his hand slipped under the waistband of her shorts, wiggling down to cup her ass. 

“Hm?” He chuckled lowly. “Do you need me to remind you, Mama? Want me to show you just how obsessed I am with you?” 

The woman didn’t want to need that reassurance, but she really did enjoy a reminder considering she knew how he was going to give it to her. “I think I could use a refresher, yeah.” She replied, watching his grin grow before he kissed her again, hauling her body up and into his arms. Ignoring the squeal, he brought her into his bedroom, laying her on the sage green comforter and let his thumbs tug at the shorts. 

“I’ll give you as many refreshers as you need, my girl.” He hummed, letting his shirt follow and fall to the ground as Y/N followed suit. His eyes zeroed in to her panties, easily getting on his knees and grabbed her thighs to pull closer to the end of the bed. “S’been too long, hasn’t it? You’ve been mean and kept me away from my pussy.” He shook his head, kissing over the fabric. 

“I was on my period!” She squeaked, watching his fingers curl into the waistband of her panties. 

“And?” He lifted his eyes to her own. “Told you that it doesn't matter t’me. Put down a towel.” He wouldn’t mind in the slightest. Even more so because he knew it would potentially help cramps, but he respected her decision to not want to. 

“Oh god….” Her head fell back as his tongue licked over the sligh through the fabric, wetting it. “Harry… you can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack.” He assured. “It’s your decision, but M’just saying it doesn’t gross me out and I don’t care. But now you’re off of it, and M’gonna take full advantage of that.”

Y/N gasped as the panties were tugged off in a hurry, so fast she had barely realized they were gone before his face was buried in her pussy. “Oh my g-god, H.” She laughed in shock, though it quickly melted into a moan as he pressed his tongue over her and let his nose brush her clit. 

He had never been anything but thorough when it came to oral sex, and she had the knowledge that he thoroughly enjoyed it too. She would even contemplate if he liked it more than her, but it was hard to confirm that when she had the pleasures of his mouth. 

Harry hummed at the taste of her, slowly peeling her thighs to the side and using a finger to spread her open. “There she is. I missed this pussy, baby.” He mumbled, the sheen of her and his spit on his lips. “How could you think of me with anyone else when I can barely go four days without this, hm? Don’t you know how addicted I am?”

She had some clue. A shaky exhale left her as she watched him purse his lips, a string of spit dribbling over her exposed cunt. Somehow he made it so hot, it had become one of her favorite things. A trigger of sorts. She’d never imagined herself liking any sort of spitting, but there was something so filthy and carnal about the way he did it that she found herself squirming and wanting more each time. 

“I know you like that, baby. My sweet girl, like when m’dirty and spit on this cunt to get it wet.” He crooned, repeating the action. He watched as the spit dribbled down to her asshole, humming in satisfaction. “You don’t need the help, not with how drenched this cunt gets for me but you like it when m’filthy with you.” 

Y/N loved how Harry was in bed. From going to somewhat pleasant missionary to completely and utterly wrecked by a man who wanted nothing more than her pleasure, it had been a complete 180 and quite frankly, rocked her damn world. “I do. I like when you’re dirty and you act like you… act like you can’t get enough.”

“Oh Mama, I can’t.” He cooed. “I can’t get enough of this perfect pussy. Obsessed with it, obsessed with you. You know I think about it all day?” His thumb drew slow, firm circles on her clit, making her buck into him a little bit. He ignored it. “Think about when I get to get to you, how all I want t’do is tear whatever’s covering you up and make you sit on my face. You do love when I do that.” 

Oh, did she fucking ever. The man was relentless with his tongue but he became a whole other beast when she sat on his face. In an area she’d been reluctant to, she had become reliant on.  

“Please… I want to cum.” She pleaded. Days after the cycle she was particularly sensitive and the man knew that far too well. 

“Then cum.” He smiled, licking over her entrance. “M’never going to say no to making my girl orgasm. But you’re gonna just keep cumming and cumming, so remember that.”

Y/N had found herself well acquainted with orgasms after years of being reliant on herself for them, but it never ceased to amaze her how the man could play her body like a violin and almost demand her orgasm. How he knew the right spots, the right tricks. No one had taken the time to get to know the things she liked quite like him, and she knew this was a rarity. Her stomach tightening, toes curling as he played with her body like he was the expert in all things pleasure.

The combination on his thumb rubbing her sensitive clit and his tongue pressing into her hole, she could feel the orgasm wash over her. Hands in his hair, she let out a broken moan, the first of many she assumed he’d give her tonight. And just like she suspected, even after the orgasm had dulled slightly, he kept going. 

“Harry, fuck.” She gasped, feeling fingers inside of her cunt and his mouth switching to circling her clit. One thing she’d learned was that he was relentless, especially when it came to making her cum.

“What baby?” He grinned mischievously. It didn’t matter that his face was filthy with her, he seemed to prefer it that way. “S’not my fault I need this pussy. You’re too perfect.” 

For the first time in her life, she was being doted on. There wasn’t a single question in her mind that Harry really was as obsessed with her as he portrayed because there was no way he could fake it this good. Tongue dipping into her entrance and thumbing her clit, working her through another before she successfully tugged him off to meet her mouth. 

Frantic hands tugged at his belt, yanking hard as he chuckled against her lips. “Eager, aren’t we?” He cooed. “C’mon then, Mama. Take me out so I can fuck you the way your greedy little cunt needs.” 

The filth that came out of his mouth was better than any of the sex she had prior to him. His unashamed nature and insistence on honesty had been intimidating at first but now she had come to crave the crass words that used to make her blush so hard it hurt. “I need it.” She whimpered, her own voice unfamiliar to her as she whined at him to get inside of her. Unbuttoning his trousers and slipping her hand inside, she felt how hot and hard he was on her palm. The tip wetting her skin as she stroked him under the fabric, the other hand trying to push the pants down so he was free of the confines. 

“Impatient little thing. I love it.” He grinned, helping her as he balanced over her with one arm. “Can barely let me undress, need to get your beautiful body filled up with me in every way. That’s exactly how I want you every day.” Desperate for him. His hips rubbed into her hand, breathing getting harder as she swiped her thumb over the tip and made him clench his jaw. Her little outfit had been tossed off easily and there was something so dirty about him fucking her almost clothed and her, practically naked. “Put me in, then. You can do it, baby.” 

There was that added layer of intimacy that had her preening, sticky lips connecting with hers as she felt his hips lower and gave her that little bit of control. Swiping the tip through her slickness, he inhaled sharply through his nose before she placed him at her entrance, lifting her leg around his waist. His patience was thin, not waiting more than a few moments before sinking into her. Swallowing her whine as he slipped his hand under her neck to hold it, licking into her mouth until he was balls deep in her. Filling her up to the brim with him, making her feel that sort of full that only he could provide. 

“God…” Y/N whined, leaning her head back into the bed as Harry pulled out slowly, letting her feel every ridge of his cock before pushing back in hard. “You’re…” it was hard to talk at times when he fucked her. While he could run his mouth, Y/N had her mind scrambled as soon as he slipped into her. His dick made her feel drunk and in love. 

“Mhm, I know.” He soothed, though the smug look on his face made his thoughts clear. He loved that she was cockdrunk and fuzzy from her orgasms, wet and soft for him and welcoming his thickness inside of her. It was made for him. “You don’t even have a clue of how much I thought about this, my girl. Don’t even know the filth I’d think of seeing you in those pretty fucking sundresses- fuck.” He growled, the weakness for them evident. She’d noticed it early on, how he’d been exceptionally handsy when she wore them. Maybe she had five new ones since she’d found out- he would see them eventually. 

“What did you… what did you think about?” Poking the bear wasn’t usually her thing, but his mouth was sex itself. Being fucked slow and deep as he spoke about his fantasies of her was something she couldn’t pass up. 

“Things that are so dirty, it would make you squirm.” He mumbled, grinding himself inside of her. The wet walls around him clenched up as she looked at him with her hazy eyes, fingers tangled in his necklace. “Thought about taking you to his old office and bending you over that desk. Fucking you nice and deep with my hand over your mouth while everyone else was in the pool, go back out with my dick covered in you.” The cunt around him clamped down, alerting him to just how much his girl liked that idea. “You like that? Would you have done it for me, sweet girl? Let me hike up that skirt and make you keep watch at the window to make sure no one was coming inside? Because… I really wouldn’t care if someone heard.” 

Y/N knew it was fucked up to like the idea of being caught by her daughters friends while being fucked by one, but he had  this way of framing it that made her feel it to her bones. His thick cock hitting the right places as he spoke about a fantasy she wouldn’t mind participating in. “I’d probably be shocked and- and I’d probably let you. It had been so long and you’re so gorgeous…” she swallowed. “I knew you’d be able to fuck me good when I had those hints.” 

Those catching glimpses of him eyeing her up, or seeing how he gave her all his attention when she spoke. How he’d always help her out in the kitchen and chat with her while the rest of the group was involved in other things- letting his hand brush her or his body squeeze past her. He’d given signals. 

“Fuck.” His head dropped against hers, pulling out and giving a particularly deep thrust, making her clutch his arm. “Yeah? You’d let me fuck you like that? Filthy little thing, Mama. You amaze me…” the idea of her being fucked in her ex husband’s home office was a delicious fuck you to him and empowerment to her. Let a man who could properly make her cum and multiple times at that, show her how sexy she was to him. 

Y/N connected their lips again as she nudged him, signaling him to let them roll over. Harry was never one to tell her no when she wanted something, let alone when she wanted to ride him. “Would you let me sit in his chair, ride me like this?” Hands grabbed at her plush hips, helping her grind on top of him. “I’d take you anywhere, baby. Make you feel good wherever and however you want. You don’t even know how gone I am for you.” 

In some instances Harry’s honesty had her a bit nervous, but when it came to things like this? She was ever so fucking thankful he was an open book with her. There was no shortage of reassurance, no hiding how he felt. The man was as up front and honest as someone could be and after she got over how overwhelming it could be, she relished in how she never had to guess. Harry never made her wonder how he was feeling, if he was mad, if he liked what she was doing. He let her fucking know, loud and clear, and the anxiety she used to experience in her last relationship in that regard was practically nonexistent. “Me too. I am too, I promise.” She nodded, grinding herself down on his cock. 

Harry’s thighs and balls were going to be sticky and wet by the time this was done but he was craving that. Having her traces all over his skin was something he had come to look forward to, to look at as another part of the erotic package that was his girl. Hands held her hips as he helped guide her, head tipped back to watch the pleasure flash on her face. “It’s deep, isn’t it Mama?” He crooned. “Do you feel it in there? Fuck, I can see it…” His deep groan echoed in her room as he took his hand and placed it right over her belly. Felt each time she moved on him, his mouth falling open as he tugged her hand to feel it. “Right there. That’s how deep I am. My perfect fuckin’ girl, got me tucked in your belly like that…” His voice was wrecked, trying to ignore how tight it made his balls but that was an impossible feat. 

“Oh fuck… Oh fuck, you’re so deep in me.” Y/N sulked, brows furrowing as his hand kept hers on the spot, feeling it each time she sunk back down. “You’re… Harry, please.” Her eyes budding with tears, she rocked hard on his lap and knocked her head against his. “Cum in me, right there. I want it deep, I want it to stay there. Please, please… Please, H.” 

The pleading was so fucking hot that he could have keeled over. This object of his affections getting his dick as deep as possible, pleading with him to cum in her cute little tummy and tightening her cunt over him like the idea of it was the best thing her body had ever fathomed… He was the luckiest sonofabitch that got to live. Feeling the silky, scorching walls of her cunt clenching around him like it was begging for the same thing her mouth was, he couldn’t hold it back. 

The broken groan left the man’s mouth while she hurriedly humped over him, Whimpering against his cheek, her mouth fell open as she felt each and every ribbon of cum heat her up, slicking up her insides with his orgasm. Her hand fell away and covered his as he felt her grinding get sloppy, her clit rubbing against the thatch of hair right above his cock. It was messy, sloppy, unpracticed, but so fucking good she felt like she could pass out. Repeating his name as she came, her nails scratched over his bicep, using his cock like a toy to work herself through the orgasm. 

“There you go, baby. You’re so perfect.” He whispered, pulling her back and licking into her mouth. There was no denying that the man could kiss in any scenario, but when he was balls deep and she was full of his cum, his kisses were some of the hottest she had ever felt. In truth, she hadn’t realized a kiss could be that hot until he’d done it the first time. She whined as he sucked over her tongue, keening into his mouth as her tired body started to slow her grinds and sat with him snug inside of her. Even with a taste of him, she wasn’t properly done with him. “Fuck- stay there. Keep my cock warm.” He muttered, stroking the messy hair from her cheeks with his fingers. His body was sticky with sweat and her arousal, his own mix leaking from her and onto the bed, but there was no rush to go anywhere. 

“God.” Y/N exhaled shakily, resting her head against his neck. Words escaped her as she tried not to get too excited again with the weak twitches of his prick she could feel.

“That’s okay, but I prefer Harry.” The smirk was audible in his voice, but she didn’t have the energy to roll her eyes. The large paw of a hand ran up and down her back, the heartbeat still felt in her ears. “I’ll never get tired of that.” The second sentence was sincere. The man always did seem in awe after they finished having sex, like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten to this point. 

“Me either.” She muttered, keeping her eyes closed as she cuddled into him. He still had the scent of coffee on him, maybe a hint of cigarettes, but the comforting one outweighed the rest of them. Y/N hadn’t had a man like him before but she knew now that he was exactly what she’d been missing. Even if he had grease on his tee shirts, sometimes smelled like oil, and had a bit of a grumpy attitude- he’d always put her first. He’d work with his hands to build up the world for her instead of buying it. He had the skill and follow through to do so. “I wanna do it again.” 

“Christ, woman. I’ve made a monster out of you, haven’t I?” His tired chuckle made her grin against his throat, pecking over the hollow of it. “You’re gonna regret that later, but m’not gonna say no.” Flipping her over to lay on her back, her eyes met his again as he smiled down at her. “C’mon, Mama. Tell me what you want me to do next.”

[matchpointfaist]

connor murphy x new girl! reader??

this is such a cutie concept <333

(aged them up btw this is freshman year of college connor) ((also sorry this is short i've been having the Worst writing slump of all time??))

high school had been rough for connor. he'd been the freak, the loser, the loner, the outcast. when he got accepted into university, he'd been determined to get a fresh start, to make a new name for himself. he longed to be the sort of person that people really wanted to know.

so he picked up all the activities he could, volunteered to give tours to prospective students and transfers, spent all his time doing admin work in the admission office and occupied his free hours by cramming his social calendar full. he hadn't quite managed to make many friends, not yet, but he'd completely rebuilt himself, and that felt like enough to start with.

he couldn't figure out why he still felt so distant, so different, than everyone else he met. they all seemed so put together, or too into the party scene, or just as antisocial as he had once been. that was, until he met you. you'd been hand delivered to him by an admissions counselor, a welcome packet in hand, shy smile on your lips and a paper nametag stuck to your sweatshirt. it was your first day; you'd just transferred in from a school a few states over for a reason he was yet to learn.

he thought you were so gorgeous, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be outgoing, welcoming. he'd stumbled right back into old habits, all shy remarks and avoiding eye contact. but he forced himself back out of his shell, clearing his throat and welcoming you, making conversation like it was second nature.

"so how are you liking it so far?" he asked as he led you around the campus, pointing out all the important buildings, smiling to himself as you circled them on the brochure carefully. "oh, i'm from down south, actually. i just moved here a couple weeks ago and got settled," "yeah? that's cool," he nodded, listening intently, ever eager to learn more about you, "d'you like it so far?" you shrugged but smiled anyway, "i like it, it's just a bit different, yknow? but it's nice,"

as you walked, you learned all sorts of new things about each other; connor's major (cybersecurity), your hometown, his favorite classes, your favorite bands. eventually you'd run out of buildings to see, and hesitant as he was, he knew he had to let you go. "so i'll see you around then, yeah?" he smiled, hoping it would be sooner rather than later.

"yeah, i hope so," you nodded, smiling up at him, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, "thank you for showing me around, by the way. it was great to meet you, connor," you waved with two fingers and turned on your heel, and he knew then that he couldn't just 'see you around'.

"hey! uhm, if this isn't totally weird, could i get your number maybe? we could have dinner once you get comfortable," it came out all in a hurry, but he didn't even have time to be embarrassed before you were grinning over at him, passing him a small piece of paper with ten digits scrawled across it. "i wrote it earlier, i was hoping you'd ask," his smile widened at that, and he carefully tucked the note into his pocket, letting his fingers linger on the paper, "i'll call you, then,"

"i'm looking forward to it," you smiled, and maybe it was the sunset, but he could've sworn your cheeks were tinged pink, "night, con,"

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

What do you think happened to the characters after your fic patched up? Did will get his priorities straight and commit to the reader…pls say yes

Unraveled - Sequel to Patched Up

Here is a very long answer 💖

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. Minors, DNI.

Pairing: Will Miller x Reader

Warnings: Fluff/angst (flangst). Sexual content: Vaginal sex; safe sex; biting. Not beta-read.

You don't think your coworker means to send your whole day careening off its axis, but it happens anyway. It's tacked onto an invitation to hang out that weekend, coupled with a sigh that she's had no luck hooking up with Ben (who's been out of town) or with the manimal.

You still wince at the term, but you're more intrigued at the fact that Will has turned down your gorgeous friend.

"Oh?" You ply as innocently as possible. She doesn't seem terribly put out as she shrugs a shoulder, setting her laptop and notepad down on her desk.

"He was nice about it, at least. Said he was flattered, but that he travels a bunch, already has his eye on someone."

She says it like it's nothing. And to be fair, to her, it is nothing.

She has no idea that she's just touched on the tenuous string keeping Will—the thought of him in your arms, in your bed, the idea of him—and set the fucking thing on fire.

You're numb and quiet for the rest of the day as the seams of your misplaced devotion silently disintegrate. You drive home stoically, unable to even bring yourself to turn the radio or a podcast on to distract yourself.

You step inside your apartment at 6:02 pm, shut the door, lock up, and draw in a deep breath.

You have no right, no reason to mourn. There's never been an agreement between the two of you. No exclusivity, no expectations, just...an understanding. You'd talked about it. You'd settled on this decision. This is your fault, isn't it?

You should've quit while you were ahead, drawn back when you'd found yourself in tatters after spending nights with him; seaming your sanity back into one piece as your mind spun with his tender smiles, and steady touch; with his eyes slipping shut as his hips bore down against yours—

You raise a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose, fighting desperately to staunch a wave of tears that have been waiting in the wings since approximate 10:38 that morning. You can't rationalize this, not right now.

You'll let yourself put your delusions to bed tonight. You can blame yourself all you want tomorrow, and put yourself back together the way you always have.

--

Piece by piece, thread by thread, you draw yourself back together over the next week, two weeks. You stop letting your every other thought be of him—his sweet eyes, and warm hands, and crushing kisses.

You even go out with a couple of people. You don't shy away from the attention that your coworker manages to drum up when the two of you go to the bar, and when some is directed at you, you manage not to shy from it. You let someone new catch your eye, and hold it for a couple of dates.

The time you spend with him that evening is nice—you go bowling, and then grab a drink. He leaves you on your doorstep with a chaste kiss. It's sweet.

But it doesn't make you feel much.

You think, right now, that may be what you need. Something that can be gently tried and carefully broken in, like a new pair of shoes.

You're just hanging your jacket up when you hear a knock on your door. It makes you freeze, your brow furrowing. You pat down your pockets, glance over your shoulder for your purse. You didn't forget anything in his car—you checked before you got out. You tread toward the door softly, wary of the click of your heels on the entryway tile.

He can't have come back for another kiss, that first one wasn't all that spectacular. He can't want to break things off with you in person. You've only seen one another twice, and besides, why not do that instead of kissing you if he wasn't feeling it?

You peer through the peephole and just manage to stop yourself form sucking in an audible gasp.

The sight of Will Miller at your doorstep has never made you feel queasy before.

Nervous? Sure. Fluttery? Absolutely.

But right now, your heart feels like it just shocked your entire system before dropping into your bile-filled stomach.

You consider for a few moments as you watch him wait calmly on the other side of the door. It's possible that he just got there—that he pulled up, parked, walked up to the front door. But...It's also possible that he saw you get out of that man's car. It's possible that he saw that man kiss you, watched that man leave, and walked up your front steps anyway.

Maybe whoever he has his eye on is busy tonight. Maybe he wants his old, comfortable stand-in, and knows for sure that you're home. You gnaw the inside of your cheek, drawing in a deep breath and rubbing your hand over your pounding heart.

You can leave him in the cold. You can leave him on the doorstep, send the message that you're not interested anymore. You don't have to let him in just because he probably knows that you're in there.

Whatever you do, you cannot open the door. If you open the door, you'll let him in, and then all of the hard work that you've put in over the last couple of weeks will be hacked up, fit only to be sold for scraps.

The night air seems chillier than you remember from just a few moments ago—but then, you had been wearing a jacket.

Will waits there with his hands in his pockets, taking a couple of steps closer as soon as the door is opened fully. You force yourself to stand staunchly still, eyes set on his. But his gaze just sweeps from yours to linger on your lips before capturing yours again.

You won't let him inside, you can just tell him that you've had a long day and that you'd like him to leave.

He lifts one of his hands, knuckles stroking gently along your cheek as he watches your lashes flutter at the contact.

"Can I come in?"

You can say no. He probably just saw you with another man. He knows that you're at least dating, if not with someone. Just because he's here, just because he decided to show up, doesn't mean that he's entitled to your time.

--

He's taking his time.

He has before, but this is different. And it occurs to you belatedly that it may be some kind of goodbye. It makes you ache, and hide your face in his neck as his hips roll against yours with deliberate slowness.

You draw in the scent of him—his cologne, and deodorant, and sweat, and Will—and you let out a shaky little breath. You're dangerously close to unraveling the way you did two weeks ago, but you can't, not with him here. So you turn your head, squeeze your eyes shut, sink your teeth into the slope of his shoulder.

Will's hips stutter against yours as a groan punches out of him. But he doesn't let out a word of complaint, or teasing. He slips a hand up from your thigh and grasps the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your head back. His slick skin slips from your teeth as you shudder, your back bowing as you push up against him.

Will peers down at you, those sweet lips parted as he pants softly. His typically bright blue eyes are dark, and covetous. You get as good a look at them as you can before his mouth descends on yours, tongue slipping between your lips.

You can't bring your hands to settle. The sweep across his arms, his hair, his neck, his face, the slick indent of your bite mark.

And maybe it's your turn to be the sadist, to twist the knife knowingly, just a little.

Pressing into the tender skin makes Will break the kiss with a hiss. His hands raise to grasp yours, intertwining your fingers and pinning you them to the bed. You whimper, pressing up into his iron-tight grip, but to no avail. You squeeze his hands, sink back into the mattress, and unravel as he gives and takes and takes and takes.

--

"When'd you get back in town?"

Asking the question feels like you're losing the last vestiges of safety that you'd managed to build up around yourself in your time without him. You shouldn't still want to know. You should give less of a fuck about where he's been, what he's been up to.

But with his body nestled against yours, his palms resting on your thighs, you tell yourself that you'll pick yourself back up tomorrow (again), patch yourself together (again), and move on from Will Miller once and for all (again).

He doesn't answer right away, and after a few moments, you realize that he isn't awake.

Tipping your head down to get a better look at him, you see his closed eyes, and you stop breathing for a moment to feel his—the deep, even pull of it, the push of it against your bare skin. You blink dumbly for a moment before you tip your head back.

You can wake him up. You can shoo him out. He's a grown man, he can handle it.

You reach out just enough to draw the covers up over the two of you and your bedside shut the lamp off.

--

You awake to the feeling of Will pressing his teeth into your clavicle—not hard enough to hurt, and likely not anywhere near enough to mark. But you groan and wriggle, shoving at his forehead all the same. He just presses his body more tightly to yours, hands slipping down to grasp and pin your hips.

You scrub your eyes sleepily, smiling as Will's tongue laves to irritated skin. He rests his chin against your shoulder, the brush of his beard just on the edge of tickling you. You reach up, gently raking your nails against his scalp.

"You stayed."

He doesn't nod, or him, or shrug. He just watches, and waits. And you can handle silence, you can. You'll wait him out.

You manage all of ten seconds before it gets to you.

"...How long have you been back in town?"

"A few hours."

Hours? You'd been expecting him to say days, weeks—

"When did you—?"

"Around nine."

Nine. You'd been dropped off around nine. If Will was being honest, it meant that he'd driven right to yours. You avert your gaze, fighting to keep your composure in the face of Will's steady focus.

"Oh?"

"Mm." One of his hands smooths up and over your thigh, fingers swirling in aimless patterns. "Who was he?"

You're unable to stop or hide your wince, and you pull yourself out from under him as your tangle of feelings flare. He lets you up, and sits up himself. You can feel the close watch that he keeps on you as you grab your bathrobe, tugging it on and tying it more tightly than necessary.

"Well?" He prods after a moment.

"Just a guy I've been seeing."

"How many times?"

"A couple."

"Serious?"

"The hell does that matter?" You scoff. Will remains steady in the face of your irritation, just watching you move around your room, picking up your discarded clothing. You lay his pants on the bed, and he gamely catches his underwear and shirt when you throw them at him. He stands, pulls the underwear on, but doesn't bother with anything else.

"You wouldn't have let me in if it was," He argues. You shake your head, your protestation clogging up your throat. You both know he's right on that point, there's no point quibbling.

"Was your first choice unavailable?" You grumble.

"Excuse me?"

"I've been told you have your eye on someone." You don't dare look at him as the quiet fills the room, and stretches to suffocating as you wait for Will's answer.

"...Yeah," He confirms. And it's like it's 6:02 in your entryway all over again. Tears prickle in your eyes, and your stomach churns with upset. But you just nod, raising your hand to pinch the bridge of your nose and steady yourself again.

"So?" You press. "Why aren't you wherever she is?"

"I am."

It's spoken deceptively softly, so quietly that you nearly miss it the same time. You shake your head, trying to make sense of the words over the blood pounding in your ears.

"Excuse me?"

You register the slight creak of the floorboards as Will stands, the soft padding of his feet as he gets closer. He takes hold of your wrist, drawing it back from your face as he gently grasps your chin with his other hand.

"I just got back into town and I came right here," He murmurs.

"For a bootycall."

"To ask you out...And yeah, for a bootycall."

His warm smile widens as you sputter a disbelieving laugh, the force of it pushing a few waiting tears from your eyes. Will reaches up, gently smoothing the drops away before he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"I should've said something sooner. That is," He dips his head to meet your eyes, "If this is something that you want."

You huff, reaching up and dabbing irritatedly at your eyes with the sleeve of your bathrobe.

"Can we just be clear about what this is?" You sniffle.

"Dating, for a start."

"A start?"

"Mhm. I'm happy to take it slow, considering how quickly other areas have accelerated."

You consider him for a few moments—the heat of him, the steadiness. He stayed. Will Miller fell asleep in your bed, in your fucking arms. He came to your first.

Your eyes stray to his shoulder, to the slight mark left behind by your teeth the night before. You reach up, skimming your fingertip over it.

"Sorry," You mumble.

"S'okay," He soothes, smoothing his hands over your hips and drawing you closer. "So?"

"Okay."

"Can we just be clear about what you're saying 'okay' to?"

You do your best to shoot him a disapproving glare, but you can't help the smile beginning to twist your lips.

"Okay," You lean into it. "I would like to date. For a start."

Tag list: @missredherring​ ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta​ ;  @paintballkid711​ ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ​;

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[highonmarvel]

Heyy love your work. I wanted to make a request for Bucky Barne was thinking something like reader goes to his house for Christmas but then he forcefully drugs her with a syringe and she's held captive. But he's overal nice enough. He'd let her kick or scream or fight back. But then one day he lets her out of the basement or wherever he keeps her and she tries to escape and succeeds to some degree He manages to catch her and he snaps, gets angry and punishes her and she's scared cuz he snapped.

Winter

i love this! i’m sorry this isn’t proofread—i’m late as is and needed to get this out into the world so at least some people can read this as they lie in bed and have it be relevant. also, i’m so sorry, i left out the syringe bit because i got too into the plot i conjured up with the food coma here, sorry, sweetheart, but please, send another request if you really want to see it get done. let me know your thoughts, also to my sister @thehydraethereal. with that out of the way:

Bucky Barnes: A Christmas dinner opens your eyes to a new type of Winter.

additional content warnings here!

CONTENT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This piece includes graphic depictions of torture. Seriously, this is really dark; do not proceed if you are not comfortable with explicit descriptions of physical violence. This is your warning. This is fucking dark. I can not stress this enough. I am fucked up.

It wasn’t that you were technically averse to relationships or had commitment issues, you just feel like at this point in your life a solid relationship wasn’t really going to work. You had been travelling to the other side of the country quite a bit to take care of your sister, but this Christmas, your parents went down, so you didn’t really have an excuse to bail when Bucky invited you to dinner.

You don’t think you’re technically dating him–you don’t ever recall you or him asking the other to be their partner–but you’ve at least been going out with him for a few months. Guess you’d have to face him at some point; it’s been nearly three weeks since he had suggested you live together, which had caught you completely off-guard. You had managed to side-step the conversation at the time before making up some bullshit excuse to leave, and you haven’t had the courage to face him since.

Pulling into Bucky’s driveway always makes you feel a little uneasy; he doesn’t live like a hermit or overly secluded, but for some reason the houses in this suburb seem just a little too far apart for comfort–no one really has ‘neighbours.’

The scent of a very well-cooked meal carries right up to the front door, making you take a deep whiff before knocking.

“Hi, honey,” Bucky answers the door, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

“God, I’m practically drooling out here,” you say, and Bucky laughs as he steps out of the way and allows you in. “How long have you been standing?”

“Ah, a few hours,” he admits, sheepishly, watching you hang your coat up and rubbing the back of his neck when you raise your eyebrows at him.

“But it’s just the two of us, no?” you question as you lead him into the kitchen (maybe you being so casual in his home gave him the impression you’d like to move in with him).

“Yeah,” he replies, tailing you. “But I realised I don’t really know what you like and I panicked a bit.”

You giggle and that seems to ease his apparent embarrassment, allowing him to let out a breathless laugh as he moves into the kitchen, standing on the other side of the island as you settle on a stool.

“How have you been?” he inquires as he pours you a glass of wine, not making eye contact.

“Alright,” you reply, watching the red liquid slosh into the glass. “Glad to have some time off.”

“How’s your sister?”

You sigh and mouth a thank you to him as he slides the glass towards you. After a sip, you look up at him. “Better, I think, and she’s only allowed two visitors at a time–my parents really wanted to see her so I let them for Christmas, they don’t really get a chance otherwise.”

He hums in understanding as he puts on pink oven mitts and crouches down.

“Are you disappointed?” he asks loudly as he pulls a dish out of the oven.

You shrug. “I’d have liked to go, but I’m not all that sad about it. I don’t have much going for me in New York, so I was worried I’d be bored, but I’m having a good time.

“You just got here!” He laughs as he rises with a turkey.

“I know, but wine.” You raise your glass to him and peer into the ceramic dish. “Turkey?” you ask, which he responds to with a hum of affirmation.

“I don’t really like it, not sure if you do.”

“I like it. I would have thought you patriots like Thanksgiving stuff, though.”

You help him set up a few dishes across a small dining table and sit down.

“This was really sweet, Bucky.” You smile, tone sincere and nearly sappy as he cuts you a large leg of turkey. “Doesn’t this stuff make you sleepy?” you joke, and it takes him just a beat too long to chuckle.

“I think that’s a myth, actually,” he responds as he sits back down across from you.

“Really?” you raise your eyebrows as you dig your knife and fork into the leg. “I could have sworn...”

“Is it good?” he asks, watching you carefully, and with a kind of interest that makes you slightly uneasy, but you can’t deny it’s heavenly. You nod enthusiastically and point to the meat.

“God, this is great! You’d swear there was cocaine in here or something.”

Something lights in his eyes for a second, a spark you mistake for happiness. Bucky has always loved nothing more than to see you happy and relaxed: one of the reasons you were so drawn to him was his genuine desire to not only make you as happy as possible, but to appreciate that joy. Sometimes you got the impression making you happy pleased him almost as much as it pleased you, if not more. And it was times like these you felt bad you weren’t really able to make a commitment to him. He never seemed to mind it all too much, but you can tell it’s something he wants, and you almost feel like you’re taking advantage of his affection–but he knows, and you know, and if he isn’t happy with this arrangement, surely he’d say something.

But Bucky has to bite back the retort, “Well, not that drug.”

After a hearty meal you only put down when you feel you’re genuinely on the verge of passing out, you push away your plate. “Woo! I don’t know how I’m ever gonna work that off. I think I’ve gained, like, 10.”

“You're perfect the way you are,” Bucky says, leaning down to press his lips to your cheek as he clears the table.

You close your eyes and hum in delight, but you find it a little hard to open them again. When you manage to pry your eyes open again, it’s not much, still looking at the table through droopy lids. You stand and sway, rattling your chair as you grapple the table for support.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks as he reappears in your line of sight, brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah,” you respond, squeezing your eyes shut and ripping them open again. “But I really should get going.”

“Get going?” he repeats, moving to your side for support as you stumble forward. “I don’t think you should drive right now.”

But you dismiss him with a wave of your hand, pushing off of him to stand up straight. You think you say, “I’m fine. I’ll call you.” but you can’t really make out the words through the slight slurring.

“Lie down,” he offers gently, taking a step towards his bedroom.

“No…” you tear your arm free of his grasp. You had spent the night with him before, but for a reason you can’t figure out, this time, something is screaming at you to decline.

“Really, darling, you need to,” he insists, his voice having dropped to a low murmur. He takes a step forward and you instinctively take a step back, feeling a little guilty when he stops dead in his tracks and something like hurt flashes across his features. You know something that makes Bucky wince is when he feels someone is afraid of him, and you can only imagine how he must feel now if you’re the one displaying apprehension.

You shake your head and turn away from him to the doorway.

“Hey...” You startle as you feel his grip on your forearm, gentle, but firm. “You’re not leaving.” The words are said in a sincerely concerned way, but the fact the statement came off as more of a command than a suggestion really triggers something in you.

“Bucky...” you groan as you uselessly try to pull away, feeling weaker than you otherwise would, even against him.

He doesn’t have to give too sharp of a tug to make you stumble into his arms, his hold on you steady, and, at any other time, safe, but now it feels more certain, somehow, almost possessive. You try to protest but you’re practically babbling incoherently under him, head lolled to the side as he adjusts his grip from under your arms to pick you up bridal style.

“Just lie down for a second...”

And you’re too out of it to notice he’s passed his bedroom door.

***

It’s difficult to open your eyes again, your lashes stuck together as you turn your head over. When vision slowly comes back to you, you’re met with a midcentury wooden bedside table you don’t recognise. You prop yourself up on your forearm and squint into the room, looking for any signs of familiarity, and the only thing you recognise is the thing you dread.

“What…” you begin to mutter, and Bucky looks up from the book he’s reading with a smile.

“You’re up.” He stands from the chair positioned by ‘your’ (this isn’t your bed) beside and moves to sit on the edge, placing a hand to your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

You weakly slap his hand away as you start to really wake up and realise what’s going on.

“I’m not… this isn’t… what…” you can’t really find the words to ask the questions you need answers to.

“It’s your Christmas present!” he says with a grin, standing to make a grand gesture with his arms, out to the room. I’ve got your favourite books here, I remember you telling me you used to want a four poster princess bed.” He points to the ceiling and sure enough, pretty curtains hang over your head. “But if you don’t like it I can change it.” He shrugs and stands somewhat nervously as he waits for you to react.

“What… the fuck.”

He tsks and swings his arms back and forth, rocking on his heels.

“I set it up for you a few weeks ago, I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable sleeping with me every night, I know you like your space.”

“Are you out of your mind!?” You throw the sheets off of you and manage to stand, even though your head feels a little heavy.

He sighs and steps forward. “I know it feels like–”

“Oh, you know what it feels like? You know what it feels like to be ostensibly kidnapped by your boyfriend?”

He blushes. “So I am your boyfriend.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You throw a pillow at him (ineffective but it was the nearest thing) which he catches with ease and turns over to reveal an embroidered flower. “I made this,” he says, proudly.

“What the fuck!?” you shriek as you throw another pillow at him, this one he dodges easily.

You’ve never seen him like this, nearly giddy and, in this context, borderline delusional. It makes you grip onto your hair and bunch your fingers into the locks. “Oh, my god, you’re insane!”

“I’m not the one yelling and throwing things,” he mutters, and your eyes snap up to his.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you begin, exasperated. “I’m so fucking sorry I don’t react well to crimes committed against me.”

“You came into my house.”

“Yes, but I didn’t come into this room! Do you really expect me to believe I can just leave anytime? That that door isn’t locked. You think I’m fucking stupid?”

He gently tosses the pillow back onto the bed and winces. “I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

“Bucky,” you begin, carefully, voice dangerously low as you step up to him. “I don’t know what in god’s name has gotten into you, but I’m not having it. I’m leaving.”

“Sweetheart, you really don’t intimidate me.” And the way he says it with such sincere pity makes you shove at his chest. He doesn’t stumble, but he takes a step back for your benefit.

You match his step and poke your finger in his chest, glaring up at him with more fury than you thought you had and trying your hardest not to wrap your hand around his throat. What really pisses you off is his patronising speech; you can tell he genuinely thinks he’s doing good, and that he honestly feels bad that you can’t appreciate it, that you’re weaker than him, and it boils your blood. Apathy or even mockery would be better than this condescending way he’s deluded himself into believing this is for your benefit.

“Don’t call me sweetheart, you piece of shit. If that door is locked, you’re gonna unlock it, and you’re going to leave me the fuck alone.” You practically spit the words at him through gritted teeth, seething to the point you can feel heat radiating from your body and wouldn’t be surprised if there was literal steam coming out of your ears.

“Sit down, angel.”

“Talk to me like that again and there will be nothing angelic about what I do to you.”

“Your mother called.”

That gets your attention and your anger dissipates for a moment. “Really? What did she say?”

When he guides you to sit down, you’re not really in the space to fight him off, waiting to hear any news from your family.

“They’re coming down in a few days, for New Year’s, and, they’re bringing your sister–they say she’s stable enough for travel.”

You feel your eyes begin to water at the thought of your sister being that strong, of being able to talk to her like you used to, before she got sick. But you snap out of it, and that swelling in your heart turns to something close to anxiety, but closer to suspicion. “Why are you telling me this?”

He scoffs as if you’re asking him if the sky is blue. “Because I know you want to see them. I told them they could stay with us for a few days.”

“With us?”

He just blinks. “Yes, with us.”

“You must be out of your fucking mind if you think…” And the next few hours are spent with you screaming in his face, swinging punches which he easily dodges, but sometimes he humours you and allows you a hit–not like it hurts anyway. His calm demeanour and ‘care’ makes you infuriated beyond belief, and by the end of the night the room has been trashed, there are scratches on the door from your desperate clawing and pounding, your voice is hoarse from all the yelling, and you’re exhausted while Bucky is no more beaten than when you first woke up.

Eventually, you’ve physically exhausted yourself so much you can’t even push him away when he climbs into bed next to you and holds you in his arms, placing your head against his chest and caressing your hair, which he knows always relaxes you and helps you fall asleep.

***

You only know it’s morning when you wake up because Bucky greets you with it, but it doesn’t take long for your attention to fall to the walls, noticing there aren’t any windows.

“We’re in the basement, you know.” Bucky comments, watching your eyes dart around the room and catching on to what you’re doing. “I don’t have a spare room, you know that.”

You’re nearly tired of glaring daggers at him seeing as he doesn’t really feel it–if anything, it seems to spur him on, like he doesn’t really care what you do as long as he gets some kind of reaction out of you. If you remained as stoic as he did, maybe that would give him pause for thought, but you really can’t resist the urge to attack him, and he somehow sees it as endearing, like any attention you give him makes his heart swell.

Initially, you refuse his invitation for breakfast upstairs, but when that morning grumpiness subsides, you let your stubbornness fall away in favour of opportunity. This really solidifies in your mind Bucky is so convinced you’ll stay that he doesn’t really worry about turning his back on you as he flips an egg.

“Where’re you going?”

You stop dead in your tracks, shocked he had heard you get up when you were practically sneaking like a cartoonish villain.

“To the bathroom,” you lie, to which he responds with a simple, “Okay.”

It’s too easy, but you’d rather take your chances than wonder if this is some kind of setup. You have to get out of here as soon as possible, so you don’t have time to look for your car keys, but you hesitate at the door. It’s beginning to snow, and you’re not dressed anywhere near enough to make it to a neighbour–the only thing that had kept you warm before coming up to see him was that nice coat, but it’s not on the rack anymore.

There’re only a few locks you have to turn to quietly open the door, your teeth chattering as a cold breeze hits you so hard it’s painful, like your skin is literally freezing onto your bones. You’re barefoot, no less. You can’t kid yourself into thinking you won’t lose a toe or some extremities in the process, but you can not stay. It really has only been one night, but something you’ve never liked in your life is being trapped, makes your skin crawl to the point you’d rather shed it than be deprived of freedom, especially when you’ve got the chance to see your family soon. And besides, it’s really not that long of a walk to the next house, you won’t die out there, but you can only vaguely make it out through the snow, and if you scream, it’ll surely be drowned by the harsh winds. With one last glance behind you, you step into the snow, and instantly regret it, your feet set close to frozen in just a few seconds, and goosebumps rising so quickly across your skin it feels like you’ve suddenly broken out in hives. And just as you consider turning back, you’re shoved forward, and you shriek as you land face first in the snow, afraid of crying at the impact lest your tears turn to ice right on your cheeks.

You’re gripped by the arm and pulled upright, before being again pushed further away from the house you can feel radiating warmth just through the open door. You gasp for air as you manage to bring yourself to your hands and knees, fingers curling into the snow and slowly becoming numb. A harsh gust blows, nearly knocking you off balance, and you squint to look up at the door, Bucky standing before you in little more than a long-sleeved t-shirt (he’s more underdressed than you) and sweatpants, hair still a little messy with sleep, but the look in his eyes, it’s a look you’ve never been on the receiving end of–in fact, you’ve never even seen it, but you can recognise it immediately.

“You forget I’m the Winter Soldier.” You’re not sure how his deep growl manages to carry across the howling of the winds, but you don’t have time to figure it out before a metal hand grips a fistful of your hair and you’re dragged through the snow, instinctively trying to plant your feet in the ground to stop him but even if you could match his strength, the cold is unbearable, and your legs are starting to feel numb, yet still stiff.

You don’t have time to be grateful that you’ve been thrown back into warmth as you slide across the floor and Bucky kicks the door shut behind him. From a hallway table, he pulls out a wrench, and you struggle to get your arms and legs to move away from him as he approaches you, menacingly.

You don’t know how such slow and heavy footsteps manage to catch up to you so quickly, but soon he’s got his boot pressing down on your ankle, preventing you from doing more than thrashing around. He leans down and grips your face roughly, forcibly pulling you up to meet him, and his eyes are so void of emotion he nearly looks dead. He doesn’t look angry, he looks like he just can’t feel.

“I do all this for you, and you can’t even offer me a pretty little smile.” His large fingers reach into your mouth, pulling your lips and teeth apart wide, wide enough for him to shove the wrench into your mouth and attach it to one of your teeth. “You don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Maybe you’ll appreciate it more if it just wasn’t the same.” You feel your gum twist and let out a cry, gurgling through your throat. Your frail fingers grasp onto his wrist as you desperately try to shake your head, but his strong hold prevents you from it. He twists a little more and you squeeze your eyes shut, holding your breath, before he eventually pulls out and you gasp for dear life, tears stinging your vision.

He roughly tugs you up and practically throws you into a nearby chair, before taking your hand with surprising gentleness, caressing your hurting fingers with the back of his for a moment before adjusting his grip to bring the wrench back forward.

“Now this is no good…” he remarks, moving his head to see more of your frostbitten marks you’re sure will leave scars. “You know what happens to these?” The wrench attacks itself to your index finger and Bucky adjusts its width so it’s threatening to chop your finger right off.

You scream at him to let go, kicking at his legs gets no reaction out of him, but don’t dare to move the hand he’s still holding.

“What if I just…” He twists only slightly and your skin breaks, blood seeping down from your frayed skin and dripping onto your thigh.

Just as you’re about to let out an unstoppable shriek of pain, Bucky’s metal hand presses to your mouth, stopping the sound going any further than echoing off his palm for only you to hear again. He twists more and you move your wrist with it, trying anything to stop him from twisting your finger off. He notices this and removes his other hand from your mouth to hold your wrist firmly in place.

“Bucky, please–”

“Shut up!” he shouts, his hold on you tightening even further. He lowers his face to yours with wide eyes, jaw clenched impossibly tight, and speaks in a dangerously low register, his voice trembling with fury as he tries to hold it together, at least in demeanour if not in action. “You really fucked up, and if you don’t have any fingers, you won’t be able to open my door ever again.”

✪

[my beloved taglist: @cowboysnbugs, @keito-123, @vogueprincess, @cjand10, @mybabygirllove]