#I’m just SAYING. tag your damn spoilers

[sh4nksslvt]

Hello! I hope you're having a nice day! I was wondering if you could write a story where the reader was once a slave to the Celestial Dragons. You can choose whether they are part of the Red-Haired Pirates or the Straw Hat Pirates. However, they keep their past a secret because they don’t want anyone to know. The reader also has a strong dislike for physical touch. During a battle, they get injured, and someone on the crew notices their injury. The reader doesn’t say anything about it but becomes very paranoid afterward. You can decide how the crew eventually finds out about the reader's past! If you don't wanna do this its fine but if you do, thank you!

its not much and accurate but hope u like it

Hands Off, Hearts In

After hiding a painful past and avoiding every touch like the plague, a Straw Hat battle injury forces secrets out—and affection in.

Strawhats x gn!reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, platonic, light angst, hurt/comfort a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ffs cringe and ooc words count: 1.3k

masterlist | ko-fi

The waves crashed playfully against the Sunny’s side, sunshine glittering across the sea like someone had spilled a bucket of gold. The ship bobbed along merrily, the crew spread out in their usual state of semi-chaotic peace.

You sat on the upper deck rail, knees drawn up, keeping a comfortable distance from everyone. Not that they minded. You’d been with the crew for a while now, and it hadn’t taken long for them to realize you were… well, not a hugger. Sanji had learned that lesson fast when he tried to wrap an arm around your shoulders after a great meal. The plate you nearly brained him with had not been an overreaction. Probably.

“Oi, Y/N!!” Luffy called, hopping down from the mast like a rubbery monkey. “Wanna spar?”

“No thanks.”

“Come oooon,” he whined, stretching his arms behind his head. “You never do!”

You raised a brow. “Because last time I did, you launched me into the kitchen and Sanji almost cooked me.”

“Tasted fine to me,” Sanji muttered from the grill.

You pretended not to hear.

You liked the Straw Hats. They were loud and strange and overly affectionate, but they were your crew now. After everything, you’d managed to carve out a space here—one where no one touched your back, no one asked questions you didn’t want to answer, and no one looked too closely.

Because if they did…

You reached over your shoulder absently, fingertips brushing the thick fabric of your shirt. Beneath it, the brand still seared your skin. A sickening symbol. One you would never forget—even if you could.

The mission had been a simple one: disrupt a corrupt weapons trader allied with the World Government.

“Guy’s probably just a smug coward hiding behind a bunch of goons,” Zoro said, cracking his neck. “In and out.”

Spoiler: it was never that simple.

Now, you were crouched behind a stack of crates, heartbeat thundering in your ears, blade in your hand, ribs aching from where a blunt weapon had smashed into your side earlier.

You were pretty sure something was cracked.

“Y/N!” Chopper’s voice called, full of panic. “Where are you?!”

“I’m fine!” you shouted back, gritting your teeth. You were not fine.

You watched the others from your hiding spot. Sanji’s leg lit up with fire, spinning enemies into the dirt. Nami wielded lightning like a goddess. Zoro was slicing through enemies like they were made of tofu. Luffy had launched into the sky, yelling something about “Gomu Gomu no Whatever!” while Usopp provided sniper cover.

You hated fighting. You weren’t bad at it, but pain and touch and fear still sent you spiraling sometimes. Like now. You pressed a hand to your side and hissed.

Something wet was seeping through your clothes.

Damn.

Someone rounded the corner. “There you are!”

You turned—and froze.

It was Robin.

Of everyone, Robin was the most difficult to fool. Her eyes were like x-rays. Calm, clever, kind, but never oblivious.

“You’re bleeding...” she said softly, glancing at your side.

“...I’m fine,” you said, stiff.

“You’re bleeding through your shirt.”

“It’s just a scratch.”

She didn’t argue. She only looked at you with those quiet eyes, then offered a hand to help you stand.

You stared at it like it was a snake.

Robin blinked. “...Would you rather I called Chopper?”

“I can walk.”

It wasn’t until you got back to the Sunny that everything really started to fall apart.

“You have three cracked ribs,” Chopper declared, eyes wide with concern and stethoscope still hanging from his neck. “You should’ve told someone sooner! What if you punctured a lung?!”

You shrugged, flinching slightly. “Didn’t want to be a burden.”

“Burden?!” Nami barked, arms crossed. “You’re literally dying in a supply closet and think we’d be mad about it?!”

“I’m not dying.”

“Now you’re not,” Chopper muttered, wrapping your side carefully.

But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that during the examination, Chopper had moved to adjust your shirt—and your body had instinctively flinched hard, jerking away.

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice sharp.

Everyone paused. You hadn’t meant to yell. But the panic had already bloomed in your chest. You couldn’t let them see. Not that.

“Y/N?” Usopp asked quietly. “...Is everything okay?”

“Fine.”

“You’re shaking,” Brook noted, polite as ever.

“Maybe cold,” Franky suggested, offering a too warm blanket.

But Robin… Robin was staring at the bloodied shirt that Chopper had cut away. Her gaze moved—carefully—down to your back, just for a moment. Just enough.

Her voice, soft but certain, her eyes widen “That mark… was it from them?”

You froze.

“Robin-chan?” Sanji asked, confused. “What do you mean—?”

But the damage was done.

You grabbed your shirt, stumbled to your feet, ignoring the searing pain in your ribs. “Don’t. Don’t ask me. Don’t look at me like that.”

Luffy, unusually quiet, tilted his head. “What mark?”

Zoro frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. “...Oi. Y/N?”

“I said don’t!”

You limped out of the room, ignoring the worried calls behind you. You didn’t want pity. You didn’t want soft words or careful eyes or questions. You didn’t want the crew to see you as less—as broken. Not when you had come so far.

Not when this had been your only shot at freedom.

You avoided everyone for the next two days.

Not hard on a ship. You were a pro at hiding in closets. (Usopp, though, had a knack for finding people in places no one should’ve been able to fit in.)

Eventually, they stopped knocking.

But they didn’t stop trying.

A small tray of food appeared outside the door once. A cup of your favorite tea another time. A new book you’d mentioned in passing. Someone even left a rubber duck. Probably Luffy.

On the third night, a knock.

“Go away,” you muttered from your hiding spot.

“Not until you hear my incredibly persuasive argument,” came Usopp’s voice.

You sighed.

He slipped in anyway, holding a blanket and a snack plate shaped like a shark.

“Still mad?” he asked.

You glared.

“Cool. Cool cool cool. So, listen.” He crouched beside you, offering a rice ball like a peace offering. “Nobody’s mad at you. Or weirded out. Or anything.”

“...You don’t even know the full story.”

“Don’t need to,” he said simply. “You’re you. You’re part of our crew. Luffy said that’s all that matters.”

You blinked.

“He also said if anyone ever even thinks of trying to brand you again, he’s gonna punch their brains into soup. So. Y’know. There’s that.”

“…Soup.”

Usopp nodded sagely. “Chunky.”

You let out a snort before you could stop yourself. It kind of hurt. But in a good way.

It wasn’t instant. You didn’t wake up the next day and feel cured. But you started emerging more.

Franky gave you space but added a seat with a personal shade canopy just for you. Brook made you songs that avoided topics you didn’t like. Nami showed you how to do crew finances with absolutely zero touching involved. Zoro sparred with you using broom handles so you could practice defense.

Sanji was the toughest.

Not because he didn’t try—he just… really liked touching people. But now, he always asked first. And when you said no, he saluted dramatically and called you “Captain No Cuddles.”

You hated how much it made you laugh.

But it was Luffy who surprised you most.

He sat beside you one day while you were stargazing, not touching, not talking.

Just there.

And after a while, you asked, “...Aren’t you curious?”

He grinned. “Nah.”

“…Really?”

“You don’t have to tell us anything, Y/N,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head. “But you can. If you want. Just don’t forget—” he grinned wider, “we’d never leave you behind.”

You looked at the stars, thinking about the brand on your back, the life you left, and the people who had tried to break you.

And then, you thought about this weird, loud, ridiculous crew who had somehow become home.

“…Thanks, Captain.”

He beamed. “Wanna fight now?”

“Still no.”

“Wanna prank Usopp?”

A grin tugged at your mouth. “Absolutely.”

[muontron]

DELTARUNE COMMUNITY I SWEAR TO GOD PLEASE TAG YOUR FUCKING SPOILERS

[alidiggory92]

His Girl - One Shot

Jackson!Joel x F!reader

Summary: Joel and reader have been together for a few years now, and live in his house in Jackson with Ellie. You forget to lock his truck after driving it, and he gets a little upset.

OR you call him Daddy, Joel melts, and Dina walks in at literally the worst time.

Notes/tags (16+): Age gap (Joel is late fifties, reader is mid twenties), established relationship, domestic fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort, soft smut, teasing, banter, Joel is kinda mean, no use of y/n, daddy kink (reader literally says it once), glasses!joel, oldman!joel, Dina walks in but it's not exhibitionism, TLOU season 2 spoilers (not really just characters from that are used), Every Breath You Take by The Police (song is played, cause the reader likes it), protective Joel, no smut just sensual stuff. Hopefully I got it all!

Word Count: 2.5K A/N: Okay! Here we go! First one shot so please be nice to me, okay? No smut, just all fluff and sensual talk, since I've stated that I feel weird about writing smut (for now.. mwehehe). Reader is not described apart from having hair long enough for Joel to comb his fingers through it, and that she likes music.

Joel was busy in the house, working on some circuit board. His glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, and his eyes squinted slightly. He needed a new prescription, his vision has been getting worse over the years, but he always brushed you off when you commented on it. 

You watched him through the window, coming back from a small patrol. The only kind Joel would let you go on were the ones around town or right outside the walls. You weren’t scared exactly—just nervous.

Earlier, you’d driven his truck, and forgot to lock it once you got back home. You came out of the garage just in time to see Joel unlocking the truck with his spare keys. He paused, sighed, and chewed his bottom lip—fourth time you’d forgotten.

Sure, Jackson was a pretty safe town, but you know Joel. Doesn’t trust most people. Plus, men. With their trucks. You never understood that. Maybe it was a boomer thing.

His frustration–already high from construction– was only heightened when this happened. Which only resulted in a ‘stern talking to’ –as Joel called it–. You hated getting lectured. Made you feel like a kid. Which, compared to him, you are. 

Regardless, you ended up nodding along to his words, tears forming in your eyes. 

“I’ve told you, as soon as you get out of the truck, you lock the damn door.” Joel held up his keys, dangling them, “You insert, twist, and double check. Ain’t complicated.” 

You nodded, “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry doesn't cut it this time, hun.” He scratched his beard. “Show me how you lock it.” He nodded at the truck.

You scrunched your nose, and sniffled as you walked over to his truck, grabbing the keys from his rough hands, fiddling with getting them into the lock. Swallowing thickly, you lock it, then tug on the handle to show him it’s locked. 

“Good girl.” Joel murmured, patting your hip and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

That was about two hours ago, and you still feel weird going back inside the house. You have no reason to be. Joel wasn’t scary, except for when he had to put you in your place, but that was years ago. You knew his boundaries and he knew yours. Mostly.

But apparently his therapy sessions with Gale were helping. Which you didn’t know about until a week ago. 

You sniffled, your nose running from crying the cold. Then you open the front door quietly, hoping Joel wouldn’t hear you come in, considering he was working on that circuit board, and was half-deaf anyway.

You take off your jacket, put it on the coat rack, then wipe your nose with your sleeve. 

“Hey, darlin’.” Joel says, looking up briefly.

You swallow, your gaze low. The guilt from not locking his truck again shouldn’t be this severe, since he seems to have forgotten about it already. 

“Where abouts you been for the past coupla hours?” Joel asked, poking and prodding with some tools you had no idea what the purpose of them was. 

“Out.” You mumble, busying yourself with the fridge—nothing inside but water, a whiskey flask, and a half-eaten sandwich. You grumble quietly, then shut the fridge, leaning back against the counter, gazing at Joel’s hunched back.

“Out.” Joel echoed. He’s silent for a long time. He sits up, looking over his shoulder at you, “What’s the Ellie stance for?” He asked.

You fix your stance, uncross your arms from your chest, “I’m not-” You defend yourself then Joel tsks. 

“Tch, no, you are. Acting like a damn teenager.” 

You huff, he knew you hated being called that. “I’m not.” You argue. 

Joel stayed quiet. Ever since those damn therapist appointments started he’s stopped picking up your arguments. Or he just stays quiet until you decide to engage with him. The whole ‘I’m not responsible for someone else’s emotional state’ had you surprised but also a little upset. Especially with how dependent you’d become on him. 

He didn’t mind of course, you’re his girl. But the frustration and slight guilt or the damn hormones you had, made your mood swing like no other.

After a few minutes of nothing but the tapping of the tools against the circuit board, you walk over to his chair, and sit on the floor next to it. Joel paused, sighing through his nose. “The hell are you doin’ on the floor?” he asked.

You sit on the floor in silence, fiddling with the laces of Joel’s boot, your fingers slow, almost absent-minded. The clinking of the tools fills the space, but it doesn’t cover the ache in your chest. You’re still carrying the guilt, the weight of disappointing him—even if it was just about a damn truck lock.

But maybe guilt isn’t the only thing pressing on you. 

You shift closer, resting your cheek on his thigh, under the table. You feel him pause. He doesn’t say anything at first, just lets out a soft sigh through his nose. Then—

“Tch,” Joel tsks, his tone low. “No, darlin’. Not right now.”

Your fingers trail up, finding the buckle of his belt, toying with it lazily. His breath catches. You smirk a little to yourself.

“Honey, I said no.” His voice is firmer this time, but his hand never moves to stop you. That familiar tension in his body tells you everything.

You sit back on your heels and chuckle softly, gaze dropping to the front of his jeans. Your hand still fiddles with his belt, not unbuckling it, but more tapping against the buckle. You nudge your nose against his inner thigh, shutting your eyes at the feeling of the denim against your skin. 

Joel groans under his breath, setting his tools down with a small clink. He looks down at you, kneeling, his glasses sliding off his nose a bit, but he catches them with his index finger, pushing them back up.

“I hate when you’re mad at me,” you whispered, voice small.

“I ain’t mad.” he replied gruffly, but the way his hand makes its way to thread through your hair says otherwise. “Just worry about ‘cha.”

“I’m sorry.” you muttered. 

Joel furrowed his brows, “Sorry don’t mean crawlin’ under tables and actin’ like a brat.”

You huff, “You like when I act like a brat.” You joke, hoping the crease between his brows would relax.

Joel huffs a breath that would’ve been a laugh if he weren’t so focused on you knelt before him, “Ain’t the point.” He runs his hand through your hair, being careful not to snag any fingers on potential knots. 

He reaches down with a low grunt, his hands going under your arms to help you up off the floor, “Don't want your knees bruisin’.”

You let him lift you, despite feeling bad for the way he grunts as you settle into his lap. Joel noticed, of course, and just tutted at you, leaning back into his chair, his hands settling on your hips. You lean forward, chest to his, then nuzzle your face into his neck. He smelled like work, he always did, even before you got to Jackson. The musky smell of pine and leather, or as you called it, ‘the old man smell’ just to get a rise out of Joel.

Joel noticed your silence, which meant you were fighting with your thoughts on what to say, “You’re mine to look after.” He started, then cleared his throat, the vibration going through his chest to yours. 

“You don’t have to worry so much.” You muffled against his neck, shutting your eyes tightly.

“That’s like tellin’ the sun not to rise.” He gently grabs your face with one hand, then kisses your forehead. “Just… lock the damn truck next time,” He muttered, though there was no malice to his tone. 

“Yes, sir.” you mumble, your cheeks squished between his fingers.

Joel chuckles, releasing your face, then pressing another kiss to your forehead. His hands settle back onto your hips, rubbing up and down your sides slowly, feeling the curve of your waist. 

You study his face, seeing the more prominent crows feet up close, and the crease between his brows from concentrating too hard. Your thumb comes up to smooth the crease and Joel huffs. 

“That’s permanent, I know. My fault,” Joel started, already knowing you were about to say he worries too much. Again.

You only hum, leaning closer, your nose brushing against his, and breath hitting his lips. His hand slides up to your back, pressing down so you’d arch into him. 

“C’mere.” He grunts lowly, and you do. Your lips connect with his, gentle and slow.

Your hands come up to the collar of his jacket, tugging him closer, though there was already no air between you two. He groans against your lips, a hand sliding into your hair, the other still on your back. 

He gently tugs at the hair at the base of your neck, pulling back, just enough to take a breath, “Damn things are foggin’ up.” He muttered. 

You open your eyes, cheeks flushed, as Joel pulls back with a huff of annoyance. He takes his glasses off with one hand, setting them on the table behind you without looking. You whine quietly; partially from not thinking about his glasses getting in the way, but also because you liked when he kept his glasses on.

“Should’ve left them on,” You whisper, your fingers combing through the gray curls at the nape of his neck, “I like them.”

Joel chuckles lowly, rough and breathy. “Can’t see shit when they steam up like that.”

You peck the corner of his mouth, then trail down to his jaw, his beard scratching at your lips, “Still think you look good, Daddy.”

You reach back to grab his glasses, using your shirt to clean them.

His hand stills against your waist.

“Haven’t heard that in a while.” Joel says gruffly. Which only makes you giggle quietly.

“Nuh uh,” You argue, putting his glasses back on his face.

“Jesus,” he breathes before kissing you again – deeper this time.

Joel pulls back after a moment, just enough to speak, his voice low and breathing a bit labored. “Go put somethin’ on. You like that one with the creepy stalker singin’ about love, right?”

You blink, lips red and swollen, “Every Breath You take? That is not creepy, it’s sweet.” 

Joel scoffs, giving your hip a pat. “Baby, the man’s talkin’ about watchin’ her every move. That’s not love, that’s a restrainin’ order.”

You slip off of his lap and sigh. “Whatever. You’d stalk me if I left.”

Joel snorts, picking his tools back up, “I’d just follow the sound of you talkin’ shit under your breath.”

You glare at him over your shoulder as you walk into the living room, flipping through the stack of vinyls he had gotten you over the years. You hum happily as the needle drops onto the spinning record, the guitar riff filling the house as you turn it up.

“Goddammit, girl.” Joel put his tools back down, realizing you turned it up way too loud for his liking despite his half deaf ass.

You flop onto the couch, laying on your stomach, using your forearms as a pillow. You hear Joel’s heavy footsteps as you’re met with his thighs in your face, standing by the couch. 

“You know it’s creepy, right?” He murmurs, moving your hair out of your face. 

“And you know you’re old, right?” You shoot back, which only earns you a playful swat on your ass. You squeal and giggle, but huff when Joel turns the turntable volume down.

“I still got you.” Joel said, walking over to the couch, moving your legs so he can sit down. 

“Barely. All I get is beard trimmings in the sink and grunts now.” You huff, even if you’re only teasing him.

“Grunts, huh?”

“Mhm. And that one look you get when you’re about to say something mean but decide to kiss me instead.” 

Joel rubs your thigh, making you turn to lay on your back, and coax your head into his lap, “Such a terrible way of livin’.” He teased.

You only hum, turning your head in his lap, to be faced with his stomach, starting to play with the buttons of his flannel. He kept talking.

“-and Maria wants so many things done before Spring, I also reckon Tommy’s been lyin’ to me lately,” Joel rambled. Shit, was he talking? Too late, you’re focused on something else right now.

You manage to unbutton about three of the buttons at the bottom of his flannel, lifting it up to kiss his stomach, making Joel stop his talking and look down at you, keeping his glasses on his nose with his index finger. 

“Y’keep doing that,” He warns, “and I’m gonna take it as an invitation.”

You sit up a bit, “What if it is?” 

Joel takes his glasses off, “You wanna start somethin’ right now, sweetheart? While that creepy-ass record’s still playin’?”

You chuckle, “I don’t hear you getting up to change it.” 

“Shit,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss you, more hungry this time. Your hands are in his hair again before you realize it, and he groans. His hands trail under your shirt, warm and slow as he traces your spine. You lift your arms, and Joel rolls your shirt up, tossing it to the floor.

He lays you back on the couch with a short grunt, settling between your thighs, his flannel almost completely open. Oh, how did that happen? The sight made you giggle

“Goddamn-”

Knock knock.

The front door swings open. 

“Hey, Joel, you – OH MY GOD.”

Joel freezes. You blink, lifting yourself up to look over his shoulder, hair a mess, and shirt gone, but it was enough to give the full picture.

Dina stands in the doorway, her hand over her mouth.

Joel sighs like he just aged another five years, “Dina, for the love of-”

“Nope! No, no, nope,” she says, already backing out, looking up at the ceiling. “I didn’t see anything, swear to God.”

The door shuts with a clatter.

For a second, you both just stare at the now-shut door. Your heart’s still racing, not just from being caught half-naked, but from the warmth of Joel’s body pressed against yours. He hasn’t moved. Neither have you. And maybe that’s the funniest part; how normal it feels to be interrupted like this.

Joel rests his forehead between your breasts, and groans into the skin, “She’s never gonna let me live that down.”

You chuckle, your hand still tangled in his hair, “She’s gonna tell Ellie, too.”

Joel groans louder, his cheeks dusted pink as he rests his chin on your sternum, “Goddammit.”

[curawrites]

More Than Just a Distraction

Xaden Riorson x fem!Reader

Warnings: Slight spoilers for Iron Flame, Violet and Xaden arguing, cursing, smut, heavy petting, fingering, shower sex, p in v sex, cream pie.

Note: This is a part two to my fic Not So Casual Distraction! I also have two Ridoc fic ideas brewing so look out for that hopefully soon 💚 On another note, Onyx Storm has been absolutely destroying me wtf RY 😭

Tag list: @ttheslutttybookwworm @sheblogs @mazzer @luvly-writer @river-of-woe @celeste-fourthwing

While Xaden had originally intended for your hook up to be a one time thing, he hadn’t stop himself from frequenting your bed often throughout the following week.

He found the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his hard cock addicting. Every time he had you pinned under him, moaning and writhing in pleasure, he felt all his stress and anger dissipate until all he could focus on was making you scream his name.

Xaden had fucked you everyday since Saturday, leaving you constantly covered in hickies, but you weren’t complaining. How could you, when Xaden fucked you so damn good that he made you see stars each time you climaxed.

While his nights were filled with tangling himself in your sheets, his days were filled with fighting on the front lines and the constant feeling of dread he felt thinking about Violet’s impending arrival.

But alas, on Friday evening Violet arrived at Samara with Tairn. Unfortunately for them, Xaden and Sgaeyl were out on patrol with you and your own dragon.

After letting your dragons go off for the night, the two of you walked back to the base side by side.

While Sgaeyl was eager to finally see Tairn, Xaden was dreading his reunion with Violet.

Noticing Xaden’s clenched jaw and tense features you gently touched his arm, “Wanna take a shower with me tonight?~” You asked, gazing at him suggestively.

Xaden met your lustful gaze, his features relaxed, “Sure..~” he said with a slight smirk.

He could already picture it. The feeling of your hands rubbing his body with soap. The way he’d grope and caress your soapy tits and ass. The feeling of your wet naked body pressed against his own as he fucked you against the shower wall.

Xaden needed to stop before he gave himself an erection.

Your eyes twinkled as you have his arm a squeeze, “I’ll see you later then~ good luck with your visitor.” You winked before you parted ways.

Xaden rolled his eyes, “Thanks, I’ll need it.” He sighed before making his way to the common space.

Upon sensing Xaden’s presence, Violet stood up from the chair she had been sitting in.

“Xaden.” Violet greeted, impatience was written all over her face.

Xaden tensed once more, “Violet.” He greeted coldly.

She gave him a once over, noticing he was still in his flight leathers, “Where were you when I got here?” Violet questioned suspiciously as she slung her pack over her shoulder.

Xaden crossed his arms as she walked towards him, “Out on patrol.” He answered truthfully.

For a moment she went quiet, most likely asking Tairn if what he was saying was true.

Once she got her answer she let out a sigh, “Am I staying in your barrack like usual?” She asked nonchalantly.

Xaden uncrossed his arms and nodded, “Yup.” He confirmed before beginning to walk to the barracks.

Violet followed after him. Neither said anything until they stopped in front of the door to his barrack.

Violet readjusted her pack before breaking the silence, “Will you be staying with me?” She inquired, her tone tinged with a bit of hope.

Xaden glanced at her as he unlocked the door, “No. I’m staying somewhere else this weekend.” He replied curtly.

Violet let out a long frustrated sigh, “Really Xaden? You’re just going to keep avoiding me?” She asked, infuriated.

Xaden bristled, “I’m not avoiding you-“

“But you are!” She cut him off, “You haven’t replied to any of my letters all week, Xaden!!” She spat angrily.

It’s true that he hadn’t but he was a busy man. Not only was he still delivering weapons to the flyers, he was also fighting on the front lines, going on patrols, and.. well, fucking you.

Violet continued, “And im starting to believe it has something to do with what happened after you left last week.” She crossed her arms.

Xaden clenched his jaw in an attempt to keep his anger at bay, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He needed her gone before he lost his temper.

Violet raised a brow, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Xaden.” She glared at him sternly, “Something happened.”

He should have seen this coming considering Sgaeyl had told him his shields had faltered when he fucked you last week.

Xaden returned her glare, “It’s none of your fucking business.” He snapped.

She rolled her eyes and let out a scoff, “None of my buisness huh? Well it actually is when we share a bond Xaden or have you forgotten?!“ She stepped towards him. “I’d like you to explain to me why, hours after you left with Sgaeyl I randomly start feeling this intense, burning, pleasurable sensation, like I’m having the best sex of my life? What was that all about huh? It’s not like our dragons were fucking.” She was practically yelling in his face.

Something in Xaden snapped, “You want the fucking truth Violet!?” Shadows swirled around him, “I did fuck someone last Saturday and I’ve been hooking up with her for the past fucking week!!” He yelled.

Violet shook her head, “I fucking knew it.. How dare you fuck another girl when I’ve been trying to fix this!?” The sky outside started to rumble.

Xaden scoffed, “That was you trying to fix this?! All you fucking do is pick fights anytime one of us is visiting the other and I’m sick of it!” He yelled.

“Well it’s better than what you do!! Fucking another girl instead of opening up to me! Did you even try Xaden!?” Violet screamed.

“I have tried!! I’ve wanted to try but every time I’ve told you something you get pissed and we argue!! Do you think that makes me what to tell you shit Violet? No!!” Xaden screamed back, effectively shutting her up.

The space went quiet as they stared at each other in silent rage.

Suddenly the soft sound of a door opening and closing cut through the tension. You had just left your barrack, dressed in a sexy, silky pjs set, your hair down, and carrying a couple of fuzzy white towels in your arms.

Xaden’s attention was immediately pulled to you. His eyes raked your form, immediately spotting the plethora of hickies covering your neck and chest. The fresh ones he had given you the night before stood out against the fading old ones.

His gaze lowered to stare at your pebbled nipples poking through the silky material of your tang top, before dragging even lower to stare at the swell of your ass that peaked out of your matching, flowy, silk shorts.

You watched him look you up and down, eventually meeting his hungry gaze. Gods you loved when he looked at you like that, like he could ravage you this instant.

“Well hello, to you too, Xay~” you purred his name, “We won’t make it to the showers if you keep staring at me like that~” You bit your lip, “That is if you still want to join me~”

Xaden swallowed thickly, fuck you were so damn sexy.

The sky lit up with lightning before it thundered loudly, “So this is who you’ve been fucking!?” Violet seethed, stepping to the side to get a good look at you.

Xaden sighed as he turned to face you fully, “Yes.” he confirmed.

Your eyes widened slightly, from the way they had been standing you hadn’t seen Violet, “Oh! I didn’t mean to interrupt you two-“

Xaden shook his head, “You weren’t interrupting anything. We were just about done.” He took the towels from your hands.

Violet looked at him like he was crazy, “What the fuck Xaden?!! No we aren’t! We are far from done actually!” She stalked towards him.

Xaden glared at her, “Go to bed, Violet.” He ordered, his tone offering no objection. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

She glared at him in pure anger, “Fine.” She picked up her pack and entered his barrack, slamming the door closed behind her.

You winced at the sound, “I’m taking your reunion didn’t go so well..”

Xaden let out a long sigh, “Let’s just go shower okay..” he rested his hand on the small of your back, “I’ve been thinking about it all fucking evening~” he murmured in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Xaden’s words made butterflies flutter in your stomach and heat pool between your legs as you let him guide you to the bathing chamber.

Thankfully no one was showering when you entered, neither of you would have wanted to wait a moment longer.

Xaden set the towels on a bench before beginning to rid himself of his clothes. You followed suit, your silky pjs falling to the ground next to his flight leathers.

By the time you were both undressed, Xaden’s shadows had already taken care of the shower for you.

Xaden let you step in first, before getting in himself. He pulled the curtain closed before wrapping his arms around your bare waist.

A soft sigh left his lips as the hot water running from the shower began to relax his tense muscles.

Taking note of his slackened posture you giggle softly, “Maybe I should give you massage once we’re back in my barrack.~” you suggest as you began washing your hair.

Xaden chuckled, “You just want an excuse to be on top of me~” he teased, as he lathed his hair with your shampoo.

You kept your eyes locked on his as you dipped your head back to wash the soap from your hair, “Oh, I don’t need an excuse for that~”you grinned.

While Xaden washed the shampoo from his hair, you lathered your loofa with soap before beginning to scrub his body.

Xaden let you, letting himself revel in the feeling of your hands caressing every part of him.

After a moment you stepped away from him to look him up and down, “You know.. you look pretty sexy covered in suds~” you say flirtily.

Xaden cocked an eyebrow in amusement, “Maybe, but I think they’ll look better on you.~” He smirked, plucking the loofa out of your hands.

Before you could utter a gasp he turned you around and began trailing warm kisses down your neck as he covered your body in suds.

You leaned back into his strong chest, “X-Xay..~” you mumbled as soft noises of pleasure tumbled from your lips.

Slowly his hands rose up to caress your soap covered breasts. He groped them gently, squeezing the soft, warm, mounds in his palms before beginning to play with your nipples. Rolling and pinching the pebbled buds between his fingers.

While Xaden was occupied with kissing and marking your shoulders, you reached behind you to grab his cock.

He let out a quiet gasp of surprise before being cut off by a groan as you began to stroke him.

Xaden’s hands left your breasts to reach between your legs. He slipped his fingers inside of you with ease before rubbing his thumb over your clit.

Now it was your turn to gasp, “Oh gods- Xaden~” you mewled as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

Xaden’s other hand wrapped around your now shaky one, helping you stroke his cock, “Don’t stop~” he murmured in your ear as his fingers found your sweet spot.

“Feels so good..~” you moaned as pressure began to build in your core.

You tightened your grip around his cock as you began to near your orgasm.

“Fuck~ I can’t-“ he ripped your hand from his cock, “If you keep doing that, I’ll cum.~” he growled.

“But I-“ you were cut off by a moan as his fingers and thumb quickened. “Gods..~ I’m gonna cum~ Xay!~” you gasped as your orgasm ripped through you.

Xaden pressed a kiss to your neck, “Such a good girl for me..~” he purred as he rode you through your climax.

He pulled his fingers out of you before picking you up into his arms and pressing you up against the shower wall. You barely registered the pain of your back hitting the wall when all you could focus on was the feeling of Xaden’s twitching cock pressed against your thigh.

You stared lustfully into his eyes, “Xaden please..~ please fuck me..~ I need you so bad~” you begged softly, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

His cock twitched, “You’re going to drive me fucking crazy..~” he groaned as he began pushing his cock into your pussy.

You welcomed the stretch of him with a pleased sigh and a flutter of your walls around him.

Xaden hid his face in your neck, “Gods you’re so tight..~ feel so fucking good around me..~” he panted as he began to thrust inside of you.

You turned your head to pull Xaden into a kiss. You nipped and sucked at his lips hungrily, moans slipping out as he pounded into your sweet spot.

You leaned your head back against the wall, “Oh my fucking gods Xay..~” you inhaled as your core began to tingle, “Making me feel so.. ah~ so good..~” you moaned, clawing at his back.

Your pussy fluttered violently around his cock, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

Xaden held your hips tightly, his fingers dug into the flesh, “I can feel your pussy squeezing me so good.. fuck!~ Be a good girl for me and cum~” he panted, looking you right in the eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat before more moans tumbled out, as his thrusts got harder and faster.

“Fuck!~ Xay I’m cumming!~” your cried out as your vision began to blur.

Xaden moaned quietly as your pussy spasmes around his cock, “I’m- oh fuck..~” he groaned as he came.

“Xaden..~” you mewl quietly as his cum filled your insides.

Heavy panting sounded with the running water of the shower for a while as you caught your breaths.

Eventually Xaden let you out of his arms. You continued to hold onto him as you tried to stand without your legs shaking. All Xaden could watch was his cum dripping down your thigh.

You laughed breathily, “Round two in my barrack?~” you offered.

Xaden stared into your lust blown eyes, before smirking.

You hadn’t even bothered to get dressed again after getting out of the shower. Both opting to stay in your towels to dash to your barrack with your clothes in hand.

The instant Xaden entered your barrack, he dropped his flight leathers and towel onto the ground before picking you up.

The moment you were air born you dropped your pjs to hold onto him.

“Xaden!~” you gasped as he ripped the towel from your body, throwing it behind him before laying you on your bed.

Before you knew it he was on top of you, your lips locked in a heated kiss as Xaden’s hands grabbed at your ass.

He flipped you over with ease, sitting you right on his hard cock. It pressed and twitched against your slick pussy.

Xaden stared up at you lustfully, a smirk tugging at his lips, “Ride me.~” he purred, his hands caressing the curve of your hips and waist.

Your face flushed before you lifted your self up releasing his aching cock. You gave it a few pumps before positioning his tip at your entrance. In one swift movement you sank down on him.

You planted your hands on his firm chest, “Oh gods..~” you sighed.

In all the days you had fucked Xaden, never had your pussy felt this full.

Xaden’s hands gripped your hips tightly as your pussy fluttered around him, “Your pussy can’t keep squeezing me like that..~” he groaned.

You stared down at him as you began to move, “Feel so full Xay..~” you murmured quietly.

Xaden covered his mouth with his hand as he watched you bounce on his cock. He feared he wasn’t going to last, his cock was still sensitive from earlier and the sight of your tits bouncing weren’t helping him at all.

You couldn’t stop your self from moaning as his hips began meeting yours. His cock was hitting even deeper inside of you, making you see stars.

“Feels so good Xay..~ fuck- your fucking me so deep~” you whined as you rode him harder.

Xaden’s cock twitched at your words, gods you were going to end him.

His soft groans and moans mixed with yours as you lost yourselves to pleasure.

After a while you felt your legs go numb, making your movements sloppy, “Fuck.. I can’t..~ Xaden please.. I’m so close..~” you whined desperately.

Xaden’s grip around your hips became bruising as he took charge, “Fuck..~ I wanna feel you fucking gush around me~ can you do that?~” he met your half lidded gaze as his pace became more brutal.

You nodded fervently. “Yes!~ oh my gods yes Xay~ don’t stop!~” you cried out.

With a loud moan you fell apart, your pussy squeezed and fluttered violently.

Your release soaked his cock, “Oh fuck~ I’m so wet..~” you panted, “Xaden cum inside please!~ I wanna feel it again.. wanna feel you fill me up!~” you begged.

Xaden snapped at your words, he thrusted up into you harder, letting the pleasure consume him as he let out a loud groan before he spilled inside of you.

You collapsed forward onto him, panting heavily into the crook of his neck.

Silently, Xaden wrapped his arms around you.

After many beats of silence filled with your heavy breathing, you eventually rose back up and lifted yourself off of his softening cock.

You leaned a little to far backwards and landed on you butt due to your shaky legs. Unknowingly you were giving Xaden the perfect view of your pussy fluttering as his cum dripped out.

You laughed awkwardly, “Sorry.. my legs are numb..” you blushed.

Xaden shook his head, “It’s fine.. more than fine actually~” he licked his lips.

You blushed and crawled off of him before laying beside him, “I have tissues in the drawer beside you...” You sighed softly.

Xaden reached over and opened the drawer before grabbing a handful of tissues. He cleaned the mess in between your legs first, making you flinch when he grazed your clit.

His gaze snapped to yours, “Sorry..” he muttered.

“It’s fine- it’s just sensitive..” you admit shyly.

The air surrounding you suddenly felt very intimate.

Xaden nodded slightly before continuing. Once he had you cleaned up, he wiped off your mixed releases from his cock.

He used his shadows to discard the tissues into your trash before turning back to you.

“Do you want to sleep here tonight..?” You asked hesitantly. “I know you usually don’t and that’s fine but I just felt like asking..” you rambled.

“I’ll stay..” he muttered quietly, catching you off guard.

“Okay..” you smiled bashfully.

Silently you slipped under your blankets. Not knowing what to do, you simply laid onto your side, facing away from him.

To your surprise you felt Xaden’s arm wrap around you before the rest of his body pressed against you from behind.

You closed your eyes and shimmied further into him. Enjoying the warmth of his body against yours.

Neither of you uttered another world, only silently falling asleep to sound of each other’s soft breaths..

[ebodebo]

The Conditioning: A Salt to the Wound Prequel

companion piece to Salt to the Wound

PAIR: simon riley x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 12k

CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, rough & unprotected sex, p in v, complicated grief, complicated family dynamics, an attempt to repress memories, mentions of military & war trauma, cutting skin for blood, graphic depictions of death, foreshadowing, mentions of gun violence, little to no effort doing johnny's accent, mentions of abuse, heavy angst, mention of prescription drugs, mentions of death, questionable ethics & morals, religious speak, fluff, intertwined plot points from original fic (more on that below,) purposeful omission of tags to avoid spoilers, & no use of y/n.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: before reading, i would like to note that this is a direct prequel to salt to the wound. i highly encourage you to read that before this. anywho, i’m back with an expansion of the salt to the wound universe! i’ve decided to expand upon the original story, but not in the way i initially intended. i thought it would be interesting to explore more of simon’s perspective on his marriage and the deal he made in the original fic, thus this prequel was born. although, this fic does pov switch, it does so less occasionally. regardless, i sincerely hope this installment is satisfactory. if salt to the wound left you sad or unsatisfied with reader's ending, i hope this brings you some satisfaction. i don’t want to spoil anything, so i won't say anything more. i hope you enjoy. read at your own discretion.

The lines between Hell and Earth are blurry…

The air carried a bone-chilling cold that seemed to penetrate Simon's very being.

It felt as though the night carried a treacherous vengeance that was cowardly whispered in the form of icy wind.

Despite the cold, Simon hovers near the front entrance of the Thai place he had been dragged to on a blind date set up by Johnny, a fresh cigarette between his fingers, the smoke offering him a little warmth.

He should have known better than to take up Johnny's offer.

It was naive of him to think that an older brute like himself could find someone who would take him, baggage and all. 

How could anyone possibly love a man so rough around the edges, broken and battered by life? 

He's got scars that run deep, both inside and out, and they're the kind that won't heal easily. 

Might not heal ever.

Still, he's convinced that someone will come along and fix him, make him whole again. 

Always had his head too high in the God-damn clouds to see the storm brewing where he ought to be on the surface.

Out of the cold night, a voice broke through. "Think I could bum a cigarette off you?" Simon's eyes snapped up to see you standing before him, a warm smile on your face, a sudden spark of connection in the icy air. 

He narrows his eyes skeptically. "You smoke?"

"Not really," you shake your head. "Just had a shitty night."

He doesn't ask you to explain; he really doesn't care. He flicks a cigarette from his pack and hands it to you.

"Can you light me?" you ask sheepishly, putting the cigarette between your lips and hovering closer to him.

His lip quips as he flicks his lighter, hovering just below your cigarette. The flame quickly lights the end, sending smoke down your lungs.

You suck down the smoke gracefully, closing your eyes softly trying to seize your nerves.

Simon watches you for a moment. "Shouldn't be doin' that," he mumbles. "It's bad for you."

Your eyes snap open, a smile growing on your face. "You're one to talk," you say, blowing the smoke out between your lips. "I saw you smoke three through the glass," you cock a brow, eyes darting to look down at the ground next to his boot to see smashed cigarette buds. 

He tilts his head back, smoke blowing through his nostrils. "You been watchin' me?" His voice is rough, but you can tell there's humor in his words.

"Maybe," you shrug, tilting your head forward slightly to look at him through your lashes, a cheeky grin on your lips. "Saw you with a woman in there," you casually say, taking another puff. "You didn't look so happy."

"Saw you with a man," he counters, eyes shamelessly darting between your eyes and lips. "You didn't look too chipper either."

Your shoulders sag at the thought. "Yeah… my boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend," you correct quickly. "He dumped me." Your voice carries a mix of sadness and a palpable sense of relief.

Simon cringes. "Oof. Heartless bastard."

You chew on your lip, your curiosity piqued. "And you?"

He lifts a brow, taking another drag. "What about me?" he prompts curiously. 

You roll your eyes playfully. Men. "Did you have a nice date?"

He puffs out the smoke, nodding along lightly. "That was my little sister."

Your face morphs into horror. You even drop your cigarette on the ground from how fast you cover your mouth with your hands. "Oh! Oh my God… " you start, genuine horror in your tone. "I'm so sorry… I, I just assumed—" you stutter, face stiff. 

Your shoulders relax as he lets out a gruff laugh. "Relax. Just takin' the piss," he chuckles. “Nah. Didn't know the girl. Was a blind date my mate set up for me," he explains through a dry laugh. "She was too uppity for me."

"She was cute," you try to find some good. "But, yeah, I overheard her talking about her daddy's multiple vacation houses in the Hamptons, before proceeding to complain about the price of the champagne," you agree with a chuckle.

He leans just an inch closer, now interested in the conversation. "Did you hear her go on about her father’s private broker firm?" He brings his cigarette to his lips. 

You giggle, leaning closer. "Yeah. Looks like daddy's raking in the big bucks, huh?" You nod, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

Simon pulls back, flicking his cigarette on the ground, stepping on it purposefully. "Broker firm sounds like a euphemism for where daddy parks his questionable investments."

You make a faux cringe face. "Yikes. I can see the raging jealousy oozing out of you," you gesture to him, with a sardonic infliction that's hard to miss.

He smiles. "Oh, yeah. Just riddled with jealousy," he goes along with it, his smile growing as you share a laugh, the warmth of your camaraderie evident in the air. 

The following words that flow off Simon's tongue come without warning. "Would you wanna grab a beer at the bar down the road?" His eyes flick to yours, looking back to his as your laughter dies down.

His nervousness is palpable, evident in the way his Adam's apple bobs as he maintains eye contact. "Are you asking me on a date?" you inquire, sensing his unease.

"I'll pay," he says, skirting around the question. 

You let out a dry laugh. "Well, I didn't think I was going to… " You trail off, only now realizing that you didn't even know his name. 

"Simon," he fills in without hesitation. "Call me Simon."

"Okay… Simon." His name rolls off your tongue in a purr that has him at a loss for words. "I'll get a beer with you, although I'm shocked you would settle for someone as dull as me after being dazzled by Hampton royalty," you jest, smiling at him.

He smiles back, harder. "Mhm. Always been more interested in the common folk," he jokes, as you spin on your heels, laughing, walking next to him towards the shitty dive bar on fifth.

In that moment, Simon sees his future.

A future that he had never dared to dream of until that very moment.

It all flashes through his brain in a light blur.

He sees simple mornings, when the light casts a warm glow on your skin, almost bringing him to tears. He can almost feel the softness of your skin and the warmth of the morning sun. 

He can see you in a long wedding dress with a sheer veil, not daring to fully conceal your beauty before he sees his babies on your hip as you bounce them lovingly. 

So many years full of pure love, until you both find yourselves on rocking chairs on your porch, connected to your grand white house, wrapped in a white picket fence that he will have spent years building up from the mud with his bare hands.

By then, half your grand babies will be learning to walk, while the other half will be busy decorating your driveway with chalk drawings, begging him to take them for a drive to see their uncle Johnny.

His visions of his fantastical family looked like the picture a soldier keeps tucked away in the pocket of his military uniform to protect it from spilled blood.

Serves as a reminder, motivating him to keep fighting through the war. Even in the direst moments, with a gun pointed to his head, his humility laid bare, he will keep fighting for his family, for they are where his heart lies, still untouched by vengeance, pure as the heavens above.

His future, as he envisions it, is a canvas of bright potential.

Yet, he remains oblivious to the looming shadow of a devil's bargain that will one day bind you two, leaving your soul eternally tainted and trapped.

For now, he can continue his fruitless efforts, ponder you with heart-filled eyes, and dream carelessly innocent dreams.

But the devil does not bargain with such innocence, for a darker fate awaits him.

A few months later, Simon is parked in the creaky chair of his home office, filing some paperwork. He is shivering; no amount of heat can warm his skin.

His raging fever, which had ruined his sleep, had carried over from the night before, leaving him feeling his skin flush and dry, barely able to sit upright in the wooden chair.

But that's the thing about Simon, he doesn't know when to quit.

He is stubborn, strong-willed to a disturbing degree. 

He hadn't yet found his limit; the breaking point that would make him just stop.

Must have gotten that from his mother because his father sure knew when to quit while he was ahead.

Simon leans over his desk to scribble on some files, each movement seemingly being harder than the last. He grunts just as he finishes a sentence, lightly tossing the pen to wipe his tired, sunken eyes.

His head flicks up at the sound of his doorbell ringing. With a sigh, he slowly stands and moves over to the door, opening it to see you with a bright smile and a warm pie in your embrace.

"Made you pie," you say, lifting the pie to ensure he sees it. "Hopefully, you like cherry," you smile meekly, watching his eyes drift to the pie.

He lifts his head to look at you, trying to keep his voice steady. "Love cherry," he mumbles, though some emotion has seeped through his tough front.

He can't believe you went and made him a pie.

You had been on a handful of unofficial dates in the past few months, but nothing official came about. 

You were just friends, at least he assumed you were friends. 

But here you were, the sweetest girl he's ever met, with a fresh pie you say is meant for him. He couldn't have possibly imagined you would go and do something that would make him think you care about him. 

"Are you alright? You look tired," you ask, narrowing your eyes in concern. You observe his deep eye bags, and your worry is palpable.

His eyes flick up to see your concerned ones. "Think I caught a cold," he murmurs. "Thanks for the pie, sweetheart." He takes the pie from your hands.

You pass the pie along, and the warmth of the pan spreads across Simon's skin, making him close his eyes softly. "Are you taking care of yourself?" you ask, a slight frown on your lips as you see the tip of his nose tinged red. 

He doesn't answer, just looks down at the pie.

You had made a beautiful lattice, and only a little cherry filling broke through the sweet dough. 

"Simon," you urge, your determination to make him open up evident in your voice. "Are you taking care of yourself?"

He looks back at you. "I'm alright."

You frown again; he hasn't been. "Can I come in?" you ask, your patience reassuring.

"Wouldn't wanna get you sick. Too pretty to be bedridden," he tries to joke, but his chest rumbles with a rough cough.

Your skin warms at the compliment. "I take my vitamins," you assure. "Don't worry about me, okay?" You place your hands on your hips, so he knows you're serious. "Now, am I going to have to shove you to get inside, or are you going to let me in willingly?" You arch your brow, your lips pursed. 

His lip quips; he is too tired to fight you, so he simply steps aside, allowing you to step through the door with ease.

He doesn't feel the surge of nervousness he probably should, as you step into his house and observe every fine detail, down to the scratches on his light wooden floors.

"You have a cat?" you ask, turning to him with a smile.

He shakes his head. "Nah. The other owner did," he explains, moving to grab your purse, which is hiked on your shoulder, and gently laying it across his kitchen island. 

"Are you taking any medication? Drinking enough water?" You start questioning as soon as Simon's shoulder relaxes.

"You some kind of nurse?" he asks in a humorous tone, a playful glint in his eyes, but you don't laugh. 

"I'll take that as a no," you roll your eyes, hands moving around his kitchen blindly to find his cups.

"I can get you some water," he moves over to you, unable to let you do anything alone. You swat his hand away, narrowing your eyes at him.

"It's not for me," you explain, grabbing a large glass and putting it under the tap to fill it to the brim with cold water. "Drink up, boy boy," you shove the water into his chest, and only a little sloshes over onto the floor.

"I'll clean that," you smile sheepishly, already moving to grab a rag off the counter. He sets the water on the counter, his hand gripping your shoulder, beckoning you to stand. 

"What are you doin'?" he asks with equal parts humor and confusion. 

Your lips morph into a confused smile. "What do you mean?" you ask, genuinely puzzled by his question.

He gently grasps the wet rag from your hand. "I mean you bringin' me pie, askin' about medicine, makin' me drink water," he lifts a brow. "What's all that about?"

You tilt your head to the side. "I'm taking care of you, Simon," you say with a reassuring smile, your eyes reflecting your genuine concern.

His lips flat line, mind swirling. "Takin' care of me?" 

"You're sick," you say, taking the rag from his hand. "Shouldn't be doing anything," you move to set the rag in the sink; you'll wash it later. "You need rest," you tilt your head forward, a glint in your eyes.

Simon is left utterly speechless, his mind struggling to comprehend what he is hearing.

Here comes you, this sweet girl who forces her way into his house bearing a pie and a gleaming smile, wanting to take care of him.

Nurse him back to health.

"Go sit," you tell him before he can ask if you're serious, ushering him to his couch. "What do you want to watch?"

His eyes stay glued to yours, his mouth slightly open. 

"Since you won't say, you'll have to watch what I want to," you flick through the channels until a trashy British reality television show dawns on the screen. The room is filled with the sound of some too-on-the-nose pop song that just so happens to sing the exact same scenario as what was occurring.

His eyes flick to the screen, a small smile growing on his lips.

"Lay back," you urge, pushing him back to lie against the back of the couch. "Where do you keep your medicine?"

He looks at you, utterly perplexed. "The, the bathroom. First drawer to the right," he murmurs, with a stutter, his confusion evident. 

You roam over to the bathroom, the only place you've ever seen in his house. You had to pee on the way to the cinema and made him stop at his house so you could. 

You didn't snoop through his things like you would usually do to the guys you've dated because you suspected he could smell any ounce of disorder like a hound. 

His eyes stay locked on the television as he hears you fish for the medication in his drawers. He taps his foot against the floor, feeling uneasy at the thought of lying still and doing nothing.

His fear of being deemed useless is a constant companion, driving him to move even when he can't.

It's the soldier in him who's seen and done things that most can't even imagine. 

He keeps moving, his mind never stopping, to avoid fully comprehending what he has had to do. 

Blood forever spilled in the name of protection.

Or so he says.

He hears your feet pattering on the wood back to him; you had stripped your shoes off at some point. "I got you some ibuprofen for the aches, some Afrin for decongestion, and some cough drops, I think, for… well, you know," you dispense the pills into your palm, handing them over for him to take. "You need water? Let me get you some water." Your care is a balm to his weary soul.

"I'm fine. Had to swallow some pain pills in the desert one time. Couldn't even use my own spit cause my mouth was all dry," he reaccounts, taking the pills dry. 

"You're drinking the water," you say, as you grab the cup and put it on the coffee table in front of him. Then, you hand him the cough drops. "I've never seen cough tablets before," you say, looking down at the table.

He lets out a dry laugh, grabbing the tablets from your hand to drop them in his mouth. "They’re some Scottish thing. A friend gave them to me," he mumbles, leaning deeper into the couch, feeling relaxed.

"Mhm," you hum, watching his eyes close gently. "Get some rest," you sweetly say as his eyes completely shut and he drifts off, a soft snore coming from him as he sleeps comfortably. 

When he wakes up some hours later, he feels less hot and achy than he had all night and day. When he moves to yawn, he almost chokes on the thermometer in his mouth. He pulls it out gently with a soft sigh and a confused mutter. 

He moves to stand, and a cold compress falls from his head to the floor with a soft thud. The thin linen blanket that covers his legs bunches up and slips off him.

He can hear the soft hum of water hitting the porcelain tub in the bathroom. He quickly stands, reaching for the gun that is normally strapped to his person, but feels nothing.

The padding of feet comes closer, and before he can react, his shoulders sag as he sees you smiling at him with lavender foaming bath soap in hand. "You're awake," you observe. "Good. I drew you a bath. It'll help soothe your muscles," you walk over to him, gesturing for him to follow you to the bathroom. 

"I'm not gettin' in the bath." A part of him believes you're joking, so he laughs. 

You aren’t.

"So, you're just going to waste the water?" You cock a brow and plant your hands on your hips.

He tilts his head back with a deep sigh. "You use it."

"I drew it for you, Simon. Don't be rude," you narrow your eyes at him, and he feels a little scared.

With a deep sigh, he moves his feet towards the bathroom. "You better not tell anyone about this," he instructs with a rough voice as he ducks into the bathroom.

"Scouts honor," you promise with a cheeky smirk.

He begins lifting his shirt over his head, and your mouth drops open at the sight. He glances at you. "Your jaw will lock if you keep it like that," he jokes with a smirk, tossing his shirt to the side.

You shake your head, slightly embarrassed. "Shut up, you old man," your face warms and when you look at him, he just gives you a rough chuckle. 

Once you turn out of the bathroom, he strips with an irritated noise, dipping himself into the warm bathtub, the bubbles creating a soft embrace. 

You come in and are pleasantly surprised he actually got in the tub. You sit on the toilet lid, feeling the humid air. "Can I wash you?" you ask, as you grab a stray loofah from the cabinet just above the toilet.

He nods, and you soak the netted material in the sudsy water and begin gently washing his chest, repeatedly collecting the water and squeezing over his aching bones. 

"Can't believe I'm lettin' you give me a bath," he mumbles after a moment of silence, though he feels a sense of peace he hasn't felt in years. 

You laugh before he sees your teeth chatter and your body shake.

He grabs your hand, halting your actions. "You cold, sweetheart?" 

You shrug. "Just a little."

There's a glint in his eyes, and before you know it, he's gripping your waist, hauling you over the porcelain side of the bathtub, and submerging you into the warm water.

"Simon!" you yell, laughter falling off your tongue as the water spills over the side and onto the bathroom floor as you straddle him. Your laughter seizes when he kisses you, deeply and passionately. 

He doesn't know what has come over him.

He just needed to act on impulse.

He just had to kiss you.

His lips move against yours with an ease he doesn't feel scared of. Your hands drape over his shoulders, and your lips move in sync.

He finds himself pulling back slightly. "Stay the night and the rest of the week," he mumbles, desperately trying to find the right words.

You smile at him, brushing his hair back off his forehead. "Are you trying to ask me to be your girlfriend?" 

He grips you tight, pupils widening. "What do you say?"

You press a kiss to his cheek. "I say yes."

His lips press back to yours fervently, and you can't help but put a break out in a toothy smile. 

Spontaneity can kill.

Acting on impulse shows no willpower.

Simon must really be his father's son.

Always so quick to act without thinking.

Guess some habits are hard to break, aren't they?

And what a shame he found someone to indulge his recklessness.

Pity, really.

Was starting to actually like her. 

"You sure about this?" Simon asks, holding your hand, his beer long forgotten. You both sit, squished into the booth at a small diner downtown.

"Come on. Don't tell me you're nervous?" you tease, feeling his tension. He sighs through his nose, his eyes wandering to the salt and pepper containers neatly lined on the table. 

"Soap… Johnny… he's… a bit outspoken," he mutters, hand twitching in yours.

A frown etches into your face before your hand releases its own and brushes against his cheek, making him turn to look at you. "Simon, I love you," you smile. "It only makes sense for me to meet the people you love," you say as if it's the simplest thing in the world. 

Simon could feel his stomach dip at your words.

You love him.

A pure and innocent, no strings attached kind of love. 

He doesn't get to ask why before seeing Johnny strolling in. The confidence that oozes off him as he approaches the booth you and he are sitting at makes him roll his eyes.

"Aye, Simon, my boy," Johnny greets Simon warmly, a hint of familiarity in his tone that Simon can't help but bristle at.

Simon swallows any bad taste Johnny had put on his tongue when he came in.

He was family after all. 

"Who do we have here?" Johnny slides into the booth seat across from Simon and you. You smile a welcoming smile before you stick your hand out for Johnny to shake, giving him your name.

Simon raises a warning brow when Johnny almost bursts out laughing at your chivalry. Johnny smothers his laugh, taking your hand in his, giving it a slight shake, and playing a sly smile on his lips.

Once you pull away, Johnny makes himself comfortable in the booth seat, leaning forward slightly. "So," Johnny starts, already grinning. "How'd this happen?" He gestures between Simon and you. 

Simon throws his arm around your shoulders. "The Thai place," Simon gruffs. 

Johnny's keen eyes widen. "She's the girl, then?" he prompts, but before he can be corrected, he leans forward towards Simon. "I told ye' that goin' on the blind date was a good idea, ye old prude. Ye got yer'self a pretty bird out of it," he laughs excitedly.

Simon rolls his eyes, and you can't help but smile. "She's not the girl I went on the date with," Simon gruffly corrects. Johnny's expression changes, like a kid who's just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

Johnny shifts over to the table to whisper to you. "There was no date. Just jokes," he tries to save, sending Simon a wink as if he had saved him from revealing some big secret, and you laugh.

"I was also on a date," you explain, eyes glancing at Simon. "We met outside the place," you laugh as Johnny releases a breath of relief at the admission.

"Phew, thas' a relief," Johnny pretends to wipe his forehead from faux perspiration. "Thought the big guy was gonna wring me out."

"That option isn't completely off the table," Simon roughly says, though it carries some humor. 

Johnny's laughter abruptly gives way to a serious expression, catching Simon off guard and causing your amusement to fade. "He's not payin' ye to be here, right?" he questions, his tone now skeptical.

You let out a fake gasp, hand hovering over your heart. "How'd you know?"

Johnny's eyes widen and flick between you and Simon. "Ye… paid her to come?" His words hold more admiration than criticism. 

"She's fibbin', Soap," Simon chuckles, his hand playfully pinching your side. You can't help but yelp a little. "Not payin' her." 

Johnny's skepticism is met with a playful eye roll from you. "I came here willingly. No money involved," you confirm, swaying your beer. 

"Don't trust ye, birdie," Johnny muses, a mischievous glint in his eye. He then turns to Simon with a sly smile. "Have ye two podged?" 

"Speak English, Mactavish," Simon says, sipping his beer.

"Sex," Johnny says with ease. "Ye two done that yet?"

His bluntness leaves you wide-eyed, and Simon's grip on his beer tightens. "Johnny," he warns.

Johnny rolls his eyes with an innocent shrug, eyes landing on you. "Come on, birdie. Yer folks have had that talk with ye, yeah?" He prods, paying no heed to Simon staring daggers at him.

"We're taking it slow," you say, swallowing the shock of the question. You opt to just answer and try to ease the palpable tension coming off Simon. 

"Takin' it slow? Where's the fun in that, Lt.?" Johnny's teasing tone raises the tension, causing Simon to let out an audible sigh and his hand to come to his tired eyes, the air thick with discomfort. 

"We're adults, Johnny. Not horny teenagers. We don't just crave a quick fuck," you murmur over the rim of your beer, causing Johnny's eyes to snap in surprise, even making Simon lip quip from Johnny's shock. 

Johnny narrows his eyes, trying to find a crack in your facade. "Fair point. But what if it's piss?" He leans back in the booth, oozing a confidence you can't place.

Simon goes to speak, probably to tell Johnny to shut the hell up, but you go before him, hand gripping Simon's tighter.

"Oh, trust me, it won't be," you say with a confidence that Johnny marvels at.

Johnny gives you a lopsided smile. "I like yer bird, Simon. She can hold her own," he nods towards you, giving you a stamp of approval that wasn't needed. 

You don't get to say anything before you see your phone buzzing on the wooden table. You grab it quickly to smother the sound and flip it over to see your sister calling you. "Do you mind?" you ask, eyes shifting between them.

"Go ahead, sweetheart." Simon picks his arm up so you can slip out of the booth easily. You give him a smile and start walking towards the front door, heading outside.

"Simon," Johnny begins when you're long gone, getting Simon's attention. "Take care of yer' bird," Johnny says, eyeing Simon. "She's a special one," he breathes out, his eyes wandering to you pacing outside, the warm sun setting, hitting you at just the right angle to highlight your skin.

Simon notices the glint in Johnny's eyes when he looks at you.

He doesn't ask; he doesn't want to know.

"I will, Johnny," Simon mutters, grabbing his beer.

A part of Simon might have once thought he would always hold you close, but the reality is Johnny can preach to Simon like a priest holding a sermon, to hold onto you, keep you close. 

But some things are bound to slip through his fingers.

No matter how hard he tries.

Especially when the weight of his own darkness becomes too much to bear.

Simon can hear your laughter transcending through his house, clouding his eardrums, sending a shiver up his spine.

He stepped into the living room, his grin widening as he watched you make yourself at home on his couch, a soft blanket enveloping you and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn resting on your lap.

"What a prick," you shout, tossing some popcorn into your mouth. You're engrossed in the same trashy British reality show, a guilty pleasure you've come to enjoy.

"Some harsh words, sweetheart," Simon jests, moving to sit next to you, throwing his arm over the back of the couch, his hand sneaking into your popcorn bowl.

"He called his girlfriend mediocre," you explain, eyes glancing at Simon to gauge his reaction.

He quips a brow, eye looking at the television. "Hell, he is a prick."

"Told you so," you laugh, tossing more popcorn in your mouth and snuggling into Simon's side. 

He finds himself smiling, but not because of the two women now arguing over something egregious on the television screen before him, but because he can see you smiling beneath him. 

He isn't smiling because he can hear his neighbor next door yelling at her cat to get off the fridge but because you've moved yourself closer to him, pulling the blanket to cover his legs, even though it is far too small. 

And he certainly isn't smiling because Johnny just sent him a picture of his dog with a slice of cheese on his head, but because he finally believes you when you say you love him. 

It's the most strange feeling in the world.

To have someone who truly loves you without transaction or expectation.

He is free to be whomever he wants to be, not who you expect.

You don't expect anything from him.

Well, maybe he should throw the trash out; it's too heavy and smelly.

But, regardless, you see him.

And you still love him. 

"Marry me," his fingers move to massage your scalp. 

You laugh in his lap. "Just had to share my wee little blanket for you to want to spend the rest of your life with me. Your standards are tremendously low, Simon," you mumble, eyes softly closing.

"I'm serious," he says, his fingers still moving.

Your eyes open softly, eyes shifting around the room to make sure you heard him correctly. 

"You want to marry me?" you mutter with disbelief and curiosity.

He lets out a gruff laugh. "Don't sound so surprised, sweetheart," his tone carries humor.

You turn to look at him, a soft look in your eyes. "You want to marry me?"

He tilts his head back. "Am I not supposed to want to?"

You shake your head, chewing on your lip. "No. I just… why?"

His eyes widened a little at the question, contemplating for a second. "You're easy," he says.

Now your eyes widen in offense, mouth hanging open. "That's a dick thing to say." 

He quickly grabs your shoulder, shaking his head fast. "No. Fuck, no. I meant that life with you is easy. Never had anyone who made anything easier for me but you… you do that for me," he says earnestly, with pure love. 

You can already feel your eyes brimming with tears as you grab his hand to squeeze. "I'm glad I do that for you, Simon," you murmur, massaging his hand with your fingers. "You… you do that for me too." The confession almost makes Simon drop to his knees and sob at your feet.

"I… I make things easier? For you?" He asks skeptically, eyes tinging red from impending tears. 

You sniffle, feeling the warm tears move down your cheeks. "Loving you is easy, Simon. You make it so damn easy. I would love to marry you," you lean your forehead against his for comfort.

His hands shake as he pulls you against him, embracing you with a deep, passionate love. 

After a moment, you pull back, wiping a stray tear off your cheek. "Simon. You're still active," you say, tilting your head. "You'll leave me."

He exhales, his skin glistening. "It won't be for long, bug."

"Can't you just… leave," you try to reason with pleading eyes. 

He shakes his head, brushing his fingers against your hand. "I can't, sweetheart. Those guys… I need them just as much as they need me," his voice is clogged with emotion. 

"I need you," you say desperately so he'll understand. 

He presses a sweet kiss to your cheek. "Just one more mission, sweetheart. It'll be in and out."

You looked at him for a moment; he wasn't going to budge. "I don't want to be a widow, Simon. You come back to me," you warn, squeezing his hand. 

"I'll come back. There's nowhere else I'd want to be," he smiles.

You lick a salty tear from your lip. "Promise me, Simon."

He pauses for a moment before he murmurs, "I promise."

Foolish kids.

Man doesn't simply go to war without leaving a part of himself out on the field.

The question is, what's left when he returns?

Simon had kept his promise to you.

He did come home some weeks later, but not entirely, not truly. 

Once Price had shown up at the house, with Simon right behind him, in a wheelchair, you knew a part of Simon's soul had turned to ash that reeked of gunpowder and blood.

He moved past you and Price without a word into the house. Price explained that Simon had made a split decision to return to the warehouse they had just escaped from because he knew they had information on you.

They had yelled and shouted for him to come back to the chopper and escape while they had the means to do so, and they could deal with the fallout when they were safely out of active fire.

He didn't listen.

Guns blazing, he sprinted back in, trekked up numerous flights of stairs, and blasted through doors until he found the group of men who knew of his sweet wife back home.

He shot them dead where they stood.

Shot at their bodies, round after round, before he tossed a hand grenade to deal with the equipment and files they had. 

He trekked back out, sore but satisfied.

He didn't even see the pipe bomb being thrown in his direction; he was too focused on the chopper that still hovered near the ground, waiting for him. 

Everything happened so fast after that.

Hauling him into the chopper, not sure if they should call you and tell you he was KIA or if there was a chance he could live. Carrying him to the hospital, where the doctors performed CPR before they shocked him awake.

They all felt a rush of relief when he opened his eyes.

The doctor said he had nerve damage that caused temporary paralysis in his legs that would subject him to a wheelchair, and, eventually, he could make a full physical recovery. 

You couldn't even believe him when he told you, your mouth agape as your eyes shifted towards Simon, who wheeled his way into the living room to gaze out the window. 

"Just… call if you need anything, okay?" Price says, calm and reassuring.

You give a nod as you walk him to the door, brain spinning from the information.

Sure, Simon had gone in on the pretense of something potentially happening to you, but he could have died in that very spot.

That was all you could think about.

"Why would you do that?" you mumble as you make your way into the living room.

Simon doesn't answer; he just keeps looking out the window.

You run your fingers through your hair anxiously, tears brimming your waterline. "You could have died, Simon. You do realize that. Don't you?" Your concern was evident in your trembling voice.

"You want to chastise me some more, or am I free to roam?" His voice is rougher than you remember, and you feel your stomach drop.

"I… I'm not even going to answer that," anger slips off your tongue. "Do you not care that you could have died? I… I could have lost you," you choke out, flailing your arms around.

Yet, he still doesn't turn to face you.

"Will you at least look at me, Goddamn it!" you almost shout, voice strained.

He huffs a deep breath before he slowly turns around to face you.

His beard had grown in, lightly gray and messy.

His hair is slightly longer, and his eyes are darker than you remember.

You almost had to ask yourself who the man was before you; he was surely not the man you had married not too long ago.

"You look different," you mumble absentmindedly.

"Tends to happen," he mutters, fingers gripping his wheels.

You release a shaky breath, unsure of what to say. "I wish you didn't do it, Simon," is all you can muster.

He closes his eyes gently, shaking his head before he starts to spin his wheel. He eases himself towards your shared room, leaving you alone in the living room, nervousness and defeat now bubbling in your stomach.

You had both managed to avoid each other for hours.

You stayed in the living room, even going to the bathroom and taking a bath, while he kept himself locked away in the bedroom, or so you thought.

Once you start cooking dinner, you look out of the window to see heavy rain hitting the ground. Among the coverage of heavy rainfall, you see Simon.

His wheelchair was deep in mud, and he just sat there, the rain soaking through his clothes, the chill seeping into his bones.

You gaped at the sight, tossing your kitchen rag onto the kitchen island. Quickly grabbing a raincoat off the hook, you moved out the door and onto the porch.

The rain smacks against the porch's wood, and you can see Simon leaning his head back against the back of his chair. "What the hell are you doing out here?" you shout loud enough so he can hear you over the rain.

He doesn't look back at you, just nods his head along.

"Simon. Look at me!" you yell, your voice filled with frustration and concern.

He spun his chair around slowly, his eyes blinking fervently from the rain splashing on his face.

"Are you insane? You need to get inside. You'll catch a cold," you say, your voice tinged with worry. You raise your hand to block the heavy rain droplets from hitting your eyes.

He eased his fingers on his wheels to inch closer, but before he reached the yard's edge, his wheels wouldn't budge, wedged in the thick mud. He looked at you at the doorway, his eyes pleading for help.

As you clutched your jacket, a wave of confusion washed over you, your pride standing firm in the face of uncertainty.

He noticed how your shoulders tensed, and he couldn't bear the distance between you two. His heart ached with the weight of unspoken words.

He wouldn't let some damn mud stop him.

Determined, he climbs out of the chair, the large water puddle splashing as he lands in it. His hands grip the ground, mud slipping and caking between his fingers as he crawls through it.

Your eyes widen. "Simon… don't, don't do that, baby," your voice is slightly shaky. “You, you're going to get all muddy," you say, feeling useless to the wave of emotion that washes over you.

Despite the sound of his labored breath and the squelch of mud under his hands, you remained resolute, your feet firmly planted on the old wooden porch.

He crawled halfway through the grit of the Earth's surface and then stopped, looking at you with a mixture of exhaustion and longing.

Something inside you finally snapped when you saw him, mud on his face, soaked clothes, and pleading eyes. You took a step forward, then another, until your foot sunk into the mud, and the rain pellets hit you with force, no longer blocked by the house.

You find yourself kneeling beside him in the mud when you reach him. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, holding him close as the rain pours.

"I did it for you," Simon finally murmurs, emotion clogging his voice. “I had to keep you safe, bug." He looks up at you, eyes red, water pouring down his lips. “Couldn’t live with myself if they… hurt you,” he mutters, voice going soft. 

"Simon… " The words caught in your throat as you gazed at him through your wet lashes, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Got my legs all fucked up, and everyone's actin' like I'm some kind of fuckin’ hero," he says with slight irritation.

"You are a hero, Simon," you say without a second thought, eyes searching his.

"No," he lightly shakes his head. "I'm yours," his fingers softly brush against your bottom lip. "I'm all yours, sweetheart."

Tears started pouring down your cheeks, and you leaned your forehead against Simon's.

He was now holding you up so you didn't collapse.

His voice lulled against your skin, offering you comfort.

Though his own mind swarmed with visions of what he had done, all the blood on his hands that were now wrapped around your innocent face.

The man faced enemy fire with courage, tied his own soul to blood in the name of protection, and yet no matter what tough front he put on, inside, he would always be a weak man.

Some months had passed since Simon had come home to you, battered and bruised.

You had adjusted to being his caretaker, which you really didn’t mind.

He, on the other hand, did.

His worst fear was being rendered useless, a fear that now tormented him in the depths of the night, seeped into his soul and rattled his skin.

He was grateful for your help, but he felt like a burden.

You had repeatedly reassured him that he could never be burdensome, but he struggled to accept that truth.

“Do you need another blanket?” you ask as you walk into the bedroom with three blankets in hand. The moon casts a glow over the room from behind the window.

Simon shakes his thoughts away as he sits up in the bed at your entrance. “Eh, sleep hot. You know that,” he lets out a gruff laugh, tugging his shirt off and tossing it in the laundry bin in the corner of the room.

“Good aim, soldier,” you tease, setting the blanket near him anyways and flicking off the light before throwing yourself onto the bed beside him.

As soon as you hit the mattress, his hands wrap around your waist, and he tugs you close to him so you rest on his chest. “Love you, bug,” he says softly, kissing the top of your head.

“I love you, Simon,” you whispered, feeling the warmth and comfort he provided.

You could feel the lull of sleep lick your brain, and you closed your eyes gently, quickly drifting off to sleep with the fan's hum and the faint glow of the lamp of the street lights outside to keep you company.

In the depths of the night, you dream.

Carelessly innocent to start, but somewhere between the walking fridge and laughing animals segment, you're laying in a bed similar to one you are now, but slightly different, more rugged, less domesticated.

You lay bare, in nothing but your wedding wing dawning your finger.

You begin touching yourself, your finger moving smoothly down your body, savoring the touch that sends a warm sensation to your lower stomach.

Before you know it, a man is kneeling before you, his tongue lapping at your clit, eliciting an outpour of moans that fall off your tongue.

When he looks up, there's a glint in his eyes.

You realize he is not your Simon, your devoted husband and nurturer.

It's Johnny.

"Simon's a lucky bastard," he mutters into your thigh. "Gets ye' all to himself," he presses a deep kiss into your inner thighs, making you arch your back off the mattress. "Gets this pretty pussy to himself every night, eh?" He brings his mouth back to your cunt, sucking and licking you until you shudder on his face, your arousal coating his tongue.

You spring awake, panting and sweaty.

Turning to your side, you see Simon peacefully sleeping despite your rapid movements. 

You pull the blanket back to see your arousal seep through your panties and drip onto the cover sheet of the bed.

You let out a quiet curse, grabbing your phone before slipping off the bed to go towards your drawers, making a mental effort not to wash the sheets tomorrow. 

You grab a fresh pair of panties, feeling the fresh feeling of shame as you trudge into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly. 

You quickly change your panties, turning on the facet to gather some water to splash onto your face, mind riddled with guilt. 

That dream was no wild fantasy, a simple wet dream.

It was the truth.

That one regretful night, all of two weeks ago, a drunk you had succumbed to Johnny's drunk antics and pursuits while out by yourself, unbeknownst to Simon. 

Johnny had fucked you in the same very outfit that Simon had relished in before you had stepped out of the house.

Simon's favorite lipstick of yours had now covered his best friend's lips and chin. 

You grind your teeth at the reminder, the weight of guilt pressing down on you, your mind a whirlwind of regret and ache. 

You're pacing around the bathroom, the walls echoing your inner turmoil, unsure of what to do.

You know you should tell Simon, and you will, but only when he gets a little better.

You decide you can't deal with this mind warfare, so you open your phone, swiping to open your text thread to Johnny.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard anxiously before you type out a short sentence to which he responds almost immediately.

Me: We need to talk.

Me: Can we meet at that bar with the weird name tomorrow?

Johnny: Bang Bang Bar?

Johnny: Everything okay?

Me: Can you just meet me there tomorrow at six?

Johnny: I'll be there.

You release a shallow breath, the thought of seeing Johnny again sending a shiver down your spine.

But you know you need to talk to him.

You leave your phone in the bathroom and head back to the bed, slipping beside Simon without disturbing him. 

The amount of guilt you feel sleeping in the same bed where you just had a wet dream about his best friend, which wasn't even just a wet dream but a reminder of the night you had shared, is crippling. 

You reach to grab a bottle of prescribed pills from your nightstand, popping two and letting them hit your system. 

Once again, you find yourself drifting off to sleep, though this time, instead of a peaceful send-off, you can still feel the nerves on your skin even with the pills.

But for now, you could let sleep claim you, shushing away the feeling of inevitable doom yet to come.

The bar was crowded when you showed up, which was good. 

They won't be focused on you talking to Johnny; they'll be more focused on the woman who has just stripped her top off and the booze floating around the room. 

You step through the throng of people, stretching your neck to look for Johnny. 

Seeing his signature mohawk and prominent figure perched up in a booth doesn't take long. The waitress next to him flicks her manicured nail across his strong bicep, and he gives her his signature boyish grin.

You roll your eyes, moving towards him. He sits up straight as you approach, his eyes locking with yours immediately. 

"Aye, Birdie. Take a seat," he greets, leaning back, gesturing for you to sit as the waitress moves away quickly. 

"I'll stand," you stand firm, pursing your lips.

He leans forward, the same boyish smirk on his lips. "Come on. Don't make me look like an asshole," he jokes, sipping his beer. 

You shake your head, heart pounding. "I won't be long, Johnny."

He nods his head before he gestures for you to speak your peace.

You inhale a deep breath, tugging your purse tight. "Johnny…" you begin, your voice already tight. “What we did…" you continue, shaking your head in disbelief. “It can't happen again. It was a mistake.” You look at him with guilty eyes. “I love Simon."

He nods as you speak, tongue in his cheek. "Know you love Simon. He loves you."

"That's why I can't see you again. Ever," your tone is firm as you shuffle on your heels. 

He narrows his eyes in contemplation, sipping his beer, but doesn't say anything.

"You're not going to say anything?" you ask, confusion in your tone. 

He shrugs. "Think you already made up your mind, no?"

Your lips flatline; he was right. 

You already said your peace, so what were you still doing there?

"Yes. I did," you nod.

"Then that's it," he takes another sip of the beer like he doesn’t care.

You're not entirely sure what you expected.

Maybe, selfishly, you wanted Johnny to put up a small fight. 

Make it feel like what you did was even a little worth it.

But this is good.

This is right. 

"Good. I'll… I'll see you around," you utter quickly before you spin on your heels as you push back through the hoard of people and head back through the door, the rush of wind hitting you and rushing to fill your lungs as you inhale deeply.

You feel slightly disappointed but overall satisfied with your meeting with Johnny.

It was the right thing to do.

The only thing you could think to do to ease your conscience before telling Simon. 

Made you breathe easier. 

Soothed your brain that was going into overdrive. 

You're so consumed in your thoughts as you walk down the paved sidewalk that you don't even hear the voice calling your name behind you until you feel a tap on your shoulder.

You yelp at the touch, turning around to see a disheveled Johnny before you. 

Your eyes widen. "Johnny?"

"I couldn't… couldn't just let ye walk away," his words are jumbled, half labored from running over as if he can't fully believe what he's doing.

"What do you mean?" Your eyes search his light eyes, full of confusion.

"I don't know. I just…" he trails off, hands wiping over his face. He eyes you for a moment, takes a step toward you, grabs your face between his hands, and kisses you deep enough to swap spit.

You can't help the way your body slumps into him as his tongue moves in your mouth.

His lips move against your familiarity and a fiery passion you can't explain or deny.

You don't know if you want to cry from guilt or moan from pleasure.

Johnny pulls away before you can decide. 

You wipe the saliva from your lips when he pulls away. "Johnny…"

"I know. I know," he agrees. "Just had to one last time… but I'll go. See ye around, Birdie." 

You stand there, shoulders sagged, when he walks away with a bland goodbye. 

It's for the best, but why did he have to kiss you?

It made it so much damn harder to let go.

You ponder the interaction as you take the five-minute walk home.

The feeling of shame washes over you when you step inside the house. The lights are dim and warm, and the air smells of coconut and mahogany.

You can hear the creak of the wood as you slowly take off your coat to hang it on the hook. Once you look up, you see Simon rolling in to greet you.

“Sweetheart,” he smiles, beckoning you down for a kiss.

You want to die, but you think that would send Simon into an early grave faster than finding out you had slept with his best friend. 

You bend down and kiss his lips.

His eyes close as he kisses you back with a more profound passion, his tongue sliding across your lips, which makes you audibly whimper.

He pulls his head back, head tilting back in thought. “You’ve been with Johnny,” he says more as a statement than a question.

Your eyes widen, your stomach churning at his words. You struggle to find the right words. “I… how did you know?” you manage to stutter.

“I know what he tastes like,” he says with a straight face, no ill will.

You tilt your head to the side in contemplation. “You… and Johnny have…” you trail off, hoping he can fill in the blanks. 

“Did you fuck Johnny, bug?” he asks, once again with a straight face. 

There it is.

The question of the hour.

You shake your head in shame, eyes still on his because he at least deserves that. “Simon… there’s no excuse at all, but I… we were both drunk,” you mumble out.

“He told me,” he gruffs out stoically. 

Your eyes twitch. “What?”

“Called me right after,” he shrugs with ease.

“You… you knew?” you prompt. “This whole time?”

He nods. “Doesn’t bother me.”

Your mouth hangs open slightly.

The unexpected turn of the conversation leaves you in a state of disbelief. 

“He’s temptin’, huh?” Simon raises an amused brow. 

“He’s… well, he’s… kind of. I don’t know what to say,” you voice slowly. 

Johnny told Simon.

He told your husband that he slept with his wife, and he was still alive to tell the tale. 

That’s why Johnny didn’t seem nervous at the bar because he had already told the one person who mattered the most in the situation.

"Bet you had Johnny in near tears, huh?" You hear Simon roughly ask with an amused smile. 

"Simon…" You can't help but feel a spark of heat on your skin as he speaks. 

He tilts his head back, licking his lips before beckoning you closer. You step close enough so he can grab you by the waist. He bends his face so his lips press into your lower stomach through your shirt before he moves his lips lower to plant a kiss on your cunt through your jeans. 

You let out a breathy moan, fingers threading through his hair. 

"Felt too good squeezin’ around him, yeah. Bet he was prayin' in this pussy," he mutters into you, teeth skimming the fabric just enough to nick through it. 

This is strange; you must have known that much.

But, God, you couldn't help the way your cunt ached with untamed greed. 

His canine skimmed across the sensitive skin. "Go on, baby. Tell me. Was Johnny prayin' in you?" His voice felt rough on your skin. "In what's mine?" 

"Fuck… Simon," you manage to choke out as he presses another deep kiss to your cunt. 

"Sit in my lap," he urges, low and husky.

You oblige, hands coming to rest on his shoulders to position yourself to straddle his lap delicately. Once you sunk on his lap, you looked down at him, pressing a deep kiss to his lips that he reciprocated with equal passion. 

"Too fuckin' perfect for Johnny, baby," he murmurs against your lips, fingers slipping to tug down your jeans. You chew on your lip as you sit up a little so he can tug them down to reveal your panties, complete with a growing spot of arousal in the cotton.

“You see that?” he tuts, pressing his finger against the wet spot, making your twitch against his fingers. “Johnny could never get you this wet. He didn’t get my wife this wet, did he, sweetheart?” he grits, pressing, dragging his finger lightly against your slit, nearing your puffy clit. 

“He didn’t,” you moan out as you shamelessly rock against his fingers, desperate for more contact. “I… I need you, baby,” you whine, gripping his shoulder tight. 

“I’m gonna fill you, babe. Keep you squirmin’ on my cock till you can’t walk,” he presses a sloppy kiss to your neck, sucking on the flesh with urgency. “Get me ready for you, baby,” he mumbles against your flesh, teeth running against your collarbone. 

Your eager hands move to unzip his jeans, slipping them down to reach for his erect cock, the tip already flush and leaking pre-come. You stroke him once before he’s gripping your waist and, without warning, pushing you down onto him.

You both hiss at the contact. Simon grits his teeth as he rocks you against his cock, coaxing your sweet release bit by bit. He leans closer, soft lips gliding against your ear. “She fuckin’ missed me, sweetheart. Takin’ me so well. So deep,” he murmurs, brushing his tongue against your helix. 

You let out a loud moan, eyes shutting closed with intense pleasure. “You always take…” you pant between moans. “...such good care of me, Simon,” you finish, fingernails digging into his shoulders through his thin cotton shirt.

He kisses your lips. “Always gonna take care of my girl,” he bites your bottom lip slightly as his cock pounds into you. You practically scream as he hits just the right places, not even noticing his fingers slipping past your lips and moving down your throat.

You choke a little before you fully welcome them down further, his eyes peering at your mouth as you coat his fingers with your saliva. He pulls them out after a moment, humming with satisfaction at the gleam of them before using his freshly wet fingers to ease against your clit, offering you even more pleasure.

“Feels so good,” you whine, rocking yourself against not only his cock, but his fingers too, the stimulation all-consuming. 

“Come on, baby,” he urges, moving his fingers with urgency as he feels his orgasms start to wash over him. “Come all over my cock and fingers,” his eyes drift to watch his fingers moving in you, your fresh arousal coating them.

Your orgasm crashes over you right as he gets a third finger in, and he follows close behind. You heave in his lap, body shaking with gratification. 

You feel yourself slump against him, cheek resting on his shoulder, but only for a moment, before he picks up his fingers covered in your arousal and nudges them against your pouting lips. You open your mouth widely, and he glides them across your tongue and slightly down your throat.

You wrap your hand around his wrist as you turn to face him, lips closing around his fingers, sucking them clean, even taking them out with a loud pop that has Simon giving you a lopsided grin. 

He bends forward, tongue darting to collect the extra arousal on your lips before he gives you a deep kiss. 

Your heart is still pounding at the turn of events, but not just Simon accepting, no welcoming the fact you had slept with Johnny, but the sex that ensued after.

You have had sex numerous times, but this time it felt more carnivorous, possessive. 

And you loved every fucking second of it. 

Made you realize it was Simon.

He was the one, the love of your life. 

Poor girl, so naive.

So disgustingly pure. 

Couldn’t have foreseen the darkness that lurked; the abyss that waited patiently to swallow her whole.  

The months pass, one by one until a new year brings more rainfall and a vengeance that has single-handedly obliterated Simon’s entire world, his marriage, leaving him a shell of a man even a month later. 

Johnny had died. 

His best friend, no brother.

Taken from him with no forewarning, a sudden and brutal twist of fate that left Simon reeling in disdain. 

Price told him it was painless, but Simon knew.

He knew as soon as you passed the phone to him, your hand shaking and face devoid of any emotion, Price whispered his words over the phone in the same voice he would use to belie brutal truths. 

That Goddamn Johnny had got himself into something. 

Simon didn’t know what exactly; maybe it was better that way. 

He wouldn’t have to picture Johnny flailing around, bleeding himself dry before he didn’t so much as twitch anymore, his body and soul gone before his very eyes.

And yet, even with no inkling as to what occurred, he still did imagine the worst.

He was a soldier, after all, having seen the worst deaths imaginable and even facilitated many of them himself.

Perhaps it was naive, given his profession, but he never imagined Johnny being the one on the other side of the gun, the shot piercing through his skin, an ally, not an enemy.

The thoughts replayed in his mind every day since the news of his death had come his way.

Nothing could pacify the sheer ache he felt deep in his bones.

Not even the Bourbon he tossed back that is now burning a path down his throat.

Nothing could numb him, so he’ll at least try to get a slight buzz to ease his sorrows.

He’s perched over the wooden table of the bar, hunched over on the stool, as he signals the bartender to pour him another.

You were at the house doing something or another; he didn’t bother to ask before he left.

He really didn’t care.

Something he’s gotten exceptionally good at.

He’s been distant, sure, but even worse than that, he’s been colder.

He doesn’t even know himself anymore.

“You got a wife at home?” He hears the gruff voice of an older man as he moves to sit on the stool right next to him, even though the bar is nearly empty. So many spots are vacant, yet he chooses to sit directly next to him.

Simon doesn’t answer; he just takes a brisk sip of the whiskey.

The man gives him a chuckle, signaling the bartender, before he lazily points towards Simon. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

The bartender nods, fixing him a whiskey and setting it in front of the man. He takes a sip, a calm smile on his face. “This Kentucky? Got good taste, my boy,” he praises Simon as he takes another light sip.

Once again, Simon doesn’t answer, turning his attention to the football match on the television in front of him: Manchester United vs West Ham.

"Can feel the sadness wafting off you," the man mutters to Simon, his voice carrying a hint of humor. 

Simon glances at him. "You some kind of shrink or somethin'?" he gruffs, clearly irritated. 

The man laughs, a deep belly laugh. "I'm no one," he says before he leans closer next to Simon. "I can give you what you want," he promises, tilting his head at Simon's narrowing eyes. "Bring back your friend, but… it'll come with a price," he assures, smiling at Simon's wide eyes full of anger.

Simon sets his whiskey down with a soft thud. "The fuck did you say to me?"

The man chuckles. "I know you hate semantics. Just like me. Thought I wouldn't beat around the bush." He sits up on the stool. "Your friend… Johnny. I've seen him. He's a good boy, and he misses you dearly, Simon."

"Who the fuck are you?" Simon erupts, drawing the bartender's attention. 

The man smiles at the bartender, trying to ease his concern. "Someone who wants to help you," he simply says. "But it'll come with a price."

"Price?" Simon asks without much thought.

"The devil doesn't bargain for free, my boy," the man gruffly utters. 

Simon has no reason to believe this man.

He could very well be a homeless man trying to take advantage of him, but he's desperate.

He misses Johnny. 

"How much?" He fidgets for his wallet before the man extends his hand, halting his actions. 

"You think the devil cares about your money?" He shakes his head with a deep laugh. "No, no. He wants something more… practical."

"Like what?" Simon tips his head back, eyes wide, giving the man a good look into his soul.

He was desperate, a hopeless soul.

The man takes a sip of his whiskey. "An essence or soul, if you will, must be promised… sealed in blood," he voices so low Simon almost doesn't hear him. "Doesn't have to be yours…" he supplies, sensing Simon's unease. "But it has to be someone you're close to. Say… a spouse."

Simon ponders for a moment, the weight of the decision heavy on his mind. A vision of you crosses his mind. “My… my wife?”

“Mhm,” the man tilts his head in thought. “That would work mighty fine.”

The man, with an air of mystery, pulls out a paper and a small Bible, complete with large, gold Cardo font and a cross hovering above the text from his large coat pocket and holds it down low for Simon to see.

“This has all you need. Do what you wish, but you must not wait too long,” he hands both the paper and Bible to Simon, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. “For the Gods are hungry.”

He can hear the sound of the TV when he trudges in from the bar, his heavy boots revealing his presence. 

The paper and small Bible burned a hole through his jacket pocket. 

He reaches for a glass, carefully fills it with some tap water, takes a sip, and swishes around his mouth, not bothering to greet you, curled up on the couch. He can sense your anxiety, glancing at your foot, tapping steadily against the vinyl flooring.

He runs the water to clean the metal sink of his salvia before he takes a proper sip, clearing out the taste of Bourbon and betrayal coating his tongue. 

"Sit. Our favorite show is on," you chime, a warm small growing on your lips.

He closes his eyes gently before he turns to you, shaking his head. "Not feelin' it tonight, sweetheart."

"Come on," you urge, pointing towards the television with your pointer finger. "We're about to find out if Henry is staying or leaving."

"I'm, I'm not in the mood," he mutters, only with slight annoyance.

But that doesn't stop you. "Come on. Would be nice to see you." 

He can feel the irritation bubbling. "Stop asking," he cuts sharply, setting the full glass in the sink.

You narrow your eyes slightly. "Why are you being so mean?"

In the back of his mind, he can't believe what he's doing.

That doesn't stop the words from flowing out of his mouth. 

"Christ, I already said I wasn't in the God-damned mood." 

Ice and venom coat his words as his hand slams into the countertop.

His heart sinks when he looks up to see a frown etched into your beautiful skin. 

"Well then," you murmur, eyes still on his. "Guess that settles it."

He releases a shallow breath, opening his mouth before shutting it promptly. He sees your eyes squint as you take a deep gulp.

He doesn't say anything else as he just moves to his office, shutting the door with a thud. 

He knows he's a coward.

Hell, he's more than that.

He's a man caught in the web of his own fears, constantly evading his problems instead of confronting them.

A master at doing nothing, a virtuoso of avoidance.

And to think he was now walking without his chair, the very thing he claimed made him feel useless, but he doesn’t realize that uselessness doesn't just dissipate.

It lies dormant.

Waiting and willing for the next opportunity to crawl back under the skin and whisper in one’s ear.

His heart raced as he frantically wandered around his office, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

He chewed on the inside of his cheeks, the heavy thud of his boots the only sound accompanying the blood rushing and thumping in his ears.

With a quiet curse and the churn of his stomach, he reached deep into his jacket pockets, grasping onto the loose paper and Bible the man had given him.

The instructions etched into the paper ominously read clear. 

“Beg for what you seek.”

He shuts his eyes softly, hand holding the paper shaking.

Tears stream down his cheek, dropping into his full beard. 

He shakes his head, defeated. “I… I want him back,” his words are cracked. “Please… I need him,” he licks his lips, tasting the salty tears of defeat on his tongue.

Sniffling, he reaches for the knife he wears tucked into a holster on his jeans, pulling out his knife and hovering the blade just above his thumb. With a deep groan and slice of his flesh, fresh blood gathers on his fingertip as he squeezes the skin. 

He presses his thumb, covered in his fresh blood, into the crinkled paper, turning the white a deep red. 

Ironic really. 

Because this time, instead of sealing his own fate, tying his own soul with his blood in the name of protection, he was damning your soul, in his blood, in the name of selfishness, so the darkness can hereby claim you, and he can find solace in this wretched bargain.

The sky was a deep, foreboding grey, with clouds that seemed to swirl and twist in every direction. A torrential downpour drenched the streets, with rain coming down in rigid sheets that threatened to wash away everything in its path.

And even though the storm is fiery, thunder growling and primal occurring outside.

It didn't stop the storm from brewing inside Simon's home.

His mind was a tempest, churning and devouring itself at the news of your passing.

It was a heavy burden, a weight that crushed his soul. The hospice nurse's words, 'died of natural causes related to your heart disease,' were like a verdict, but he knew the truth. 

It was his doing.

He had stolen your life, snatched up your bright potential, and set it ablaze for a self-serving wish that would swap your current life for Johnny's past one.

He had sold you out.

And so he was reaping what he sowed.

The house had been torn apart.

No longer the picture of warmth and comfort, it looked like a tornado, or in this case, a madman had run through, obliterating all that was. The furniture was overturned, the walls were marred with angry gashes, and the once serene atmosphere was now a chaotic mess.

Glass shards from the vases lay on the now scratched and wrecked vinyl flooring, while picture frames hang crooked and cracked from his fists that are bleeding and bruised.

As his rampage ensues, he hears a loud knock on his door. His eyes flick to the door, eyes red and full of unpacified rage; his boots make loud thuds as he wanders over.

His sagged shoulders tighten for a moment.

Despite the palpable anger over your passing, he finds himself considering the deal, and his spirits unexpectedly rise at the thought of seeing a familiar face.

The only face he has left to see.

His hand reaches for the door handle, pulling it open promptly, only for his eyes to widen at the sight.

It wasn’t Johnny at the door, reaching out to him.

It was his own uncaring father, caked in a thick coat of mud and reeking of brimstone.

Simon’s heart raced, and his hand trembled as he struggled to process the sight.

"I told ya you'd be seeing me again, son," his father's mud-caked face twisted in a grin. "Aren't you gonna greet your dear ole' dad?" he asks, holding his arms out. 

Simon's voice trembled with shock. "I... I don't understand. How are you..."

"How am I here?" His father finishes with a crude laugh, dropping his arms to his sides. "I fulfilled your wish as spoken, boy."

Simon's eyes widened in sheer terror, his brain struggling to comprehend what was happening. "No. I... I wished for Johnny back," he tried to rationalize. "Not you."

"You wished for him, boy," he informs, watching Simon's face drop even further with the revelation. "If Johnny was who you desired, you should have been more specific. The devil does not guess," he purses his lips. "Been watching you a long time, boy," his father gruffs, shaking his head. "Longer than you think."

Simon's eyes snap to him, his mouth open in disbelief. "You've been… watching me?"

"Didn't even realize it was your own father at the bar. Shame on you, son," his father shakes his head in disappointment. 

"You… you were the one who… who gave me the paper and… Bible?" Simon asks though he's scared to know the answer. 

"Crawled out of the pits of Hell just to be there and here… and now… you'll never be rid of me."

The darkness that lurks beneath this world is truly insidious. Humans will never know the true terrors awaiting them, possibly having crawled up from the fiery pits of Hell to coexist with them on Earth.

I’ve seen it firsthand.

And so I urge you to heed my warnings.

Be careful who you pray to, dear readers, for the Gods are not always benevolent.

At least… I know I am not.

MINI AUTHOR'S NOTE: please let me know all your thoughts in the comments, or if you have more specific questions, my ask box is always open. thanks so much for reading! also, shout out to my queenie @lavenderdaisychain for helping me get through the serious burn out i got writing this & reading over some parts i was hesitant about! love you!

[hayatoseyepatch]

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∘∙⊱Description: Who would our little less experienced characters go to for help in pleasing their partner?

∘∙⊱Featuring:  Haruka Sakura, Jo Togame, Kyotaro Sugishita, Hajime Umemiya, Akihiko Nirei, Hayato Suo x fem!reader

∘∙⊱Words: 2.7k (I might have gotten a wee bit carried away, oops)

∘∙⊱Tags: fem!reader, minor spoiler warning for the manga (nothing too specific mentioned), aged up, smut, threesome, cunnilingus, fingering, edging, teasing, dom/sub dynamics, petnames, praising, degradation, dacryphilia, oral (m&f receiving), etc.

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a/n: Please be gentle with me I haven’t written anything proper in like 2 years lmao. But I’m currently obsessed with windbreaker and figured I’d take matters into my own hands for creating some content for these boys. Enjoy some spicy headcannons! You know the drill, 18+ content MDNI.

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-Sakura is a damn mess. I love this boy so much but he is. Because lets be honest, even getting together with Sakura was a project. This poor baby never even had someone show him friendship let alone love.

-(Slight Manga Spoilers) Sakura has gone to Togame for help before when it came to  the battle with Noroshi, and Togame has proven himself to be someone Sakura can rely on. Sakura treats everything like a fight, this is no different.

-Togame, in comparison, had much more experience. Being in Shishitoren was a lot on Togame before he met Sakura, so he had his fair share of sexual partners to relieve some stress.

-Sakura was new to relying on others, and even newer to asking for help. His face a bright red and a deep furrow in his brows. Togame took one look at his expression, eyebrows raising in curiosity. “What’s up Sakura, you good?” He had asked lazy crooked smile in place, tough he’d be lying if he wasn’t a bit concerned.

-Sakura’s scowl only deepened in response. “I need your help with something.” When Togame had urged him to go on, between clenched teeth he had asked him to help him pleasing his partner.

-To say Togame was shocked would be an understatement. Sakura’s furrow in his brow deepened. “Listen, I know your much more experienced than I am, I just.. I want to make sure she feels good too. But I fucking swear one smart ass comment and I’ll beat your ass into next week. You got it?” Togame’s eyes softened he knew how Sakura was, how hard it was for him to ask for help. He must really care for you. He agreed without a second thought.

-It wasn’t long before he found himself in your shared bedroom. His eyes wide at your form clad in nothing but a cute matching set the both of your cheeks adorned with the same bright red hue. He had to remind himself why he was here. He was here to help his friend, but gods were you so damn beautiful.

You felt so exposed, tears collecting on your lashes, as Togame has you spread open for Sakura. Your back resting against Togame’s chest, your thighs hooked over his, fully exposing your dripping center to Sakura’s hungry gaze. Togame’s long fingers drawing lazy circles over your needy clit. Your essence was dripping from your opening onto the sheets below, it had felt like Togame had been teasing your for hours, mind already swimming and neither of them had even filled your cunt. Togame’s other hand gently thumbing at your nipple, had you wiggling desperately in his grasp.

“See, Sakura, you need to take your time. You see how much of a mess her pretty pussy is making?” He chuckles, deep and breathy, right into your ear. “All that wetness is gonna make it feel so much better for the both of you. Plus just see for yourself how sexy it sounds”

Sakura felt like he was going to explode, his cheeks radiating warmth with how red they were, his cock straining against his pants, aching for attention.  All Sakura could do is nod eyes locked on your dripping cunt. “Go ahead Sakura, slowly slip two fingers inside, that’s it, see how easy it is?” he grins at the look on Sakura’s face at the squelching sound your cunt makes, coupled with the sound that falls from your lips at the feeling of his fingers stretching your once empty cunt. “sh-shut the fuck up I know how to put my fingers inside, asshole” Sakura grumbles, but he couldn’t deny Togame was right, they’ve never slipped in with such ease before.

Togame chuckles once more. “Oh she’s so responsive, how adorable~” Sakura’s eyes are wide, he’s never heard you make that sound before, he quickly gets drunk on your reactions, fingers gliding in and out of your cunt with ease with how wet you were. Togame continues to guide Sakura, telling him just how to position his fingers in such a way that he is repeatedly hitting the spot deep inside you that has your vision going white.

“Oh! H-Haruka, right there, please please I’m gonna~” You cry out, embarrassed at how loud your volume had gotten as you beg for release. Togame finally picks up speed, his fingers no longer drawing lazy patterns but circling your clit faster now. “That’s it doll, don’t hold back, show Sakura how good he’s making you feel.” Sakura watches intently, mesmerized, feeling your walls clamp down on his fingers body trembling as he and Togame’s fingers guide you through your orgasm. Sakura surging forward, lips claiming yours hungrily, swallowing your moans. Coming down from you high, breaths panting as you try and calm your racing heart and trembling thighs.

“Alright Sugar, I think your ready for the main event.” Both you and Sakura’s eyes widen at Togame’s words, you were both in for a long night.

Umemiya & Sugishita

-Let’s be honest here, Sugishita is trusting NO ONE other than Umemiya. He hold so much respect for him and I feel like if he’s going to anyone its him.

-I feel like his partner also spends plenty of time with Umemiya, so it wouldn’t be a stranger who is being invited into their bedroom. A good bit of Sugishita’s time is spent helping Umemiya in the garden or with meetings, so its safe to say that his partner spends a good bit of their time on the rooftop with them.

-Sugishita also knows that Umemiya will be gentle and not push any boundaries that  him or his partner are uncomfortable with. He finds some relief knowing Umemiya isn’t going to go all sadistic on his partner.

-That being said Sugishita is still so nervous to ask for help. He’s worried in some way he’d be disappointed in him for not being able to fulfill his partners needs. Umemiya is so caught off-guard when he asks too, Sugishita rarely ever asks for help so as the leader and viewing Furin’s members as his siblings of course he’s happy to help! Though Sugishita’s next words were ones he couldn’t have guessed even if he tried.

-When the time comes, and the three of you are in the comfort of your bed, they dwarf your frame. These boys are BIG, Sugishita is 6’3” and Umemiya is 6’2” so honeybun I’m praying for you for real.

-Umemiya is so patient, his gentle words guiding both of your actions, he is fully in hold of the reins. He has the both of you hanging on to his every word.

“That’s it Sugishita, be gentle, ease into her. She how much easier it slides in after warming her up?” Umemiya’s voice is tender, guiding Sugishita’s actions and easing your mind. His deep baritone spoken directly in your ear has you letting out shudder. Sugishita lets out a deep groan, you were always tight, normally struggling to take his girth. But your velvet walls pulled him in the wetness from the last hour Umemiya spent between your thighs making him slide in with ease.

“So.. fucking.. tight” Sugishita grunts, heeding his mentor’s word, resisting the urge to slam into you desperate to feel more of you. You whimper at the stretch, Umemiya titling your chin upwards, lips meeting your own. His tongue exploring your mouth, large hands roaming your body. One hand circles a sensitive nipple, the other has his fingers tracing mindless shapes on your clit. Effectively distracting you from the stretch of Sugishita entering your tight heat. The both of you moan loudly as Sugishita bottoms out, feeling filled to the brim and he hadnt even gotten started. “That’s it, give her a moment, let her get accustomed. Its okay sweetheart, poor little thing your tight little pussy is so full isn’t it baby?” The gentle tone of Umemiya’s voice contradicts the absolute filth that leaves his mouth. His words having you wiggling your hips desperate for more. “Please, Kyo, more.. please fuck me”

Umemiya grins, the desperate tone in your voice has his own cock straining against the tight fabric of his boxers. “Go on Sugishita, she asked so nicely, are you gonna make her beg?” He teases, having both of your cheeks flushing pink, as Sugishia begins to move. His hips rutting into yours,  your head being tossed back, resting on Umemiya’s shoulder. “Please.. please.. touch me Ume” You beg, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears in your desperation.

The older man grins, lips attaching themselves to your neck, his fingers resuming their ministrations on your sensitive spots. Letting out a deep growl, Sugishita picks up the pace hips slamming into your own. “You see that Sugishita, you see how deep you are inside her?” He teases, pointing out the bulge in your tummy where he can practically see just how deep he was thrusting inside you. He gritted his teeth willing himself not to cum, not yet. Not when you felt so good, not when you were making such beautiful sounds.

Your hand reaches behind you, slipping inside Umemiya’s boxers, your small hand wrapping around his cock, giving an experimental tug not wanting to leave him out. He curses into your neck. His hips thrusting into you hand as you begin pumping his length in your hand. Sugishita couldn’t take it anymore, you felt too good, your sounds doing too much to him. You too were on the edge. “Kyo, Kyo, please gonna..” You come undone with a cry, Sugishita matching your actions, spilling himself into your waiting cunt. After catching your breath, you and Sugshita have a silent conversation with your eyes, his response being an approving nod and a grunt, as you turn your half lidded gaze up to Umemiya.

“Ume.. please fuck me.. wanna make you feel good too.” The white haired male’s eyes widening at your forwardness, but as he said to Sugishita earlier, he wasn’t going to make you beg when you asked so nicely.

-See these two here… I think this arrangement is a bit different from the others. Unlike Sakura & Sugishita, it isn't Nirei going to Suo for help for his partner, but rather Suo helping Nirei get some experience under his belt.

-Suo is already training Nirei, taking him under his wing to show him how to defend himself, to him this was just another lesson for him to give the blonde.

-Nirei was confused when Suo had texted him telling him to meet him at his apartment rather than their usual meeting spot for training. Regardless, he followed instruction, curious as to where Suo lived. After all these years of knowing him, he still only knew what Suo let him know about him he was a mystery to him.

-He met Nirei at the door his signature closed eye smile adorning his face, laced with mischief, as he led him inside. “y/n isnt here, Suo?” Nirei had asked curiously, also with a twinge of nervousness.

-Suo was extremely perceptive, he noticed the cherry red that dusted Nirei’s cheeks whenever you greeted him or made idle chatter. How could he not? You were breathtaking after all. So Suo would throw one of his closest friends a bone. Tilting his head with a smile. “Oh no, she’s here, just in the bedroom waiting for our lesson.”

-Nirei didnt know what he was expecting when he followed Suo into their bedroom, but he nearly fainted seeing you sat on the bed waiting patiently in nothing but your bra and panties. Before he could profusely apologize for catching you in such a state of undress and run, his friend had placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Today’s lesson is going to be a bit different, today me and y/n are going to be teaching you about inflicting pleasure rather than pain.”

-The nervous blonde thought his heart might just beat right out of his chest, was this a cruel prank from you both? Had Suo caught him staring at you and decided to give him a humiliating punishment?

-He would be a liar if he said he hadn’t imagined being with you before. If he hadn’t spent late nights fucking his fist, imagining it was you touching him instead. If he didn’t whimper your name in his pillow as he came.

-But when your big doe eyes met his, a delicate hand reached out to welcome him into the bed with a comforting nod of your head offering your consent, who was he to say no?

“He’s awfully eager isn’t he darling? Oops it seems like your mouths a bit full, how silly of me~” Suo chuckled, tone in his voice teasing, as he stuffed your mouth full of his cock. His eye softening as he looked down at you, fingers carding gently before tugging just the way he knew you liked, forcing more of his cock down your throat.

Your moans sent vibrations around Suo’s cock, he was right, Nirei was surely eager. His tongue lapping at your pussy like a man starved. His inexperienced tongue was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Suo needing to remind him to take breaths. Said man, chuckled once more, teasing voice filling the room.

“Nirei, she isn’t going anywhere we’re just getting started, make sure your focusing on her clit, that’s a boy just like, fuck, just like that.” The tail end of his sentence he wasn’t sure which of you it was directed at, the way you bobbed your head taking him expertly in your throat had the normally composed man losing his bearings. Using his grip on your hair he lifted you off his length.

“Come here.” He instructs the blonde, who reluctantly removed his face from its position buried between your thighs. You beckon Nirei to you with your hand in his, pressing your lips together in a heated kiss. Tongue quickly overtaking his own, allowing him to taste Suo on his tongue, a stark reminder of who you belonged to. This seemed to please your boyfriend, enough for him to slot himself between your legs. His cock sliding in with ease due to the wetness from Nirei’s saliva and your own arousal.

You moan, desperately into Nieri’s mouth, head being tossed back at the feeling of Suo’s cock filling you so deeply. His groan making both if you shudder. No time is wasted, you were quick to replace the empty feeling in your mouth with the blonde’s cock. He let out a loud desperate moan as the warmth of your mouth welcomes him in, hollowing your cheeks as you begin to suck. Suo sets a brutal pace from the beginning, determined to have all three of you coming undone at the same time.

You and Nirei’s moans and whimpers bounce off the walls, leaving no question of who was solely in control of you both in this moment. Suo felt the familiar spasm of your walls around him, indicating your impending release. “That’s it my love, come on, let go for me. Show Nirei how beautiful you look coming undone on my cock.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t close, the stimulation of your earlier ministrations bringing him to the edge faster than he normally would. Nirei is the first of you to come, a loud cry falling from his lips, tears streaming down his cheeks as he unloads into your waiting mouth. Nearly coming a second time just from the sight of you swallowing his cum, just so you would be able to cry out Suo’s name as you came on his cock. Suo was the last to topple over the ledge, your orgasm triggering his own. Hands gripping your plush hips in an iron grip as he paints your walls white. The room is silent save for the sounds of panting, all three of you catching your breaths from such intense releases. Suo’s voice is the first to break the silence.

“Alright Nirei, go on, if you clean her up real nice with your tongue I might just let you fuck her pretty cunt after.~”

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅☾☼☽⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and as always likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. This is my first time writing for these characters so I hope I did them some justice. See you in the next one!

[inseobts]

A New Perspective

trafalgar law x fem!bi!reader

law turns into a woman and suddenly you're having at lot of fun at the view.

words count: 2.3k

tags: minor spoiler(?), gender switch, romance, bisexual reader, funny

masterlist // ko-fi

The Polar Tang cuts through the sea, its steady rhythm the only sound until a sudden crackle of energy fills the air. You barely have time to react before your entire body feels like it’s been flipped upside down. A flash of light, a sharp tug, and—

You blink.

You’re staring down at yourself in utter disbelief.

“Wait a minute…” you mumble under your breath, staring at the unfamiliar body in front of you.

Gone is the familiar curve of your body, now you’re standing there, with the body of a man. You glance down at your broadening chest, the flatness that replaced your curves, and the new set of muscles beneath your clothes. Your voice comes out lower than usual when you speak, still in shock. “What the hell just happened?”

Suddenly, you hear a familiar voice calling your name.

“y/n, are you okay?”

You spin around to see Law, but…

What the hell?

Instead of Law’s usual sharp, masculine form, there stands a woman, still with his signature demeanor, that same authoritative presence, but now in a woman’s body. His—her—eyes lock onto yours, scanning you in equal confusion.

“What’s going on?” Law says, voice strained as she glances around, clearly just as disoriented as you are.

“Well,” you chuckle, blinking a few times to make sure you’re not seeing things, “this is… new.”

You step closer, trying to take it all in. And, damn, Law looks good as a woman. Her legs are long and toned, the frame lean yet feminine. The sight of her—him, but as a woman now—has your heart racing. You can’t deny it; she still has that Law confidence, just wrapped in a more delicate package.

You curl up on the ground, trying to hide the redness of your face.

“Is something funny, y/n?” she snaps, her eyes narrowing, clearly uncomfortable in this form.

You can’t help yourself. You grin. “I’m just trying to figure out how you can look so good like this. Honestly, I don’t think I’m complaining.”

Law’s cheeks flare red in an instant, and she crosses her arms, clearly trying to remain composed. “This is not the time for this, y/n”

You take another shy step toward her, eyes flicking down to her long legs. “Come on, Law, you have to admit you’re kind of… hot and beautiful right now.”

Her eyes flash “Cut it out. I need to figure out how to reverse this before you get a nosebleed”

You chuckle at her discomfort but can’t stop the rush of attraction that surges through you “Oh, I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable, Captain?” You look her up and down again, letting the blush spread across your face “It’s just—” You pause, your voice dipping into something more flirtatious. “You’re looking really good. I mean, what do you expect me to do? You know I’m bisexual, and my beautiful boyfriend just turned into a beautiful version of himself as a woman. You can’t understand how that feels right now.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, Law’s eyes flash with something that almost seems like frustration—or maybe… embarrassment?

“You can’t be serious,” she mutters, trying to maintain her usual stern tone but failing as her face betrays her. “You can’t just say things like that.”

You step closer to her again, letting your gaze linger on her, enjoying how she squirms beneath your stare. “Oh, but I can. And honestly? I’m loving it.” You take another deep breath and let the words slip from your mouth, relishing in the playfulness “You don’t know how good I think you look right now, Law.”

You can see the flush deepening in her cheeks, her hands clenching in obvious frustration. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin all standing nearby, watching the exchange with wide eyes. The crew’s eyes flicker between you and Law, amused by the situation but clearly awkward.

You turn to the crew, raising an eyebrow, still grinning “Don’t act like you don’t see it, guys,” you say, voice almost playful. “Law’s looking fine right now.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence, and then Bepo scratches his head awkwardly, glancing at the others. “Well, uh… it’s true, she does look pretty cool…”

You let out a laugh, turning back to face Law. “See? Even the crew agrees.” You pause, then add, “I’m just saying, though… You’ve really got my attention right now, Captain.”

Law lets out a growl, clearly fed up. “You need to stop with that. We need to figure this out, and I’m not going to—”

But you cut her off, stepping even closer, your voice low now as you tease. “Okay, fine. But I have to ask…” You pout at her “Do you think I look handsome? Do you think I’m, uh… fuckable like this?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Law, her eyes locking onto yours in sheer disbelief, and for a split second, she doesn’t say anything. Her gaze flickers to the crew, who are now looking at you both with wide eyes and nervous chuckles.

“You—what?” Law stammers, her face completely flushed.

You grin wickedly, clearly enjoying the flustered look on her face. “Just curious. You’ve seen how you look now, so I’m wondering if I’m equally as handsome in this form” You add a wink for extra effect and trying to flex the muscles that you actually don't have.

Law stares at you, her expression a mixture of irritation and something else, but before she can reply, you see her posture change, that familiar frustrated sigh escaping her lips.

“You’re impossible,” she mutters, though there’s a hidden smile tugging at the corner of her lips, betraying her usual stern nature.

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smirk on your face “You can’t deny it. I look good, right?”

“Well, of course you look good, you idiot, you're still y/n after all” she snaps, but the words are softer now, almost affectionate. She takes a step back, obviously still flustered, but you can tell that the playful tension between you both has shifted.

“I guess I do,” you say, voice lowering. “But, for the record, you still look way better than me.”

Law shoots you a sideways glance, her lips curving into a small smile. “I’m not going to say I enjoy hearing that, but… Fine. Whatever, y/n.”

You step closer one last time, your eyes locking onto hers. “You know, I might just keep you in this form a little longer if you keep getting flustered like this.”

Her eyes narrow, but this time there’s no real bite to it. “I swear to God, you’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

You grin, shaking your head “Not a chance.”

You step closer to Law, your grin widening as you take in the flustered look still lingering on her face.

“So,” you start, your voice teasing, “before you turn back into a man… would you mind giving me a kiss?”

Law’s eyes widen, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. “W-What?” she stammers, clearly caught off guard. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” You cross your arms, smirking. “I mean, if you’re gonna be all hot and bothered in that body, you might as well give me something to remember you by, right? A little kiss, maybe? Just one. Even a fast one it's okay. Before the magic wears off and you turn back to your usual, grumpy self.”

Law looks like she’s about to refuse, but the playful glint in your eyes seems to challenge her. Her lips press into a thin line as she glances around, trying to maintain her usual, no-nonsense demeanor.

You take a step closer, lowering your voice to a soft, almost flirtatious whisper. “C’mon, Law. I’m not asking for much. Just a little kiss. This form makes me brave enough to even flirt.”

Law takes a deep breath, clearly weighing her options. She meets your gaze, and for a moment, the playful tension in the air thickens. Her eyes flick to the crew in the background, and she sighs, rubbing her temples. “This is insane,” she mutters under her breath before lowering her voice. “I’ll give you a kiss. But not here. Not in front of everyone.”

You raise an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk still playing at your lips. “I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing you in front of the crew. Just one little kiss, and then we can get back to this mess.”

Law takes one more look around at the crew, who are doing their best not to make eye contact, awkwardly pretending to be busy. With a huff, she grabs your arm and tugs you toward the corner of the ship, away from the prying eyes of the crew.

Once you’re out of sight, she finally turns to face you, her eyes narrowing in irritation, though you can still see the traces of warmth there.

“Fine,” she says with a sigh. “One kiss, but only because I’m about to lose my mind from your teasing and only if you promise you will stop”

You grin, feeling victorious. Slowly, you lean in, letting the moment hang in the air between you.

Law hesitates for a fraction of a second "I'm not gonna enjoy this at all" and then she leans forward, her lips brushing against yours in a soft, quick kiss.

It’s over almost as soon as it started, and before you can fully react, she pulls back, quickly straightening up, her face now a deep shade of red.

“That was… you’re impossible,” she mutters, crossing her arms tightly across her chest, clearly embarrassed.

You chuckle softly, your eyes glinting. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Captain.”

Before she can say anything else, you both hear a noise from behind. You turn just in time to see Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin awkwardly glancing in your direction, trying not to make it obvious they were eavesdropping.

“W-What happened?” Bepo stammers, his ears twitching nervously.

You laugh, trying to hide the grin that’s spreading across your face. “Oh, nothing. Just a little kiss between the Captain and me. No big deal.”

Shachi and Penguin exchange looks before awkwardly muttering, “Uh, okay…”

Law gives you one last glare before turning to the crew, shaking her head. “You’re all idiots, I wanna die right now” she grumbles, but even she can’t hide the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

The crew too shocked by what was happening in front of them to even notice their bodies also changed.

In an instant, everything shifted back to normal.

Your body, once again your own, feel right in an instant. The familiar curves and weight of your form returned, and you look over at Law—who now stand in front of you, the sharp edge of his usual confidence returning as his tall, masculine form was restored.

You both share a stunned silence, then slowly, the truth hits you.

You're back to normal, but in your mind, the embarrassment hits you like a ton of bricks.

The heat from the blush that hadn't quite faded from earlier is still present. You can't stop replaying the teasing words you’d said to Law. Some of the things you said were borderline ridiculous—and downright embarrassing. But there is no time to dwell on it. Not when the crew is in the middle of a tense situation.

"Oh God…" you murmur, your face turning a deep shade of red, thinking about everything you had said and done earlier when Law was in his female form.

Law, who clearly feel the same wave of awkwardness, ran a hand through his hair and gave you an unreadable look. "Well," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly, "that was an experience I’d rather not repeat."

You look away, unable to make eye contact with him. The memories of your flirtatious teasing, the way you had openly complimented his (her?) body, and your playful taunts feel a hundred times worse now that you are back in your own body.

“I… I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… it’s not every day I get to see you in a different light, you know? I didn’t mean to—”

Before you can finish stumbling through your apology, you feel a firm hand on your shoulder. You look up to find Law standing right there, his expression softening.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” he says, his usual calm tone still holding but with an undercurrent of reassurance. He pulls you into a gentle, almost reluctant hug, enveloping you in the warmth of his tall, solid frame.

You let yourself relax into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against you, as if everything in that moment just made sense. Law’s presence, the way he always seems to know just what you need, made everything feel okay again.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice low, his arms strong around you “I know you didn’t mean anything bad. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

You bury your face in his chest, your hands gripping his jacket as you let out a sigh of relief. “I just… I said a lot of things, Law. And you were—well, you were a woman. I didn’t mean to… make things that weird”

There's a brief pause, and then you hear a soft chuckle come from him, causing you to look up in confusion. “You’ve always been a little bit of an idiot,” he says with a gentle smile, but there's no malice behind it—only fondness.

You blink, the corners of your lips twitching as you feel the last of your embarrassment start to melt away. Law is always the one to make things feel less awkward, even in moments where it is impossible to avoid.

“You look even more beautiful now, if I’m being honest,” you mumble shyly, not able to fully stop the words from escaping. You figure he probably can’t be any more uncomfortable at this point, so you lean into the embrace a little more.

Law’s arms tighten around you, and the next thing you know, he is pressing his lips to the top of your head. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutteres affectionately, but his tone soft, a small but genuine warmth in his voice. “But you’re alright.”

[prettycalla]

|| haven’t got the chance to say ||

Pairing: Ben Grimm/Reader

Summary: Ben meets a girl at his favourite shop, but he's convinced she’s only being nice to him because it's her job. He tries to figure out his feelings, while Johnny secretly plays messenger.

Word count: 5k

Tags and warnings: The fluffiest thing I’ve written in a long time, Ben is the biggest sweetheart, Johnny’s a menace (affectionate), reader is she/her, no use of Y/N. The teensiest spoilers for the movie, technically? It's literally the name of the place and the street name, that's about it.

(Is there an audience for Ben? Well, there damn well better be, because I’m in love with him. He cooks and gardens and dresses well and he's the sweetest guy on Earth? He’s the best.)

Fic Masterlist || Taglist

If you were to ask anyone who lives within a two block radius where Ben's favourite place to eat is, they'd all give you the same answer.

Maisie's Delicatessen, down on Yancy Street.

He's there so often that even the paparazzi who dedicate themselves to following the Fantastic Four around have given up staking it out.

'The Thing Spotted at Maisie's for the Twentieth Time This Month' isn't exactly a big scoop.

Ben doesn't care. He's a man of routine, always has been. People might think he's boring, but after everything that's happened to him, he needs some things to stay the same.

And then you came along.

You must be new, because Ben's sure he would recognise you otherwise. He's on first name basis with everyone here. They even have a framed photo of him with the staff on the wall. He was embarrassed when they first showed it to him, but now, he finds it endearing.

"Morning! What can I get for you?" you say, as he steps up to the counter.

Your voice is a little too loud, the cheerful expression on your face just a touch manic. He smiles to himself. First day nerves.

"Morning. Can I get three half-moon cookies?"

He points to the display's middle shelf.

"And uh, throw in one of those little lemon things."

He watches you rush around, trying to find everything. The glass door on the display jams when you try to open it, one of the cookies falls apart the second you try to lift it with the tongs, and the paper bags are all stuck together and end up scattered all over the floor when you try to pry them apart.

"God, I'm so sorry-" you start, but Ben just shakes his head.

He bends down to gather up the bags that have fallen at his feet, placing them back on the counter.

"Don't worry about it," he says gently. "First day?"

You let out a shaky breath.

"Yeah, and I'm so nervous," you admit in a whisper. "There's just so much to remember."

Ben nods knowingly. He gives you a smile, hoping that he looks reassuring.

"Don't beat yourself up, alright? You're doing a great job," he says. "We all make mistakes. You should see me before I've had my coffee in the morning. Trust me, it ain't pretty."

You laugh, wiping your hands on your apron.

"Okay, let's try this again," you say resolutely.

You lift another cookie from the tray, sliding it into the bag with the others. You take your time with the lemon slice, careful not to disturb the swirl of icing at the top as you box it up.

Ben can't help but think how sweet it is that you're trying so hard, even if it is your job.

"Can I tell you something?" you ask. "You're gonna think it's so silly."

You press the paper bag closed, running your thumb along the fold to flatten it.

"All the guys have been telling me about you. You're like a celebrity here," you tell him, gesturing to the picture on the wall.

"Nah, I'm just a guy with a sweet tooth who doesn't know when to call it quits," Ben replies with a chuckle.

He hands you a couple of bills, lifting the box and bag from the counter. He shakes his head when you try to give him his change.

"Don't worry about it," he says, gesturing towards the tip jar. "I just realised I never asked you your name."

You introduce yourself.

"It's nice to put a name to a face," he says. "I'm Ben."

He knows he doesn't have to say it - of course you already know who he is. But sometimes he likes to pretend that there are some people left in the world who don't know him. That you only know him from the picture.

"It's nice to meet you too," you say with a warm smile.

He stops for a moment, finding himself a little taken aback. He can't for the life of him figure out why.

"Okay. Well, uh, I should get going," he says, wincing at how awkward he sounds. "Thanks again. And good luck for the rest of your first day."

"Thank you, I think I'm gonna need it," you reply, fussing with the mess of paper bags in front of you. "Hopefully I'll see you again?"

"Yeah, 'course. You too," Ben says, with a stiff little wave as he heads for the door.

He could kick himself. Really, he could.

Get it together. What's the matter with you?

It bothers him all day. Granted, he's never exactly been a socialite. Thankfully, he has Sue and Johnny to help with fielding most of the talking.

But he can handle a bit of small talk. He might not like it - who does, really? - but he can get through it, at least.

He tries to push it to the back of his mind. Really, he does. But it keeps coming back.

Or rather, you keep coming back.

It's when he's getting ready for bed that night that it finally hits him. The toothbrush drops out of his hand, hitting the sink with a loud clatter.

He stares at himself in the mirror.

"Oh, no," he whispers, letting out a long groan.

It's been about a month since you started working at Maisie's, and almost every morning, Ben stops by.

At first, it was for his usual order - the cookies that put the shop on the map. Then he started asking for your recommendations.

And now, more often than not, the two of you get to chatting for so long that he ends up causing a line right out the door.

He can't really explain what it is, you're just so easy to talk to. Despite what you said the first day you met, you don't treat him like a celebrity, you don't ask him questions about what happened or "what it's like". You're just...you.

And the scary thing is, he could kid himself into thinking you actually like him. That you're not just being kind, or worried about keeping your job. That you actually care.

He knows how dangerous that thought could become if he's not careful, and so he keeps trying to squash it down as best he can. But it's persistent, and he's finding himself struggling with it more and more as time goes on.

It's not long before it starts to become obvious.

"Ben, you okay?" Sue asks him one evening, while they're preparing dinner.

He flinches, almost sending the chopping board flying off the kitchen counter.

"God, Suze, you scared the hell outta me," he says with a wheeze.

Sue gently pats his arm in apology.

"You've been chopping that same piece of potato for about five minutes now," she says softly. "I think it's about as small as it's going to get."

Ben looks down. The potato is practically mush now. He sets the knife down with a sigh.

"Sorry, just...had something on my mind," he admits quietly.

"You wanna talk about it?" Sue asks, taking the board from him and tipping the potatoes into a pot of water on the stove.

Ben turns around to face her, leaning his elbows against the counter. He knows better than to tell her that he doesn't want to bother her.

Because he's never a bother to Sue. And he knows by now that she's not just being kind. She means it.

"It's just..."

Where does he even start?

"You and Reed. You've known him for about as long as I have. How did you know that...?"

He falters, unsure as to how to word it.

"That he was the one?" Sue offers.

Ben nods. Even when he can't say it, she always knows. He's always admired that about her.

"Honestly? I didn't," she says. "Not right away. It took some time, and then it was like..."

She pauses for a second, giving the potatoes a stir.

"I had this moment. We were talking, I can't even remember the conversation now, but I looked at him and I thought..."yeah". That was it. But that's when I knew."

She smiles to herself, before turning her attention to Ben.

"I wish I had a better way of describing it. But sometimes it's not always as romantic-sounding as the movies make it out to be."

"I dunno, sounds pretty romantic to me," he says with a shrug.

"So, what's got you thinking about me and Reed, hm?" she asks.

Suddenly the floor has never seemed more interesting.

"Oh, y'know, I was just wondering..."

Sue tilts her head, levelling him with that look - the one that says "don't even bother". He sighs.

"There's no point in me lying to you, is there? Okay, look, I, um..."

He lowers his voice.

"I might have met someone. There's a new girl at Maisie's, and...well, she's really nice."

"Oh my God, is it my birthday?" comes a voice from behind him, and Ben's elbows slip right off the counter, almost sending him crashing to the ground.

He turns around, gripping the counter with a glare in his eyes that would send a man twice his size running in the opposite direction.

Johnny just gives him a big smile.

"We need to put a damn bell on you," Ben grumbles to himself as he straightens up.

"So, what's this I hear about you having met someone?" Johnny asks, undeterred.

"It's none of your business," Ben retorts. "Your sister and I were in the middle of a private conversation."

"In an open-plan kitchen. In the house I live in," Johnny says, pulling a face. "Yeah, real private."

Sue rolls her eyes with a sigh. "Johnny, do you think you could give us five minutes? Alone?"

Johnny slides his hand along the counter nonchalantly as he walks past.

"Oh, sure, sure, no problem," he says airily.

He looks directly at Ben.

"But you're gonna tell me everything afterwards, right?" he mutters to Sue.

"No, I am not."

Johnny shrugs, arms raised theatrically as he backs out of the kitchen.

"That's fine, I'm going," he says, too loudly. "I know where I'm not wanted."

"Do you?" Ben asks. "Coulda fooled me."

He doesn't move, watching until he's satisfied that Johnny's completely out of earshot.

"Ignore him," Sue says.

She takes the pot off the stove, setting it to one side.

"Tell me about this girl."

Ben lifts a tea towel, worrying one of the corners between his fingers.

"I don't meet many people who seem to see me for me, y'know? But it's like...I'm just a guy to her. I'm not a superhero. I'm not..."

He makes a vague gesture towards himself.

"It's been a while since I've felt like this. To be honest, I've missed it."

"And that's got you worried," Sue prompts gently.

Honestly, her ability to do that is a superpower in and of itself.

"Yeah. Yeah, it does," he admits quietly.

Sue crosses over to him, placing her hands on his arms.

"You, Ben Grimm, are one of the most amazing people I've ever met," she says earnestly. "And I've met a lot of people. So trust me when I tell you that anyone would be lucky to have you."

She looks at him with such kindness in her eyes, and Ben forces himself to nod.

He knows she means it. But it's not as easy as she makes it sound. They all came back from that mission different, but at least they can hide it, pretend that they're "normal" for a while.

Ben doesn't have that luxury. He tries not to dwell on it, he's been getting so much better at it, but now? He can't let it go.

He likes you, he's finally said it out loud. But to say it to you? And for you to reject him? It'd break his heart.

But he can't stop thinking about you. About what could happen.

What if it goes wrong?

But what if it goes right?

Despite everything, he can't stop himself from going to see you. He makes sure to go at a time when the shop's not as busy, so at least he knows he's not getting in the way of other customers. The last thing he wants is to get you in trouble.

Your always seem so happy when he stops by, and it's getting harder and harder to convince himself that you're not just being nice to him.

He's tormenting himself, he knows he is, but somehow it feels even worse when he's not with you. Either way, he can't win, can he?

"There he is, my favourite customer," you call, as he steps through the door. "How've you been?"

Is it any wonder Ben's heart feels like it does, when he hears you saying things like that?

"About the same as I was yesterday," he jokes, with a little wince the second he says it.

Way to ram it home that you're never out of here, huh.

You laugh, none the wiser.

"I like that you're here so much," you tell him.

The way you say it, it's so casual, and yet it makes Ben's chest feel tight.

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" he dares to ask.

"Because you're a regular. And if you haven't been put off by me, then I can't be doing too bad a job, right?"

Ben stops for a moment. You're joking, he knows you are. About how nervous you were on your first day.

And yet-

"How could I be put off by someone as nice as you?" he says, before he can stop himself.

His eyes widen. It's too late, he's already said it. He can feel himself starting to panic, and you're just staring at him now. Your lips part, and Ben cuts you off before you even get the chance, desperate to change the subject.

"What, uh, what are you working on?" he asks quickly, gesturing towards the notepad sitting on the counter.

You frown slightly, as if thinking, a look of confusion on your face.

"'Working on?' Oh, right, this. Well, I've been listing some ideas for new specials," you say, tapping your finger against the page. "It's good timing that you came by, actually. I could do with some suggestions."

Ben nods. Anything to get as far away from what he just said.

"Of course. What have you got so far?" he asks.

You lift your pen, absentmindedly fidgeting with it, as you read down the list.

"We've got sandwiches covered, cakes, some new pastry ideas...But I'm wondering if there's something else we're missing. Any thoughts?"

Ben thinks to himself for a moment.

"Y'know, I've always had a bit of a soft spot for those chocolate slices, the ones with the biscuit and marshmallow inside them. Y'know the ones I'm talking about?"

"Rocky Road?" you offer.

Ben clasps his hands together.

"That's it! That's the ones."

He chuckles to himself.

"I know, I know. The big guy made of rocks likes Rocky Road. I heard it."

"No, no, it's good," you say, as you scribble it down. "It's a pretty easy one to make too."

Ben does his best to scan down the list, in spite of it being upside-down.

"What about you?" he asks. "You put down anything you like?"

"Yeah, I wanted to," you reply. "You know those little sponge cakes, with the jam and cream in the middle? The mini ones, about the size of cupcakes. But we already sell slices of the regular cake, so it seemed a bit pointless to write it down."

"What's wrong with the regular cake?"

"Nothing! It's so good, it's just..."

You trail off.

"It's a me thing, but sometimes a full slice is a bit much, you know? The cream gets a bit sickening after a while."

You glance at him then.

"I'm rambling on, aren't I?" you ask nervously.

"Hardly," Ben replies gently. "I asked, didn't I?"

You cast your gaze down, wiping your hands on the end of your apron. Ben could swear you looked a little flustered. Wishful thinking, maybe.

"Okay, well, I think I've kept you waiting long enough," you say, a bit too loudly. "What can I get for you?"

Ben frowns, then he realises.

"Oh...just my usual," he replies weakly.

He can't bring himself to tell you the truth, and he feels like a coward.

But as he's leaving, a little idea starts forming in his head.

The next few days, Ben puts himself to work, trying to figure out how to make mini sponge cakes. The regular-sized cake he can handle no problem, but the little ones are a bit tougher to figure out, in terms of adjusting the ingredients.

And a certain someone is not helping matters at all.

Ben made the mistake of stumbling over his answer when Johnny asked who the cakes were for. And true to form, he will not drop it. He's spent the better part of the day making a nuisance of himself.

"Haven't you got something better to do?" Ben grumbles, as he spoons jam out of the pot in his hand.

"Nope," Johnny immediately replies, dragging out the 'P' sound to make himself as irritating as possible.

Even when Ben does finally get rid of him, he just can't resist poking the bear cage one last time.

“I’m headin’ out,” Johnny says, swiping his finger through a bowl of cream as he passes.

Ben glares at him, but says nothing. He's better than that.

“Might stop by Maisie’s while I'm out,” he adds, turning to give Ben a big, shit-eating grin. “See how your friend’s doing.”

Ben just waves a hand at him, trying not to take the bait.

But Johnny being Johnny, he makes it so damn difficult.

“You think she’s free?” he asks, making an annoying show of sucking the cream off his finger. “‘Cause I got nothing on for Saturday night. And she’s cute. Don’t you think she’s cute, Ben?”

Johnny just manages to slip out the door as a whisk goes flying across the room.

Sue gives him a sympathetic look from where she sits at the dining table, nursing a cup of coffee.

“Try not to let him get to you,” she says. “Johnny’s harmless, you know he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Ben sighs tiredly.

“I know, he’s just…He’s infuriating, Suze.”

Sue shakes her head with a smile.

“You're preaching to the choir there.”

Ben manages to get a full two hours of peace and quiet, completely Johnny-free. The latest batch of sponge cake experiments were a success, and he was able to add the finishing touches and box them up neatly.

Now all he has to do is gather the courage to go and actually give them to you.

Which he can definitely do. Absolutely. No problem at all.

He's leafing through a book, trying to keep his mind occupied, when he hears the door open. He glances up, before lifting the book closer to his face with a sigh.

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

"Stopped by Maisie's, like I said," Johnny says, as he shrugs off his jacket and sits down.

He just can't read a room, can he?

"That's nice," Ben says, with an air of total disinterest.

He hears what sounds like a paper bag rustling, as Johnny sets something on the table.

"And I got you a little something."

Ben hums noncommittally, turning the page. Being ignored never deters Johnny. He should know this by now. Doesn't stop him from wishing.

"Or rather, I, um, was given something. For you."

That gets Ben's attention. He peers over his book, spotting the paper bag.

He'd know that paper anywhere.

"Oh, yeah?" he asks airily. "What is it?"

Johnny pushes the bag across the table.

"Open it."

Ben tries to keep up the façade, but he's struggling. He forces himself to take his time, pretending to mark his page before setting the book aside.

When he opens the bag, he can't help the smile that spreads across his face.

Inside are four big squares of Rocky Road. You remembered.

Johnny leans in to take a look too. The colour immediately drains from his face.

"Okay, I know what you're probably thinking, and yes, this definitely looks like one of my jokes. But for once, I swear to you, it's not-"

Ben holds up a hand, to stop him before he winds himself up any further.

"I know," he says softly.

He's still smiling.

Johnny waves a hand in front of Ben's face.

"Hello?" he calls impatiently. "Earth to big guy. You okay in there? I don't think I've ever seen you look this happy before. It's weird, if I'm being honest."

Ben hasn't moved, hasn't said anything. Johnny sighs, letting his hand drop down onto the table.

"Listen, I know I've been giving you a lot of crap about this...whole thing. And I'm not gonna apologise for it, by the way, because it would be against everything I stand for. But..."

He stops for a moment, as if to figure out what to say next.

"You really like this girl, don't you?" he asks.

Ben gently drums his fingers across the table top, before he finally nods.

"I do," he murmurs. "God help me, I do."

Johnny slings an arm over the back of his chair.

"Have you considered the possibility that she might like you back?"

Ben grits his teeth. "No, actually, I haven't," he snaps.

"Why not?" Johnny asks, and Ben wonders if he's being stupid on purpose.

He gestures to himself in frustration.

"Because look at me, Johnny!" he says, exasperated. "I don't exactly have people lining up 'round the block to date me. I'm not her type. I'm..."

He sighs. God, he's tired.

"I'm not anyone's type."

Johnny bangs his fist down on the table suddenly, and Ben almost falls out of his chair.

"You cut that out right now," he says lowly.

His eyes are so intense, even more than usual. Ben doesn't think he's ever seen him so serious.

"Look, you know how much I love annoying you. If it was a paying job, I'd be CEO. But I can't listen to you talk about yourself like this. You're "not anyone's type"? Seriously? You're..."

Johnny blows out a long breath, as if he's gearing himself up for something difficult.

"I'm never gonna forgive myself for anything I'm about to say, just FYI, but you...You're like the perfect guy, Ben. Stop looking at me like that, I mean it. You cook, you don't leave your shit everywhere, your dress sense is...Well, you try."

Ben doesn't know whether to kiss him or kick him. He decides he'll let him finish first.

"That girl likes you, Ben. And I'm not messing with you on this. That's too far, even for me. You know the first thing she did when I went down there? She asked me how you were. She was so excited to give me those too."

He taps the paper lightly.

"I could have been anyone, it wouldn't have mattered to her. Because all she cared about was you."

Ben runs a hand over his face. He doesn't know what to say.

"The way I see it, you've got two choices here," Johnny says. "One, you can just sit there and be miserable for the rest of your life. Or two, you can take a chance. Go down there and talk to her. It might be the best thing you've ever done."

Ben sits quietly for a moment, letting it all sink in. Finally, he nods.

"Yeah. You're right," he murmurs. "Thanks for that. Seriously."

Believe it or not, sometimes Johnny's not so bad.

Johnny gives him a warm smile. "Anytime, big guy."

He stands up, swiping a Rocky Road slice before he leaves.

"Thanks for this, by the way," he says with a mock-salute.

Ben glares at him as he goes.

Sometimes.

It takes a little - okay, a lot - of coaxing to push Ben into going to see you the next day. He spends most of the day pacing about the house, grumbling to himself and getting on Johnny's nerves.

"Not so fun when the shoe's on the other foot, is it?" Ben gripes, after Johnny tells him to knock it off for the third time.

He finally decides on going down just before closing time. That way he won't be bothering you too much, he thinks.

He hopes.

It's been threatening to rain all day, and as luck would have it, not five minutes after Ben's set foot outside, the skies open up. He picks up the pace, tucking the box in his hand safely under his coat.

He sees you standing under in the doorway of Maisie's, holding a newspaper over your head. You look as though you're contemplating making a run for it in the rain. He's halfway across the street when you spot him, and he'd have to be completely oblivious not to see how your face lights up when you spot him.

"Forgot my umbrella this morning," you say with an awkward laugh. "The one day I leave it at home-"

You gesture to the rain that's still coming down in sheets.

"-and this happens. Just my luck."

You glance up at him.

"Glad I got to see you, though," you say.

Ben can’t help but smile at that. He holds his umbrella out over you.

“Where do you need to go?" he asks. "I can walk with you.”

You shake your head.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that-“

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” he insists gently.

You adjust the strap of your shoulder bag, tapping the wilted newspaper against your leg before you make up your mind.

“My car’s just down the street, if you could walk me there.”

Ben gestures in front of him.

“Lead the way.”

It’s a little awkward, with the height difference between you, but he manages to get you to your car at least somewhat dry.

“Thanks so much, I really appreciate it," you say, rummaging in your bag for your keys. “I’d, um, I’d offer you a ride home, but…”

You trail off with an apologetic look. Ben waves a hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t fit in that tiny thing anyway.”

He saves you the trouble of saying it.

“Listen, before you go…I wanted to say thank you. For the Rocky Road."

Your face lights up at that.

“Oh, yeah? How were they?”

“I think I need to ask you for the recipe, because otherwise I'm gonna have you hounded for more," Ben replies with a chuckle. "Best I’ve ever had.”

The smile on your face right now is going to be the end of him.

"Actually, I, uh, I wanted to repay the favour," he says.

He manages to take the box out from underneath his jacket without dropping it. It's a bit dented, but otherwise fine. He holds it out to you.

"You were saying about those little sponge cakes, and I thought since I had some free time and all…"

He's trying to make it all sound so casual, like it's not that big a deal, but he can feel his heart hammering against his chest.

Because it is a big deal. At least, to him.

You carefully take the box from him, staring down at it. The rain's still pouring down around you.

"I...Oh my God, I don't know what to say."

Worry starts to creep in then. Was he too forward? Was this a weird thing to do? Realistically, he doesn't even know you all that well.

What if he's ruined everything? What if-

"Do you wanna go for coffee sometime?" you blurt out, peering up at him.

Rarely is Ben ever really taken aback, considering everything he's been through in his life, but this...

This leaves him struggling for words.

Eventually, he manages to make himself nod.

"Yeah, I'd...I'd love that," he replies.

He can't help himself from thinking it, but you're so cute when you smile like that, the way it reaches your eyes.

"Great! Stop by when I'm working, and we'll figure out a time and place, okay?"

"It's a date," Ben says, before he can stop himself.

His eyes widen. Probably about as wide as yours are right now.

"Sorry, I meant like- It was just-"

"It's a date," you echo.

You both stand there for a moment. Ben's about to tell you to go, so you can't catch your death of cold, but you beat him to it.

You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, before turning to unlock your car.

"See you later," you say, completely flustered. "And thanks again for these!"

Ben just waves, closing the car door for you as you get in. He stands there for a while, not caring that his shoes and the bottoms of his pants are soaked through now, before he heads home.

His hand is pressed to his cheek the entire time.

There's a flower shop on the route Ben takes to Maisie's. He can't remember how many times he's passed by it and barely taken notice of it, but this time, he finds himself slowing down.

He buys a bouquet of sunflowers before he can talk himself out of it, practically marching himself down the street out of sheer nerves.

But when he sees you through the window, it all just melts away. You're laughing, and it warms his heart like nothing else ever has. He's never seen anyone as pretty as you.

Your gaze meets his when you turn, and you look so happy, giving him a smile and a big wave.

Ben waves back, with a small smile of his own.

He'll never admit it. But Johnny was right.

Clutching the sunflowers a little tighter in his hand, he lets out a small, contented breath, and opens the door.

Taglist: @getaapologist @alexxavicry @keeryhours @punkrockmlchael @peachyproserpina

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 6

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love. 

CW: 18+ MDNI. In order to avoid spoilers, all tags are under the cut in small red lettering. Reader does have some body descriptions so more of an oc than female reader.

AN: I don't think I understood the term "labour of love" until right now. I'm emotionally exhausted yet so fucking proud at the same time. Thank you @lotusbxtch for fixing all my grammar and formatting. I also couldn't of done this without @mermaidgirl30 , @littlevenicebitch69, @alltheirdamn, and @for-a-longlongtime (even if you did just try to distract me with Santi the entire time LOL)

Word Count: 14.6k (sorry, grab a snack or two)

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist | AO3

CW: use of petnames, mention of losing a spouse, mentions of child abuse (mostly verbal), use of nick names (baby, sweet girl, etc.), dirty talk, spanking, sexual activity in public, kissing, protected p in v, oral (female receiving), consumption of alcohol, mutual pining, mentions of falling in love, Dom/sub dynamics.

You: 911, I need to go buy a dress, but ya’ll can’t ask me what it’s for Laren: no strings attached shopping? Fuck yeah!  You: I’m serious though Laren: Dude, I won’t ask you as long as you don’t ask about the hickey on my neck Jamie: Damn, my dad’s in California so I can’t leave the office. You: hmm…maybe we just tell each other one secret each Laren: oh sorry, forgot I have to vacuum my cat today, can’t shop You: fine, no asking about the hickey. Pick you up at noon? Jamie: Have fun. I need a sugar daddy. Odette: booo! I’m studying. Someone alert me when we learn about the hickey. 

You

Laren’s jaw drops as you step out of the dressing room, the soft silk of the floor length black gown skims against your body. Your eyes trail down the thin straps along your shoulders and down the deep v that sits low on your sternum. You’ve never appreciated your small breasts until now. The risque cut has a soft and romantic feel. Somehow, so does the long slit up your one leg, stopping much higher than most black tie venues would find acceptable. You spin to take in the way the silk dips low on your back. Yeah, Joel Miller is going to love this. 

“You look stunning. I’m not gonna ask, but whoever you’re wearing that for is going to fall in love with you. I might fall in love with you.”

You laugh at her, watching as she tugs the collar of her sweater up to cover the very prominent purple hickey on her pulse point. If only she knew how ridiculous that statement really was. Joel Miller, your dom, falling in love with you. It’s impossible. 

The big box that you stuffed the small, pink and bedazzled box in snickers in your mind then taunts you in her uppity British accent. He loves you, remember how he held your hand so tenderly through that last orgasm? “It’s a date”, “It’s only you”. 

You shake your head and run your hands down your torso and hips, the silk feeling like water under your hands. 

“Wow, that dress was made for you.” The peppy store clerk says as she rounds the corner to the dressing room. “Oh! I have just the accessory, if you don’t mind me showing you?”

You nod and then look over at Laren through the mirror. The two of you haven’t been friends for that long, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize she’s not wearing her massive engagement ring, plus that giant love bite; something is off. “I’m not gonna ask about the hickey, but are you ok?”

“Ya - I’m fine, why?” Her phone goes off in her purse for what feels like the hundredth time since you picked her up. She hasn’t looked at it once and this newest alert doesn’t change that.  

“No reason. I’m here for you though. I hope you know that.” The corners of her mouth lift, but that vivacious sparkle in her eye doesn’t make an appearance. 

You spend longer than you ever had getting ready on Friday. You’ve shaved, exfoliated and moisturized every inch of your skin. You painted your fingers and toes with a fresh coat of pearly white polish, noticing that the skin around your cuticles on your hands isn’t picked clean. For the first time in your life, your anxiety hasn’t needed its usual outlet; picking and pushing at your nails until they’re clean. Even with the last few days kicking your ass, Mister Miller made it better, made you better.

After about three hours, you’ve completed the look: big loose curls, one side pinned behind one ear with a gold clip, exposing the soft slope of your neck that Joel loves to press his lips to. You’ve opted for a neutral glam look; a light smokey grey eye, flirty lashes, a touch of blush and highlighter and a nude lip. 

You keep the jewelry simple, just thin gold hoop earrings and two dainty golden chains, the accessories that the sales girl picked out. The first chain is the longest; one end loops tight to your throat then lays down your sternum, a small clip on the other end holds it in place to the lacy black thong you bought for the occasion. The second chain wraps around your exposed thigh. A few small crystals dangle off the garter. It feels perfect for a sex club, almost like you’re being tied up in gold. 

After wrapping the gift you bought for Joel today you debate taping the dress in place. It’s a sex club, surely a nip slip isn’t the worst thing that can happen. However, Joel would probably forcefully remove anyone who got a peek. As tempting as it is to witness that, you decide to save his sanity for one more day and after placing the last piece of tape you hear the rev of his engine coming down your street. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, it’s been weeks since you’ve heard that sound. That deep rumble will probably always fill you with an excited anticipation of seeing Mister Miller. 

You agreed to let him pick you up tonight since Odette is out. You slip your perfectly pedicured toes into black heeled sandals, working the small golden buckle around the ankle quickly as Joel’s shiny black Jag parks in front of your building. You watch from the window as he gets out of the driver's side door, flowers wrapped in brown paper clutched in his hand. A man that size doesn’t look like he’d fit in that sleek sports car. 

Even from your birdseye view from the fourth floor he looks absolutely gorgeous. You’re sure once he’s right in front of you he’ll be devastatingly handsome, especially once he’s added the gift you got him. Similar to you, he’s in all black tonight. 

The beep of his car locking and the buzz of your door go at the same time and you excitedly hit the button to let him up. It feels like hours before there’s a light knock on your front door. After a shaky breath, you open the door.

Fuuuuuck me, you think as you take him in and actively stop yourself from drooling.

He looks as hot as sin dressed in all black, the lapels of the jacket and the tie slightly silky against the flat black of the rest of his clothing. He’s the living, breathing epitome of JMKink right now. Dressed like that matte black letterhead he still leaves you notes on when you clean for him. You lick your lips as your eyes trail back up his tie. Fuck, you want him to wrap it around your wrists. 

He steps into your front entrance and the apartment feels so much smaller; almost like he takes up every bit of space and simultaneously sucks all the air out of you. His hair is parted to the side, trimmed neatly around his ears, curls perfectly placed. You’re sure it was effortless on his part, just running his fingers through it after getting out of the shower, towel wrapped low on his hips. Your mouth waters as you continue to just stare at one another. 

Joel

“Wow,” he finally manages to rasp. His throat feels like it's full of sand all of a sudden. He clears it gently before continuing. “You look…you’re always beautiful, but you are…”

His eyes travel up and down your body again, he’s feeling lost for words which is not something that happens to him often. He watches your bottom lip slip between your teeth, waiting for him to form a thought.

“Sorry, sweet girl, I need a second here.” He places the bouquet of wildflowers on the small table at the entry then reaches out towards you. He actually feels like he might die if he doesn’t kiss you soon. The whorls and calluses of his fingers drag down the warm, soft skin of your arm gently before he closes his hand around yours. Usually, he loves how small your hand looks in his, but he’s finding it impossibly hard to break eye contact with you right now. As he steps in closely you smile sweetly at him and he’s surrounded by the smell of mint, lavender and something distinctly you. “You look life-alteringly gorgeous. I’m not sure if that’s a word, but wow, Freckles.”

You place your free hand on his chest and he’s sure you can feel how hard his heart is pounding behind his chest. Fuck, he wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear his heart at this point. He cups your face with his other hand and presses his lips to yours, reveling in the way you melt into him, parting your lips and letting him deepen the kiss. He swallows the quiet moan that you make just for him. You pull away too quickly for him, an excited smile across your face.

“I got you something!” You spin and he’s left breathless again by the low back of the dress and the way the silk skirt sways with your hips. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, following you into the living area of your small apartment. “I don’t want you spending your money on me, sweetheart.”

You spin again and his cock twitches as he catches just how high the slit of the skirt is, and the golden jewelry wrapped around your thigh. In your hands is a large, light brown box tied with a black ribbon. “Technically, I spent your money on you,” you say with a wink. “Open it.”

He steps in close, watching your face go from excited to downright giddy as he pulls at the ribbon. He slips the lid off the box and stares down at the exact same black Stetson that he sent with Tiffany. His heart stops beating as the memories, both good and bad, flood through him. This is the same hat he wore the night he met her, the night of their first date, the night he told her he loved her for the first time, the night he married her. Joel Miller doesn’t believe in signs from the universe, but this? This is something. 

No, he thinks as emotions start to clog his throat. This was Tiffany. 

He blinks away the tears that threaten to form behind his eyes and whispers your name. “Thank you, sweetheart. I - I used to have a hat just like this.”

When he looks back at you your brows are furrowed together, a genuine curiosity across your face. “Used to?”

He clears his throat again, “Yea, it’s complicated, but this - this means more to me than you could ever know.”

He slips his hands into the box, the felt of the brim spreads a warm comfort up his hands and forearms. He swallows hard as he realizes it’s the same comfort he feels when he has you in his arms. 

Oh my god…I think, no, I know. I love you.

It hits him so hard that he has to clutch the hat tighter in his hands to ground himself as he pulls it from the box. He knew he was falling, he knew the second he saw you. He can’t push it down anymore. 

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, Joel.”

He turns the hat over in his hands, the black satin liner exactly like his old one. He looks up at you, no longer able to stop the smile or the tears that flood his lash line. Your lips part as your eyes dance around his. 

“No, baby, you didn’t. I’ve, well, I’ve been really missing this hat lately.”

“You gonna try it on, cowboy?” The sultry flirtiness of your voice feels sweet on his skin and after a shallow breath he brings the hat up to his head. As the satin slips over his hair a calm confidence washes over him. His eyes meet yours and your flirty smile turns shy as you blush under his gaze. He’s whole again. 

“So?”

“I’m gonna have to fight the women off, I think.” You say softly.

He laughs, moving the box from your hands back to the table and then cradling your face in his hands. “I’ll only be looking at one woman, my sweet girl.” His lips meet yours gently, your tongue swiping softly against his lip as your slant into the kiss. 

I love you.

You

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction you’d get from Joel giving him the hat, but his eyes welling up and his breathing getting all shaky was not what you expected. Something about that hat called to you when you saw it. When you picked it up, the soft felt against your palms reminded you of how it feels to be in Joel’s hands. 

He breaks the kiss with a sigh and glances around your apartment. Months ago you would have felt shy or self conscious about Joel in your space, so wholly different from his, but he has never judged you for anything, and you feel yourself becoming more and more comfortable with him which is not a feeling you’re used to. His eyes fall to the scratched wooden coffee table that you got for free from Craigslist.

“You have college letters,” he says proudly, looking back at you.

Your arms cross across your body subconsciously, like they’re trying to shield you from the possibility of being rejected again. “Ya, the last two came today. I’ll open them later.”

“Baby, let's open them! It could be good news.”

He looks so goddamn handsome, in a suit that probably costs more than the entire contents of your apartment and his new black Stetson hat. His expression is encouraging, that same look from his kitchen when you ate some toast; prideful and empathetic. 

“I’m scared,” you almost blurt, wishing you could be smoother with this man. “I don’t want to ruin tonight. If these are both no’s, I don’t know how great of company I’ll be tonight.”

“Freckles, I’m not going to force you into anything you don’t want. But I think you’ll be thinking of the letters either way.”

“Ah, my consent stands even for mail,” you joke.

“Well, it's a federal offense to open someone else's mail so…” Joel winks and flashes a devastating smile your way. 

“Ok,” you close your eyes and take a deep breath. He’s right, you’ll be wondering all night what those letters say, and Joel has a way of making you forget, making you feel understood, important and cared for. “Do it.”

As if he’s a child on Christmas morning and you just gave him the ok, he snatches up the University of Austin and Berkeley letters, almost vibrating as he says, “Which one first?”

You start to pace the few steps of your living room, wringing your hands together as your heels click on the cheap laminate hardwood. “Austin, I’ll be less upset by a no from them.”

The tear of the envelope sounds like a dagger to the ribs as you go to grab the flowers Joel brought for you, desperate for something to do besides stand there. 

“It’s a thick envelope..” Joel says as he slides the letter out.

“Ya, I’ve learned that that doesn’t mean shit,” You say sardonically.

Joel laughs in surprise, “Always shocks me to hear that pretty little mouth swear.”

“Yea?” You ask, “Open the fucking letter, you’re killing me.”

Joel snorts as his strong fingers gingerly fold open the letter. His eyes shoot to yours, “You got in!”

“W-What?” You drop the flowers on the counter top and cover your mouth.

“Sweet girl, you got in. I’m - I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You stand frozen on the spot. It’s not the school you wanted, you want Berkeley, but it doesn’t matter what that letter says now, because either way, you’re going to be a lawyer.

“Oh my god,” you breathe as Joel's arms pull you in for a tight hug.

“Congratulations, baby girl.” His lips press to hair and you start to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

You both part from the hug as you fight to stop tears of pure joy from ruining your makeup. “It’s just…you know, for a second there I actually thought that I wasn’t smart enough. Me? I have a 4.0, I graduated early, I’ve been top of my class for years and I actually thought that I wouldn’t get in.”

Joel's eyes dance, a big smile across his face as he watches you fill a vase. “Open the other one.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he opens the next letter. As he folds open the thick eggshell coloured paper you plunge the flowers into the cold water, his face drops and you prepare yourself for the worst, “You got in. Baby, you - you got in.”

You - Four Years Prior

“So what? You think that getting into your fancy university in Texas means you can just leave Arizona whenever you please? Your mom needs you, you can’t just leave.” Your dad is in his patchwork recliner, a beer in his hand despite it being nine in the morning. The hot June morning heating the small house to an uncomfortable stifle. 

“I’ve contributed as much as I can, dad. Two months from now I’m not going to have any time to myself. I deserve some time doing what I want.”

Your dad snorts, legs slamming the leg rest down on the recliner. “You’re an ungrateful little bitch, aren’t you?”

That should sting, it would to anyone else, but you’ve been called every name possible by your father. You see him now for what he truly is, a loser. He can’t hold a job, hasn’t been able to for years. When you were younger, you thought you were the apple of his eye. He’d show up to every school function, every award ceremony, all the little things. You were eight when you realized he didn’t even speak to you at those functions, just walked around bragging about how he was the reason you’ve achieved whatever you were being celebrated over. It was his time to shine, his award, not yours.

“I’m going,” you say, hoisting your duffle bag of clothing over your shoulder. You’ve always wanted to go back to California. You went once with your mother when you were nine or ten, and the minute you got to the beach and felt the warm sand between your toes everything went quiet. It’s called out to you ever since.

As you spin towards the front door you hear the groan of your dad standing up. Fear spikes in your veins, your heart slamming in your ribs. He’s never hit you, but with the redness of his face as he called you names this morning you wouldn’t put it past him. 

“Like fuck you are!” He bellows as a hard object strikes the back of your head, followed by warm liquid soaking through the back of your t-shirt.

One of your hands cups the back of your head as you bolt towards your recently purchased, and slightly rusted, SUV. “Get back in here right now you little cunt! You stole money from me for that vehicle, didn’t you?”

You can’t help but laugh as you get in the front seat. You don’t bother locking the doors, you know he’s barely out the front door without looking. He’s not strong enough, and definitely too drunk, to overpower you. You throw the vehicle into reverse and yell out the window, “You don’t have any money for me to steal, Doug!”

You hit his first name hard, knowing damn well how much it will enrage him. You drive away without looking back, and you only stop once for gas for the next ten hours. 

The sun is setting as you reach the motel in Newport Beach. You head straight for the beach, kicking off your sandals and letting your feet sink into the cool sand. Your phone vibrates in your pocket, “Mom” across the screen in bold letters.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly, still feeling like a child even though you aren’t.

“Get our ass home, right fucking now. You’re supposed to be contributing to this family and somehow you had enough money to buy a car? And a trip to California? Mark my words, young lady. If you don’t walk back through that door by this time tomorrow, I will come there and get you myself!”

A lump forms in your throat. You’ve spent your whole childhood trying to get them to see you. Contributing? None of your friends had to contribute, they all got to be kids. You’re going to be making a lot of money as a lawyer one day, and they can go fuck themselves if they think they’re getting a single penny of that money.

“I’m afraid I won’t be doing that, mother.”

“You’re in for a rude fucking awakening, little girl. Just because you were the smartest person here, does not mean you’ll be the smartest person anywhere else. The world is going to chew you up and spit you out, and your father and I will not be here to fix you.”

“I don’t see how that’s any different than now. Good bye.”

You hang up before she can respond and look out over the water. The sun is setting in a kaleidoscope of peaches, marigolds and lavenders. You block your parents' numbers before snapping a picture of the sunset and setting it as your background. A sense of calm washes over you as the waves crash along the shore. You walk towards the water and dip your feet in, the water washing away the last eighteen years of your life. You’re free.

You - Present Day

A whispered ‘holy shit’ is all you can muster as realization washes over you. Your dream school - and you got in. You can go to the beach and listen to the ocean, feel the sand under your feet. You can feel as free as you did almost four years ago. You lock eyes with Joel. Can you really leave him? 

“I can’t believe I got in. To two schools. I’m going to be a lawyer.” Excitement floods your body. You can worry about deciding later, even though deep down you already know what you're going to choose. Right now, you can just be happy and proud. He reaches a hand out to you and you step into the living room to take it. He pulls you in, wrapping you in his strong arms. 

“I know I said this already, but I am so god damn proud of you, sweet girl. No one deserves this more than you. I want to celebrate this with you soon, please?”

“Well,” you say with a hint of mischief, pulling back to look at him, “We are going to be at the club.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve never seen before. “Ya - the club.”

“Oh my god. We’re late, Joel!” You push out of his hold. This is his big night, his five year anniversary of owning his club.

“Baby, stop,” he pulls you into his arms again and cups your face. “I don’t care. Just let me kiss you until you need to reapply that lipstick, and then we can go.” His lips crash passionately into yours. “I’m so fucking proud of you, sweet girl,” he gasps between kisses.

Joel wasn’t lying. He really did kiss you until your lips were swollen and you had to touch up not only your lipstick but the bit of highlighter on your nose; he also needed to participate, taking one of your makeup wipes to his nose, chin and lips before opening the door to his Jag for you and speeding off to the club.

Upon entering the club, the two of you were separated almost immediately. Joel was whisked away to the stage where he, Tommy and who you assume is Tess are now. The stage is lit up as he gives a speech and thanks everyone. A glass of champagne is handed to you as you stand along the edge of the bar. Everyone claps and as he tries to make his way back to you is pulled into a handshake from a very wealthy looking older man. You smile into your glass of expensive pink champagne as the woman from the stage approaches you.

“Hi! I’m sorry for having to steal him the moment you two walked in.” She extends a perfectly manicured hand out to you. “I’m Tess.”

You go to introduce yourself and she cuts you off as she continues. “Oh, I know who you are. Joel will probably kill me, but we have all been very interested to meet you.”

“All?” you say, swallowing nervously.

She shrugs. “No one has ever seen him this, hmm, this relaxed before. He’s usually here or across the street barking orders. You don’t become as successful as him without a little stress, but since you came along he seems different. Happy.”

You blush, watching him engrossed in a new conversation, his eyes often meeting yours across the room. “Look,” Tess says, stepping closer and lowering her voice. “I hang around the Millers way too often and I could really use some girl talk. Is that ok?”

“Tess, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s girl talk.” You smile at her and then turn to the bartender. “Two tequila shots, please!”

She takes a breath, looking at Joel and then back at you. “I’m just going to cut right to the chase. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day where Joel wore a black cowboy hat again.”

You raise an eyebrow at Tess, this could be your chance to get an explanation around his response. You know you weren’t imagining his eyes getting glassy, and he did say it means more to him than he could ever tell you. “I got him that hat.” 

Tess’s jaw drops and panic rises in your chest. “What? Why? What’s wrong with the hat?” 

“Tequila first,” she says as the shots slide across the shiny black marble bar top. A shiver racks through Tess after she swallows, you don’t flinch. “I don’t know if it’s my place…”

“It’s girl talk, he’ll never know.” You state, sucking at the lime. Tess clears her throat and motions to the bartender for another round. The next time she speaks it’s a hushed, sad voice, just barely above a whisper.  

“He, umm - well, he had a hat just like that growing up. Wore it all the time actually. He had it on the night he met Tiffany, and pretty much every important day in his life since then. Their first date, their wedding. Shit, I’m pretty sure there’s a picture of Sarah as a newborn in that hat. He also wore it the last time he held her.” Her voice trails off and heartbreak for her friend lines her features. “He…she loved it so much that he sent it with her.” 

You swallow hard and glance past Tess’s shoulder to Joel across the club. The moments of time between each of your heartbeats are filled by memories of his reaction. Tess continues, “Look, maybe you're like Joel. Maybe you don’t believe in astronomy or signs from the universe, but I don’t think you finding that hat was a coincidence.”

You aren’t like Joel; you do believe in signs. You thought you were going crazy when you found that hat today. It literally called to you from inside the store. It wasn’t on display in the window. No, you heard someone call your name behind you and when you looked over your shoulder the hat was all you could see. Could that voice have been from the wife he lost too early? You catch Joel’s gaze across the room; something about him, even before you knew him, comforted you. As your mind starts running through the depth of what that hat means to him he winks, you think you might be falling for him. 

All of this means something. It has to mean something. Right? 

“Girl talk stays between us?” You ask shyly.

“Absolutely!” Tess exclaims, you like her more and more and can see yourself being very good friends with her, even if she is almost twice your age.

“Tequila first,” you say in the same way she did earlier. 

She clicks her glass against yours and then on the bar top before slamming the shot back. “I hate tequila,” she rasps while sucking the lime.

“I can’t talk to my girlfriends about this. I don’t know if you know how me and Joel met, but one of my best friends is sort of my boss and I would get fired from my job for knowing him.” Tess nods, and orders you both a glass of what you’re sure is very expensive rosé. “Sometimes Joel says things that make me feel like maybe we are more than a sub and a dom, but that’s ridiculous, right? It’s the heat of the moment.”

“Babe, do you know how long Joel has been doing this?” She asks gently.

You shake your head and take a sip of your wine.

“Years…at one point, being a dom was how he made money. He’s a professional.”

Her words feel like a lead weight in the pit of your stomach, bile starts to burn at your throat. The whiplash of thinking he’s falling, and knowing that you are, and now dealing with this is almost too much. Joel has moved onto a conversation with yet another guest. “Right, he’s good. He’s supposed to make me feel wanted. I think I’m just not used to someone being there.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Tess’s hand comes to grab yours, squeezing reassuringly. “Professional doms don’t say things in the heat of the moment. They don’t give false hopes. If he’s calling you his or struggling to follow limits, that’s Joel speaking, not his dom alter ego.”

The silence after her words is thick between you. He doesn’t say things in the heat of the moment? You swallow the lead weight that’s made its way from your stomach to your throat, your mind racing through all the things Joel has said to you. My sweet girl. It’s a date. It’s only you. 

“Hey,” Tess says, shaking your hand to bring you back. “This DJ sucks, should we go take over the booth?”

You smile, grateful not only for her words of wisdom but now the way she’s able to stop you from spiraling. “Yes, this is a club AND a friday afterall!”

She smiles at you mischievously as she reaches over the bar for the bottle of rosé and then links arms with you as you both practically skip to the booth. “Owning a club is so fun, I recommend everyone try it,” she proclaims through a laugh.

When you reach the booth she waltzes right up to the DJ, “We need dancing music, it’s Friday, it’s a club, and it’s a fucking party!”

“Sorry, Tess. I can’t do that. Joel wanted background music only.” The DJ, who barely looks old enough to be in a club says, his eyes wandering to the low cut of your dress. A few months ago you probably would have been endeared by that look, but you have a real man now. A real man who loves you, says the sparkling box of feelings. 

Tess snorts and then tuts at the poor guy. “Joel won’t appreciate you ogling what belongs to him like that. So play Best Friend by Saweetie or I’ll be sure to let him know.”

His eyes snap back to his booth set up, one hand held up in defeat, the other pushing a few buttons and then turning the volume dial up. You and Tess laugh, taking sips straight from the bottle as you move to the dance floor. This is what you need, a friend to help you dissect what’s been happening. A friend who understands the dom and sub relationship, but more importantly, understands Joel. Does him having feelings change how you feel about university? You’ve always seen yourself going to Berkeley, that’s been the dream, but now? 

Maybe you should just end this now before your feelings grow too far out of control. The box of feelings laughs. You have no idea how deep you are in this, do you?

Joel

I’m gonna kill that little shit. Frustration rolls through his body as the music grows louder and as he turns to shoot daggers at the DJ he sees you and Tess. Your beautiful face is lit up in a large smile as you sip directly from a $400 bottle of rosé. His anger dissipates as you move your body with a sexy sway, lost in the music. 

Joel moves towards the bar, never taking his eyes off of you. Your arms stretch over your head as you shake your ass, the slit of your dress exposing your soft thigh. His palm tingles at the thought of how good you feel against him. The smooth warmth of your leg against the rough calluses of his fingers. 

I love you. 

Joel orders a whiskey and then walks towards the edge of the dance floor, his free hand tucked into the pocket of his pants as he watches you. As the song changes your eyes find him and you crook a finger at him, when he shakes his head you stick your bottom lip out and give him big doe eyes. He shakes his head again as Tess hands you the half drank bottle of wine. The pink tone of the wine casts a romantic glow across your exposed chest as you take a small sip. His cock stirs to life in his pants, remembering how those lips felt wrapped around him. He shakes his head at you again and takes a long pull from his drink. You stick your tongue out at him and spin away from him, wiggling your hips while glancing over your shoulder. 

I fucking love you.

You spin back towards him and crook your finger at him again, mouthing ‘please?’. He stays rooted to the spot. Joel doesn’t dance, especially not to this kind of music. His heart flutters as you start to walk over to him, everything moves in slow motion, the sexy way your dress clings to your hips with each movement, the flash of your thigh, the slight bounce of your breasts with each step. It feels like hours have passed by the time you stop in front of him. 

“Please come dance with me.” You say, fluttering your lashes slightly.

He grabs the expensive bottle of wine from you and places it on the tall table beside him. “This is very expensive wine.”

“That was Tess’s doing,” you smile.

“I’m sure it was, because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” His hand strokes your cheek and he clocks the goosebumps that rise on your skin.

“Please come dance, Mister Miller?”

“I don’t dance, sweet girl.”

You pout again and he wants to suck that perfect bottom lip between his teeth so badly. “What if you just stand there and I dance around you?”

One day he’s going to have to learn how to say no to you, but today won’t be that day. He takes the last sip from his glass and puts it beside the wine. You bounce excitedly on the balls of your feet as he holds a hand out to you. You lead the way, the dance floor now full of people, heading back towards Tess. Joel’s hands come to your hips as you grind against him for the last few bars of the song. 

A slow twang of guitar starts off the next song. Joel spins you to face him. “This I can dance to.” He whispers, pulling you in close, one hand low on your back, the other holding yours to his heart. 

You smile up at him, “Full of surprises, aren’t you, sweet cheeks?”

At this angle the brim of his hat blocks out everything except for you; not that he needs something to block out the rest of the world when he’s around you. I love you.

“For the right woman I can be, freckles.” He says warmly as you melt into his body.

The two of you continue to dance in a comfortable silence. He watches your lips as your tongue glides across them and just as he’s about to lean in and taste you you speak. “I don’t think I said this yet tonight, but congratulations. This is a huge accomplishment and I’m so proud of you and grateful that you brought me into this space. I hope it’s not too bold, but this has done exactly as I hoped. I feel - freer almost, if that makes sense.”

“Good,” his lips press to your forehead. “And thank you.”

Your neck cranes forward, towards the tangled mess of your hands against his chest. Your lips pressing to the knuckle of his thumb. The gesture shoots straight to his heart.  

“I’ve been feeling a bit bad though. You’ve had to go to two events for me this week.” You go to protest but he cuts you off. “What would you be doing tonight if it wasn’t for this?”

You hum in thought. “Any bar where there’s an open mic night or a local band.”

“That so? Do you participate in the open mic?” 

“No, absolutely not, but I enjoy music and watching people do things they’re passionate about.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Let’s go then.”

“What?”

“Let’s go. I’ve said thank you to all the VIP’s. Let's go do your thing.”

You

“Can we do that?” You ask, trying not to let the smile that’s pulling at your cheeks win.

Joel laughs quietly. “It’s my party, I can do what I want. They can all stay, but the longer I stay here the more I’m going to be pulled away. And you’re the only person at this party that I want to talk to.”

That’s Joel speaking, not his dom alter ego.

The boulder is growing in your throat again as you croak, “We’re dressed awfully fancy for a local bar.” 

Joel smiles down at you, his eyes soft. You start memorizing every detail of his face. Everything surrounding the two of you went fuzzy the second he pulled you into his arms. This man, dressed in all black, blurs the edges of everything around you, sucking you in and making you feel like the only person he sees. The slow country song that you didn’t even hear starts to come to end. “I don’t care. Any more concerns?”

He doesn’t care, he’ll never care, he just wants to be with you. The box of feelings that's grown exponentially over this evening inches its way out of the shadows, and you can’t deny it anymore. 

You’re falling in love with Joel Miller. 

“Let’s go,” you say, excitement replacing the lump in your throat.

Joel wastes no time, peeling your bodies apart and pulling you towards the exit. He doesn’t look back as Tommy calls his name, only stopping at the front desk to grab your purse. You feel giddy, almost as if the two of you are doing something wrong. He opens the car door for you and then hops into the driver's seat. You pull out your phone, ignoring him as he comments on your cracked screen being a hazard, and check for open mic nights, finding one in a small bar just a few streets over. 

The bar is small, about ten tables crammed together and then a few stools along the bartop. The stage is only big enough for one person, a few guitars on stands, a stool, and the mic stand. The lighting is low, different neon signs above the bar doing the majority of the work. You’re way overdressed and the looks you get from the packed bar further prove it. 

Joel pulls you through the crowd towards the bar. You were feeling slightly tipsy dancing with Tess, but there is something so sobering about being pulled into Joel's arms. And now that you’ve realized you’re falling in love with him, his next question is very welcome.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Yes, please.” You smile sweetly, plastering your front to Joel’s side as he squeezes into the bar. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

“Two old fashioneds,” he says deeply to the bartender. You stifle a giggle, “What?”

“You just give me so much ammunition sometimes.”

He swats at your ass and then squeezes, not caring who may or may not see. It’s exhilarating getting to just be yourselves away from the club and you have a feeling you’ll quickly become addicted to this. “Mighty thin ice, baby.” 

The raspy voiced woman with crazy curly hair finishes her set as Joel pays for the drinks. It appears that most of the crowd was here to see her, a few tables free up and the place doesn’t feel so crowded. The MC for the night gets back onto the stage. 

“Alright, if anyone else wants to show us what they’ve got tonight I’ll be by the bar.” There’s a few cheers and some clapping as the bar empties out drastically, only about twenty people are left. Joel pulls out a chair for you and then sits beside you.  

“Thank you for the drink,” you say, bringing the liquid to your lips and taking a small sip. The warmth of it heats all the way down to your belly, a familiar feeling when you’re around Joel.

“Of course,” he nods, sipping his. “So? Do you come here often?”

You laugh, leaning forward on your arms, noticing the way Joel’s eyes bounce from your face to your breasts; now pushed together for him. “What a line! But no, I have never been here. I kinda like it though.”

The MC’s voice fills the room, welcoming a brave soul to the stage. A tall man in cowboy boots and a shiny buckle joins the stage, carefully picking a guitar from the rack before he begins singing. You can tell by the warmth along the side of your face that Joel is watching you and not the man on the stage. 

“He’s pretty good,” you say, looking back towards Joel. It’s almost unfair how he can still look so sexy in the neon glow of the lights above the bar. 

“Mediocre,” he says with a scoff and sips his drink.

You glance around, “Ok, well you listen to this mediocre man, I’m going to find the washroom.”

You feel Joel’s eyes on your back as you walk away. The gender neutral bathroom is surprisingly clean and you giggle to yourself at the interaction you had once Joel was no longer looking at you. You try to act natural as you head back to the table, sitting down and smiling at Joel.

His eyebrow arches, “What did you do?” 

God you hate how well he knows you. There’s no hiding anything from this man. Regardless, you stifle the fit of giggles that are right on the tip of your tongue, “Nothing! I had to pee. Is that not allowed?”

You raise your glass to your lips, trying to hide the smile as the MC heads back up to the stage. “You did something bad, I can tell.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have another performer tonight. Please welcome to the stage Joel Sweet Cheeks Miller.”

Joel shoots a teasing glare at you as you start hollering, “Woo! Sweet cheeks!!” You clap your hands loudly. He lets out a sigh, pushing himself up and then grabbing his drink before heading to the stage. 

He steps up, running his fingers over the guitars before choosing a black acoustic. He puts his Old Fashioned on the stool and loops the guitar over his head. Your body reacts in a way you didn’t think it would. Fire erupts on your belly, you take a sip of your drink to try to put it out but the heat of the liquor only makes it worse. He adjusts the knobs on the guitar after hitting the strings a few times and then looks up at you and crooks two fingers, calling you to him. You obey, practically floating to the man you’re falling in love with. 

Joel bends at the hip, taking his cowboy hat off and placing it on your head. His voice is a gravel filled whisper as he says, “I’m going to spank that pretty little ass of yours in that washroom you were looking for after this.”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You rasp.

He stands back up, and clears his throat before starting. “This is, well, this is the largest audience I’ve ever played in front of so, go easy on me.”

His hand pushes back the few curls that have fallen onto this forehead before he strums at the guitar. 

If I ever were to lose you I’d surely lose myself

His voice is like stepping into a hot bath, full of warmth and comfort.

Everything I’ve found here I’ve not found by myself

He doesn’t break eye contact with you, only glancing away occasionally when he moves his fingers along the cords. 

Try and sometimes you’ll succeed To make this man of me All my stole missing parts I’ve no need for anymore

You stare up at him, lips slightly parted, as everything falls into place. 

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

You could go to Berkeley and do great, probably middle of the pack, but you’d reach your goals. You’d become a lawyer and leave school with a handful of job offers. Or…you could stay. You could stay and be the top of your class here. You could stay and continue being with Joel. 

Back when I was feeling broken I focused on a prayer You came deep as any ocean Did something out there hear?

The box of feelings starts to vibrate, making it almost impossible to breathe.

All the complexities and games  No one wins, but somehow they still played All the missing crooked hearts They may die, but in us they live on

You’re staying. You’re going to the University of Texas at Austin School of Law.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see  Our future days  Days of you and me

And just like that, the box of feelings explodes like one of those worms in a can of fake peanuts.

When hurricanes and cyclones raged When winds turned dirt to dust When floods they came, the tides they raise Even closer, became us

This wasn’t part of your plan, but you can’t let this go.

And all the promises at sundown I meant them like the rest

You hear his voice, ‘It’s only you, sweet girl’ and ‘your consent is the most important thing to me.’

All the demons used to come ‘round I’m grateful, now they’ve left.

‘Does it look like I own things that aren’t perfect’, ‘tell me, tell me you’re perfect’.

So persistent in my ways Hey, angel, I’m am here to stay

‘I’m here for you’.

No resistance, no alarms Please, this is just too good to be gone

You’re not falling in love. No, you’re already so madly, deeply, insanely in love with this man that it hurts and feels amazing all at the same time.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

You suck in a breath for what feels like the first time since he started singing, your chest practically heaving at the release of emotion you’re experiencing. 

You and me It’s just, you and me

You’re not sure if people are clapping, you can’t hear anything over your own voice in your head screaming out ‘I love you’ over and over again. Joel hops off the stage, his eye flashing onyx as he growls, “punishment time, my sweet girl.”

Joel

The way your eyes sparkled as he sang and the way you’re following him now, your warm fingers laced in his as he pulled you gently to the bathroom, almost have him convinced that you feel the same way he does.

He locks the door, then jiggles the handle to make sure it’s secure. He’s shared subs with other men and women, he’s used the rooms for people to watch at the club; fuck, one time he even made one sub kneel completely naked at his feet while he sat at the bar of the club. But someone seeing you, something that is all his, ignites a protectiveness that he’s only ever felt for two other women. 

You giggle mischievously as he steps close, plucking his hat off your head and placing it back on his. “What did I say I was going to do to you, baby?” 

He watches your bottom lip disappear between your teeth before you say, “You were going to spank me.” 

He spins you roughly by your hips, pulling your back flush to his chest before walking you over the pedestal style sink. He watches in the mirror at the tell tale signs of your building arousal. Your cheeks flush, the pink creeping down your neck and exposed chest. He sees the way your eyes glass over, cock drunk before even getting it. Joel loves how easy you are to turn on, loves even more that it’s just for him.

No, I just love her.

He stops, the soft light above the mirror lighting the two of you up in yellow glow. The small bathroom is clean, but dark. White and black checkered floor with white walls; hopefully thick walls, but he has ways to keep you quiet while he punishes you. 

His lips come to the exposed side of your neck, hovering just above where he can see your pulse quickening. He hears the hitch of your breath as he inhales your lavender scent. He slips into full dominant mode, keeping his voice a deep growling whisper, “Hands on the edges of the sink, sweet girl.”

You obey him without hesitation, leaning forward and wrapping your hands around the shiny white sink. His eyes lock on yours through the mirror as he fists the soft silk of your skirt. His palms tingle at the thought of getting to feel you soon and his cock jumps at the thought of your heart-shaped ass being pink with his handprints. 

As the skirt crawls to be just above your knees he says, “How many should you get for that little stunt?”

He watches the goosebumps that spread across your skin. “Five?” Your voice is sweet and innocent with the ask.

The skirt starts to hike up higher, the long slit could give him easy access, but he’s playing a role right now, and he knows that the anticipation makes it better so much better for his sub. “Not much of a lesson in five. How about ten.”

It’s not a question and he knows you know it. He’d be lying though if he said he didn’t want to see if you’d fight him just a little bit. Brat taming is not his thing; granted neither is spanking a sub he’s fallen in love with in a bathroom of a dingy bar while wearing a six thousand dollar suit. 

A shiver runs through your body as he exposes your ass. The lacy black thong sends his thoughts into overdrive. God damn, what I wouldn’t give to fuck this woman, just once. 

“Do I have your consent to spank you ten times?”

You nod, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He takes one of your wrists in his hand and brings it back to hold your skirt up and then repositions himself to be beside you instead of behind you. He takes you in, bent over with your ass exposed, pupils blown out. Your chest rises and falls with shallow, shaky breaths. He’s going to have to keep you quiet.

A hand clamps around your lips and your eyes widen. “If you want me to stop, drop the skirt. Got it?”

You nod into his palm as the first slap fills the room. Your skin is soft and warm under his touch as he makes contact again. By the third strike, his hand around your mouth muffles a squeal. The fourth spank lands on your other cheek and a quiet husky moan rumbles against your lips and his palm.

“You’re supposed to be my sweet girl,” he taunts as another loud slap fills the room. He’s been watching you in the mirror the entire time, enjoying the way you try to keep eye contact; but now, at the halfway mark of your spanking, your eyes are hooded with need. He looks down your ass, grinding his hips into your side at the sight of his bright red handprints tattooed on your cheeks. “Fuck, you look so good all marked up.”

He spanks you again watching the jiggle of your ass and how it ripples down your leg. Your back arches as you whimper quietly. “Atta girl,” he says proudly, smiling to himself. “Three more.”

Joel administers the last three spankings quickly, two on one cheek and one on the other. The sound of his palm on your flesh goes straight to his cock each time, he’s practically rutting into your hip bone to relieve some of the ache. He’s given a lot of spankings in his time as a dom and his body has never reacted this way. I’m so goddamn in love with her, I should keep spanking her for making me feel like that, but if I don’t taste her right now I’m going to go insane. 

His hand grabs your skirt while his other drops from your face. Your breaths come in fast, like you just ran a marathon. He guides you to stand and then spins you around, a hiss leaves your lips, “It’s cold,” you whisper, making eye contact with him. 

He takes his hat off and places it on your head before kneeling down in front of you.

You

The cool porcelain soothes the delicious burn along your ass, but the burn quickly spreads through your body as the man you’ve realized you’re in love with kneels in front of you. His voice has an edge of desperation as he says, “I need to taste you, please baby.”

What is he doing to me? He has to know what he’s doing to you, right? Did he mean the lyrics of that song or is it just the only song he knows? However, at this moment, you’re just as desperate for him. 

“Yes,” you nod frantically as you speak, “Mister Miller. Please.’

His mouth connects with your lace covered cunt. Licking over the thin fabric, teasing you with light but mind numbing pressure. Joel Miller always looks good, tall and broad, tanned skin that crinkles slightly around his eyes when he smiles, but when he’s on his knees in front of you it ignites something low in your belly. His curly dark hair is soft to the touch and you bring your hand to his scalp now. He groans at the feeling of your hands on him and continues to lick at your clit through your panties. 

The black cowboy hat falls over your eyes, your other hand raises to hold it out of the way. Even with the decision to stay here for law school, you don’t want to miss a second of the salacious acts playing out right in front of you. 

“Oh god, Mister Miller,” you whisper, trying to stay as quiet as possible. 

He moves to kiss at your thigh, hooking a finger around the gusset of your soaked lace. “This fucking garter, sweet girl. Been drivin’ me crazy all night,” he growls between kisses.

He pulls your panties to the side and your nipples harden under your dress as the cool air hits your throbbing pussy. “Fuck,” he practically whimpers. “You smell so good. Taste so good, too.”

His mouth latches around your clit, sucking it between his lips and everything goes fuzzy as the burn in your lower belly starts to spread. “Ohgodohgood, f-fuck.”

The tip of his tongue flicks against your swollen aching clit with each suck and you start to panic over how you’re going to keep quiet while you come. One of his fingers that pulls your thong out of the way teases at your entrance, gathering your arousal, before he pushes it inside of you to the first knuckle. He looks up at you, eyes flushed onyx as he swallows down everything you give him. 

“Mister Miller,” you hum as he pushes his forefinger the rest of the way in. When he curls it forward you release the grip on his salt and pepper curls and clamp your hand around your mouth.

He pulls away, a dimple carving out his cheek as he smirks. “Feels that good?” He flicks gently at your clit and you moan in agreement into your hand. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Joel sucks your clit back into his mouth, pumping his thick finger against the spongy spot that makes you melt and the heat bursts into tingling pleasure as your orgasm washes over you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you fight to keep quiet, grinding your hips unabashedly against Joel’s face. He’s relentless with his ministrations and you bite at your palm as another wave rolls through you. 

The spasms of your pussy around his finger slow and you’re finally composed enough to drop your hand, grabbing his shoulder as your knees threaten to give out. Joel slips his finger out from you, placing light, lingering kisses on your mound before standing. His hands find your hips, holding you steady. 

“Kiss me,” you slur, feeling drunk off the pleasure.

Your arms loop around his neck as he kisses you. His lips taste like you and you lick at the heady sweetness. You slant your head, kissing him deeper. His body goes soft, relaxing into the kiss. You could do this with him forever, and for once it’s not the box of feelings saying that. The contents of that box have coated your entire brain with the love it housed for the man you’re not even supposed to know exists. The two of you break apart, both panting for air. You break the silence first.

“Take me to the club.”

“We can’t go back there. I’ll just get sucked back into the crowd.” His nose runs up and down yours, dark chocolate brown eyes never leaving yours. 

“I need more, Mister Miller. Please, take me.”

“Shit,” he huffs. “Come with me.”

Joel

This is so incredibly stupid, he thinks as he pulls into his neighborhood. The moment the two of you got back into his car you leaned over onto his shoulder and closed your eyes. He should take you to your apartment. You must be exhausted from all the studying and working you’ve been doing. Plus, he kept you out late for two nights. He pulls up onto his driveway, and the slight bump from the curb causes you to stir. He parks in the driveway and watches as you blink and register where you are. 

“I can take you home if you want.”

“No, I want to be with you.” Your eyes widen and you start to do that thing where you ramble, only to dig yourself deeper.

Joel chuckles and then leans forward, pressing your lips to your forehead to stop you. “I knew what you meant, baby girl.”

He gets out of the car and then comes around to open your door. When you left the bar tonight you tried to open your door, again, and he scolded you gently. He smiles to himself that you’ve listened finally, that or you’re just too tired and he should really be taking you home. But when he helps you out of the car and meets your gaze again you look anything but tired. Need and arousal flood his system as he takes you in, lips slightly parted and eyes dancing around his face. Your words from the bathroom ring in his ears. I need more, Mister Miller.

He snaps, lips slamming against yours, your hands immediately finding the curls at the nape of his neck; the only hair you can reach because of the cowboy hat still proudly perched on top of his head. He lifts you, moaning at the feeling of your toned thighs wrapping around his waist. He moves on instinct, closing the car door and walking into the house while the two of you fervently kiss in a mix of tongue and teeth. You nip at his bottom lip as he walks into the marble foyer. He closes the garage entry door and presses you against it, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, His cock is painfully hard behind his pants.

“I need you,” you whine after your lip is free from his mouth.

“What do you need?”

You kiss at his neck, hands moving to loosen his tie. “I need you to fuck me, please, Mister Miller.”

I love you. 

He keeps you pinned to the door, his one hand grabbing yours and pinning them above your head. How many times is he going to have you in the position, fighting against what you’re begging for? Hopefully, it never stops.

“My sweet girl, you know I can’t do that.” It physically hurts him to turn you down.

You pout at him before speaking, “Then just be naked with me, I need to feel your skin on mine. Please?”

He kisses you again and starts to move the two of you towards the stairs. Between kisses, he says, “What happened to that shy girl who couldn’t even tell me she wanted me to dominate her?” 

You laugh against his lips, “She’s been corrupted.”

“I’m a bad man,” he hums with a laugh and walks up the stairs with you plastered to his chest; one hand around the globes of your ass, the other tucking your head into his neck so he can see where he’s stepping. The moment you reach the top of the stairs he pulls your face back to his to kiss you again.

“This is where it happened,” you say, as he passes the office. 

“Where what happened?” He says, pulling back to look at you, his eyebrows draw in in confusion and the black Stetson he forgot he was wearing falls forward slightly. You take the hat off his head, looking at him all wide-eyed and amused. 

“The corruption,” you say with a wink. Joel snorts in response and then his lips are back on yours. He has missed having this mix of passion and humour with someone.

When he passes over the threshold of his bedroom he places you on your feet. He told himself he wouldn’t ever have you here. No, not told, promised, because he knew what having here would mean. But you made him fall in love with you anyway. The air in the bedroom feels thicker, and his breathing quickens as he looks at you. The only light that trickles in is from the hallway. He takes in your sparkling eyes, your lips, puffy from his kisses and light nips; the perfect curls of your hair are slightly dishevelled and truthfully - he has never found you more beautiful. 

I love you. 

You

Butterflies assault your stomach as you stare at Joel. He takes the hat from you and tosses it gently on the foot of the bed behind you. The room is deafeningly silent, only the sounds of both of your quickened breathing and thundering heartbeats fill the void. You stand frozen, the heels of your strappy black sandals sinking into the plush carpet of his bedroom. You remember when you carried his sheets to the washing machine just a few weeks ago, being surrounded by the delicious scents of ash and leather. You had no idea who Joel was then, the man in this house was just a fantasy in your mind. You wait for him to make the first move. Finally, his thick fingers find the zipper along your side. 

“Are you sure about this?” He says, his voice is hoarse, and you can tell he’s nervous. You wish knowing that would calm you, but truthfully it just makes your heart burst even more. This morning, the thought of anyone, but especially Joel, having feelings for you was ridiculous, but now you aren’t so sure it’s that absurd after all.

“Yes, Mister Miller. I just - I need…” he watches you patiently. Playing with the small metal zipper pull. 

“Don’t be shy, sweet girl. Just tell me what you need.” 

“I need to feel your skin against mine. Please.” 

He pulls at the zipper as his lips meet your neck. “I love when you ask so politely. My good girl, aren’t you?” 

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, fighting the sway of your legs to stay upright. 

If he’s calling you yours, that’s Joel speaking. Not his dom alter ego. 

Joel’s fingers come to the thin straps along your shoulders. The warmth of his hands against your skin causes you to shiver. He drags the straps down your arms and then frowns at the tape holding the dress to your chest. He tugs gently and you gasp at the pull of the tape. Before you can protest, the sting is soothed by his lips, kissing the sore, pink skin. He does the same thing after tugging the other side and the silky black dress pools at your feet. 

You watch the muscles of Joel’s throat flex as he swallows, eyes trailing down your body. “Turn around.”

You spin on the balls of your feet, careful to not catch your heels on the carpet. “So you need to feel me, is that right, sweet girl?” 

You nod your head. “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

One of his hands comes to gently rest on your shoulder and instinctively lean into his touch. His fingers whirl around as he traces down your shoulder blade and then back up to your neck. “I can’t believe how beautiful you looked tonight. I kept getting pulled away from you every time I tried to get back to you. It was killing me to be away from you.” 

You let your eyes close as his fingers run down your spinal column. You feel his heat leave your back and then his lips sponge kisses along the globes of your ass, his hands holding your hips possessively.

“You were such a good girl tonight. Outside of the little singing stunt,” he says between kisses. Every spot that took the punishment of his palm is given attention. “But you paid for that, didn’t you sweet girl?” 

You giggle quietly before saying. “Yes, Mister Miller. Thank you, but I can’t promise I won’t do it again.” 

“Good,” he laughs, standing up behind you. You hear the unmistakable sound of his silk tie being pulled off. “Because I don’t want you to ever stop teasing me.” 

He tosses the tie towards his dresser. Before you know it, he’s spun you around and lifted you into his arms again. Your body knows just what to do, your legs clamping around his waist on their own. He captures the squeak that leaves your lips with his mouth. Nothing makes you melt faster than the feel of Joel’s lips on yours. They’re soft but firm, his tongue warm against yours as he takes what he wants from you and there’s no way you’re not going to let him. 

He sits you on the dresser and plants his hands on each side of you as your hands move to work the buttons on his shirt. His lips never leave yours. 

“I need you,” you whine as you get the first few buttons undone. The heat of his chest skimming against your fingertips has a fresh wave of arousal coat your already soaked pussy. 

Joel moans needily at your confession as he pulls back slightly. He rips at his shirt, buttons burst before he tears it off and stands shirtless in front of you. Your eyes trail down his strong broad chest, stopping on the prominent bulge behind his pants. Your hands fly to his belt. He watches you with rapt fascination as you work the buckle and then the button of his pants. 

As you move to the zipper, his fingers go to the lace of your panties. He growls as he splits the fabric. 

“Joel!” You gasp. “Those were thirty dollars!” 

He grabs your leg, placing the ball of your foot on his chest,unbuckling your shoe. “I just ruined an $800 dress shirt. I’ll buy you more.” 

The shoe hits the floor and he grabs your other foot, his eyes locking to yours as he commands, “And it’s Mister Miller. I’ve been lenient with you. Another mistake and you will be punished - severely.” 

For such harsh words, he’s being so careful with the small golden buckle on your shoe. “Yes, Mister Miller,” you say sweetly, batting your lashes innocently. 

“Feet up on the dresser. Spread your legs for me, sweet girl.” 

You lean back slightly, hands being used as an anchor behind you, placing your heels on the edge of the dresser. Cool air hits your drenched cunt and you fight yet another shiver. You’re spread wide for Joel, every single thing on display for him. He looks at you like you hung the moon and your heart flips behind your ribs. You suddenly feel like you did the first time the two of you spoke in his kitchen, his gaze is too much, too intense, and it becomes nearly impossible for you to not yell out that you love him, so you look away, your eyes falling to his strong chest.

“Eyes up here,” he murmurs as he takes the smallest step back. 

Your mouth goes dry as you look back up at him. In your peripheral you can see his hands going to his belt, the sound of the buckle jingling tempts you to look down. “Atta girl, stay right here with me.”

You stay in his warm coffee brown pools, flecks of gold and honey appearing as the soft light of his bedroom hits him. I love you.

He bends slightly, his pants and boxers falling to the ground. You try to swallow once, twice, never leaving his gaze as the rest of his clothing comes off. You swear that time stops, the two of you are suspended in a moment that’s all yours. He steps forward and you can feel the heat of his skin against your entire body, you melt into his warmth.

“You want to look, don’t you?” he taunts.

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you hum.

 The soft tip of his cock gently nudges at your clit and you gasp. “Look down, baby.”

You peel your eyes away from his, looking down to see where his body caresses against yours. The tip of his impossibly hard cock, precum glistening as it leaks for you, pressing lightly to your soft and swollen clit. His piercing lays flat against his pelvis and you remember what he said about there being benefits to it. You try to memorize the sight in front of you. As filthy and debauched as this is, it’s also passionate and beautiful; it's the epitome of Mister Miller and your time with him. 

“Fuck, sweet girl. Your pussy is so pretty…and soft.” You watch as he wraps his hand around the thick base of his cock and rocks his hips. His cock slides easily along the warm folds of your drenched cunt, you swear you can feel the ridge of the underside of the tip as he says,  “Who has you this turned on? Huh, sweet girl?”

“You,” you whimper as your legs start to tremble.

“God damn,” his voice now matching yours, “How’d I get so lucky.”

This time you know he’s not asking you a question, yet you hum in agreement as his cock slides back over your clit, the swollen nub relishing in the friction and the feel of him against you. You hope he’s going to keep going, you want to feel him inside of you more than you need oxygen. Instead, his other hand slips between the two of you, his strong digits teasing at your entrance. He slides along your clit again as one of his fingers pushes inside of you. 

“Is this ok?” He whispers.

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, Mister Miller.” A bead of pre cum lands on your mound at the sound of pleasure passing your lips. 

“Such a good girl for me. Already learning how to take me so well.” His finger slips out as a second joins it. “She’s begging for it, tryin’ to suck me in. So tight, my gorgeous sweet girl.”

Your foreheads meet and it all becomes too much again. You close your eyes as his fingers finally fill you. “Don’t stop,” you whine desperately.

His hips pick up their pace, pressing harder along your most sensitive spots. You get that floating feeling again. He’s so close to exactly how you need him, how you want him. The voice from your now-exploded box of feelings adds, “For the rest of your life”. 

You keep your eyes closed, sparks of pleasure occasionally flickering behind them. You’re getting closer to your high with every press of his body against yours. You know if you opened your eyes you’d be able to fall over the edge, but you aren’t ready to be done imagining how it would look if his cock was doing what his fingers were right now. 

“I can feel you’re getting close, baby. Clenchin’ my fingers so hard.” His voice is full of admiration, not a tone you’re used to hearing in moments like this. You used to think that you had a first love, and while none of your exes ever mistreated you, they also didn’t look at you or speak to you the way Joel Miller does. 

His pace increases again as he curls his fingers forward, your body jolts up with the newly applied pressure behind your clit. You grip his shoulders to ground yourself, the inside of your thighs start to ache, but you’re not going to let your feet fall from the dresser. Truthfully, the burning ache only seems to intensify the pleasure at the apex of your thighs.

“Open your eyes, watch how good your pussy looks against me.”

“I ca-can’t. ‘M so close. I don’t - oh fuck - don’t wanna be done.” 

“Just because you come, it doesn’t mean we are done, sweet girl. I’m not ready to be done. I want you to come as many times as you need to.” He presses his cock down against your clit harder as he speaks.

Before you can even take your next breath your orgasm washes over you. It hits hard and for a second you think your throat is constricted, but just as the wall of your pussy relaxes and begins to flutter, a euphoric scream frees itself from your airway. You start to pant, your body falling back to rest on the wall behind you. Joel falls forward with you, and just when you think you’re about to come down from your high, the pressure at this angle sends the strongest wave of your orgasm through you and you begin to gush around his fingers. 

“That’s my good fuckin’ girl. Soak me.” Pride swells in his eyes as you chant his dominant name like a prayer. Your breathing starts to even and he slows his fingers and hips, ensuring not to send you into any overstimulation. I’m not ready to be done yet. He slowly removes his fingers, then wraps his arm around you to pull you up. Your feet fall from the dresser and the relief your muscles feel causes you to let out a pleasurable sigh.

Joel

He needs more, so much more, but waits for you - taking a few slow breaths in time with yours. When he sees you coming back down to earth he slides the tip of his cock up and down. At this angle, there’s no risk of accidentally slipping so he runs himself along every part he can reach. 

“Kiss me,” you mumble, bringing your face towards his. He captures your lips in a sweet kiss, a kiss he’s sure you can tell isn’t the way a dom kisses his sub. He realizes at that moment that he’s never kissed you that way. No, he’s always kissed you with everything he had, giving himself to you piece by piece. 

More. His inner voice growls. I’ll never come back up for air now.

Joel whispers your name between kisses and you both pull back just enough to see each other's faces. “When we got here, you said you wanted me to fuck you. Do you still want that?”

He watches your eyes dance around him. Confusion, fear, excitement and arousal line yours before you pull back from him. He scolds himself for saying it. Of course you’re going to panic, this is supposed to be a safe space. He set a complete ban on sex before he even met with you the first time. It’s right there, in his dom profile; because that’s what he is, he’s your dom. You can come here and beg for it, because you know it’s a safe place where it won’t happen. 

He prepares himself for you to slap him or yell at him. Instead, you say, “Mister Miller, I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t want to. This was a hard limit for you, and where I very much want to, I don’t want you to break any promise to yourself.”

He let his eyelids fall shut, for the first time, he doesn’t want to be Mister Miller. He wants to be Joel. 

I love you.

Goosebumps break out along his skin as you drag your hands up to his neck, fingers scraping along the back of his scalp. “Talk to me.”

“Just call me Joel,” he says through the boulder that’s lodged in his throat. 

He feels your warm lips meet his cheek, kissing him softly before you clear your throat quietly and then whisper into his ear. “Please fuck me, Joel. Fuck me or I might die or go insane.”

“Again,” he growls.

“Fuck me, Joel.” You say, louder and with more conviction than the last time.

He scoops you off the dresser, your soft naked thighs tightening around his waist and he steals your squeal with his lips, kissing you hard with hurried passion. He’ll worry tomorrow about what getting you to call him Joel means, all he knows at this moment is that he needs to hear that you need him just as much as he needs you. 

  He lays you on the bed, pressing down into your warmth. He can feel how wet you are as you grind up into him. His lips grow hungrier, kissing every bit of your face and neck he can reach, relishing in the feel of your hands running up and down his biceps, your short nails scraping his skin occasionally. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks before fusing his lips to your neck.

Your feet fall to the bed and you arch into him. “Yes, Joel.” 

He raises to his knees, unclipping the chains around your body and then working with you to slip your ruined panties off. He reaches over to the bedside table to get a condom, using his teeth to peel the foil open and sliding it on. You’re always completely at his mercy, but this time he’s wholly at yours. One of his hands grips your hip, the other wraps around his cock as he takes in all your soft smooth skin, and memorizes the constellations that your freckles make along your body. Your breasts heave with each shallow inhale and shake beautifully with each exhale. Finally, his gaze meets yours, your eyes filled with every emotion he’s feeling. 

“There’s no safeword anymore, my sweet girl. If you tell me to stop, I will.”

You nod as he lines himself up, the warmth of your tight entrance calling to him. Joel pushes gently, your hips rising to encourage him. His balls tighten at the feeling of you wrapped tightly around the tip. 

“So tight, sweet girl.” He falls forward, both forearms beside your head to keep his weight off of you. 

The two of you rock in tandem, working more of him into you. “Oh god, Joel. More,” you moan.

There was a time when he told you to only call him Joel, it was the only name you could use that would keep this side of him from taking over. But now, hearing your voice say his name in the needy little vibrato, it’s having the same effect as when you call him Mister Miller. He’s sure you know exactly how he feels, and he’s now certain that you feel the same way. 

Your hips grind into his and pleasure spikes through his entire body. He’s fully seated inside of you now, your tight pussy squeezing him sweetly. He buries his face into your neck, lavender hypnotizing him. Everything he can see, hear, smell and feel is you. His sweet girl. 

“More, please, more.” You whine, circling your hips. 

His jaw flexes as he fights his body’s instinct to come. He pushes down with his hips to still you. “I need a minute, sweet girl. Shit - you feel too good.”

Your soft giggle at his confession causes your pussy to flex tighter around him. A shiver runs up his spine, “Baby, please don’t. Just stay still, please.”

He pulls himself away from your neck, his hips flexing forward. He watches your eyes widen as his piercing presses right where it’s meant to. You gasp and clench his hips with your thighs. He smirks, now flooded with desire and determination to fuck you until neither of you can walk. 

“Ready?” He says, his voice deep.

“I think - Joel, fuck - I might…” 

His animalistic side kicks in, he pulls out to the tip and then slams back in, swivelling his hips so his piercing stimulates your clit, which he’s sure still must be sensitive from earlier, before pulling back and repeating. 

“Think you might what?” He demands, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he fucks you.

“I’m gonna - gonna come.” You moan between thrusts.

“So fuckin’ needy. Aren’t you?” You met each of his thrusts with a flick of your hips. Even with the condom, you feel better than he could have ever imagined. All the things he wants to do to you run through his mind; he wants to take you from behind, or watch your tits bounce as you ride him, he pictures you strapped to the spanking bench in his room at the club. But right now he just wants to worship every inch of you. He wants to show you how you should be treated and loved. 

The words are on the tip of his tongue. I love you. 

He shifts his weight, one arm hooking under your leg so he can take you deeper. “Sweet girl, I want to feel you come on my cock.” 

“Fuckfuck don’t stop.” He peppers your jawline with kisses. 

“Kiss me,” he whispers. He tilts his head, parting his lips for your warm tongue. Joel starts fucking you faster. He breaks the kiss, “Come for me, baby girl.” 

“Are we going to be done if I do?” You ask. 

“No, baby.” He huffed a laugh, his hand pushing the hair away that’s started to stick to your forehead. “Never. I’m never going to be done with you.” 

“Joel - oh my god.” He feels you getting tighter and tries to distract his thoughts. He’s not ready to be done, but he’s not young anymore so he can’t risk finishing quite yet. “Your - your piercing.”

“Let go,” he says into your lips. He feels it then, that infinitesimal tightening of your pussy around his length before it begins to flutter. Your whine fills his head. He watches the pleasure fill your face, he swears he can see the clouds that form around your vision as you look deep into his eyes and succumb to your high. Your soft body quivers beautifully underneath him, “That’s my girl.”

The primal need to fuck you hard into his mattress simmers his skin. Not yet, not this time. She’s too perfect right now. 

“Tell me how it feels, sweet girl.”

Between pants you moan out, “So good, Joel.”

Your body begins to slow beneath him as your orgasm crests and he gives himself a mental pep talk to hold on just a bit longer. His cock is achy with the need to come, and it’s going to be slightly tortuous to stop, but he wants to take you at least one more time before you both fall into what is sure to be an exhausted sleep. 

His lips come to your shoulder. “I love fucking you. Your pussy was made for me.”

Your nails scrape at his back. “It’s t-too much. Fuck. Sorry…sorry.”

Joel stills his hips, releasing your leg and pushing his weight off of you, but doesn’t pull away. Your eyes are clenched tight, “Look at me, sweet girl.”

Your eyes pop open, pupils blown in pleasure and love. There’s no denying it now, he knows you feel the same. “Don’t be sorry.”

Your cheeks flush slightly, “But you’re not, you didn’t yet.���

“If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“You didn’t get to come yet,” you whisper.

“I don’t want to yet. I’m going to let you catch your breath and then you’re going to climb onto my lap and really learn what that piercing can do.” He winks and then gives you a small smile before slipping out of you. He rolls onto the mattress beside you, removing the condom and dropping it into the waste bin beside the bed. 

He hears you hiss, panic clogs his throat as he whips back towards you. “What’s wrong?”

You nod towards his almost impossibly hard cock. “That looks painful.”

“I’m ok, sweet girl.” He pulls you in, melting at the way your body molds so perfectly to his. He kisses your forehead, “You’re incredible.”

“You too.” You nuzzle deeper into him, your warm breath hitting his chest and your leg wrapping around his. 

There’s a few minutes of comfortable silence before you speak, “Hey Joel?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“I think we should ditch the condom.” He pulls back as you look up at him, “You have a vasectomy. I have an IUD. We had recent test results as per the club's rules.”

Joel swallows. Not wearing a condom, even though he had his vasectomy over a decade ago, has never been an option. Another rule of JMKink is that you have to be wearing a condom during all penetrative activities; even if the person you’re fucking is your husband or wife. It hits Joel then that the only person he’s felt that intimately before is Tiffany. 

“Are you sure? I know the chances of getting pregnant are very slim, but you got into law school today, I don’t want to risk anything.”

“I’m sure,” you hum. “I’m also sure that you should put that cowboy hat back on for the next round.”

Next Chapter

[demie90s]

Paige Bueckers x fem!Reader x Caitlin Clark

Shameless Rivalry

MASTERLIST | MORE | MORE Part 2

Summary:It started with a viral interview. Asked for your top 5 celebrity crushes, you answered without hesitation-Paige Bueckers and Caitlin Clark, tied for #1.

Genre: Sports romance, love triangle, rivals-to-lovers, college basketball chaos

Warnings: Heavy flirtation, cursing, tension so thick you could drown in it, emotional whiplash, reader folding for two dangerous women

Word Count~ 1k

Vibe: Camila Cabello's Shameless in a jersey. Obsession, competition, and soft filth hidden behind sweet smiles and game-day uniforms.

It’s content,” they said.

Your team—your label, your brand girlies, your best friend who handles your TikTok—they set up a fake media day backdrop and filmed you answering fan questions. You were half-drunk on bubble tea and fame, sitting in front of a ring light in a hoodie and gold chains, giving dramatic answers to dumb shit.

And then came the question.

“Top five celeb crushes. Go.”

You grinned. Chewed your gum. Thought about lying.

Then you leaned forward and said it like gospel.

“Paige Bueckers and Caitlin Clark. Tied for number one.”

They cackled. You winked. The TikTok got posted the same night. And within 12 hours?

Over 15 million views.

People were stitching it. Debating it. Tagging them both in your comments like you weren’t gonna see. Like they weren’t gonna see. But the real chaos didn’t start ‘til Caitlin reposted it with a winky face.

And Paige liked it. And now?

It’s Iowa vs. UConn week. And you are the problem.

⸻

You pull up to the game like it’s a red carpet. Which, for you, it kinda is.

Skin-tight designer tank. Oversized dark blue jean. Your signature chain with the little diamond “y/n” glinting in the lights. A coat slung over your shoulder like you don’t care about anything but fashion and front row power.

Everyone’s watching. Cameras catch your entrance like you’re here to headline. You’re not. You’re here to haunt.

⸻

First quarter. It’s barely started and Paige already checked the sideline twice.

You don’t wave. Just smirk. Cross your legs slow. Adjust your lip gloss like you know exactly how you look.

Because you do.

Caitlin’s on the other side. Scanning the stands mid-play. She sees you. Grins. Immediately hits a no-look assist like it’s nothing.

Game on.

⸻

Second quarter.

Caitlin fouls near your side and damn near lands in your lap. You hold out your hand without thinking.

“Need help?”

She grabs it. Holds on a second too long. Leans in like she’s adjusting her jersey.

“Still tied for first?” she whispers.

You raise an eyebrow. She smirks and jogs back to the line.

⸻

Halftime. UConn’s up.

You’re backstage, sipping something green from a straw, talking to one of the assistant coaches when Paige passes you in the tunnel.

You nod. She slows. Looks you up and down. Eyes linger on your lips.

“You always dress like this for games?” she asks.

“Only when I’m being watched.”

She smiles. Not sweet. Sharp.

“Careful. Might get you benched.”

“I’m not the one playing, baby.”

That shuts her up. She walks off with her shoulders tight, her jaw set. You feel hot.

⸻

Third quarter is nasty.

Both girls are playing out of their minds—dropping threes, making passes, locking up on defense like they’ve got something to prove.

Spoiler: they do. And it’s you. Every time Paige hits a bucket, she looks your way. Every time Caitlin scores, she points.

You’re trying to keep cool. But your legs are crossed tight and your throat’s dry and your manager literally whispers:

“You’re the final boss.”

⸻

Fourth quarter. The game’s tied. Timeout. And somehow, somehow, they both walk near you. Different sidelines. Different teams. Same plan.

Paige gets close and leans down like she’s fixing her shoe. Doesn’t even look at you when she says:

“What’re you doing after this?”

Then she walks off. Caitlin comes by ten seconds later, sweaty and smug, brushing a towel over her neck.

“Tell Paige not to wait up.”

You let out a laugh—quiet, choked, stunned. Because it’s not a game anymore. Not for them. Not for you. And this isn’t over.

Caitlin – Day One

I’m not obsessed. I just haven’t stopped thinking about her for three days.

I scroll past her story again—she posted some blurry, close-up pic in a hoodie, and I stared at it like it held answers. It didn’t. Just her lips, glossed, smirking like she already knew what she was doing to me.

I liked the pic. Unliked. Liked again.

Tweeted right after.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll break the scoreboard trying.”

It gets traction. People assume it’s about the game. It’s not. It’s about her. It’s always about her now.

I sit in my car an extra 20 minutes after practice. Just refreshing her profile.

I almost post a pic of the hoodie she complimented two games ago. Caption it “yours looks better though.” I don’t. I save it in drafts.

My stomach’s been tight since the game. Like I lost something. Like Paige already knew I would.

Paige - Day two

She’s tweeting again. Caitlin, I mean. Cryptic thirst mixed with vague dominance.

I’m not impressed.

I’ve been watching her spiral for a day and a half, and honestly? It’s cute. I decide to start my own war.

My Instagram story goes up around 11 p.m. Black screen. Just audio.

“Let Me Love You” playing low. The Mario one. That chorus hits, and I add a single white heart. Then tag no one. But everyone knows.

Twenty minutes later, I post a picture. Me, half-turned, shirt riding up just enough. Caption?

“Don’t look too long.”

The comments go crazy. I open her profile. Her. Not Caitlin.

She hasn’t posted since the game. But her views on my story? Top 5. Always.

I DM her.

“So we tied, huh?”

No reply. Yet.

But I know she saw it. I know she’s watching me now, too.

Caitlin – Day Three

She’s playing dirty. The thirst traps. The song. The DM. Paige wants to win this in public. But me? I want her in person.

I text my manager first thing: “Can we lock in a promo with Nike or literally anyone she’s working with?”

It takes two hours.Then I get a yes.

Some shoot. Something casual. They want creators and athletes and “relevant faces.” They said her name before I could.

I said yes before they finished. I don’t even ask what the campaign’s about. I don’t care. As long as I’m in the same room as her again.

I’m gonna look her in the eye and remind her who really saw her first.

Paige – Day Four

She signed on to the promo.

The same one I just begged my agent to get me into under the excuse of “increased visibility.” It worked. Barely.

I don’t even need this campaign. But if Caitlin thinks she can just schedule herself into her orbit and win her back like that?

Nah. I show up early.

Hair done. Outfit cute. Lip gloss on. Laces tight. I walk into that set like it’s a runway and don’t even ask where my trailer is. I already know.

Then I hear Caitlin’s voice down the hall. She’s laughing. I walk in. And there she is.

In the makeup chair. Looking at me through the mirror like I’ve been in her head too.

I drop my bag.

“What, no warmup before we start fighting over her again?”

She laughs. But it’s not friendly.

My POV

They’re both here. Same promo shoot. Same room. And neither of them knew the other would show up.

I watch them from the back of the set, pretending I’m checking lighting cues.

Caitlin’s bouncing a basketball like it’s a stress relief tool. Paige keeps adjusting her crop top like she’s making sure I’m looking.

I sip my matcha. Tilt my head.

“Are y’all okay?”

Neither answers.

But they both turn and look at me like I’m the only win that matters.

I should’ve known better.

I thought showing up early would save me from the drama. Do my set. Smile for the camera. Bounce. But then Paige walked in like she was the camera. Looking fine as hell. All attitude. Not even trying to act like Caitlin wasn’t already in the building.

She saw me and smiled like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Then waved me over with that smug-ass smirk.

I sighed. But yeah—I went. She barely let me speak before launching in.

“I just think it’s funny how she only shows up when you’re around.”

I blinked. “You mean Caitlin?”

Paige scoffed. “Obviously. She’s never even cared about this brand until now. But one little interview and suddenly she’s front row again?”

I stared at her. “You flew in this morning.”

“Yeah, for you. I’m consistent.”

I rolled my eyes so hard my soul almost left my body.

“She’s fake humble, you know that? All soft-spoken until someone else wants what she wants. Then she’s a menace. I mean, look at her—she’s been staring over here the whole time like I stole her lunch.”

I turned my head. Caitlin was, in fact, staring. She smiled when we locked eyes.

I looked back at Paige, deadpan. “You done?”

She grinned. “Not even close. But I’ll let you go make her jealous for a minute.”

I should’ve walked away.

But no—I went to Caitlin next. Because I’m stupid. Because curiosity is a disease.

She was near the wardrobe racks, acting like she wasn’t watching my every move. I didn’t even say anything yet and she pulled me behind the curtain like we were about to commit a crime.

“She touch you?”

I blinked. “Are you serious?”

Caitlin tilted her head, eyes scanning mine. “I’m just asking. She gets real handsy when she thinks she’s winning.”

I exhaled through my nose. “You flew out to do a shoot with a brand you don’t even wear. And you’re mad Paige touched my arm?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she smiled. Slow. Sharp.

“I didn’t have to post a thirst trap to get your attention. I just had to show up.”

My brows lifted. “Wow.”

“I’m just saying. One of us knows how to talk to you. The other just stares and hopes it works.”

I laughed. Out loud. She looked smug for half a second until I turned and walked off mid-sentence.

I was done.

Not even halfway through the day and they were already trying to weaponize me like I was a prize to be fought over. Whispers. Glances. Comments loud enough to be overheard. They weren’t even being slick anymore.

So I dipped.

Told the assistant I needed air and never came back. Let them fight over an empty room.

I got a coffee. Put on my playlist. Texted my team “y’all are never setting me up again.”

Because I am not the problem here. They are. And I’m not choosing shit…Until they figure out how to act.

——————————————-——————————————-

@draculara-vonvamp

[nemisuki]

Morning Routine

Third year AU | From being childhood friends to being third years in UA High School… she never would’ve expected her life would revolve around waking up next to Katsuki Bakugo. The boy she’s known since she was small. Yet here she is, next to an unexpectedly soft boy whose goal is now, not only to be the number one hero. But to be her hero.

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, fluff, bkg is a secret softie, small mentions of past nsfw if you squint, physical touch, 1.1k word count 

“What are you smiling at?” He grumbles, turning to face you as you laid on his dorm bed, his fingers brushing your arm. 

He knew he wasn't supposed to be there with you, he was supposed to be training with the idiots — instead, he chose to be with you. 

He often trained alone but the morons wanted to tag along, mainly just trying to have him buy them ice cream after their jog. He was supposed to meet them an hour ago.

Katsuki Bakugo actually ignored his morning training for some girl. What has the world come to.

Her gentle eyes meet those gorgeous pools of red. Pure red. Like gemstones. Oh how she loved his eyes.

“I’m just happy” she says in a mumble, followed shortly by a soft hum. 

She won’t ever get over waking up with him in the mornings. Sneaking into his dorm room late at night despite it being against the rules.

His bed was different then hers. Warmer. Inviting. Or maybe it was him. 

Whenever she tries snuggling against his chest, he immediately holds her. In the beginning he protested, spouting off about how he’s not the mushy type. 

Yet as time went on, he never won that argument. So eventually, he gave up and ended up holding her every time she came over and slid into his bed. It developed into a habit.

Now he can’t seem to let her go, his personal pillow. While he’s her personal heater. His quirk makes his body warmer than others.

“Whatever” he sighed, his arms wrapping around your waist as he practically pulled you on top of him, sprawled over him. His fingers tracing along your skin in gentle circles.

“They’re gonna be wondering where I was, y’know..” he mutters, burying his face into your neck and breathing in the scent of your shampoo. Her scent mixed in with the scent of his body wash to which she used to shower last night.

“They’ll live… it’s not a crime for you to miss a morning jog” she says, peppering gentle kisses on his cheeks. 

If she did this months ago, he would be as stiff as a rock as she showered him with physical affection. Now being 3rd years in UA, he’s learned to accept her gentle touches.

“Mm, maybe not, but it certainly does raise some eyebrows,” he says, tilting his head to catch your lips on his.

He leaned up to kiss you properly, his hand gripping your hip to keep you in place. He had a point — the last thing you needed right now was people getting suspicious of whatever was going on between you two.

But she can't help but be a bit selfish, wanting him for herself. How can she help it when he’s so perfect?

Her eyes flutter close as his lips meet hers. He’s such a feisty person, yet his touches are always so soft. 

She smiles as the blonde barely pulls his lips away from her, giving her a final peck then letting his head fall back against the pillow. Still holding her close to his chest. 

Out of curiosity, she looks at the clock on his nightstand. Seeing the red digits read 8:30 AM. Realization dawns upon her and she quickly looks down at Bakugo. Whose eyes are still roaming across her facial features.

“Katsuki we have to go down and have breakfast!”

“And I should hurry because….?” he replies back with his usual gruff expression.

“Oh c'mon there’s pancakes and if we don’t go now then the others are bound to finish them!”

Bakugo groaned again, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“God damn it,” he mumbles, still not wanting to move. “M’tired from last night and I wanna stay in bed.”

“Cmon cmon get up! Say do you have any of my clothes from last time I slept over? I would go to my room but Mina might spot me” she smiles looking down at him.

He gestured to the top drawer in the dresser.

“You always leave something behind when you stay over so that drawer is where I put all your stuff. I also bought you some things you may need if you're ever here. It’s your drawer from now on.”

“Ah I see, my own little space in your room…” she says with a brighter expression. 

She would be lying if she didn’t say that made her heart clench with joy. She looks in it and spots the organized little sections. 

Some old clothes she’s left behind that are neatly folded along with occasional jewelry she left here by accident. He even put some of her makeup in here that she forgot to take with her back to her room. 

Y/N feels a warm sensation fill her body when she sees some hygiene products he must’ve bought. Some tampons and ibuprofen.

She smiles to herself thinking about him buying these things at the store. Despite his tough exterior, he never judged her for these things.

God she loves him.

Despite not wanting to get out of bed, Bakugo laid there and watched you change. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in the sight of you. 

His eyes tracing your figure, even though he’d seen your body plenty of times before. There’s never a day he gets bored from watching you.

She spots him from the mirror and smiles softly “you're staring…” she says in a gentle whisper.

“How can I not, you're my girlfriend” he says straight faced in response, sitting up and leaning against the pillows, “C’mere for a second."

She hums in response and finishes changing, “what is it?” she says, walking over.

He grabbed your hand, pulling you closer until you were in between his legs. Resting his forehead against your chest. “Just let me have a few more minutes, before we have to get up and deal with those idiots.”

She smiles at his words and wraps her arms around him.

He grumbles into your chest. “Hate that we gotta hide this from the others, pisses me off.” He pulled you down to sit in his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist. Staying in that position for a few minutes til Y/N spoke up, “c'mon we have to go ‘suki.”

“Fine,” he groaned, his hands moving to rest on your hips. “You get going first, I’ll wait five minutes and then follow after you.”

She smiles and nods, unable to stop admiring his face. He’s so pretty. She sighs and pecks his lips, unable to resist, “I love you.”

It took him a moment but…

“Love you, too” he hummed, his hand snaking up the back of your neck and into your hair, holding you close for another kiss. “Now get going before I’m tempted to keep you here all day.”

She giggles and is on her feet as she exits his room. Before she decides to stay in bed with him after all.

Y/N is not usually a morning person but maybe she is now.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

[leighsartworks216]

You Shouldn't Touch Me So Casually

Sylus x gn!Reader

I have been drooling over this fucking card since I pulled it last night. He has such a hold on me i swear. Title from my favorite line in the card

Set in the Raven universe, but it doesn't have to be read that way

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: smut, cat Sylus, cockwarming, riding, touch starved Sy and reader (mention), swearing, kissing, biting, licking (once), scent kink, no genital descriptions for reader, spoilers for Sylus's Yes, Cat Caretaker card

Word Count: 1, 425

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You tilt your head curiously at Sylus. He’s sitting on the couch in his bedroom, arms crossed, and with a pair of cat ears on his head. A matching cat tail pats the cushion beside him in irritation.

He sighs. “The kitties at the cat cafe put a curse on me,” he explains, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Miss Hunter is helping me correct the issue.”

You walk around the couch, studying him from behind. The cat ears on his head flatten, but they perk back up when you’re in front of him once more. “Cute.”

He glares at you, but that sharpness is gone the second you brush your fingers against the fluffy ear. He inhales sharply, eyes closing briefly, before he jerks his head away, glaring at you once more. Though, the frown etched into his face since you stepped in seemed to soften up. “You shouldn’t touch me so casually,” he scolds. “I’m not used to it.”

Still, he doesn’t complain at all when you straddle his lap. In fact, his tail shifts to brush against your leg, and he uncrosses his arms to rest his hands on your thighs to keep you in place. You touch his ear again, petting the soft fur that pokes out with your thumb as your fingers stoke the smooth back of the ear. He shuts his eyes again and leans into the touch this time. His hand lifts from your leg, reaching to pull you away, but it falters in the air with the tense sigh he releases.

“You’re a damn tease,” he grumbles.

You smirk, even if he can’t see it. “Should I go grab the collar?” Your nails scratch along his scalp as you drag your fingers up from the base of his neck and into his hair. He shivers underneath you.

He practically growls and pulls you tighter against him. “Don’t you dare.”

Sylus’s inexperience with gentle touch isn’t new to you; you’ve both had your fair share of touch starved indulgence, just caressing and holding each other until you’re sated. But this is something completely new. He’s never been this sensitive to your touch before, this reactive. It’s addicting to have him so responsive under you.

You kiss the furrow in his brow. It relaxes, painting his expression as one of relief rather than disdain. With your fingers in his hair, you guide his face to your neck, which he is more than happy to do.

You smell so fucking good. It’s the same body wash and shampoo that you always use, but it burns in his senses until he can’t think straight. He wraps his arms around you, hands gliding along your back to keep you in place as he runs his nose along the expanse of your throat, lips mindlessly following along with lazy kisses. “If you keep touching me like that, beloved,” Sylus breathes next to your ear, “I- Fuck.”

All you did was switch to scratching and petting his other ear. You’ve never seen him lose his composure in the middle of a sentence before. You kiss the crown of his head, between the cat ears. “Do you want me?”

He presses a lingering kiss to your pulse. “Please,” he whispers. It’s all he needs to say.

His tail shifts restlessly beside him as you help to free him from the confines of his pants. His dick springs free, already painfully hard from such little attention. He works clumsily to expose you, too, grunting in displeasure when he can’t remove your pants in this position. You gently shush him, rubbing the tip of his ear between your fingers and ducking your head to kiss him, as you slide off his lap and kick your pants aside. He eagerly pulls you back on top of him, hissing when you barely brush up against his aching cock, flushed and leaking with desire. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so damn shameless with how damn good you make him feel.

He has to pull away from your lips and hide his face in your neck again as you stroke his cock, spreading his precum all along his shaft. “Fuck, so good, sweetheart,” he croons. He mouths at your skin, sucking and biting and kissing. Trails of saliva already glisten against your throat. “So fucking good. I need to feel you, need to be inside you.” Each word is almost a gasp of wanton lust.

You raise your hips and he helps you without prompting, watching through hooded eyes from his place in your neck as you line him up with your entrance. You slowly, god so slowly, sink down onto him. He pants against your skin, kissing along your jaw in appreciation. You bring your hand, covered in his precum, to his face. The heady scent floods his senses. He licks your hand clean without a second thought.

His fingers dig almost painfully into your hips, as if he’s trying to dig invisible claws into your flesh. They help you sink deeper and deeper onto him, until he’s fully sheathed within you. His girth stretches and sits so heavily inside you. He lets out a shuddering breath. He wants you to move so fucking bad. Wants to fuck up into you until you’re scratching him through his sweater and dripping full with his cum. But you don’t.

You kiss his head again reassuringly. His hands release your hips in favor of lying flat across your back to keep you close once more. You trace your fingers along the edge of his cat ear. It twitches from the light touch, but doesn’t pull away. When you scratch at the base again, at the back where it meets his skull, Sylus honest-to-god whimpers.

“‘M not gonna last long,” he grits out, apologetic.

“I’m not asking you to.” You cup his cheek tenderly, stroking his heated cheek with your thumb. “Don’t fight it, my love.”

He sighs like a weight has been lifted from him. He nuzzles behind your ear, a silent thank you, before he digs his canine into your earlobe. He only lets up when he tastes blood. The pain is immediately soothed with a kitten lick.

“If only you knew what this felt like,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “I can smell your arousal, your soap, your scent. It’s all around me. I can’t escape it. And-” He hisses softly as his cock twitches inside you. He bites down on your pulse, breathing heavily as he fights off his orgasm for just a bit longer. “You’re so hot around me. Squeezing me so fucking tight.”

Your thumb rubs his inner ear, down close to the canal. He groans, leaning into your touch desperately. His face presses into your palm, kissing at the center breathlessly. “You’re so good to me,” he sighs. “So, so good.” His hands clutch at your shirt, one letting go to dig his fingers into the meat of your thigh. You can feel him tense beneath you, brow furrowing again from the building pressure.

You draw his lips back up to yours. It’s hardly much of a kiss as he loses the battle against his impending release. He pants and gasps and groans into your mouth as his cock twitches, coating your insides with hot spurts of cum. You caress his sensitive ears purposefully, rocking your hips gently against him to work him through his orgasm. It gathers into a beautiful ring around the base of his dick, filling you so much it has nowhere else to go. With a pinch on your hip, you stop moving, letting go of his ear in favor of cupping his face in both hands.

He rewards you with a proper kiss, though shaky as he catches his breath and comes down from the overbearing sensations that bombard him. He pulls away slowly and presses your foreheads together.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“Believe me, it was my pleasure.”

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is your smirk. He huffs a laugh. He kisses you again with a thoughtful hum. “You didn’t finish.”

You shake your head. “I’m okay,” you assure him. You brush his hair back from his face, careful not to brush against the cat ear. “We should take a bath.”

He scowls at the thought of water. Instead, he ducks his head down to bury his face back into your neck. “I’ll clean you up later.” He presses a kiss in the hollow of your throat. “My treat.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc

[fardwader]

you’re too good to me (and you know it, too) pt. 3

pairing: peter parker x fem reader

summary: For some unknown reason, Peter Parker cannot stop finding new, inventive ways to humiliate himself in front of you.

And for some reason, you keep helping him up anyway.

Or, the 5 times you save Peter— and the 1 time he saves you.

pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6

a/n: hiii, im so on the fence about this stupid chapter but i rlly hope u guys like this!!! also how tf do u describe the insides of a toaster?????? gaps? prongs???

wordcount: 2.2k

taglist: @ladylokilaufeyson5 @wlnut

tags: 5+1 fic, slow burn, friends to lovers, reader is annoyingly oblivious, peter is a sad dork, no use of y/n, sarcastic peter and an even more sarcastic reader, multi part, past gwen and peter, not canon compliant, gwen stacy is so beautiful...., crazu overuse of italics, reader is terrified and in denial

(three)

It starts with a knock.

Not a polite one— like a soft rap against your door, but a frantic, desperate thud against your door like someone tried to shoulder-check it open.

You groggily untangle yourself from your net of blankets, your movements coated in that thick, syrupy glaze of interrupted sleep. 

Your apartment is quiet, save for the rain tapping steadily against the windows, and your clock reads 1:27 AM in blinking neon-red digits.

You shuffle down your hallway, stifling a yawn. Only to open the door and see Peter Parker standing in your doorway. Barefoot.

Soaked from the head down. Clutching a duffel bag that looks older than he is, being aged even more by the sodden stare of it.

“I come bearing gifts.” 

“Jesus, Peter— what happened? Did you walk through the rain?”

“My apartment flooded,” he says simply, his footsteps squelching against your hardwood as he collapses onto your couch–your brand new couch, you’d like to add— like a soggy loaf of bread. 

“Like, Noah's-Ark-level flooded. Turns out, my upstairs neighbor decided tonight was the night to test the limits of modern plumbing,” he says, digging the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.

“Spoiler alert: the limits were not high.”

He smells like rain and moldy carpet and something else— maybe wet dog, but it's hard to tell at this point.

“That sounds like a nightmare,” you wince, before sauntering off to your bathroom, trying to find something Peter can dry off with.

“Oh, it gets better,” he says brightly, in that I’m-actually-spiraling-but-humor-is-my-defense-mechanism tone you’ve come to recognize. 

“The landlord’s gone AWOL. Maintenance guy took one look, said ‘damn, that’s rough,’ and just walked out like he had somewhere better to be.”

“That can’t be legal,” you shake your head.

“I tried to save my laptop,” he says solemnly, “Unclear if it survived. I think it drowned.”

You toss the towel at him gently, and he catches it with a tired sort of grace, rubbing it over his wet curls.

You stand there for a second, watching him halfheartedly dry off, until you finally say, “Okay, no offense, but you smell like shit.”

Peter lifts his arm and sniffs himself. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“You should take a shower,” you say, gesturing toward the bathroom with a lazy flick of your wrist. “Before your moldy aura seeps into my furniture.”

He blinks up at you from the couch, eyes wide and almost childlike. “Are you sure? I don’t want to, like, invade your space more than I already have. I know it’s late and—”

“Peter,” you interrupt, voice soft but firm. “You’ve done way more embarrassing things than taking a shower in my apartment.”

That earns you a tired laugh. “Good point.”

As he pads his way to your bathroom, you try to dig up some clean— well, clean-ish, clothes. 

An old pair of sweatpants you don’t remember buying and a hoodie that might’ve belonged to an ex, or maybe you just stole it from a roommate at some point. 

Either way, it’s oversized and cozy, and Peter accepts it with a grateful nod.

“Thanks,” he says, hoisting the bundle under his arm.

“The shower’s a little weird,” you warn as he heads toward the bathroom. “You kind of got to jiggle the handle a bit for it to work.”

Peter pauses in the doorway and turns to you, one eyebrow raised. “Jiggle it how?”

“Just grab it, shake it, sweet-talk it a little, and pray it works,” you say with a shrug. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, and for the first time tonight, the tension in his shoulders eases just a little. “Jiggle it how? Seductively or threateningly? There’s a huge difference.”

“Dealer’s choice.”

Then the bathroom door clicks shut, and you’re alone again, standing in the middle of your living room with a puddle on your floor and a couch that now smells like mold.

You sigh, before unzipping his mushy dufflebag and unsheathing his— likely broken, electronics. You're beginning to appreciate buying that huge bag of rice when it was on sale.

Fifteen minutes later, Peter emerges, steam billowing around him like he’s just walked out of a sauna. 

His curls are still damp but now springy and fluffy, and he’s swimming in the hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The sweatpants hang low on his hips, the drawstring tied in a lazy knot.

“You’re alive,” you announce, tossing the soggy towel into the laundry hamper.

“Barely,” he grins, padding over in your fuzzy socks— where did he find those? “I sweet-talked the faucet like you said. Called it ‘baby girl.’ I feel gross now.”

You snort, “I tried doing that rice trick on your stuff, hopefully something’s salvageable— and I threw your clothes in the wash, it’ll probably be ready by tomorrow.”

Peter flops down onto your couch again, this time in— thankfully— dry clothes, smelling faintly of your vanilla body wash, something warm and familiar clinging to him in a way that makes your chest pull tight.

You like the smell of your scent on him— you quickly push that thought down before it can surface.

He exhales, long and heavy, like someone who’s been carrying the world on his shoulders.

You plop down beside him, curling one leg underneath you. “So what’s the plan now? You gonna go camp out in the lab and pray Dr. Connors doesn’t find you?”

“Tempting,” he says, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes slipping shut for just a second.

In the silence, you slowly trace his profile with your eyes, coated by the warm honey-glow of your desk lamp. 

He looks tired. So tired.

His hazel eyes dull with exhaustion, shadows hanging under them like bruises. You’ve never really noticed how tired he looks until now.

Something in your chest folds in on itself, like your heart breaking into two. 

You don’t like seeing him like this.

In the countless months you've grown to know Peter Parker, you've learned he is so many things. 

Witty, smart, annoyingly self-deprecating, infuriatingly good at making you laugh— but you've never seen him this tired, this frustrated.

The way his shoulders are slumped, like every bone in his body is numb with exhaustion, or the way his fingers clamp around the edge of your throw pillow like he's desperately trying to hold himself together.

"You can stay here if you want," you say, almost a whisper. The words slip out before you can even think. 

"Just for a while, I mean. Like, until things get figured out with your place.

Peter opens his eyes slowly, his head turning to look at you. "Are you sure? I mean, you're already doing me a huge favor letting me in this late, letting me shower, and I—"

"Peter," you cut him off, "You're my friend. I don't even have to think twice about letting you crash on my couch."

Your words seem to ease the tension resting on his shoulders. 

"Thanks," he says softly, so softly that it almost gets swallowed by the sound of the rain outside. "I never realized how much I needed to hear that."

A gentle smile makes its way onto your face, as you nudge his knee with yours. "You'd do the same for me anyways."

"Yeah," he chuckles, "except my couch is like, two feet wide and smells like Chinese takeout. I'm pretty sure you'd rather take your chances in a motel or something."

You laugh, it's airy and genuine. "Guess I'm doing you a favor, then."

He smiles at that— it's small and tired, but it's real— and leans his head back again, eyes fluttering shut once more.

“Alright, Parker. Let’s head to bed, I still have work in the morning, y’know,” you say, standing up to fetch an extra blanket. 

But before you can get very far, you feel a sudden weight wrap tightly around you. 

It's Peter, arms locked tightly around your torso, face pressed into the crook of your neck like it's the only thing keeping him upright. 

It catches you off guard. Not just the hug, but how hard he's clutching onto you, like he's afraid you might disappear if he loosens his grip. 

You freeze. "Uh, Peter?" 

"Just let me have this," he mumbles, breath warming your neck, “Please.”

You don't say anything, just slowly bring your arms up and hug him back.

It's a little stiff at first, awkward, so to speak, like you aren’t quite sure where your limbs should go— how to hold someone who’s about to unravel in your arms.

But then, he exhales shakily against your shoulder. Your fingers find the fabric of the hoodie stretched over his back, and you give the smallest squeeze, just enough to say I’m here.

“I just…” he starts, then stops, the words catching in his throat. “I think I needed not to be alone. Just for a little bit.”

"You're not alone, I promise." You nod against him.

You can feel his fingers curl even deeper into the fabric of your shirt, like he's trying to anchor himself.

Eventually, the hug loosens, no longer as desperate. Just tired.

And kind of uncomfortable, because your neck is cramping and your legs are starting to tingle.”

"Pete, come on," you murmur, "my feet are starting to go numb, let's at least sit down before we both pass out."

He laughs, breathy and reluctant, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy with that familiar mist of tears.

"Sorry," he mumbles, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm not usually this clingy—"

You raise a brow. “You flooded your apartment, almost broke your laptop, and ran here in the rain. I think you get a free pass for a hug, man.”

He cracks a smile. "Wow, your standards are low."

“Don’t push it, Parker.”

You grab him an extra blanket from your closet and toss it over to him, watching as he curls up on the couch, knees tucked in, sheets swallowing him like a cocoon. 

He's still tired, still worn. But at least the worst of the weight seems a little lifted now.

You hover, unsure if you should say anything, do anything. But his breathing starts to slow, lashes brushing his cheeks as his eyes begin to slip shut.

So you just click the lamp off, leaving only the soft patter of rain and the quiet that's settled over your living room.

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of coffee. And smoke.

It takes a second to register, in the haze of the morning, your sleep-addled brain just assumes you're dreaming. 

But the scent is very much real, wafting in from your kitchen.

Peter is in your kitchen. You realize.

You pad over slowly and catch him, tufts of hair sticking up in different directions, the sleeves of your hoodie rolled halfway up his arms.

He's staring down your toaster like it’s the culprit who flooded his place.

"Burning down my apartment is a weird way of repaying me, Parker."

He jumps.

 "Oh, god no. I mean, maybe? I was trying to make you breakfast, but apparently, everything in your apartment has a grudge against me."

You peer into the gaps of the toaster, the bread. Or what remains of it lies charred between the metal prongs. "It's weird, you have to jiggle it a certain way to get it to work."

Peter snorts, "Does everything in your apartment need to be jiggled to work? Or is it just me?"

"No, yeah, pretty much," you say as he hands you a mug. 

It’s warm, and it’s the same one you gave him from the night you first met— you can’t help but smile at the thought.

He watches like he’s waiting for a verdict as you bring the mug closer to your lips, sipping carefully. 

“Not bad, Peter,” you say. 

He practically lights up, tension easing from his features, “High praise coming from you.”

The rest of the morning eases into a slow rhythm— it’s strangely domestic. You both shuffle around the apartment in that kind of shared haze people fall into when they’ve spent the night in the same space. 

You'd assumed that last night would just be a one-time thing. A stepping stone or pit stop before he figured something else out.

 And then a day passed. Then another.

It's not like he officially asked to stay, but his clothes have their own drawer– then later own it's own closet after a short trip to IKEA— his toothbrush settled next to yours on the bathroom sink, and his shoes found a permanent place in your doorway.

He started doing things around the house, too.

 Like washing the dishes, fetching the groceries, and always remembering to buy oat milk instead of regular milk because you preferred it.

You didn’t mind. Not really.

But it also... scared you a little.

Because it was easy. Way too easy. And somewhere deep in your chest, you were afraid of what that meant.

You liked your relationship with Peter the way it was— banter-filled, sarcastic, safe. 

You were friends. Best friends, even. And you didn’t want that to change. 

Because if things did change— if lines blurred or feelings crept too far past the edges— everything could fall apart. Things could get messy.

So you did what you always did: keep him at arm's length, make jokes, act like you didn’t feel your heart splitting into two at the thought of him not being yours.

And maybe, just maybe, if you kept pretending long enough, you’d believe it too.

previous chapter !! or next chapter !!

[prettygirl-gabi]

For Real This Time

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Fluff, light angst (resolved), redemption arc, playful flirting, first-person POV

Summary: Paige finally asks you out properly, making sure that when she asks you to be her girlfriend, it's for real this time.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 of Played (final part)

Tag: @paigeluvvr @janaelalfysloml

A month had passed.

A month since the mess at the party. A month since Paige and Ice had nearly ruined everything. A month since they both worked their asses off to fix it.

And, surprisingly, they had.

Paige was back to being her usual self—focused, competitive, an absolute menace on the court. Ice was still her goofy self but noticeably more careful with her words. And me? I was finally in a place where I didn’t feel like my heart was caught between resentment and longing.

But there was still something missing.

Paige and I were close again, laughing and joking like before, but there was an invisible line we hadn’t crossed. A tension that lingered, an unspoken what now? hanging in the air.

Apparently, today was the day Paige decided to answer that question.

“You got plans tonight, mamas?”

I glanced up from my phone, finding Paige standing in front of me with that signature cocky smirk.

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my lips. “Why?”

She grinned, dropping onto the seat beside me and draping an arm over my shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Because I’m taking you out.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you are?”

“Mhm.” She nodded confidently. “A proper date. No bets, no games—just me tryna sweep you off your feet.”

I tried to ignore the way my heart did a stupid little flip. “And what if I say no?”

Paige tilted her head, pretending to think. “Then I’ll just have to show up at your dorm with flowers and serenade you until you agree.”

I laughed. “Serenade me? You cannot sing, Bueckers.”

She placed a dramatic hand over her heart. “Damn, ma, that’s crazy. You haven’t even heard me yet.”

“Don’t need to.” I smirked. “I just know.”

Paige chuckled, leaning in closer until her lips were near my ear. “Guess you’ll just have to go on this date to find out.”

I swallowed, heat creeping up my neck. She was so annoying. And attractive. And annoyingly attractive.

I sighed, feigning exasperation. “Fine.”

Her grin was immediate. “Yeah?”

I nudged her. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

Paige just laughed, standing up and stretching. “Wear something cute, baby. Not that you don’t always look cute—” she winked, backing away, “—but, y’know, extra cute. For me.”

I rolled my eyes again, but there was no hiding the smile on my face.

That Night

Paige picked me up from my dorm, looking obnoxiously good in a fitted sweater and jeans.

She let out a low whistle when she saw me. “Damn. You tryna kill me, ma?”

I bit my lip, playing along. “That depends. You gonna survive this date?”

Paige smirked. “Not if you keep looking at me like that.”

I shook my head, laughing as she led me to her car.

Dinner was fun—Paige was extra flirty, taking every opportunity to touch my hand, brush my hair back, lean in too close just to see if I’d blush. (Spoiler: I did.)

At one point, she fed me a bite of her food, watching me with a knowing smile. “Damn, I missed this.”

I swallowed, meeting her gaze. “Missed what?”

Paige’s smile softened. “Us. Being like this.”

My heart clenched in the best way. “Yeah… me too.”

She reached across the table, gently lacing her fingers with mine. “So let’s make it official, the right way.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

Paige chuckled. “I mean, I’ve already won you over, the fair and square way.”

I rolled my eyes, but she squeezed my hand before I could protest.

“Let me do this right,” she murmured, her voice softer now. “Be my girlfriend, for real this time. No bullshit, no bets. Just me and you.”

Something warm bloomed in my chest. “For real?”

“For real.” Paige’s thumb brushed over my knuckles. “No games. Just us.”

I exhaled, smiling. “Okay.”

Paige grinned. “Yeah?”

I laughed. “Yeah.”

She squeezed my hand again before pulling me out of my seat and into a tight hug, swaying us slightly. “Bout damn time, ma.”

I melted into her, hiding my smile in her shoulder. “Shut up, Bueckers.”

She just laughed, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Can’t. Too busy being in love with my girl.”

And this time, when she said it, I knew she meant every word.

Later That Night

We were curled up on my couch, some random rom-com playing in the background. Paige had her arm around me, fingers tracing slow circles on my hip.

“You know,” she murmured, her lips grazing my temple, “this is the part where we usually ruin things.”

I tensed slightly. “Paige—”

She pulled back, shaking her head. “No, not like that. I just mean… this time, I wanna do it right. I don’t wanna rush or mess it up. You mean too much to me.”

My heart squeezed. “You mean a lot to me too.”

Paige smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Then we take it slow. No pressure, no expectations—just you and me.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of all the past mistakes lift just a little. “That sounds good.”

Paige grinned. “Yeah?”

I smirked. “Yeah.”

She leaned in, her lips barely brushing mine before pausing. “Can I kiss you?”

I laughed softly. “Paige, we’ve already kissed before.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, but not like this.”

Something about the way she said it sent warmth flooding through me.

So I whispered, “Yes.”

And when her lips met mine, it wasn’t rushed or reckless. It wasn’t tangled in confusion or fear.

It was real.

For real this time.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[heyimkana]

Kaannnnnaaaa, plz pillow talk spoilers.... Even just a sneak peak... PLZ IM BEGGING

LMFAOO anything for you juliet 😭🫶

“What about you, Husband? Which part of my features do you like the most?”

Jinwoo, so effortlessly, lifts your body and places you back on the bed, your hair strewn on the pillow as he hovers above you. “I love everything about you,” he confesses in a breathy whisper. “I adore every part of you, even those that you try to hide, those that you think don’t deserve to be loved.” His fingers trace the blemish on your face, the soft scars on your body that you’d gotten during your adventurous childhood days, the stretch marks on your stomach that never truly disappeared after your first pregnancy, and the little dark circles under your eyes from all the sleepless nights. Jinwoo adores all your imperfections, as they are still perfections in his eyes. “But if I had to choose one, then I’d have to say…” His gaze cascades down your face, his thumb tracing over the shape of your mouth. “This.”

“My… mouth?” You reply a little hazily, your own stare falling to his lips. “Why…?”

“Because I love the way you kiss me,” he whispers, keeping his lips a hair’s breadth away from yours as he gathers what's left of his self-control to finish the rest of his answer. You can almost feel the shape of the words he speaks. “Your lips are a perfect fit against mine. I love how soft they feel, how sweet you taste. And they just look so beautiful, and so damn… kissable.” He bites his own lip, fighting the urge to claim yours. He doesn’t want to give in to temptation just yet. He wishes to douse the curiosity that brims in your eyes, even when your tongue is too shy to speak it. 

“I love the way they move when you talk to me,” he continues in sotto voce, his thumb brushing the edge of your mouth. “I love how gorgeous they look when you smile.” Every cell of his body, similar to yours, begs him to bridge the distance. “And when you say my name… The way these pretty lips look when you say it… It drives me wild.” His hand suddenly begins to move, roaming up your thigh, eliciting a startled gasp. “And that—those cute little noises you make when I touch you. Those beautiful, sweet little sounds…” He sighs longingly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “God, I feel like I’m losing my mind whenever I’m with you.”

Six years. Six years you’ve been together, and you still have these effects on him. And his effects on you are even worse.

You’ve forgotten how many times he’s lit your body on fire tonight, merely by his lines. But perhaps it’s not because of the words he speaks, it’s the never-ending desire that coats them. He makes you feel like you’re a prize to be won, a heaven’s gift that he still yearns, no matter how often he’s tasted you.

“But beyond all that… What I love the most about your mouth is…” He brings himself to your ear, his voice deep and breathy. “What you can do with it.” 

so I'm probably gonna tag all the people who I already tagged in the previous chapter, but if there's anyone else who wants to be tagged, let me know 👀

Read Pillow Talk here if you haven't ❤️

[ordinary-barbie]

coming attractions.

Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 2k words

tags: oral (fem receiving), swearing, pet names (“babe” and “baby”), degradation (Billy calls reader a "slut"), nipple play, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, basically horny Billy deserves his own warning, Billy has a big dick, modern!au, slight spoilers for the movie Game Night (sorry)

summary: when you invite Billy over to watch a movie, he's not expecting you to, you know, actually watch the movie. But once the credits roll, you're gonna be in for it...

18+ only—minors do not interact!

You were absolutely buzzing with energy right now, and it's all because of him: Billy Hargrove.

You'd met Billy through Steve Harrington, a mutual friend, and were instantly smitten with this charming, foul-mouthed man. The two of you had gone on a few dates, and you finally felt comfortable enough to have him over at your apartment. You texted him, trying to be cool and casual as you asked him if he wanted to come over and watch a movie, and you were over the moon when he'd accepted. The two of you set a date: Friday night, 8 p.m.

Tonight was the night, and you were scurrying around the place, ensuring that everything was perfect. An assorted array of delightful movie theater snacks? Check. Ice-cold sodas chilling in the cooler? Double check. Appropriate movie choice (Game Night, a movie that, as it turns out, you and Billy both adored)? Checkity-check-check. Now all you had to do was anxiously wait for the guest of honor to arrive.

When you got an "im here" text from Billy, your stomach did Olympic-level backflips. You silently told yourself to be calm and cool, but who were you kidding? This was Billy Hargrove, a man who was so hot that it almost hurt to look at him sometimes. There was no chill, only the illusion of nonchalance.

You opened the door and there he was, looking like an absolute dream in only a white T-shirt and jeans. He grinned lazily, holding a bottle of Prosecco in one hand. "Hey there, princess," he purred.

You eyed the bottle and snorted. "Billy, I told you, you didn't need to bring anything over."

"And I didn't listen," Billy simply replied. You shook your head, smiling, and invited him in. You kicked the door closed behind Billy, locking up while he put the wine on your kitchen counter.

"If you want snacks or drinks, I got 'em all stocked up," you informed Billy. "We can start the movie whenever."

You sat down on the couch and Billy flopped down next to you. He examined the assortment of snacks you'd laid out on the coffee table, lighting up once he noticed the family-size bag of Nerds Gummy Clusters.

"I remember you saying how obsessed with them you are," you explained, looking at Billy fondly.

“Have I ever told you how fuckin’ amazing you are?” Billy asked, his voice warm with affection.

“Yeah…but I don’t mind hearing it again,” you teased, giving Billy a peck on the cheek.

-

Things were going pretty swell, if you did say so yourself. You and Billy were cuddled up, enjoying your snacks and cackling at the movie’s jokes as if you were hearing them for the first time.

And then Billy started kissing your neck.

“Billy, no,” you moaned, trying your best to keep your composure. “I wanna watch the movie.”

“Baby, come on,” Billy whined, mouthing at your collarbone. “I thought this was gonna be, like, a ‘Netflix and chill’ kinda thing.”

“But Annie just shot Max in the arm!” you protested, not moving from the screen. “It’s really starting to get good now.”

Billy pouted. “But babe, I’m horny.”

You giggled. “Billy, I didn’t put effort into this magical movie-watching experience for us to just go fuck instead.”

“Fine, we can watch the damn movie,” Billy acquiesced, letting out a dramatic sigh. You grinned smugly, knowing that Billy was such a softy for you that he would fold like a house of cards.

“But baby? Just wait until it’s over,” he whispered lowly in your ear, sending a shiver throughout your body.

-

The rest of the movie night went smoothly. Billy kept his hands to himself, and both of you could just relax and enjoy the comedic hijinks. You could get used to this—weekly movie dates with Billy wrapped up in his warm embrace and eating copious amounts of junk food.

"That was so fun," you said, stretching your legs once the credits started to roll. "We should definitely do this again!"

"Definitely," Billy agreed, looking at you hungrily. You blinked, confused, until you remembered: Billy must be pent-up after you rebuffed his advances earlier. Oh, you were in for it now.

You and Billy had definitely done stuff but hadn't made it to home base, so to speak. You sat back down and squeezed your thighs together, looking at Billy with wide-eyed anticipation.

A lazy grin stretched across Billy's face. "C'mere, baby," he said, patting his lap.

You obliged, climbing into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. He cradled your face in his hands, kissing you deeply. God, you didn't think you'd ever get tired of feeling Billy's lips on yours. They were so soft, and they kissed like an absolute champion.

Soon, Billy's hands started roaming, feeling up your tits through your t-shirt and cupping your ass. You quickly shed your shirt and bra, allowing him to grope the flesh of your breasts.

"These fuckin tits," he muttered, before wrapping his lips around your left nipple and sucking. You moaned wantonly, arching your back for him. He soon switched to the other nipple, holding your right breast with one and snaking the other one into your sweats, pumping his fingers into your needy cunt, already sopping wet for him.

Billy released his lips from your boobs, chuckling darkly. "Well well, would you look at that? Someone's feeling a bit needy, hm?"

He continued fingering your pussy and you moaned at the sensation, your walls clamping down around his digits.

"Shit, baby—you're so tight for me. Can't wait to feel this around my cock," Billy said, grunting with pleasure.

You felt something stirring in your stomach, approaching your high as Billy stroked your clit again and again. "Billy, I—I'm—I'm close."

"Atta girl," Billy encouraged you. "Soak my fingers, baby."

You whimpered, relishing the pressure of his thick fingers inside of you. He curled two fingers, pumping them in and out of you, and that’s when the dam broke. You came with a cry, clenching down hard on his fingers and writhing in his lap.

Billy pulled his hand out of your pants, licking off your glistening slick while you came back down to earth, dealing with the aftershocks. He shut his eyes and moaned, acting like he’d just consumed the most delicious five-star meal.

“Pants off. Now,” Billy commanded, kissing the shell of your ear.

You’d never gotten undressed so quickly in your life. You flung your sweats and underwear to some corner of the apartment—you’d worry about finding them later.

"You wanna take this to the bedroom?" you asked Billy. "I'd rather not get cum on this couch, no offense."

"Lead the way, princess," Billy drawled.

You took him by the hand, leading him to your room. Once you were both inside, Billy's mouth was on yours again, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Billy walked towards your bed, dropping you on top of it.

"Spread those legs for me, gorgeous," Billy growled. As soon as you opened up for him, Billy's mouth was on your cunt, lapping at it like a man who was dying of thirst. He alternated between normal licks and flattening his tongue as he pumped it in and out of your opening. You gasped at the feeling of Billy's tongue on your clit, curling your toes. It felt like every nerve ending in your body was on fire in the best way.

"Billy, I'm gonna cum," you moaned, your legs moving to clamp down on either side of Billy's head. You saw stars as you orgasmed again, coating Billy's face with your juices.

Billy licked his lips, grinning devilishly. "Goddamn, baby. Pussy always tastes so good f'me."

You felt like floating. To say that Billy was good at eating pussy seemed like an understatement. No other man had been able to eat you out like that—Billy ought to teach a TED Talk on the subject.

Billy fished around in his pocket, pulling out a shiny metallic wrapper. "It's okay, I'm on the pill," you assured him.

Billy grinned, putting the condom back in his pocket. "And I'm clean; I just got tested. Haven't fucked anybody else since I met you, baby."

That stirred something in your belly. You and Billy hadn't made things officially official yet, but it felt good to know that you were the only woman on his mind.

"Take your clothes off, please," you begged Billy, jutting out your lower lip.

Billy chuckled deeply before quickly ridding himself of his clothes. You let out a breath, gawking at Billy in all of his naked glory. Of course, he was buff—his gym escapades were well documented on his Instagram stories—but what you weren't expecting was his dick, massive and fully erect, leaking with precum. Your mind was racing, wondering how that was even going to fit.

"Like what you see?" Billy asked smugly. You bit your lip, suddenly finding it difficult to look at him.

"Billy—I'm not gonna lie, I don't know how it's gonna fit," you admitted, anxiety pooling in your gut.

Billy softened his gaze, though he was still smirking slightly. "Gonna make it fit, baby. Don't worry 'bout it."

Billy got on top of you, leaving a trail of kisses down your body, starting with your neck. He caressed your inner thighs, leaving little pecks. Then Billy rubbed your hip to soothe you and ease your nerves.

"Gonna put just the tip in at first, all right?" Billy informed.

He slowly eased his tip inside, eliciting a whine from your lips. Billy continued to slowly push inside of you, stretching out your walls, until his cock was fully ensconced in your warm cunt.

Billy called out your name, moaning with pleasure. "Fuck, baby. You're so wet and warm inside—might never pull out." You keened, relishing how full he felt inside you but wanting more. Your nerves seemed to vanish as lust started to cloud your brain.

Billy hummed, slowly pulling out before pushing back in. You let out a cry as Billy continued to thrust into you, hitting your G-spot just right.

"Billy—ah!—feels so good," you sobbed, filled to the brim with pleasure. "I'm so close."

"Yeah? You're taking me so well, baby, like a good little slut. Want you to cum all over my cock," Billy murmured, snapping his hips as he sped up his movements. You whimpered, clenching down on Billy's cock as you fell apart for him.

"Gonna cum," Billy warned, gripping your hips. "Got a huge load for you, baby."

Billy released inside you with a grunt, filling you up with his warm, thick cum. You sighed, feeling fucked out and content.

Billy didn't pull out right away, opting to keep his dick nestled in your warm pussy. You didn't let guys cockwarm you, but you would make an exception for Billy, especially after an evening of mind-blowing sex.

"You're mine," Billy murmured, pulling you close to him and kissing your neck.

"Is this your way of asking me to be your girlfriend, Mr. Hargrove? What a gentleman," you teased, gazing fondly at Billy.

Billy snorted, rolling his eyes. "Just say yes, will ya?"

You decided to mess with him a little. "What makes you think I want to say yes? Did you think the sex was that good?"

Billy flashed you a cocky Cheshire Cat grin. "Obviously. And you're fuckin' hot. But it's more than that. I hate getting all sappy and shit but—I really like you, okay? You're funny and sweet and I like having you around."

You could've melted right then and there. "Of course, I'll be your girlfriend, you big goof," you said, nuzzling into the side of his neck. Billy hummed contentedly, rubbing your back.

"Hey Billy?" you asked, trying your best to fight the sleepiness that was taking over you.

"Yeah?" Billy muttered, softly kissing your shoulder.

"I gotta pee,” you shyly admitted. “And take a shower.”

Billy let out another dramatic groan but pulled out of you anyway and let you get out of bed, leering at you as cum dripped down your thighs

“Want some company?” Billy flirted. “For the shower, not the toilet. Obviously.”

You giggled, playfully shoving Billy’s shoulder before you disappeared into the bathroom. “You’re so ridiculous.”

“Only for you, baby,” Billy joked. “Only for you.”