#and slides easily through the door

[omnificent-orion]

Do you think it's snowing in the real Daybreak Town, too?

[muntitled]

Tic-Tac-Toe

Pairing: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: Every Wednesday your schedule consisted of attending classes during the day, and satisfying the needs of a sadist through the night.

Warning: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Violence, Kidnapping, Isolation, SociallyAnxious!Reader, Blindfolds, Stalking, Knives, Blood, Gore, Stockholm Syndrome, Smut (+18) mdni, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Insertion, Fingering, Rough Sex, Erotophonophilia, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Dacryphillia, Sadomasochism, Gunplay, Deepthroating, Breeding Kink, Unprotected sex

A/N: Hell is empty

4k Words

You're strapped in a chair, like always, and you are blindfolded because he doesn't trust easily.

It's terribly annoying.

At any point of during and after your little 'arrangement' you could have called the cops. Doesn't he understand that?

Every Wednesday, you're taken from the warmth of your apartment, and you're delivered right back at 00:00 on the dot, every Thursday with barely an inch of life left in your bones. You'd either always come back wet, with semen sliding between your thighs, or with mysterious marks- old and new- crawling underneath your sweater. Whatever mood he was in, he'd always leave you feeling sore.

It should have bothered you.

The thought of seeing this large, domineering shadow-in-a-suit every Wednesday should not overwhelm you with all these feelings of excitement. Instead, you should do like all the mentally ill girls do and just get some fucking help.

But you want him to trust you, for some reason.

Which was utterly ridiculous considering the fact that to him, you were something akin to a porcelain wind up toy for his amusement. You had no business requesting he remove the blindfold aspect but still, you asked anyway. Toy's couldn't be trusted, could they?

"I'd really appreciate it if I didn't have to wear one of these everytime I visit your place." He removes the blindfold, and in a second, your vision is filled with nothing but him. One moment you were in the cozy warmth of your dorm room. Curled up on the couch while your roommate spends her youth effectively- out with boyfriends and friends and everything you didn't have. You answered the front door when you heard his special knock, like you always do. You walked with him to the cab. You let him put on the blindfold. You said 'I'm fine’ when the taxi driver got a little too nosy and you let him lead you away from your boring life.

If only for a few hours.

You'd let him do whatever he wanted for those few hours because such surrender was almost sacred. You forfeited your safety in his hands, to do with it whatever he pleased and in that, you found rest. Whatever happens, happens.

Forget this room- what was essentially his personal dungeon, windowless, red and boasting various torture objects- your eyes are only on him.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't feel the need to kidnap me anymore? We do this every Wednesday," You become more childish around him and he lets you. Like you forgot you are a fully autonomous university student. There was power in that too. "Surely we've established some sort of trust?” He doesn't respond to you immediately. You crane your head up at him, hungry to lock eyes with his cold, empty slits that enchanted you body and soul.

You are in love with him, perhaps.

That's a logical response isn't it?

You laugh almost.

Listening to yourself try to rationalize your fondness for such a horrible man.

Said horrible man is silent. All you hear is the clicking of his dress shoes as he moves to the leather seat directly across from yours. Your eyes scan over all his movements.

The right corner of his lip quirks up. A small coffee table creates the only distance between you and he bends over to pour you both a generous glass of Brandy on the rocks. You don't drink it. Ever since he's been bringing you here, you never do. He knows this, yet still he pours.

"This relationship isn't about trust." He says finally. Something inside you, that is perhaps a little broken, actually purrs at the sound of his voice. You're hyperaware of your thighs squeezing together on the leather seat. They're spilling out of the sundress you purposely wore today.

Lots of your clothes were for the function of comfort. Your body was full and curvy and not always something to be advertised, unless you wished it to. Tonight, you wanted to show off as much as possible.

A thick leather band is keeping both your wrists locked to the armrests, while he sits back, free and so irrevocably in charge it should scare you. It should. But the sick and incredibly deranged thing is that it doesn't.

Outside, the rain is beating down on whatever building you're in, casting a thick veneer of grey all across the city.

But inside this velvet room... your heart is hammering inside its cage as you watch him undo the buttons of his crisp suit. A black one today. Jet black like his hair.

Although-

"You've got more grey in your hair than last week." You can't help but say.

He tilts his head in inquisition. "Are you insulting me or complimenting me?"

"I'll leave that up to you to decide," you shrug your shoulders as much as you can under these limited restraints. At least he hasn't restrained your ankles this time. Progress. "In here, you're the boss. Right?"

He takes a sip of his drink until finally, you've finally locked eyes. Your bare toes curl and your back arches slightly as you sit a bit straighter in your seat. Like you're in a lecture hall, although he is far more interesting than any of your professors.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," he finally says as he takes one more sip of his drink before bringing his briefcase onto the coffee table. Its presence is ominous and so horribly loud for an inanimate object. It kickstarts all your dormant nerves, revving up all the rest of your senses that have yet to catch up to the fact that you were facing the man of both your desires and nightmares once again.

"Who have you told about our arrangement?" The question causes you to roll your eyes. He watches the petulant movement with that same, silent smile and blank eyes. He unclicks the briefcase. Your stomach lurches and your thighs squeeze together. Pavlov's dog.

"Every time you ask me-" an object clinks onto the table. A butcher knife.

You try to pull your eyes away from the objects he's placing on the table, one by one. "Everytime you ask me if I've told anyone about our arrangement-" another object. A wooden spoon beside the knife. "Everytime I tell you the same thing."

Your throat closes when he uncovers a dildo. Bright pink and fucking menacing. "Carry on talking." He says, snapping your gaze away from the objects lining the table.

"I don't have any friends." Your voice is wobblier. You try to deny the sight of the rabbit vibrator, "It's the reason you picked me." You clear your throat as you hoped to clear all the nerves beginning to fog your mind. "Someone could've followed me here. B-But I don't really know anyone enough to care." The final object that clunks onto the glass coffee table and this time, you're unable to look away.

"Are we ready to begin?"

The metal revolver laying quiet and undisturbed beside the rabbit vibrator makes everything else on the table look like children's toys. Even the butcher knife.

You pull at the restraints, your legs quivering slightly as you shift and writhe in the seat. He studies you as closely as you were once studying him. You can see the excitement begin to flood his eyes at the physical manifestation of your discomfort.

"Now you're getting it." He nods sardonically, taking another sip from his glass before placing the briefcase on the floor beside him. "You were a little too happy to see me," he joked, letting out an airy exhale of laughter.

"You wanna hazard a guess as to what we'll be playing today?" He's smiling, genuinely. With that look in his eyes you can tell he's hovering in the clouds. Meanwhile you've begun to feel real fear. No matter how regular these visits might become you'd never get used to him. It's impossible. Not when he found new and daring ways to torture and pleasure you every single week. You couldn't get used to something as brash and unconventional as him. Like the conditions of a child in a broken home, he kept his tactics inconsistent so that every week is a new hell or perhaps- depending on his mood- heaven.

"If I guess wrong?" You swallow thickly and something dark in him settles. He spreads his legs more, there's a twitch inside his lips before he smiles again.

"Well, guessing isn't the game, so you'll be fine."

You nod your head... assessing the objects. There's menacing objects and household objects. Even just looking at them you can tell what they all have in common.

"Am I going to have to insert-"

"You're not guessing." His voice booms. He rests his elbow on the armrests, his hands corded with veins seem itching to do something, you're not sure what. "I said guess." He commands.

"Hide and seek?"

He snickers, "A favourite-"

"More like your favourite." You snip back, "I couldn't sit down the whole week." You frown at the memory. That week he'd brought you to an abandoned warehouse, letting you run the entire perimeter full.

"It's in your best interest to keep coming to our sessions-" he reminds you, snapping you back into the present.

"You're paying my university fees, I'm not complaining." You nod, before plastering a thin smile on your face, "All I have to do every week is prostitute myself to a literal sadist-"

"Have you given up on guessing today's game?" He didn't like you making him hyper aware of the fact that this dynamic, whatever it is, is considered objectively bad. And so you're not surprised when he swiftly moves past the topic.

He leans forward. His large hand disappears under his chair before uncovering a small whiteboard. Four lines- 2 horizontals are running across 2 verticals, creating 9 blocks. He stands up, while your eye is still focusing on the board. From your point of view it sits underneath the row of objects on the table. You don't even realize your right wrist strap is being untied.

"Colour?" He asks, pushing a crate of whiteboard markers towards you. With your now free hand you pick the pink one.

He snickers. "Predictable." He whispers before placing a large, domineering hand on your head. He presses down your braids, patting you like a stray he's rescued from the cold. You stare aimlessly ahead, fearing you won't be able to contain everything you've begun to feel for him if you lock eyes now.

"We're playing tic-tac-toe," he relents. His hand lingers on your head a bit longer before he's stepping away.

"With a twist, I presume?"

"Clever girl," he nods, walking back to his seat. "So you're aware of the objects."

"Place a gun in front of a girl and she's going to notice."

"Paranoid girl." He tsks before leaning forward.

"You want to start or should I?"

"Wait-" you swallow, "What happens if I win?"

He smiles that dazzling, debonair smile.

"You pick which one goes inside you."

Lightning cracks across the sky. A chorus of thunder roars all at once like some kind of phenomenon and your lips stutter open.

"Th-That's insane I-"

"I shouldn't have to remind you that you came here out of your own volition. "

"What happens if you win?"

"Then I choose." He says.

Your eyes skate over the object. It doesn't take an ivy league graduate to hazard a guess as to which of the objects he's itching to stick inside you.

"There's a fucking knife here-" You're trembling. Tears are pooling in your eyes. It doesn't even matter that you're a somewhat decent tic tac toe player. It doesn't matter that you're confident in this game. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

"And there's also a spoon," he nods, neutrally, "And a vibrator, and a dildo. Etcetera. Etcetera." He leans forward, unclicking his whiteboard pen, "your words are just words, Darling. You're just listing things. Start," he says, with a deadly lilt in his voice. "Or I will."

You scramble to uncap your marker with one hand, all while he watches with dead and black eyes. You knew that whoever starts the game was placed at a big advantage and so you're nearly scrambling to place that dignified X in the center block.

"Clever girl." He says once again, drawing his blue 'O' directly beside your pink 'X'. You aim for the block above him. He blocks it. You aim for the block beside the center. He blocks that too.

Your victory comes too quickly. You barely feel it as you strike a line vertically through the blocks. 3 X's.

Relief washes over you but it's overcast with doubt. Like you're celebrating in trepidation as you watch him stand up.

"Congratulations! Which do you choose?"

"I can pick anything?" You ask, staring up at him, bright eyes wild with the adrenaline that comes with wanting to preserve your organs.

"Anything you want, my little winner."

You begin to lean over. His eyebrows quirk up when you wrap a small hand around his wrist.

"I pick that." You say breathlessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his hands at his side. And you watch as he walks towards you, as if compelled by an unforeseen force. His palms are calloused underneath yours and you blow out several unstable breaths as he stands above you. So imposing it's breathtaking.

"You sure?" It's the way he asks it that has you second guessing. And perhaps he sees the caution seeping into your eyes because there's excitement lurking in his. Before you're even able to formulate a response, his hand is locked tightly around your esophagus, vacuuming all pathways shut until you're writhing for air.

"A fine, fine choice," He's becoming more and more riled up the more you writhe in your seat, trying to scrounge for a single breath of air. He doesn't let you. Instead he moves behind you, before leaning down.

If you could breathe, you would shiver at the feeling of his lips behind your ear. "Here we go-" he whispers, before reaching around your torso with his free hand before forcing your legs open. The second he lets his three digits stab into your cunt, he uncurls the grip on your throat as you make a horrid sound somewhere between a moan, a scream, and a haggard gasp. "FUCK- Sl-Slowdown-" you knew better than to request something like that. All you hear is a snicker from behind you as pain blossoms all across your nether regions. He's not gentle. He's not kind. He doesn't allow you to adjust to his fingers before he's scissoring them inside you, causing a blood-curdling scream to rip itself out of your throat. Your back is arched and you're trying to get away from him but the fucking persists.

"You've been wet like this for me the entire time?" He sounds absolutely demented, behind you, "You wanted this didn't you?" He bites at your ear as the first tears begin to pool at your eyes, "My little winner."

"P-Please stop-" His fingers are restless inside you. Curling and uncurling. Scissoring and stabbing as if wanting to open you up and split you all the way in half.

"What a pretty little pussy, huh? Look at what a mess you're making."

"When-" you can't form words. "When- Stop?" It's all you're able to say as your nails dig into the material of his suit.

"The sooner you cum the sooner it stops."

You doubted your ability to cum under these circumstances. He's setting an ungodly pace and it's all so hurried and in a frenzy, it's like your brain does not have time to understand if you even like what's currently being done to you.

"What- Do you want you want my help?" you begin to shake your head. "I'll help you, baby-"

His other hand reaches over and pinches your clit.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your orgasm is quite literally forced out of you. Your hips writhe and your ass tries to leave the seat as the first feelings of pleasure rip through you by force. "That's it, Clever girl," he coos, still curling his fingers inside you, "That's my Clever girl." He says once more before stilling his movements. For a second you just sit there, trying to collect your breath while he's still inside you. All at once, his hands are removed from your body.

He grabs a handkerchief from his breast pocket and you watch him clinically wipe his hands before erasing the marks on the board with the same cloth. A very clear boner pushes against his black slacks yet still his face is calm.

"Alright, My turn to start-"

"WHAT!? B-But I won." You scream, absolutely seething with desperation.

"You know everyone who plays 'X' has a significantly higher chance at winning-" You say with your eyes narrowed. He nods.

"And you know that too, which means we each should be granted alternating times to play ‘X’. Regardless if you won or not." You slump in your seat, suddenly far too aware that your bare cunt is exposed.

"Don't mope." He says, "It's not cute." Before drawing his 'X' in the center.

You close your legs, sitting upright with a new zeal of self preservation as you grab ahold of your marker.

You draw your pink 'O' underneath his.

You both play many more rounds. All ending in ties. This is how you play- with a frazzled grip and closed legs. A shiver every now and then overcomes you with the gravity of your aftershocks. His snickers bring your eyes up to his. He speaks as he makes his move.

"You're so focused on blocking," he sighs, "You're not even trying to win anymore-"

"I'm not letting you stick a knife in my cunt." You nod in finality before blocking another move.

"Not even if I say please?" He asks, making a faux pout.

"Fuck off."

"In that case, I have to win."

Your heart kickstarts as he pushes his pen to the board. Images flash across your mind. Blood splattered across his gorgeous face. Your blood as he fucks the sharp end of a knife inside you. You nearly vomit while he speaks. “Easy as-" you block him.

"Tic-" you block him again.

"Tac-" you block him some more

"Toe- I Win."

A victory that somehow escaped your vision. He strikes a line diagonally through the squares and your stomach sinks. He stares at you from across the room. His eyes so deeply satisfied you can feel it radiating off of him in waves.

You lower your teeth to the other restraint, violently trying to free your left wrist from its oppressive hold. And you watch as the devil slowly rises.

Your heart aches. Your brain is sent into complete alarm as your flight or fight kicks in and your sympathetic nervous system fires.

"Now, which one would look pretty inside you?" He drags his fingers along the objects, undoubtedly an act of taunting. You stomp your feet on the ground. You try to push the chair underneath you but it's plastered to the floor.

"Please!" Tears are running thickly. They cloud your vision. You don't even see the way his smile falls enough for him to rub over the bulge in his slacks.

"Fuck," he says gravelly as he relents and picks up the gun. "You're so fucking pretty when you're scared out of your fucking mind. You know that?"

You shake your head as he nears, wondering if this might really be the end. Has your body become too worn out by his games? Has the time for him to discard his toy finally dawned on you both? Is he all grown up with no need for such things as toys?

"PLEASE-NO-"

"Open your mouth." He's standing in front of you, your head directly in front of his raging bulge.

You shake your head, trying to move away but he rips your face towards him. "Listening to me is the only choice you have to make it out alive, Baby. You wanna live, don't you?" He's nothing but a tall figure, with the overhead lights shining around his head like a halo. Your face right by his bulge.

"Little girl needs to go to school." He nods, eyes fluttering shut, "She needs to complete her studies and get a good job so she wouldn't have to meet with scary men like me- Fuck-" it riled him up to no end to have you scared of him. You suppose it triggered a part of him that craved attention. He needed to feel like he existed and if that was reeped from fear then so be it.

"Stick the barrel in your mouth," the bottom of his hand coaxed open your jaw, and, as if on autopilot, you listen. Perhaps there is a way out of this. Perhaps you should just listen.

"That's it... Fuck," he brings your free hand up to rub his erection "That's it, Baby, stick it inside your mouth." Cold metal hits your lower teeth, "Stick it in like you would a cock." He says, looking down at you intently as your tongue unfurls and you suck the barrel in. "Shit-" he places his other hand on the back of your head before forcing you to take the gun deeper down your throat. He's trembling. Far too badly. And so is his finger on the trigger.

"Fuck, you're such a fucking whore, you know that?"

You're gagging and flailing around the barrel, saliva slides down.

So desperate to please him.

In your hast you don't even realize your left hand that had been restrained is now free. Your eyes are closed.

Please him.

Just please him and you'll live.

"That's my brainless girl..." he praises and that rouses something in you. It has your hips bucking against nothing.

"Such a stupid girl..." he continues, "You're gonna ride me, aren't you? You're gonna fuck me so good-" You're not about to tell him that sex wasn't supposed to be apart of this game. You're not stupid.

You faintly hear the sound of a belt unlooping. A zipper siding down. "You're making me so happy, baby." He admits before effortlessly lifting you from the chair until you're straddling him.

You're free.

When did that happen?

"F-Fuck, I need you to ride me." His head is leaning back against the chair. His tie hangs messily from his shirt that has two buttons undone.

You're free.

"Don't try anything," he warns, as he lifts you enough to pull his cock out of his pants. "Matter of fact. Keep it in your mouth while you ride me-" He slams you down onto his cock the very second those words leave his mouth. He's fucking into you with recklessness and fury and violence. His hair falls in his face but the gun is too heavy, without a hand there, it nearly slips from your mouth.

He's careful to catch it, forcing the barrel back in your mouth as he places a hand on your ass, controlling how your ass bounces on his lap. The gun offers motivation like no other. It has you arching your back and swirling your hips as you tighten your cunt around him.

He sticks the gun down too far and you gag. "You trying to get me to cum, huh? You little slut-" you nod, the tears still spilling as pleasure begins to stream through your brain. It has you excited by the prospect of being held at gunpoint. You realize with grave certainty that you've arrived at the point of no return.

"What a good girl- fuck-" he's ramming up into you, his hand on the gun twitching like his cock does. "I'm gonna fucking cum- FUCK-" he does and your orgasm immediately barrels into you at the exact same time. You try to ride him, to milk it as much as you can, to continue to make him happy.

"Such a stupid fucking slut-" he whispers, eyes hooded as his hips still spurt cum into you.

Your ears perk. You see his finger on the trigger move. You squeeze your eyes shut as you hear a click.

"Such a silly girl." You hear him say. "Don't worry, Baby, it isn't loaded." You're still in your body. You're still alive, on his lap, your sundress unfurling around you both.

"Not yet anyway."

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[partiallysame]

Ghost Gets No Bitches Part 2:

second part to THIS

Word count 1400

Content warning: suggestive, alcohol

When ghost finally texted you the message was something along the lines of: 

Hello. This is the man from (insert specific grocery store name followed by the exact address of said grocery store). 

You: Do I get to know your name or am I just supposed to call you Man From Grocery Store?

Ghost: Simon

Wow ok not a talker but we can work through that. Simon knew he should take you to a proper dinner but you made him so anxious he needed somewhere safe. Comfortable. Ah yes the closest bar to his base that he goes to almost daily. When you agreed to the date the panic really set in. He’s gonna be alone with you again (he ran to Price to ask for help on what to do. “You can’t wear the fucking mask” “but why?”)

The second Ghost got out of his car he noticed Soap had followed him to the bar (how could he not, Ghost had been sweating all day about meeting his lil lass again) “you walk in that bar and I’ll put a bullet in you, Mohawk”

“Aye come on. Jus wanna see a little more of the pretty bird that’s got ya all nervous”

 Soap knew he was bluffing about shooting him until Ghost pulled up his shirt enough to show his gun and the silencer attached to it. Yup ok he really would shoot him. Suddenly Soap is back in his car.

And then there you were, picture of perfection walking towards him. Big smile and small dress oh he was fucked. He opened the door for you and you let out a “good boy” as you walked through, an audible gulp came from him. Making your way to the bar to order, you told the bartender your drink, turning to ask Simon what he wanted only to find him standing 4 feet from you, scared to get too close. “Come here.” A command. One giant step and he was by your side. You moved closer until your shoulder was touching him. Control your breathing Ghost. “What do you want big boy?” You looked up at him and he should be embarrassed that you just called him that in front of his favorite bartender but he is definitely not. He said the beer he wanted and you added “two please. He’s nervous” the bartender was trying not to laugh.

“Tab Open or closed?” The bartender asked to which you quickly said open and began sliding your card over. 

“No.” Simon’s voice was deep and gravely and his sudden outburst caught you off guard. He may let you walk all over him but there was no way he, a gentleman would let you pay. 

You turned to him, eyebrows raised, “did you just tell me no?” Voice laced with genuine surprise and his eyes got wide, fuck was he in trouble? He nodded too afraid of how to properly respond but he continued to hand his card over and return yours to you. 

“You only get to tell me that once and that was it.” You scolded him as the barkeep slid the drinks over to you. You grabbed his two beers, one in each hand to hand to your date. He nodded again in response but did not miss the way your eyes were glued to his giant hands when he easily held the two bottles in one hand. 

Making your way over to a booth to sit, someone bumped into you, slightly spilling your drink down your hand. The man kept walking until a large (big sexy) hand grabbed his shoulder. Terrified apologies stumbled from his lips at the sight of Simon. But your hand quickly found its way onto Simon’s chest. 

“It’s not a big deal. Right Simon?” He looked down at you just in time to see you put your fingers in your mouth sucking the spilled drink from them. Christ’s sake woman. Your hand on his chest could feel his racing heart beat. 

“Not a big deal mate.” He let go of (pushed) the man as he watched you finish the walk to the table you wanted. He followed but when he got to the table he just stood there so awkwardly. 

“Simon, sit down. This is a date you know.” He’s sat. You decided that if he wasn’t going to talk then you wouldn’t either. You just sat there watching this giant muscle man fidget in his seat, emotional support beer being held so tightly in front of him. Your eyes taking in all of his features, pretty brown eyes and chiseled facial features. After however many minutes of silence (Simon squirming) you decided it was time for billiards. This is a bar after all. 

“Let’s go play” your head nodding to the empty pool table. The sudden sound of your voice made him jump. For goodness sakes man chill. He downed his second beer as he stood beginning to relax slightly. The bar was starting to get crowded so you reached for his hand before making your way to the table, pulling him behind you. You’re touching him. Fuck your hands are so soft, small compared to his. How would they look holding his���  A small and disappointed “oh” came from your lips as you neared the table. A group of men had gotten to it first but with a quick clear of his throat and deadly stare from Simon they gently handed you the cue ball. You turned to face him and god you were so close to him. He thought you holding his hand was bad? Now your chest is touching his. 

“Ready to lose?” You questioned batting your lashes at him, watching his pupils dilate. 

“I was gonna ask you the same.” You bit your lip at his response, excited to finally get somewhere with this man. There was a stare down for a few moments before you turned to begin the game. 

Were you bad at pool? No. Were you good? Also no. But Simon? Never missed a shot. No no this won’t do. Quickly realizing that you are losing (you only got one turn) you changed the game. Now you’re just standing at the edge of the table, looking pretty, moving the balls around with your hands, demanding trick shots. 

“Orange here to here then this pocket.” Hands pointing around before being placed palms down on the table, cleavage exposed and Simon can’t breathe. He does it and you praise him with another “good boy.” Two more planned shots and now you’re curling your finger, beckoning him closer. 

“8 ball. Corner pocket.” Simon begins to bend to line up his shot when you move so you are sandwiched between him and the table. Breathe Simon breathe. “Go on handsome.” Fuck ok he can do this. His large body easily envelopes yours, slowly bending at the waist and you are pushed down slightly, his chest pressed against your back. Your ass pressed exactly where you want it. Simon’s arms wrap around you to place his hand under the stick to steady it. You wiggled your ass back against his crotch and you could hear him stifle a groan. You can tell he’s trying to focus on the task at hand, but let's make it more fun. You turn your head until your lips are brushing against his jaw, sliding their way up to his ear and the whine that escapes this man at the contact. His hands glued to where they were placed on the table, too scared to move them where he actually wanted them.

“If you make this, you’ll get a reward.” You pressed your body into him more, feeling what was starting to form in his pants and you could feel the vibrations in his chest from a suppressed growl. “But.” you paused for a moment and he thought he was going to break the pool stick from holding on so hard. “But if you miss, your friend from the parking lot is allowed to come play too next time. So whats it gonna be?” You removed your lips from his ear, signalling him to take the shot. A breathy and accidental “fuck me” came from him as he lined up his shot. There was no way he was going to miss this, but when you added “thats the plan” after his last comment he missed the ball all together, pool cue scratching the green fabric on the table. He stood quickly cursing every god there ever was as you spun in his arms now face to face. Your arms reached up to wrap themselves around his neck. “What was his name again?”

Part 2.5 Part 3

[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. your older boyfriend, satoru, shows you just how much he adores you in his private office <3

tags. older bf!gojo satoru x virgin!female reader. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). smut, pwp. fīngering. multiple ōrgàsms; overstimulation. mention of corruption kink. dry hūmping. nicknames ‘princess, baby, beautiful’. pls ignore any grammar errors xx

“heh, don’t look at me. look at yourself, princess,” satoru chuckles, easily noticing how your head is tilted in attempt to watch him as he gets you off. you’re sitting on his thighs with your legs spread, shamelessly allowing him to finger you in his office.

your shaky eyes dart down to your dripping cunt—clearly seeing how it’s got a mind of its own. it’s squeezing satoru’s long fingers as he moves them in the speed of light. your limbs are shaking by the amount of pleasure you’re receiving.

“the-the door,” you hiccup. you hadn’t locked the door behind you when you walked into satoru’s office. you definitely wouldn’t want any of his colleagues to walk in on you. though, that didn’t seem to worry your boyfriend. all he’s focusing on at the moment is your perfect pussy taking in his middle and ring finger.

satoru’s glossy lips are parted and covered in spit. he has to lick up the drool from the corner of his mouth so it wouldn’t dirty your opened blouse. he’s quite literally salivating at the sight and feeling of your warm cunt. . .

“the others ‘re busy, they won’t come in as long as you keep your pretty voice down,” satoru promises you in a smooth tone, blue eyes wide with fascination as he stares down at your pussy.

he’s always imagined what it’d be like to be inside of you. what it would feel like to hold you in his arms and make love to you without holding himself back— to show you a world you have yet to discover.

satoru wants to be the first one to do that, though he’ll wait until you’re ready. for now, he’s completely satisfied with just a taste of heaven.

“fuck, baby, she’s beautiful,” satoru praises your delicate pussy. your wet folds continue to make way for more of his fingers, spreading as he tries to enter a third digit into your poor, clingy hole. you whine as you feel satoru prepare you by rubbing your clit repeatedly with his thumb—trying to make you as wet for him as you possibly could be.

you shake your head, “can’t take more, ‘toru.” it genuinely feels like you’re being stretched out. three fingers are going to take you out. “nuh-uh,” satoru mocks you before telling you to look at him. the moment you do, his lips envelop yours in a lustful yet comforting kiss. you moan into his mouth and he does the same back, eyebrows furrowing because of how good it feels to suck on your tongue.

his fingers don’t stop. the third slides in and you jolt back against satoru’s chest. “shh, shh, i got you,” the older man attempts to calm you down. he stops fingering you for a second so you could adjust to the stretch. you’re tight—he can feel his erect cock twitching in his pants, begging to replace his fingers. he can’t, not yet.

satoru cusses under his breath once he feels your ass rub against the bulge in his uniform’s pants. you’re killing him and you don’t even realise it because you’re too focused on his fingers fucking your cunt. shlick shlick shlick — you’re dripping wet.

“i’m gonna cum,” you whisper through a soft gasp. it would be your third orgasm. you’re sensitive and your pussy feels like it’s on fire. your lower abdomen is tingling and aching. you’re going to inevitably squirt all over his chair, again.

satoru bites his lip as he hears you announce how close you are. his long fingers are already soaked with your juices, coating them with a sticky layer that he cannot wait to taste. “do it, baby. wanna see you cum,” your boyfriend coos.

satoru loves the way your hips circle back to him, rubbing against his groin. you’re driving him insane without even knowing it. he curls his fingers inside you, thumb still circling your clit for extra stimulation. you’re being driven to the edge of insanity.

he bucks his hips a little each time you involuntarily move in his lap. “toruuu, fnnh, so close,” you’re not only moaning because of the fingers inside of you, but also because of the hard bulge rubbing against and between your ass cheeks.

satoru knows your voice can easily carry over to the next room. you’re usually loud when you finish on his fingers. he takes his free hand and pushes your head back against his shoulder, his index and middle finger sliding into your mouth to silence you.

your whimpers are muffled as you automatically start sucking on his digits. satoru kisses your ear and jawline, whispering small words of praise against your skin because of your obedience. “keep it down for me, beautiful. y’re already doing so well.”

your eyes roll back as your saliva dribbles down his left hand. the wet trail runs down his veiny arm that’s exposed to your view. you love it when satoru pushes the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows—it reminds you of why everyone fawns over him. it’s hot.

you’re trying to hold out, not wanting to cum. you wish to stay like this, with satoru’s fingers deep in your cunt and mouth, his bulge grinding against the fat of your ass.

the white-haired man instantly notices this and chuckles to himself; you’re fighting a losing battle. he increases the pace, his wrist working over time so his fingers could reach those sweet spots in your velvety walls. he decides to rile you up some more;

“shiit, just imagine that ‘ts my cock stretching your pretty cunt out,” satoru grins against your ear. he knows you’re weak for dirty talk. you have never felt what it’s like to be stuffed full of a dick, and thus the imagination adds to the raunchiness of it all.

you shiver and let out a small moan escape your mouth before you continue to suck on satoru’s fingers. all this time you’ve settled for make out sessions, grinding and oral pleasure. you’re needy for more than that.

satoru knows what buttons to push. he knows how to make you melt and give in to him and his words. he bites your earlobe after letting his tongue lick the skin, “all filled up to the brim. you’d like that, huh?”

you barely managed to stifle a loud whine at that. your eyes widen and your pussy spasms around his fingers. you know it’s not long before you’re going to cream all over satoru’s hand.

sweat trickles down your forehead.

“yes, yes, yes!” you moan repeatedly, voice muffled by the fingers in your mouth. you can hear your boyfriend grunt into your ear after seeing how enthusiastically you’re responding. he’s totally getting off to you’re desperation.

satoru wants to cum so bad. he wants to shoot ropes of his cum in the pussy he’s prepping to one day take his dick.

you see black spots in your vision because of how hard the climax hits you. your breath hitches and you grip onto the armrests of the chair for support. a spray of clear and watery juices covers satoru’s entire hand and bits of his arm—evidence of just how much you enjoyed your little session with him.

the older man pats your tummy and rubs it, comforting you as the aftershocks of your climax hit. he pulls his fingers out of your messy cunt and brings them up to his glossy lips, thoroughly licking every drop off. his dick pulses in his pants at the delicious taste.

you’re panting as you try to get your thighs to stop shaking. you’re out of energy, drained. all that you hear replaying in your mind is satoru’s dirty talk. you don’t know if you can handle his dick if you’re already overwhelmed by the way he skilfully uses his fingers.

as if sensing your thoughts, your boyfriend smirks and hugs your body tightly to his chest.

“can’t give it t’ ya now,” satoru whispers and pouts, teasing you as if to turn you on again. he takes his wet fingers out of your mouth and presses his lips against yours as a promise, “but one day i will, yeah? one day i’ll fuck ya so good you’ll only know my name.”

[iydiamartinx]

ALWAYS WITHIN REACH

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 1.3k synopsis: Jason Todd doesn’t love loudly but he shows it with his constant presence and actions. a/n: To my anon who requested this, I love you and I loved writing this, but this made me feel so single. I need a man like Jason 😭

The first time you noticed it—really noticed it—was when you were heading out to grab a coffee.

You’d only grabbed your keys and a hoodie, ready to walk the two blocks to the corner store. The weather was mild, the streets quiet, and you hadn’t planned on being gone more than fifteen minutes. As you crouched to tie your laces, yawning mid-sentence, you called out lazily, “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Want anything?”

Jason was sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, blanket twisted around his legs. He’d groaned not five minutes ago about needing a nap and you figured he’d be out cold by now.

But then you heard the couch creak. He was sitting up.

“I’ll come with you.”

You blinked. “You just said—”

“I’ll drive.” He was already pushing to his feet, reaching for his keys like it wasn’t up for debate.

You stared, baffled. “Jay, I’m literally going across the street.”

He didn’t seem to hear you—or more likely, chose not to. Shirt half-buttoned, boots barely tied, he grabbed his jacket in one hand and your fingers in the other, dragging you gently toward the door. You didn’t argue, mostly because you were still sleepy and not quite ready to match his brand of  stubborn.

The drive took three minutes. He didn’t say much, just rested one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, thumb brushing slow, absent circles against your skin like he needed the contact more than the caffeine. Even when he pulled up to the drive-thru window, when you took the drink with a grateful smile and settled back in your seat, Jason didn’t let go. He shifted the wheel easily with one hand, the other still anchored to you, thumb still stroking your skin. 

You didn’t think much of it at the time.

The next time it happened, it was at the grocery store.

You were pushing the cart down an aisle while Jason trailed just behind, his hand warm and steady on the small of your back. It stayed there for most of the trip—absentminded, comforting. Sometimes he’d give a gentle nudge when you paused too long comparing brands, or he’d slide his fingers up your spine for no reason at all except to feel you there.

At one point, somewhere between the produce section and the towering shelves of canned goods, Jason muttered that he needed more protein powder. His voice was low and distracted, already halfway turned toward the far end of the store. He didn’t look back, thinking you were following but instead, you nodded vaguely and veered off toward the ice cream aisle, figuring you could cover more ground that way. 

You moved slowly, eyes scanning the frosty rows of half-gallons and pints. The doors of the freezer hissed quietly as you opened one, cool air spilling out as your reached for two pints, debating between cookie dough and mint chocolate chip. 

You weren’t even half way through the aisle when you felt him behind you again. 

His arms sliding around your waist and wrapping you up without a word. The warmth of him sank through your hoodie, his body pressing close to yours. A moment later, the weight of his head dropped gently onto your shoulder. His breath ghosted over the curve of your neck, soft and steady, the contrast to the chilled air in front of you making your skin prickle.

Leaning back into him just a little, you tilted your head, angling for a glimpse of his face, searching for something—an explanation, maybe. But all you found was the slope of his brow pressed close to your temple, his mouth relaxed, his lashes lowered like he might stay there forever if you let him.

“You okay?” you murmured.

He gave the smallest of nods, the movement brushing his cheek against yours. You stayed like that for a moment longer, Eventually, your fingers drifted toward the freezer door again, and you began to move. His arms loosened, but just enough to let you walk without pulling fully away. One of his hands slid down, fingers catching yours, while his other reached for the cart, reclaiming it without comment, guiding it forward to where you wanted to go.

And that’s when you started to see the pattern.

Jason always walked on the side closest to the street, his body subtly shifting until you were on the inside of the sidewalk, sheltered from traffic. Every single time. Even if it meant cutting mid-conversation to switch sides, or gently tugging you across with a hand to your waist or a brush of fingers against your wrist. It didn’t matter how casual the outing—he’d never let you walk street-side.

He held doors open without thinking, reaching out before you could even touch the handle. And whenever you were out together, his hand was never far. Sometimes laced through yours like second nature, your fingers intertwined as you walked in step. Other times, it rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you through doorways, around corners, through crowds. 

He insisted on coming with you for errands. Always. It didn’t matter how mundane the task or how quick the trip—Jason was already pulling on his jacket before you finished asking, sometimes you didn’t even have to. And he never complained. Not once. Didn’t check his phone or sigh impatiently. He carried the bags. He waited while you debated between brands of ice cream. Even standing in line, he’d hook a finger through your belt loop and tug you back against him, chin on your shoulder, arms looped loosely around your waist as you two waited.

At gas stations, he always got out with you—even if all you were doing was grabbing gum and a drink. He filled the tank, too, waving off your protests with a quiet, “I got it.” In bookstores, he trailed behind you with a hand on your back, the other juggling the growing stack of titles you kept passing him with a sheepish smile. He never complained about those either. 

In crowded spaces, his arm always found its way around your waist or over your shoulders, pulling you into his side without a word.

And when you ran into people you knew—coworkers, old classmates, friends of friends—he didn’t interrupt or try to charm them. He didn’t puff up or shrink away, instead he seemed content to speak when spoken to. Otherwise he was content to stand at your side. One hand stayed low on your back, rubbing soothing circles.

They often stared at him warily—he was hard not to notice, after all. Tall, sharp-jawed, rough-edged. And yet, despite how intimidating everyone else found him, Jason was soft with you. Protective, yes. But never overbearing. He didn’t tell you what to do or try to keep you in a box made of fear. He just wanted to stay close.

It was subtle, but constant. And the truth was…you kind of loved it.

He was protective in the kind of way that didn’t feel like a cage—it felt like shelter. Like he needed to keep you close not because he didn’t trust you or because he thought you were weak. He stayed close because he knew what the world could be like. He didn’t want to control you. He just didn’t want to lose you.

And maybe that was it. Maybe that was why, no matter where you were or what you were doing, you never had to reach far to find him. In a room full of people, he was there. Even in sleep, he found you. Always.

Because while the world knew Jason as the Red Hood—fearless, violent, deadly—you knew this version. The one who always held your hand, who never let you walk alone, whose constant presence promised you that he was always there for you.

And in the spaces between who he was and how the world saw him, you found the truth of him. A man who had lived through hell, and loved you like it was his personal vow.

[oceantornadoo]

when you first start talking to simon riley, you want to check yourself into an insane asylum.

you like to think you’re cool, you’re chill, you’re nonchalant. but he takes eight hours to text back, sending you a “come over.” text at 7pm like he hadn’t just ignored you the whole day. you complain to your friends, of course, which is a terrible move when they tell you to drop him and if he wanted to, he would! and you think he does (want to), he’s just so insanely nonchalant about it. so the next time he comes over, chinese takeout in hand after not texting you back since 8am, you go a little crazy…

you open the door for him, stepping back awkwardly when he tries to peck your forehead. he practically shrugs it off, toeing off his boots before setting the food down on your table. “got tha’ dish ya like.” you nod, forgetting his back is to you. simon unpacks the boxes with precision from the bag, not stopping until it’s all laid out on the table. you’ve been quiet for a while, unusual since you’re the talker of the bunch, and that creeping feeling that’s been sliding up his skin finally sets its hooks in him. he turns around curiously, brows furrowing at the sight of you still standing by the door, biting your lip with a timid look and wet eyes. “love?”

you shake your head with a watery smile. “can we talk?” simon follows you as you walk to your couch, feeling like he’s been dropped into an op with no details. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, just that you’re hurting and he seems to be the cause of it. “i just…don’t get it. how you’re acting so normal.” you’re twisting your hands together. “somethin’ happen, love? got me confused.” you give him that small, weak smile again and it’s like you’ve stabbed him in the heart. “you- you barely talk to me all day and then you just come over here like it’s nothing. it’s just so hot and cold and i’m wrecking myself over it when it’s so clear you don’t care. i’m just so confused, si.”

simon runs through his memories. he texted you good morning, you texted it back, then he went about his duties for the day until he was finally free to ask about dinner. hadn’t even picked up his phone in the meantime, security risks or just plain busyness being the cause. “‘ve been busy, sweetheart. ‘s why i asked t’ come over when i was done.” you shake your head, biting your lip. “it’s the modern day, simon. everyone’s on their phones. i don’t think you’re as into this as me, and that’s fine, but i just want to know!”

now simon’s the one shaking his head, pulling out his phone. he might not be tech savvy but he does know this move from johnny, the fucker constantly complaining about his screen time. he pulls up the screen time tracker and turns it to you. “not everyone.” you’re a bit shocked to be honest. his screen time is ten minutes for the entire day. a few in the morning when he texted you and nothing until nighttime, when he texted you again. you’ve never seen anything like it.

“‘m not a big texter an’ we don’t use personal phones for work, so it’s jus’ a brick i leave at home or lug around. ‘s nothin’ on you. been thinkin’ about you all day, to be honest.” your mouth is open, honestly. any other man would have never shown you their minute-by-minute screen time, would have begged off the “busy” excuse while having been on social media for four hours. simon, by all standards, is genuinely different.

“so, you do like me?” he nods stiffly, gloved hands reaching for you. you slide into his lap easily, tucking your face into his neck to hide your heated cheeks. you’d even shed a few tears over this, how embarrassing. “‘course i like you, sweetheart. an’ im sorry if it didn’t feel like it. let’s have it out, yeah?” you nod into his skin and he takes a deep breath, pulling you closer to his heart.

from that day on, you compromise with phone calls. when he’s got a few minutes and you’ve hit a lull at work, he’ll call you. it’s better than any text in the world - hearing his gruff voice asking questions about your messy coworkers or dinner plans. not so nonchalant as you thought.

-

i wish this was from personal experience but unfortunately for me, it’s closer to the men not responding for days but having a screen time of six hours.

[just-aake]

Friends Don't Kiss

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Friends spend time together. They share inside jokes, quiet moments, maybe even late-night movies. And sometimes…they kiss. That’s normal. Right? At least, that’s what Natasha keeps telling herself.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 4140

“Would you kiss me?”

Steve chokes on his coffee, spluttering mid-sip. He coughs violently, thumping his fist against his chest as he tries to catch his breath.

Across the kitchen, Natasha doesn’t flinch. She stands coolly with a mug in hand, one hip leaning against the compound’s countertop, her expression unreadable.

“You know,” she adds, far too casually, “as a friend.”

Steve finally manages to recover, blinking at her like she’s grown a second head. 

“I’m gonna need a little more context.”

Natasha shrugs, gaze fixed somewhere past him. 

“Just making a point. I’ve kissed you before. We’re still just friends.”

“That was different,” Steve says slowly, carefully, like he’s not entirely sure where this conversation is headed. “We were on the run. It was for a mission.”

“Right,” Natasha nods quickly, seizing on that. “Exactly. So sometimes a kiss doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Steve sets down his coffee, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Did you kiss someone, Nat?”

She scoffs immediately, a sharp breath meant to dismiss the question, but her shoulders stiffen, betraying her.

“No,” she says too quickly, brushing past it. “Why would you ask that?”

Before Steve can press further, the kitchen door slides open.

You step in, pausing just briefly when your eyes meet hers. A flicker of something passes between you—then it’s gone, replaced by your familiar, easy smile.

“Morning,” you say, grabbing an apple from the counter before sliding easily into the space beside her. “You two solving world peace already?”

Natasha’s grip on her mug tightens. Her pulse trips over itself at your closeness, at the casual brush of your shoulder against hers.

“Morning,” she mutters, not quite meeting your eyes.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” Steve returns your greeting while watching both of you now with a curious gaze, noticing the subtle shift in the air. 

You shrug lightly.

“Decided to turn in early last night,” you respond before turning to Natasha. “Sorry, I didn’t see you when you got back, Nat.”

Natasha shakes her head, brushing off the apology.

“It’s fine,” she says simply. 

But it’s not. Not really. She had looked for you last night when she came back from her mission, hoping for your usual smile at the hangar. Instead, FRIDAY informed her you were already asleep. She’d swallowed her disappointment and told herself it didn’t matter.

Natasha takes another sip to keep herself occupied from further conversation. Unfortunately, it seems you have no intention of letting her do that.

“Can I have some?”

Natasha glances at you with a raise of her brow, and you give her a small smile as you nod at the mug in her hand.

“There’s more brewing,” she responds, gesturing to the coffee machine in the corner.

You don’t move her gaze from hers.

“I know,” you grin. “But I want yours.”

Natasha sighs, long-suffering but fond, and hands it over.

You take it with a bright smile in thanks, drinking the last of it with satisfaction.

Natasha watches you as you finish, her lips twitching slightly into the ghost of a smile before she can stop it.

Something about that simple exchange makes the room feel smaller. 

Steve observes you two quietly, picking up on the subtle tension that hums under the surface like a taut wire. You and Natasha have always been close. That’s not new. But something feels different now.

“Well, I’m heading to the training room,” you announce, handing Natasha back the mug and tossing the apple in your hand once before catching it again. “See you two later.”

You’re gone before either of them can respond.

The silence that follows stretches.

Steve leans against the table, watching the doorway you disappeared through before turning his eyes back to Natasha. 

“So,” he says, voice even, “something you’d like to share?”

Natasha scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pivots to rinse out her mug. 

“This has nothing to do with her.”

Her tone is dry and dismissive. But her mind betrays her.

She remembers the way the two of you had been curled up on the couch in the common room just a few nights ago. 

A rare, quiet evening with no missions, no alarms, just shared stories and laughter over absurd field mishaps. Your knees touching hers. Her arm draped along the back of the sofa. 

You leaning closer, head tilted back slightly as you laughed, completely at ease.

Natasha remembers the way her fingers twitched with the urge to touch you. 

How, without quite realizing it, her hand lifted to cup your cheek. 

The moment stretched, her breath caught, and then she leaned in.

The kiss was soft, hesitant in the way that Natasha had not fully comprehended what she had done.

When she does, she goes to pull away when you suddenly kiss her back.

Your hand had come up, anchoring against her shoulder, the other sliding to the back of her neck as you deepened it, slow and sure. 

Then, the elevator chimed.

And the moment shattered.

Instinctively, Natasha pulls back, jumping to her end of the couch by the time the other team members come into the room. 

Next thing she knows, you were swept up by a conversation with Wanda while Natasha sat there frozen, lips parted, heartbeat wild, her hand brushing over her mouth in disbelief. 

The warmth of your kiss still lingering on her skin like a brand.

You never brought it up again.

Neither did she.

And now, days later, she finds herself standing in the kitchen convincing herself that friends kiss sometimes. 

That it doesn’t have to mean anything. That it didn’t mean anything.

“Sure, Nat,” Steve says slowly, watching her a little too closely now. “A kiss doesn’t have to mean anything...”

Natasha relaxes slightly, but before the relief can take hold in her mind, Steve continues nonchalantly.

“…unless you want it to.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. Her jaw sets just slightly as she stares into her empty mug. Then, with a sigh, she curses herself for even asking Steve.

His words just brought up a flurry of new problems for her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

She did it again.

She’s doing it again.

What started as a simple spar at your request had quickly escalated—one move leading to another, until she had you pinned flat on the mat. Her knees straddled your hips, hands locking your wrists above your head with effortless control.

You were both breathless, sweat-slicked skin flushed from exertion.

Then you smiled up at her, teeth flashing, that same teasing spark in your eyes that always got under her skin, and Natasha couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think past the heat in her chest. Her gaze dropped, lingering on the curve of your parted lips as you panted beneath her.

And before she could stop herself, she leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t hesitant this time. It was hungry, claiming, as if making up for every second she hadn’t let herself think about the feel of your lips since that night on the couch. Her grip loosened, hands sliding from your wrists to your sides, fingertips brushing over the sliver of skin just above your waistband.

Like before, you didn’t pull away.

Instead, your arms curled around her shoulders, pulling her closer with a quiet urgency. 

Her mouth moved against yours again, and again—slow, deliberate, until your breath caught and you exhaled her name in a moan that made something in her pulse stutter.

“Natasha…”

Her name on your lips.

It cracked through the haze like a whip.

And she freezes.

Reality slams back in, fast and merciless. 

Natasha pulls away suddenly, breathing hard as her eyes search yours. Her hands lift, hovering like she wasn’t sure where to place them anymore.

“Shit,” she mutters, shaken. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

You blink at her, dazed and confused, lips still parted.

But before you can say anything, the door slides open.

“Damn,” Sam’s voice calls out as he steps into the training room, towel slung over his shoulder. He pauses at the sight, then lets out a low whistle and smirks.

“Give her a break, Romanoff. She’s already red in the face.”

Natasha straightens back instinctively, only to realize the flush on your face wasn’t from exertion.

You let out a breath of laughter, dragging a hand through your hair. 

“I’m fine,” you say, voice light, easy. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your palm lightly taps Natasha’s thigh—a subtle, casual cue.

She blinks at you, still hovering above, startled by how calmly you are taking all of this. Then she shifts, climbing off with fluid grace, but her mind still reels. 

Why weren’t you reacting differently? Why were you acting like what just happened between you two was normal for friends?

You push yourself to your feet and turn to offer your hand down to her.

Without hesitation, she takes it.

Your grip is warm and steady as you help her up. Before she can say anything, you brush your hand over her shoulder, flicking away the dust from your earlier scuffle. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, you pat her cheek twice, a gentle, reassuring touch.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you repeat, softer this time.

And then you walk off coolly and composed, leaving her standing there.

Staring.

Processing.

“What the hell…” Natasha mutters under her breath.

Sam moves beside her, picking up a dumbbell nonchalantly like he hadn’t just walked in on something.

“Hey, Sam?” she asks, still staring after you. 

“Yeah?”

“Friends can kiss, right?” she asks. “Like… that’s a normal thing friends do sometimes?”

Sam pauses mid-curl and turns to look at her with a slow grin. 

“What kind of friends you got, Romanoff?” he chuckles. “’Cause I’d love an introduction.”

Natasha doesn’t respond.

Her eyes are still locked on the door you disappeared through, her thoughts a whirlwind of tangled lines she couldn’t figure out how or if she wanted to untangle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The movie plays on, its flickering light casting soft shadows across the darkened room. But Natasha isn’t watching it.

She’s trying to. Or at least pretending to.

Her eyes are on the screen, but her mind drifts, tangled in thoughts she can’t quite sort through. The question loops endlessly in her head like a broken reel.

Can friends kiss? Should friends kiss? Did it mean anything?

You shift slightly beside her, and the motion draws her out of the haze. Then comes a soft sound—a small yawn, muffled behind your hand. 

Natasha glances down at you.

Your head rests gently against her shoulder, your body curled comfortably into the side of hers. You’ve been like that for most of the movie—close, warm, familiar. Nothing new for the two of you. 

But now, it feels different. Everything feels different.

She tilts her head toward you slightly. 

“We can stop here if you want,” she offers, her voice low. “You’re tired.”

You shake your head with a sleepy smile, eyes barely open. 

“It’s fine. It’s almost finished anyway.”

Natasha studies your face for a moment longer, searching for something beneath your words. Then she relaxes, leaning her head against yours again, letting the rhythm of your breathing soothe her.

But only a few minutes pass before she feels your body grow heavier against her, your breath evening out. She shifts subtly to glance at you, and sure enough, your eyes are closed, mouth slightly parted in sleep.

A quiet exhale escapes her lips.

She lets the laptop finish playing the credits, then carefully reaches over to close it, setting it on the nightstand without disturbing you too much.

As she leans back again, her eyes linger on you, peaceful and completely unaware of the storm still quietly waging inside her.

She hesitates.

You’d probably sleep better in your own bed. Less risk of a sore neck.

“Hey,” she whispers, brushing her fingers lightly against your arm to wake you. “Want me to carry you to your room?”

You stir, eyes fluttering open, still half-lost in sleep. You look up at her, your gaze soft and unguarded.

“Can I sleep here?”

Natasha stills.

The way your face is tilted toward hers makes her heart stutter. You’re so close, lips parted slightly, your breath warm against her cheek.

Her fingers tighten against the sheets.

She should say no. But she doesn’t.

“…Sure,” she says instead, voice barely audible.

You smile in that sleepy, content way that always makes her chest ache, and shift to lie back more fully on the bed, your head finding the pillow beside hers like it’s always belonged there.

Natasha stays seated for a moment, just watching you. Studying the soft lines of your expression. The trust etched so easily into every part of you.

Then your eye cracks open, lazy and amused, and you pat the empty space beside you.

“Come on,” you murmur. “You should sleep too.”

Natasha swallows.

She moves beneath the covers slowly, cautiously, like the sheets might burn her. The moment her weight settles, you immediately scoot closer, nuzzling into the curve of her body with a comfort that’s almost too much.

She freezes.

Her arms hover mid-air, unsure where to land. Her instincts war with her confusion about the situation.

But then you sigh softly, and it eases something in her. She lets her arms wrap around you, tentatively at first, then fully. Her hand rests lightly against your back.

Your body fits against hers like it was always meant to.

Her heart beats too loud. Her thoughts race too fast.

But your breathing, soft and steady, grounds her.

You’re not overthinking this. You’re not avoiding eye contact or spiraling like she is. You’re just there. 

Maybe she is overreacting.

So she presses her lips to the top of your head, just barely a kiss, light and reverent.

And tells herself it’s fine.

That it’s just something friends do.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The corridor outside the tech lab is mostly quiet, the hum of machinery muffled behind glass walls. Natasha had only meant to drop by to check on some routine data upload from her last mission, but she slows as she rounds the corner and catches sight of you through the glass.

You’re leaning against the counter in the lab, your stance relaxed, familiar. A quiet, polite smile plays on your lips as you speak to one of the newer lab techs, who is a little awkward in their stance and clearly trying to flirt.

Natasha pauses at the entrance, something instinctual anchoring her in place. 

“I just figured,” the technician says, nervously fidgeting with their hands, “maybe we could grab a coffee sometime?”

Natasha blinks. Her fingers tighten unconsciously around the datapad in her hand.

You let out a soft chuckle, not unkind. 

“That’s sweet,” you say, your tone warm but edged with gentle finality, “but I’m actually already seeing someone.”

Natasha frowns, her heart skipping heavily.

Since when?

The lab tech falters only slightly, nodding good-naturedly.

“Ah. No worries. It was worth a shot.”

“We could still be friends,” you offer kindly.

They chuckle lightly as they gather their things, nodding in agreement.

“Well, if they mess up,” the tech jokes, “you know where to find me.”

You smile again, a brief lift of your brow.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They leave, footsteps fading down the hall.

Natasha stays frozen for a beat longer, her brain racing as she tries to understand. A strange, unfamiliar tightness lingers in her chest, something sharp and green and burning low.

Why didn’t you ever tell her you were seeing someone?

The question echoes through her like a bruise, throbbing harder the longer she thinks about it.

A few seconds pass before she finally moves, stepping into view from where she’d been half-hidden around the corner. Her approach is quiet, boots soft on the tile, but you look up at the sound anyway.

“Nat, hey,” you greet, still casual, like you hadn’t just said something that made her stomach drop unexpectedly.

Natasha crosses her arms across her chest.

“Were you ever going to introduce me to them?”

You blink at her, brow furrowing.

“Who?”

“The person you’re seeing.”

There’s a flicker of confusion in your expression, your head tilting slightly as if trying to piece together something obvious that you’ve somehow missed.

“That’d be…difficult,” you answer slowly.

Her heart skips again—this time not from surprise, but from something closer to hurt. 

“Why?” she presses, a little sharper now. “You don’t want them to meet your friends?”

Your mouth parts slightly. You study her, eyes narrowing faintly, not in anger, but in realization. 

“Is that what you are?” you ask quietly. “Just my friend?”

Natasha hesitates. Her arms tighten around herself, defensive.

“I thought I was,” she says with a shrug that tries too hard to be casual.

The silence that follows isn’t long, but it feels like it stretches forever.

You nod slowly, the movement small and almost imperceptible. 

“Right,” you murmur. “My mistake.”

And even though you smile, easy and familiar, there’s a flicker behind it. Something small and wounded that vanishes just as quickly as it appears. Like it costs a little more this time to offer it.

“I thought we were something more.”

Natasha’s lips part in stunned silence.

You shake your head slightly, not in denial, just…regret. 

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Before she can find her voice, before she can reach out and ask what you mean—what she means to you—you step past her.

“I’ve got to prep for my mission,” you say quietly. “I’ll see you after, Nat.”

And then you’re gone.

The hallway seems impossibly still.

Natasha doesn’t move.

She just stands there, frozen in place, her eyes still on the space where you’d been just seconds ago.

I thought we were something more.

The words echo in her chest like a hollow ring of glass about to break.

Natasha presses a hand lightly to her sternum, as if she could push the ache away.

But it lingers. Deep and burning.

She knew it.

She knows it now more than ever.

Friends don’t kiss.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The hangar is nearly silent at this hour, long past the time anyone should still be awake.

But Natasha is.

She leans against a metal railing in the far corner of the bay, arms crossed loosely, her mind racing in quiet loops. The empty stretch of concrete around her does little to ease the restless energy in her body. She’s been replaying your last conversation for hours now, trying to decipher what it meant, what you meant.

The distant hum of turbines pulls her attention up.

The Quinjet descends slowly, its engines quieting as it settles onto the landing pad. Her spine straightens involuntarily. She catches herself smoothing her palm against her thigh, like she’s bracing for something.

The ramp lowers with a hiss, and then there you are.

You spot her the moment you step down.

Your steps falter just a bit, surprised but not displeased. Your expression shifts into something soft and unreadable before you offer a faint smile.

“Hey,” you greet lightly. “You’re still up?”

Natasha picks up on the subtle wariness in your voice. Not distrust, just a layer of confusion she knows she put there.

“I wanted to talk,” she says, quieter now, her arms unfolding slightly. “If that’s okay.”

You pause. Then, after a breath, you nod.

“Yeah… we probably should’ve had this talk before I went around thinking we were something other than friends,” you joke, a little self-deprecating, but not cruel.

Natasha winces, her mouth twitching. She knows she earned that.

You exhale and tilt your head toward the hallway. 

“Come on. Let’s talk in my room. I need to get this mission stink off me.”

She follows without hesitation, grateful for the return of your usual teasing tone.

“Yeah, you do,” she quips back.

You gasp in mock offense, throwing a look over your shoulder. 

“Wow. Brutal honesty? No mercy, huh?”

Natasha just smirks. “Would you prefer lies?”

“Only the flattering kind,” you call as you enter your room.

Natasha follows in after you with a small chuckle. She sits at the edge of your bed, hands in her lap, waiting as you disappear into your bathroom. She hears the rush of water from the shower and feels oddly tense like she’s waiting for a mission to start, but this one requires emotional precision she hasn’t quite mastered.

When the bathroom door finally opens, and you emerge, a towel draped around your shoulders, skin still damp and fresh from the steam, Natasha’s thoughts short-circuit for a moment.

Her gaze catches on the curve of your neck, the soft line of your collarbone—

She tears her eyes away, scolding herself silently.

This is exactly how things got so muddled.

You shoot her an amused look as you dry your hair with the towel. 

“You gonna stare all night or talk?”

Natasha clears her throat, suddenly focused on her hands again. 

“Right. Sorry. I just…wanted to ask something.”

You toss the towel aside as you nod.

“Ask away.”

She hesitates. 

“Why…why did you think we were dating?”

You blink, surprised at the question. Then you let out a soft breath and sit beside her on the bed.

“Well,” you begin, voice easy but edged with a thread of honesty, “months ago, you asked me to go to the Avengers Festival with you. We spent the whole day together. Just us.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it,” Natasha replies quietly.

“I did. And I was even more excited when I thought you were asking me out on a date.”

You glance at her, gauging her reaction.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line. 

“Only it wasn’t… to me.”

“Right,” you say, a hint of disappointment in your tone before you continue with a sigh. “But then you invited me to that new restaurant for dinner the next night.”

“You mentioned it once. I thought you’d want to go.”

“I did mention it. To Wanda. I didn’t expect you to remember something I had said in passing.”

Natasha lowers her gaze. 

“I do,” she murmurs.

You smile faintly. 

“Then came movie nights. Every week. Just us.”

“You hadn’t seen any of the classics. I thought it’d be fun.”

“And it was,” you say before teasingly adding as you lightly nudge her shoulders. “Especially learning you know all the lines.”

There’s a pause. Then your voice softens.

“Then…you kissed me.”

Natasha’s breath catches.

“Twice,” you continue.

Her eyes flick to yours.

“Three times,” you correct with a small smile, “if we’re counting the one where you got nervous and bailed halfway through, settling for the top of my head instead when you thought I was asleep.”

Natasha swallows, stunned into silence.

“Well?” you ask gently. “You gonna explain? Because last time I checked…”

You shift toward her, slow and deliberate.

“…friends don’t kiss.”

She searches for an answer. Any answer. But none of them feel true. Not the ones she told herself, not the ones that let her avoid the real thing.

“These past days I've been trying to convince myself that kissing didn’t have to mean anything,” Natasha admits, voice small. “That I could just…”

She trails off.

“Avoid what you actually felt?” you offer, your tone gentle, not accusatory.

She meets your eyes then, and something in her cracks. 

“Maybe I just didn’t want to admit I wanted something more. Because if I did…and you didn’t…”

“I did,” you interrupt softly.

Your hand lifts to her hair, your fingers brushing a few loose strands back, tucking them gently behind her ear.

“I do.”

Her breath trembles.

You stroke her cheek with your thumb, grounding her.

“No more mixed signals, Nat,” you say with a playful edge, though your eyes are sincere. “You’re gonna have to be more direct, or I’ll start thinking I made it all up.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her hands slide to your waist as she pulls you closer, steady and sure.

“Tomorrow night…will you go out with me?” she murmurs.

You grin, raising a brow.

“On a date?”

She nods, smiling now too.

“On a date.”

You lean your forehead against hers.

“Then I’d love to.”

There’s a beat of stillness, warmth blooming in the quiet between you. Then Natasha’s gaze flicks behind you toward the bed and back at you, one brow rising.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

You raise an amused brow.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You smirk playfully.

“Because, in case you’re unsure…” you whisper, tilting your head closer to hers. “…friends don’t typically sleep with each other either.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkle, a soft smile forming on her face.

“Then it’s a good thing,” she says, drawing you in, her voice a low murmur at your lips, “that we’re not just friends anymore.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: a little something as I procrastinate on my series 😅 thank you for reading!

[heavenlybodies333]

Daddy’s Little Assistant - R.C

Rafe Cameron x wards assistant!reader

Tell me again how professional you are while I’m fucking you stupid

Ward had rules. Dress modestly. Answer every call. Don’t touch the bourbon.

You’d followed them to a T since day one—pressed skirts, tight buns, soft yes, Mr. Cameron and no, Mr. Cameron. You’d charmed him effortlessly, outshining Rafe in the only thing that ever mattered to him: his father’s attention.

Rafe noticed. He always noticed.

That morning he’d watched Ward hand you the keys to the family boat—the family fucking boat—and say, “You’re the only one I trust with this right now.”

He nearly snapped.

You were in the study that night, alone. Filing something, probably. Looking like temptation in kitten heels, a white blouse tucked into a high-waisted pencil skirt, lips glossed just enough to shine. You didn’t even look up when the door shut behind you.

“Miss Secretary,” Rafe drawled, mockingly respectful.

You flinched, turning to face him. “Rafe. Can I help you?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. That’s supposed to be my line, isn’t it?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already crossing the room—casually “You’ve been real helpful to my dad. Filing his papers. Pouring his drinks. Flirting with him like a little—”

“I don’t flirt with your father.”

“Oh?” His tone turned cruel. “Then what do you do? Huh? Smile pretty and bend over every time he drops a fucking pen?”

You backed into the edge of the desk. “You’re out of line.”

“I’m out of line?” he echoed, one hand bracing on the desk beside your hip. “You think you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger? Think a few good manners and tight skirts make you untouchable?”

You held his gaze, sharp and unwavering. “I’m good at my job.”

Rafe laughed, the sound bitter. “Oh, princess. You’ve got every man in this house fooled.”

He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair back into your bun with fingers that lingered too long against your temple. “You play the part so well. But I see through it. I see you.”

You swallowed. “Then what do you want, Rafe? You want me gone?”

He leaned in, “Nah. I want you to admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you like the attention.” His hand found your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your skirt. “That you like being watched. Liked it when he handed you those keys in front of me.”

Your pulse pounded in your throat, but you didn’t move. “That’s not what this is.”

He smirked, fingers sliding just a little lower. “No? Then what is it? A promotion? A chance to be the new Mrs. Cameron?”

You slapped him.

The sound cracked through the air, sharp and satisfying, even as your palm stung. His head snapped to the side—but he only grinned wider, eyes wild now, feral.

“Touchy,” he breathed, turning back to you. “Did I hit a nerve?”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” you said, trying to sidestep him. But he blocked you easily, chest brushing yours as he crowded you back against the desk.

“Why do you hate me so much?” you asked, voice trembling—not with fear, but rage, confusion. You’d done nothing wrong.

He let out a humorless laugh. “Because he never looked at me like that.”

You blinked. “What?”

“He never gave me the keys. Never said I was the one he trusted. Not once. Not even when I—” He stopped himself, jaw tight. “But you? Walk in here with your shiny shoes and fake little smile and suddenly you’re his golden fucking girl.”

“Because I work,” you snapped. “Because I’m clean, and sober, and I don’t crash his cars or embarrass him in front of clients—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, slamming a hand down on the desk beside your hip. “You think he gives a shit about any of that? He just likes that you make him look good. That’s all you are. A little doll he can parade around to show he’s still got taste. Still got control.”

You stared at him, chest heaving. “You think you’re so different?”

Rafe blinked, as if you’d slapped him again.

“You act like you hate him, but every time he walks past you, you flinch like you still want his approval. You practically beg for it.”

He said nothing as you leaned in, whispering, “And you hate that I don’t.”

“You want to be in control so bad, don’t you?”

Before you could answer, his hands gripped your waist—tight, bruising—and hoisted you onto the desk. You gasped as your skirt rode up.

“You think you’re above me?” he sneered, yanking your thighs open.

Then he shoved your skirt up and tore your panties down in one vicious motion. The air hit your soaked heat and Rafe just… stared. Like he couldn’t believe it. Like your body was the final betrayal.

“No fucking way,” he muttered. “You’re this wet for me? For this?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“Slut,” he whispered, almost reverently. Then he spit—right on your cunt. Watched it drip between your folds, his thumb swiping the mess through your slick.

“God, you’re so fucked,” he growled. “You like pretending to be good. Dressing like a little wife. But underneath, you’re just filthy, aren’t you?”

You arched, whining as two fingers pushed into you without warning. He pumped them slow, curling deep, dragging out a cry that echoed off the walnut-paneled walls.

He pumped faster, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit until your thighs were shaking and your moans were desperate.

You came on his fingers, panting, shame burning through your veins as he dragged them out slowly, wet and sticky.

He popped one glistening finger into his mouth and groaned.

"Better than coke."

You were still shaking when he undid his belt with one hand, the buckle clinking, his slacks falling just enough for you to see how hard he was. You didn’t have time to speak before he was fisting his cock, dragging it through your folds, wetting the tip with your release.

“Rafe,” you whimpered, still breathless.

He grinned, feral. “Still so polite.” teasing you as he lined up and thrusted, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal motion. Every thrust hit deep, dizzying. Your blouse had ridden up, your bra askew. You were a mess—moaning, squirming as his thrusts got rougher. Your nails clawed at the desk as he fucked you through your second orgasm, and into your third.

“Not so fucking proper now, are you?” he snarled, snapping his hips so hard the desk shook. “Look at you. Legs wide. Mouth open. Moaning like a whore.”

You scratched at his back, your head tipping as pleasure rolled through you—hot, overwhelming, endless.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “You gonna cum for me again, pretty girl?

You sobbed his name as your walls clenched around him, the overstimulation making your thighs tremble. He bent you in half, your knees pressed to your chest now, his cock drilling into you from above.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Rafe hissed. “Where do you want it, baby? On your back? Your tits? In that pretty little mouth?”

“Inside,” you begged. “Please—inside, fill me up—” 

He let out a guttural groan, hips jerking wildly as he spilled into you, feeling his warmth fill you. He didn’t move for a long moment. Just panted above you, letting your body twitch and tremble under him.

When he finally pulled out, you felt his cum drip down your thighs, thick and hot.

Rafe smirked, brushing your hair from your face.

“Clean yourself up, sweetheart. Ward’s home in ten.”

And he walked out, leaving you half-naked, shaking, and soaked on top of the desk you once called your workplace.

So much for professionalism.

a/n: daddy i promise that ill never disappoint you😩

MASTERLIST

[uncle-mick]

Uncle has taken nephew out for the day and dad calls to check up on his kid, ask if he's been good. Uncle answers right as he slides his other hand behind nephew's head, running his fingers through his hair as he pushes down, not fast, but hard. Nephew looks up at him from the footwell between his uncles thigh, his eyes watering and his lips stretched around his cock. His gag reflex barely exists anymore, but uncle can feel nephew swallowing around his cock, almost gagging as he blinks up at uncle wth wide eyes.

Uncle assures dad that kiddo has been fine, they had fun at the fair in town, kiddo even won a plushie at one of the games. Said plush is on the passenger seat, and uncle switches the call to video to show dad, letting go of his nephew's head to reach over and grab it. Nephew looks up at uncle, finally not choking on his cock but keeping it in his mouth because he's a good boy and knows not to stop.

Uncle grins down at nephew before turning the camera around to show off the plush, deliberately getting nephew in the background. Nephew knows where this is going and starts to bob his head on uncle's cock slowly, showing off. Uncle fights to keep his hand steady as he shows dad the plush. Dad's gone quiet, before movement is heard. A door opens on dad's end of the call, before closing and locking.

Soon enough, dad has his camera on too, sitting in a bathroom stall with his cock hanging out of his pants, showing what uncle and his own son have done to him while he's at work. Uncle laughs, and nephew sucks hard in retaliation, making uncle's laugh cut off with a gasp. Uncle puts his phone down in the center console so dad can see, chucks the plush on the passenger seat and gives nephew one short warning before taking his head in his hands and fucking into his mouth.

His hands easily hold nephew's head, pulling him in to meet the thrusts and making sure not to go too fast so nephew can control his breathing. Dad watches, keeping in time with uncle's thrusts so he can imagine it's him fucking his sons mouth.

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

reader and rafe sneaking behind sarahs back.

❛ SNEAKING INTO BESTFRIEND¡BROTHER¡RAFE TO FUCK ❜

sneaky¡reader . . . rafe cameron

You glance at the clock on her nightstand—1:17 a.m. Sarah’s breaths are slowing, her eyelids fluttering as sleep creeps in. Your heart thuds against your ribcage, a wild, reckless rhythm. You’ve been waiting for this moment all night, the one where she drifts off and you can slip away.

The guilt gnaws at you, sharp and insistent, but it’s drowned out by the heat pooling low in your belly, the anticipation that’s been building since Rafe shot you that look earlier—dark, hungry, a promise wrapped in a smirk—when you passed him in the hallway. He doesn’t care if Sarah finds out.

He’s made that clear, his hands always finding your skin too easily, his voice rough when he whispers that he’d take you right in front of her if you’d let him. But you care. She’s your best friend. So you’ve kept it quiet, kept it hidden. For now.

Sarah mumbles something incoherent, rolling onto her side, her blonde hair fanning across the pillow. You wait, holding your breath until her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm.

She’s out. Carefully, you peel back the covers, your bare feet hitting the cool hardwood floor. You’re in nothing but a thin tank top and a pair of cotton shorts, the fabric clinging to your skin in the sticky heat.

The house is silent save for the distant crash of waves beyond the Camerons’ sprawling estate, and you tiptoe toward the door, every creak of the floorboards amplifying your pulse. You ease it open, slipping into the hallway like a shadow.

Rafe’s room is at the far end, past the grand staircase and the framed family photos that line the walls—pictures of a younger Sarah beaming, a younger Rafe brooding even then.

Your bare feet pad silently against the polished wood, and when you reach his door, you hesitate. The brass knob is cold in your palm, and for a split second, you almost turn back. But then you hear it—a faint rustle from inside, the sound of him waiting. You twist the knob and slip in, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

The room smells like him—cologne, sharp and musky, mixed with the faint bite of weed. Moonlight spills through the open blinds, casting silver stripes across the floor, illuminating Rafe where he lounges on his bed.

He’s shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling, a pair of gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair’s messy, like he’s been running his hands through it, and his eyes lock onto you the second you step inside—blue and piercing, stripping you bare without a word. He doesn’t move at first, just watches you, a slow, predatory grin curling his lips.

“Took you long enough,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, barely above a whisper. He pats the space beside him, but there’s no invitation in it—it’s a command.

You cross the room, your breath hitching as you climb onto the bed. The mattress dips under your weight, and before you can settle, his hands are on you—rough, calloused fingers gripping your hips, pulling you astride his lap.

Your thighs straddle him, the heat of his body searing through the thin fabric of your shorts, and you bite your lip to stifle a gasp. “We have to be quiet,” you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and need. His grin widens, wicked and unrepentant.

“Then you better try harder than last time,” he teases, his lips brushing your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine.

His hands slide up your sides, thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts through your tank top, and you arch into him before you can stop yourself.

He chuckles, a dark, rumbling sound that vibrates against your chest, and then his mouth is on your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin just below your jaw.

You clamp a hand over your mouth, muffling the whimper that threatens to spill out. The house is too still, too quiet—every sound feels like it could shatter the fragile bubble you’ve built around this moment. Sarah’s just down the hall. If she wakes up, if she hears…

Rafe doesn’t care. His fingers dig into your hips, grinding you down against him, and you feel him harden beneath you, the bulge in his sweatpants pressing insistently against your core. “Fuck, you’re soaked already,” he mutters, voice hoarse as he slips a hand beneath your shorts, finding you bare underneath.

His fingers slide through your slickness, slow and deliberate, and your head falls back, a silent cry trapped in your throat. You grip his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, desperate for an anchor as he works you open, circling your clit with maddening precision.

“Rafe,” you breathe, barely audible, a plea and a warning all at once. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze dark and feral. “You want me to stop?” he asks, but he doesn’t mean it—his fingers don’t stop, don’t even slow.

You shake your head, helpless, and he smirks. “Good girl.” Then he’s shifting, flipping you onto your back so fast the air rushes out of you.

The sheets tangle beneath you, cool against your heated skin, and he’s hovering above you, one hand braced beside your head, the other yanking your shorts down your legs.

You’re exposed now, trembling and vulnerable, and he takes a moment to drink you in—his eyes roving over your body like he’s memorizing every inch.

Then he’s shoving his sweatpants down just enough to free himself, thick and heavy in his hand as he strokes once, twice, before lining up with you. “Quiet,” he warns, a glint of amusement in his voice, and then he’s pushing in, slow and relentless.

Stretching you until you’re clawing at his back, teeth sinking into your own lip to keep from crying out.

The fullness is overwhelming, a delicious burn that has your toes curling, and he doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt, his breath ragged against your throat.

“Fuck,” he groans, so soft it’s almost lost in the rustle of the sheets. He starts to move, hips rocking into you with a steady, punishing rhythm, and the bed creaks faintly beneath you—a sound that makes your stomach lurch.

You grab his face, pulling him down to kiss you, swallowing his grunts and your own moans as his tongue tangles with yours, messy and desperate.

Every thrust sends a jolt through you, the pressure building low and tight, and you wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

His hand slides between you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles that have you teetering on the edge. “Come on,” he whispers against your lips, “let go for me.”

It’s too much—the risk, the heat, the way he fills you—and you shatter, clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash over you.

You bury your face in his shoulder, biting down to muffle the sound, and he follows seconds later, spilling inside you with a choked groan, his body shuddering against yours.

For a moment, you just lie there, panting, the world narrowing to the thud of his heartbeat against your chest. Then reality creeps back in—the quiet house, Sarah asleep down the hall.

You push at him, and he rolls off you with a lazy grin, pulling you against his side. “You’re gonna get us caught one of these days,” he murmurs, but there’s no remorse in it. You swat his chest, half-playful, half-panicked, and slip out of bed, tugging your shorts back on with shaky hands.

He watches you go, unapologetic, and you slip back into the hall, the taste of him still on your lips, the ache of him still between your thighs.

Back in Sarah’s room, you slide under the covers, her soft snores filling the silence. Your heart’s still racing, your body still humming, and you stare at the ceiling, wondering how long you can keep this up—how long before it all falls apart.

𓂅 notes ―

return home ⸝⸝

©RAFESGREASYCURTAINBANGS ꪆৎ est. 2025

[undyingdecay]

cnc with bob is driving me insane

(foaming at the mouth rn)

you’re annoyed.

not at bob—never at bob—but at val, for dumping another endless file of disorganized data across your inbox, half of it from missions that predate even the original avengers. it’s a mess, unreadable, and somehow you’re expected to sort and annotate it by tonight?

unfuckingbelievable.

you’re sat cross-legged on the bed, laptop perched against your thighs, jaw tight and brows furrowed. the low hum of frustration crackles beneath your skin like static.

and bob?

bob is whining.

you love him—sweet, needy bob—but right now, his sighs and restless fidgeting are chewing away at your already-thin patience. every few seconds he shifts closer, brushing his thigh against yours, his fingers tugging lightly at the hem of your shirt. when he exhales near your ear, you tilt your head away sharply, voice clipped: “no, bob. not now.”

he stills. quiet for a beat. you don’t look over.

you hear him shuffle off the bed. the bathroom door clicks shut behind him. then, after a few minutes—so few it’s obvious he didn’t manage anything—he comes back, towel half-draped around his neck, face flushed. you don’t acknowledge him. you don’t have to. his energy is practically vibrating.

you expect him to whine again. instead, he slips behind you on the bed. you open your mouth to protest, to push him off—but he beats you to it.

“not gonna do anything,” he breathes, voice soft like a promise, or a lie. “i just… i just wanna be close. miss you. miss you so much.”

you sigh, tablet already charging on the nightstand, and swap your laptop out for it. “fine. just don’t start anything.” you allow your back to fall against his chest.

bob nods. obedient. you feel the way his chest expands behind you like he’s finally breathing for the first time all day.

but you also feel his hard-on. thick and heavy under his sweats, pressed up against your ass.

you say nothing.

you try to focus, but ten minutes pass and he starts shifting, small and slow at first. a gentle rock of his hips. the quiet puff of breath against your neck. he presses his nose to your shoulder, inhales deep. and that’s when you realize just how wet you are—soaked through your panties, heat pooling low in your belly, your body already betraying you.

he notices.

“you’re wet,” he whispers. “you’re wet, so you do want it—right? don’t lie—please, ‘jus wanna make you feel good.”

“bob,” you warn, voice tight. but it’s already too late.

his arms tighten around you. strong. unmovable. he doesn’t shove you or slam you down—he doesn’t have to. he’s too strong. all he has to do is hold you in place, one palm slipping under your shirt to press flat over your ribs, the other moving lower, grabbing at your hip.

“just wanna feel you,” he breathes. “you’re always so warm. i missed this. i missed you.”

“don’t—” you start, but then he moves, grabbing you under the thighs and flipping you easily.

but, now you’re in his lap, straddling him, face-to-face. and the look on his face? like he’s about to cry.

“you’re not listening,” you hiss, trying to shove at his chest.

“you’re not either,” he says, voice trembling. “you’re so wet. i felt it—you want it. please, just—just let me.”

you try to slide off his lap but his arms wrap around your waist, iron-strong, keeping you caged against him.

your nails dig into his shoulders in frustration, sharp and angry—scratch marks blooming along his skin. it makes him groan. his cock twitches under you.

and then he does it too—reaches up and drags his fingers down your back, not deep enough to draw blood but hard enough to sting. like he wants you to fight. like he likes it.

you glare at him, nails dragging across his chest this time in a sharp rake. he shudders, breathing hard, voice cracking—

“fuck—do that again—please—”

you try to climb off him again and he just snaps his hips up. you choke on a gasp, the head of his cock catching on your soaked panties, your whole body jolting forward with the movement.

you don’t even realize when he’s pulled your panties aside—don’t feel it until he’s in, sliding into you with one smooth, devastating thrust that steals the breath from your lungs.

“bob—” your voice comes out high, strangled.

you try to pull back, body instinctively resisting the sudden stretch, but bob just grabs your hips tighter, scratches from your nails glowing red against his shoulders now.

“so tight—please,” he pants. “just a little. just for a second. i’ll stop if you want me to.”

but he doesn’t stop.

“fuck—oh my god—bob—”

he’s gasping now, breath hot and frantic. “feels so good, you're so pretty—been thinking about this all day—don’t stop me—don’t tell me to stop—”

he’s brutal. he’s desperate. thrusting up into you like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together, his strength terrifying and intoxicating all at once.

your nails scratch down his back—again, again—and he moans like it’s divine.

his lips press wet and sloppy kisses to your chest, his tongue flicking against your nipples, suckling in a way that makes you arch involuntarily even as tears sting the corners of your eyes.

“‘m sorry,” he chokes. “i tried to be good—but i need it—i need you.”

when he cums, it’s with a strangled cry of your name, arms crushing you tight as he holds you down on his cock, hips grinding, driving his spend as deep as it’ll go.

you’re gasping, dazed, clinging to his forearm as he buries himself inside you one last time.

his voice is a broken whisper at your temple, like a prayer or a confession. “i love you ‘s much.”

[eufezco]

NEW OLD JOEL 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

old man!joel x younger!fem!reader

synopsis – after years on the road, you and joel finally settle in jackson and there's nothing you love more than coming back from work to your old man wearing those glasses.

smut. fluff

the last of us masterlist

after traveling what felt like the entire world following joel, you both finally decided to settle down in jackson. it was peaceful, a not so small community anymore where you could breathe again, where you could do more than just survive. eat three meals a day. sleep through the night without one eye open. and with all that peace came space, to feel, to think, to finally let yourself consider what had been quietly building between you and joel all this time.

he was reluctant at first. the age gap weighed on him more than it ever did on you. you’d never brought it up, never even seemed to notice it in the ways he did. but you two had lived too much together since you first started traveling with ellie. that kind of bond didn’t come easily. yet joel didn’t think he had the right to want something as soft, as tender, as the love you showed him. and jackson helped him with that. the town gave him the kind of peace he never thought he’d earn. and slowly, as the years passed, joel softened and started to accept the life he deserved and appreciate the little things.

the way you massaged his shoulders after a long day of work, the way he always made sure you were warm in the mornings when he had to leave early, how you'd wake up tucked beneath an extra blanket. you built a life together made up of shared breakfasts and quiet evenings walking through the snow-covered streets of jackson, of fixing things around the house side by side, of laughter in the kitchen when something burned, and the way he'd kiss your temple like it didn’t matter.

—hi, —you said coming into the house. joel looked up from where he was sitting at the table, glasses low on his nose, hands busy with something that needed to be fixed. his eyes softened the second he saw you.

—hey, darlin’, —he said, —you’re back early.

—yeah, the snow is getting worst, there wasn't much we could do in the garden, —you replied, shrugging off your coat and hanging it up by the door.

joel gave a small nod, eyes following your every move, —i figured, —he said, —how’s the ground looking? any chance we can save anything before the winter really sets in?

you sighed, taking a moment to pull off your gloves and slide them into your pocket. —a few plants are holding up, but it’s mostly the cold that’s making it tough. i’m thinking of giving it another shot in the spring, once everything starts to warm up.

joel hummed. you approached him and hugged him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. his hand, still holding the small tool, paused for a second before he gently placed it down, he took one of your hands in his, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

—how was your day? —you asked.

—good, busy. dina told me the cracked main lines are full of roots. should've checked them but i forgot, —he rubbed his hands over his face, clearly annoyed with himself. you could see how much he cared about getting things right, about showing that he was still capable, still useful. he picked the piece again and fidgeted with it.

—it's okay, you can get it done tomorrow. the main lines aren't going to move, —you reassured him, your voice gentle, as you smoothed your hand over his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm.

—yeah, you’re right. tomorrow’s another day, —the therapy sessions were working, somehow, because never in your life would you have imagined the joel you first met would learn to take things slow.

you kissed his cheek, his beard tickling your lips, as your hand slid slowly over his chest. you couldn't help but smile at how lost he was in the task, not even seeming to notice the way you were touching him. you pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his neck, letting your lips pressed there for just a second before pulling back.

—joel, —you murmured. your fingers brushed against his before you gently took the small tool from him and set it on the table. you moved closer, slipping one knee over his lap, easing yourself down until you were straddling him. —are you planning on working all night?

joel's hands instinctively found your hips, steadying you, surprised but not willing to stop you. —was just about done here, —he said, —then i was gonna give you every bit of my attention. but i see you've got other plans for me.

you loved how he looked with the glasses low on his nose, made him look more domestic, but you gently slid them off, folding them and setting them on the table. his eyes followed the movement, then back up to yours, darker now but entirely focused.

—thought you liked those, —he murmured.

—i do, —you whispered, —but i'm afraid they might get in the way.

he hummed, his eyes fixed on your lips.

you unbuttoned the flannel he wore beneath his jacket. he watched you, barely breathing, his hands still resting on your hips but his thumbs began to trace soft circles through the fabric of your jeans. you sighed softly as the last button came undone, revealing his body. your hand moved over his chest, tracing the old, pale scars that marked his skin. your eyes moved lower, taking in the softness of his belly, the way he relaxed under your gaze instead of tensing. you bit your lower lip, what if you said this was the sexiest he has ever looked?

—i couldn't wait to get back home to you, —you brushed your nose against his, you hips started rolling against his own. joel swallowed, his hands flexed where they held you, fingers tightening just a little.

—yeah? —he asked, his voice low, a little gruff.

you nodded, and your lips finally met his in a kiss that felt like it had been waiting to happen all day. it was desperate, needy, but slow and passionate. your fingers sank into the soft, graying hair at the back of joel’s head, tugging gently, needing him closer. he groaned low in his throat, his hands working hungrily on the zipper of your jeans.

you lifted your hips from his so he could slid your jeans down your legs and immediately after, you straddled him again. as your fingers worked on the buckle of his belt and then unzipped his pants, joel's big hands cupped your ass, pushing you forward and encouraging you to grind against his crotch.

you whined, feeling the rough fabric of his jeans through the thin one of your panties. you pulled down his underwear, just enough for his cock to sprung free. you connected your lips with his again, his hands now on your cheeks as you lowered yourself just enough for his tip to go in. he let out a deep grunt straight from his chest, you let out all the air you had in your lungs in a moan.

you took all of him. joel let his head rest on your shoulder as his hands traveled down your body to your hips. he helped you move, at first just rocking your body back and forth against his. your lips, half parted pressed together, made it easier for your breaths to mingle. then, you lifted your body and then dropped back onto him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips while you repeated that same move again and again.

—fuck, yeah, just like that, —joel groaned in your ear.

you tried not to be so loud, you didn't want to attract anyone's attention or cause a scandal. but your cries and his moans eventually echoed on the walls of your living room every time you lifted yourself a bit more and then sucked his cock completely inside you again.

joel rose from the chair in one fluid motion, his strong hands holding your weight. with a sweep of his arm, tools and scraps went to the floor, forgotten. he laid you down on the now-cleared table, the wood cool against your back, contrast to the heat building between you as his cock never left your body.

—did so good for me, now let me take care of you, hm?

he grabbed your thighs with firm hands and guided your legs around his waist so he could go deeper. your heels pressed into his lower back as he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. the table cracked with each one of his thrusts and you feared it might break, it wouldn't be the first time joel would need to ask his brother for help in repairing a piece of furniture that you had broken since your arrival in jackson.

one of his hands sneaked in between your bodies and found your clit, his fingers moving fast and with urgency as he felt how you were getting tighter and tighter. you closed your eyes shut, feeling a little dizzy from all the panting as your body jerked and squeezed his own between your legs as you came. after that, he didn't last much longer and released himself inside you.

you both stayed there for a few minute. joel rested on top of you and with your legs still around him, you welcomed the weight of his body pressing you down onto the table. you played with his hair as he finally looked at you. you showed him a little smile and he gave a quick kiss to your lips.

—my body's gonna hurt so much tomorrow from this.

you giggled, —i'll make sure to give you the best massage ever.

you showed him a little smile, and he gave you a quick kiss to your lips. but as you pulled away, both of you noticed the mess of tools and pieces scattered across the floor, the work joel had been focused on before everything had shifted between you.

—i'm afraid you're gonna have to start all over again.

—with that or with you?

[pyraomen]

࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ 𝑱𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐄, 𝐈’𝐌 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝑻𝐎𝐎, elias moore.

𝑺𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ─── ❝ i can easily understand why you're attracted to my man. but you don't want this smoke, so shoot your shot with someone else. ❞

꒰ elias “stack” moore x black!fem reader. established relationship. strong language, violence (threatening), gun mentioned, alcohol use, sexual references, verbal insults, mary slander. ꒱

[ꪆৎ] was having herself a good time down at the juke joint. her belly was full from that fresh batch of catfish annie had just pulled from the fryer; crisp, golden, seasoned just right. she’d even snuck a few sips of liquor from her man’s cup when he wasn’t looking, the warmth of it humming in her chest. the place was alive tonight, packed wall to wall.

sammie’s voice boomed over the crowd, deep and rich, weaving through the smoke and laughter like a sermon of rhythm and blues. the air was thick with sweat, perfume, and excitement. it was exhilarating, felt like home. folks were swaying, stomping, clapping, hips rolling to the rhythm of his song.

everything felt just right, until she heard her name.

mary.

“is that little mary?” she heard cornbread yell out and immediately came to an halt. she wasn’t usually one to eavesdrop, but when it came to mary, she was all ears. that girl was like a fly that wouldn’t quit buzzing around your kitchen — still hung up on her stack. there’d been more than a few run-ins between them, and each time [ꪆৎ] had tried to keep her cool. but tonight, she was fed up.

elias somehow sensing some shit was finna go down, appeared behind her. “what’s wrong, baby?” he asked, his voice low, eyes already scanning the room like he knew who the problem was. she turned slowly, locking eyes with him. “stack,” she said, voice flat and sharp, giving him a look of get her before i do. he let out a knowing chuckle and pulled the toothpick from his mouth, giving her backside a rough tap as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “i know, i know. i got it.”

stack wasn’t about to let it get ugly, not in front of all these folks, and especially not when he knew his woman didn’t play that. if mary didn’t leave on her own, one or both of them was looking to catch a bullet before the night was over.

[ꪆৎ] watched as stack made his way toward the entrance. she scoffed under her breath, shaking her head, then turned on her heel and made her way to the bar. the mississippi humidity clung to her skin, mixing with the slow simmer of anger already creeping up her spine. sliding onto a barstool, she fanned herself with her hand, though it did little to help.

her jaw clenched tight and eyebrows scrunched together. just the thought of mary trying her luck again made her skin itch. “need a drink?” came annie’s voice, smooth and matter-of-fact. [ꪆৎ] looked up to find the older woman standing behind the counter, a bottle of good whiskey in hand, the kind they didn’t pour for just anyone. she didn’t say anything, just gave a small nod, her fingers drumming anxiously on the bar top in a rhythm she barely noticed.

annie poured a glass, slid it across the counter, and gave her a look ; one full of shared understanding. wasn’t the first time a triflin heffa tried to sniff around one of the smoke-stack twins. and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

she took a slow sip of the whiskey, letting the burn calm the storm in her chest. or trying to, at least. the joint around her pulsed with laughter and music, but her focus was drawn to the front door, past the crowd ; where stack stood talking to her. their voices were low, but every now and then a word or two slipped through the rhythm of the joint.

“i was just... stoppin by,” mary said, her voice syrupy-sweet, the kind of tone women like her used when they were up to no good. [ꪆৎ] paused mid-sip, her ear twitching in their direction.

“you know i always had a soft spot for you, stack,” mary continued, a little louder this time, like she wanted [ꪆৎ] to hear. [ꪆৎ] set her glass down a little harder than intended. annie didn’t flinch, just raised an eyebrow, ready to step in if needed.

before she could make the decision to waltz over there. she heard stack let out a long sigh, voice laced with irritation. “mary, this ain’t the time or the place. i suggest kindly you get the fuck up outta here before i get one of these field bitches to do it for me. or better yet, get [ꪆৎ] to handle yo ass, you know she been itching for the right moment too.”

that should’ve been enough. but of course, it wasn’t.

mary let out a loud scuff, obviously feeling like somebody. “i’ll beat up every bitch in here and you know it.”

that did it.

[ꪆৎ] stood up slow, eyes never leaving the shadowy outline of the two at the door. her pulse thumped in her ears, the whiskey mixing with heat and rage. she didn’t shout, nor stormed ; she moved graciously through the crowd like a woman on a mission. 

annie just shook her head, muttering under her breath, “lord help that girl … she don’t know who she messing with.”

the crowd parted for [ꪆৎ] like it always did. some out of respect, others out of fear, but most just knew better than to stand in her way when she moved like that. her dress swayed with each step, graceful but sharp, the small pistol tucked in the folds at her thigh brushing against her skin like a silent reminder. the music didn’t stop, but the energy in the room shifted, low murmurs stirred, a few folks, cornbread included backed away from the door, sensing the storm brewin.

stack turned just in time to see her coming, jaw tightening. he didn’t move, he knew better than to interfere when she had that look in her eye. he wasn’t scared of his woman, but he was scared of his woman. this was between her and mary now.

mary, still too full of herself to read the room, crossed her arms and tilted her head. “so now you sending your little guard dog to the door?” she spat, chin raised.

[ꪆৎ] didn’t respond right away. she stepped up to mary, slow, eyes scanning her head to toe like she was sizing up trash on the side of the road. then she spoke, voice calm, but low and mean.

“you come to my man’s place of business, looking the way you look and talking nonsense you can’t back up. thought i wasn’t gon show, huh?” her louisiana accent thickening with each word she spoke. mary’s smirk faltered, just a little. “i ain’t scared of you. you hiding behind a man that i already had.”

[ꪆৎ] let out a soft laugh, humorless, deep, dangerous. her head tilted slightly, curls brushing her shoulder as she took one deliberate step closer, causing mary to shift her weight back instinctively. the scent of her perfume sharp and sweet in the thick air between them.

“that so?” she said, voice low and affluent, louisiana accent wrapping around each word like molasses. “you had him, huh? must’ve been real forgettable, since he don’t even look your way no more.”

mary’s eyes narrowed. “he still remember.”

[ꪆৎ] nodded slowly, pressing her lips together before replying. “maybe. a man remember trash when it stank long enough. don’t mean he want it back in his house.”

a few folks nearby let out a low “mmm,” like they just bit into something hot and juicy. even stack looked down at his feet, fighting back a grin he knew better than to let show.

mary’s smirk had fully dropped now, her jaw tightening. but [ꪆৎ] wasn’t done. “you got two good legs, mary. use em. cause if i take one more step, neither i nor elias gon be responsible for what happens next.”

mary stood frozen, the fight in her chest but no wind to back it up. she opened her mouth like she wanted to throw another blow, but the silence around them told her loud and clear. she needed to take her ass on.

she huffed sharply, her chest rising with wounded pride, then spun on her heel with a dramatic flick of her hair. her heels struck the ground with angry rhythm, each step echoing her bruised ego as she stormed away from the joint, shoulders stiff with false dignity.

[ꪆৎ] slammed the door shut, then exhaled slowly, adjusting her dress. “yall can go back to having fun”, she said with a wave of her hand. that was all people needed to hear to get back in they groove.

she glanced up at stack, “lets go home. i’m tired of playing with these little ass girls.” he didn't say a word, just took her hand like he always did, following the woman that never steered him wrong.

[everrinsly]

life with sae vibes.

let him hear with sae. smut. nsfw. very suggestive. mature. | not proofread.

more life with sae here!

more reads!

~~~~~

It might've been a mistake... falling asleep on the living room, wearing nothing but Sae's jersey—

Because you woke up to heat.

To slick, wet pressure.

To a thick, slow drag of Sae’s cock already deep inside you, dragging out and back in with maddening precision and the sound of your own broken moan in the sheets.

“Sae—mmph—wh…?”

His hips never stopped rutting against you as a free hand slid around your throat, thumb brushing under your jaw as he pressed kisses to the back of your neck, to your shoulder blades, nipping at all your soft skin exposed.

You couldn't see, but you felt his grin. (His smug ass grin).

“Morning, baby.”

Your lashes fluttered, thighs already trembling from how full you feel.

“You’re already—ngh—” You voice was broken, all breathless and high.

“Already inside?” he finished for you, voice husky with sleep. “You were warm. Soft. Wet in your sleep, too. And backing that pretty ass against me. Couldn’t help it.”

You shivered, and something curled again in your lower stomach.

"I—I—S-Sae—I don't think I w-was—"

"But you were, baby. You were," he murmured in your ear, all condescending—

Okay, maybe you were.

You faintly remembered pressing back against Sae unconsciously in your sleep. The outline of his hard cock rubbing in your ass in the best way possible. Even in your sleep were you drawn to him, gravitated towards him like a magnet.

His hand splayed across your stomach, no effort of pulling away. If anything, he shifted closer with a low groan of desperation. "You keep doing that, baby... and you're gonna get fucked all day tomorrow."

—so now, you're here. On the couch. He was spooning you from behind, covers kicked off, your body bare and folded perfectly into his. Every lilt, every dip. Hips moved with lazy, deep thrusts, soaking wet from how easily he slides through your slick.

And then—

Ding dong.

Your eyes snapped open, body stiffening. Euphoria replaced by humiliation.

“S-Sae—!”

He didn't stop. He never stopped when it came to you.

“Relax,” he murmured, licking the shell of ear. He thrusted into you a little harder, groaning softly at the way you clench. “That’s just Rin.”

“Rin—?!” you gasp, mortified. “You invited your brother over?!”

He hummed, like it’s nothing. Still fucking into you. Still ruining you.

“Said he’d drop off breakfast after his morning drills. Told him to swing by early.”

You tried to twist around, a small hand reaching behind to push slightly at his hips.

Keyword, tried—

Because he only tightened his grip around your waist with one arm. The other... under your head, locking around your neck. Biceps bulging, flexing, squeezing. Every part of him was holding you firmly in place as he ruts into you with smooth, brutal rhythm.

The sound of skin-on-skin was filthy. Every squelch of your core motivated him.

“And you—ah—thought t-this w-was a good—ah—ah—idea?!”

“I didn’t plan on fucking you through it,” he murmured, now licking the corner of your jaw, voice pure sin. “But you were whining in your sleep. Moaning. Arching so prettily. Like you wanted it. Like you wanted me to fuckin' wreck your pussy."

You squirmed at his words, breathing hitched, one hand slapping over your mouth to muffle the broken sounds slipping out.

Sae noticed.

And he was not having it.

“Don’t bother,” he says darkly, voice full of sick amusement. “I locked the front door. Rin’s just gonna have to wait.”

Another deep, punishing thrust, and you cry out, body jerking, eyes squeezing shut. You hands now removed from your mouth to claw his veiny forearms.

“You hear that?” Sae panted, fucking into you harder now. “You want him to hear it? Hear how ruined you sound? How good I’m fucking you?”

And in Sae's twisted mind—god, he so desperately wanted Rin to hear.

Because he hated, absolutely hated, how you cared for Rin. How you doted on him, coddled him, fussed over him. Made him soup after every intensive practice. Spoon-fed him when he got sick from rookie training. Called him after practice to make sure he showered in the locker rooms, so he wouldn't get sick from his cooling sweat.

Fuck, he hated all that shit.

But he loved (loves) you. So he put up with it—

But not right now. Right now, you were his, solely his. And he wanted Rin to know. He wanted Rin to hear how fucked out you sounded for Sae. Sae. Sae. Just Sae.

But, you pretty little thing, you shook your head frantically, too ruined to respond verbally.

Sae laughed darkly, low and raspy in your ear. Then—

He pushed back in with a particularly deep thrust. Unwavering, unrelenting. A pace that was brutal. And your body betrayed you, back arching, legs shaking, getting louder the closer you get.

And then?

His phone vibrates. Your phone vibrates. Both on the nightstand.

Rin Itoshi — [1 message]

“I’m outside. You guys good?”

You whimpered thighs trembling. You were so close. You could die.

Sae leaned forward, eyes flicking to the lit-up notification screens, reading it over your shoulder. And then he smirked, thrusting even harder.

"AH—ah—S-Sae, no—please—p-please—" You sobbed loudly, vision blurred with tears from how stimulated you are.

Sae sucked on the crevice of your neck, hiding his grin. Oh. There we go. Rin definitely heard that one.

“You’re gonna come with my brother standing ten feet from the door,” he growled. “You gonna do that for me, baby? Yeah?"

He gripped your jaw, fingers trailing to squeeze your cheeks until a string of drool left your opened mouth and dribbled down your chin. He slightly turned your face to look at him over your shoulders.

"Answer me, sweet baby? You gonna come for me? With him just outside? Huh?"

His pace was feral. Pounding into you with harsh thrusts. In and out. In and out. Tongue darting out to lick your spit off your chin.

"You wanna be my good girl, baby?"

Yes, yes, you so desperately wanted to be his good girl. Sae's good girl. So you dropped whatever's left of your composure—

And moaned recklessly into the open space of the living room, the symphony of your 'ah-ah-ahs' bouncing off the walls. Body spasmed as you came hard, clenching around him while he groaned your name into your skin, chasing his high, holding your hips still while he filled you, thick and hot and deep.

You collapsed.

Breathless.

Destroyed.

And Sae?

Sae kissed your jaw, glancing at his phone again like he has all the time in the world.

“I’ll go unlock the door in a sec,” he said casually, slipping out of you, your release leaking down your thighs. “Or maybe I’ll let him keep knocking while I eat you out next.”

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you’ve been one of sukuna’s many concubines for quite a while now. yet, you still cannot get rid of the jealousy in your system whenever he interacts with the other women in his harem.

wc. idk around 1 to 2k

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. angst (hurt to comfort), fluff, suggestive at the end. heian era. you call sukuna ‘my lord’. reader gets called ‘brat, little girl’. size difference. no part2, don’t ask i beg. not beta read.

“get back here, brat,” sukuna raises his voice as he follows you. he isn’t one to care about others’ emotional outbursts, yet here he is, chasing you after you’ve poured out your heart to him.

you don’t know why you’re this upset. you do know, however, that it’s childish of you to walk away mid dinner. you should’ve just stayed seated and refuse to let the thoughts consume you.

now you’re speed walking down the hallways of the estate—your legs carrying you as fast as they can without actually making a run for it. your mind keeps replaying the ‘unsettling’ scene that caused you to flee.

you remember it vividly. the sound of sukuna’s low, amused chuckle. how intrigued it was because of something another concubine told him—how he stopped chewing to say something back to her. which he rarely does.

hell, you’ve never seen him laugh around his other concubines.

“i do not wish to talk to you right now, my lord,” you reply, voice raised so the distance wouldn’t make it a hassle for the king of curses to hear you. you know that feisty attitude of yours entertains sukuna to no end.

he raises an eyebrow once he’s heard your voice; how it’s dripping with envy and hurt. you’ve never reacted like that before—at least not in his presence. it made him want to figure out why and how.

though, he can easily guess the reasoning behind your sudden defiance.

“oh, that so?” sukuna hums. he’s lenient with you this time around. he could catch up to you in under a split second, but he decides to give you that sense of accomplishment first before completely destroying it. he walks after you slowly, your fast steps being the same tempo as his slow pace.

you don’t answer. you’re stubborn. you have no right to feel jealous. you are a fairly new concubine—only a couple months ago did you join sukuna’s harem. yet, the time spent with him was precious.

he treats you differently. everyone notices that. everyone tells you the same. you know he does by the way he lets you off the hook with most stuff you say and do.

you don’t know what you did to gain his favouritsm, but it’s addicting. his attention is addictive. real addictive.

you had sworn not to develop any unneccessary feelings for that ruthless sorcerer. but, with the way sukuna treated you so gently behind closed doors, it was impossible not to.

you eventually reach the doors to your chambers. you slide them open and wish to close them behind you, only for a big hand to halt those movements. you freeze in place and refuse to look up at the owner of that said hand.

“look up,” sukuna demands. his voice causes goosebumps to appear on your arms, but you still don't budge. he clicks his tongue. that’s your first warning. two more and your punishment will be carried out, “we can do this the hard way too if you want.”

you turn your head, your fingers curling around the material of your kimono. you really should not feel this way about a little interaction between sukuna and his other concubine. that is none of your concern. what he does with those other women is none of your concern.

and yet. . .

“i don't want to,” you retort. sukuna walks into your room with a sigh. each step he takes forwards, you take backwards. your back finally bumps against the wall next to your bed.

sukuna towers over you, his tall and big frame making you feel vulnerable. especially with the way those red eyes of his are staring down at you. he crosses all four of his arms before speaking.

“tell me what’s running through that head of yours,” sukuna inquires sternly. he isn’t playing around anymore, you can tell. you glance the other way—knowing that he will laugh at you the moment you tell him why you’re upset.

you have a feeling he knows the reason behind your tantrum anyway.

“it’s nothing of importance, my lord,” you shake your head and relax your tense shoulders to make you seem less upset. your words have some truth in them—you don’t think your feelings of envy hold any value to him.

sukuna sighs again. he’s trying his best not to be annoyed at you. you’re his favorite and he wishes not to sadden you any further. he steps forwards, one hand moving to cup the side of your face.

his rough fingers play with a string of your hair, “i’m not stupid, little girl. i don’t like it when my woman is in distress.”

your heart skips a beat. this is what confuses you—how he can go from stern to gentle and vice versa. it’s surprisingly unexpected, which makes you long for more. even if his behaviour is confusing.

you look up at sukuna. your eyes meet for the first time in a good couple minutes. the corner of sukuna’s lips curls up into a satisfied smirk. that’s one step closer to getting you to open up.

“now,” the king of curses lowers his head to your eye level, the proximity all the more nerve wracking. he holds your jaw super tightly out of the blue. it makes you whimper.

“spit it out.”

there it is. the duality of the man strikes once more. you swallow the spit that’s been building up in your mouth. you bite your bottom lip lightly, trying to gather and form the right words to explain yourself.

sukuna wouldn’t understand. he’s a cold-hearted man who doesn’t care about such ‘trivial’ matters. he’ll just call you stupid, pathetic or whatever other derogatory term.

you stop your thoughts for a moment.

“it’s really just a stupid thing,” you mutter. your fingers curl around sukuna’s wrist—the one hand he’s using to firmly hold your jaw. you take a deep breath in, “i did not like it when you, errr. . . when that woman talked to you at the dinner table.”

your voice is clearly dripping with jealousy. pure, pure jealousy. and for what? because he talked to his other concubine. you feel stupid. you thought you discarded your personal feelings for the sorcerer before you the moment you turned into one of his many women.

“that woman?” sukuna tilts his head, feigning ignorance. that little grin on his face tells you enough. he’s playing with you like some form of entertainment. well, technically you are.

he wants you to be specific. he’s forcing you to be by acting like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

in all honesty, sukuna’s already forgotten what that woman had said to him. it wasn’t and still isn’t worth remembering. all he can recall is your adorable facial expression when you saw him interact like that with his other concubine.

that little frown on your face was priceless. it makes him want to keep teasing you.

“you know who i am talking about, my lord,” you huff, trying to look away, but get stopped by sukuna readjusting his grip on your jaw. he firmly yet gently taps your cheek once and you know what it means.

“attitude,” sukuna warns with a quick hiss. he can let you say whatever you want to him, but you also have some limits regarding which tone you use with him. you apologise quietly under your breath.

the king of curses nods in satisfaction before releasing the grip on your jaw. his large hand trails down to your neck, thumb rubbing up and down your throat, “so, my little girl is mad at me because i talked to another concubine of mine, huh?”

you nod mindlessly. sukuna can easily get you to comply with him—to obey his every word, simply with his actions. the terms of endearment he uses are the cherry on top. they slip off his tongue so easily with you.

“tsk tsk,” sukuna shakes his head. his hand is now on the back of your head, fingers tangled into your hair. he’s staring down at you with a smug expression. he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger, “how childish of you.”

you knew that would be one of the things he’d say to you. what you didn’t expect is for him to go for a kiss right after. his lips land on yours firmly, and to no surprise, you instantly return the gesture.

your arms wrap around his neck—your chest pressing against his. sukuna wastes no time in picking you up and letting your legs encircle his waist. he’s not pulling away for air to breathe and you don’t either.

“you’re going to listen to me, yeah?” sukuna murmurs between passionate kisses. he’s holding onto you tightly with two arms, his free hands roaming over your body whilst he pins you against the wall.

when you whimper out a weak, high-pitched ‘yes, my lord’, he smirks against your mouth before turning to kiss your neck. he slightly bites the skin to make sure you’re paying attention to him.

“i don’t remember what that woman said,” sukuna continues, nearly out of breath because of the kisses he’s leaving all over you. he easily grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head on the wall, “i was too busy lookin’ at a much prettier concubine of mine.”

he pulls back a little so he can look you in the eyes. you’re panting and embarrassed by what he just said. one of his hands finds your face again, tracing the shape of your mouth.

“my favourite,” sukuna whispers whilst licking his lips. you can see it in his eyes: he’s silently planning out how he’s going to remind you of your place. your place as his favorite concubine.

he dips his head back down, aiming for the valley between your breasts. he closes his eyes before sucking on the surrounding flesh;

“guess i’ll be nice for once ‘nd show you just what it means to be my favorite so that you’ll never dare forget it again.”

[moondustbaby]

In His Element

Blue Collar!Rafe x Wife!Reader

cw: smut, piv, oral (f rec), unprotected sex

mdni 18+

summary: It’s a lazy weekend, and Rafe’s been working out in the garage all morning—sweaty, focused, shirt clinging to him in the heat. You try to stay patient, but after a while, the sight of him all rugged and messy is too much to resist.

⸻

It’s just past noon, and the house is quiet—windows cracked open, breeze moving gently through the curtains. You’ve been inside all morning, pretending not to notice how long Rafe’s been in the garage, though every now and then, a soft grunt or the hum of a power drill slips in from outside.

You peek out the front window and catch sight of him—sleeves rolled up, shirt clinging to his back with sweat, and his jeans hanging just low enough on his hips to remind you exactly what’s under them. He’s hunched over a half-assembled workbench, tool belt slung low and heavy across his waist, arms flexing with every movement.

The view alone makes you warm.

You step outside barefoot, the concrete warm under your toes, and walk toward the open garage. The smell of sawdust and grease hits you instantly—sharp, familiar, comforting.

Rafe doesn’t notice you at first. He’s focused, brows furrowed, hand steady as he drills into the edge of the frame. There’s a smudge of dirt across his cheek and sweat on his neck. You lean in the doorway and let your voice cut through the thick, muggy air.

“You building a second house out here or what?”

His head lifts, and when he sees you—your bare legs, his shirt hanging off your body, hair messy from lounging all morning—his mouth curls into a slow, easy grin.

“Didn’t know I was on a deadline.”

You shrug. “You’ve been out here for hours.”

He sets the drill down and wipes his palms on his jeans, eyes trailing up your body with a lazy kind of hunger. “You could’ve come out sooner.”

“I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“You’re never a bother.” He closes the gap between you with a few slow steps, stopping just short of touching. “Especially when you look like that.”

His fingers brush along your hip, where his shirt drapes loosely over your skin. His hand slips around to the small of your back, drawing you closer until you’re pressed to his chest. He smells like sweat and cedar, and your whole body responds instantly.

“You gonna just stare at me, baby?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing. “Or you gonna kiss me?”

You rise up onto your toes and meet his mouth, soft and warm, the kiss deepening fast as his hand tightens on your waist. His tongue licks into your mouth, tasting like black coffee and heat.

The garage fades away.

When he breaks the kiss, his lips trail down to your jaw, your throat, his voice rumbling against your skin. “You came out here to distract me, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” you breathe. “Is it working?”

His hands are already sliding lower, over the curve of your ass. “Yeah. It’s working.”

He lifts you easily onto the workbench, the wood cool under your thighs. Your legs part instinctively as he steps between them, lips crashing into yours again. His kiss is messier this time—open-mouthed, desperate, a little filthy.

When his fingers push up the hem of your shirt, he groans at the sight of nothing underneath. “Fuck, baby…”

You grin. “Got hot waiting for you.”

He leans back just enough to drag his calloused fingers down your bare thigh. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You pull his belt open slowly, letting your fingers brush against the bulge in his jeans. He hisses under his breath.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasps, voice tight. “Right here on the bench? Against the door? Floor?”

“Here,” you whisper. “Can’t wait anymore.”

That’s all he needs.

He kisses you hard, then drops to his knees between your legs. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wide, and he presses his mouth to your inner thigh—hot and open and wet.

Your head tips back, hands gripping the edge of the bench as he kisses his way up to where you’re already soaked.

He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t hesitate.

Rafe buries his mouth in you with a low groan, tongue stroking deep and slow, lips wrapped around your clit with just enough suction to make your whole body jerk.

You gasp, thighs clenching around his head, and he only pulls you closer, fingers digging into your hips. He moans against your core like he’s high on it, like he could eat you forever.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against you, the vibration making your stomach twist. “You miss my mouth, baby?”

“Yes,” you cry, fingers yanking at his hair. “God, yes.”

He sucks harder, tongue flattening and flicking just right, and it coils tight in your belly—heat building, hips grinding into his face shamelessly.

“You gonna come for me?” he groans, breath hot on your soaked skin. “Wanna feel you shake, baby.”

It doesn’t take long. You come with a strangled moan, thighs trembling around his head as he licks you through it, not stopping until you’re whimpering and trying to pull away.

He stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, panting, eyes blown wide.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod, still catching your breath. “Get your pants off.”

That makes him laugh—low and dark and desperate. He fumbles with his fly, dragging his jeans and boxers down in one swift move. He’s already rock hard, flushed and leaking.

He steps between your legs again, lining himself up and running the tip through your slick folds. You shudder, the tease almost unbearable.

“Rafe…”

“You want it?”

“I need it.”

That’s all it takes.

He pushes in with a deep, slow thrust, both of you moaning as he stretches you open. One hand grips your waist, the other sliding up your ribs to squeeze your breast through his shirt.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans. “So fuckin’ wet. All this for me?”

“All for you,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He fucks you slow at first—deep, heavy strokes that make your toes curl. His hips roll, dragging his cock over every sensitive spot inside you.

The bench creaks under you, and the garage air is filled with the sound of slick skin and your moans.

He leans in, forehead pressed to yours, lips brushing as he fucks you. “You like being fucked in the garage? Like being spread out for me where anyone could see?”

“Rafe—”

“Could have the whole damn neighborhood walk by. Still wouldn’t stop. Not when you’re moaning like that.”

He pulls out suddenly and flips you around, bending you over the bench before you can catch your breath. His hand spreads you open, and he slides back in with one hard thrust.

Your cry echoes off the walls.

One of his hands curls around your hip, the other sliding under your shirt to hold your chest flush to the bench. He pounds into you now—rough, fast, hungry.

The angle hits deeper, and the way he fills you makes your head spin.

“You love this cock, don’t you?” he pants. “You take me so damn good.”

Your only answer is a whimper.

His fingers reach around to rub your clit, fast and relentless, and you’re coming again—body shaking, mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Rafe curses behind you, hips jerking as he spills inside you, buried deep.

He stays there, bent over you, panting, his sweaty chest pressed to your back.

“You okay?” he whispers against your shoulder.

You nod, barely able to breathe. “That was… really productive garage work.”

He huffs a laugh and kisses the back of your neck.

After a few moments, he pulls out slowly, helping you stand, his hands gentle now. You’re wobbly on your feet, but he steadies you, pulling his shirt down over your thighs.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Need a shower. And lunch.”

You grin, still breathless. “I thought this was your break.”

He kisses your temple. “Best damn break I’ve ever had.”

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: this is for my fellow blue collar!Rafe degenerates who see a man organizing wrenches in a sweat-drenched tee and immediately start ovulating. he was just trying to clean the garage like a responsible adult and I said, “what if you rawed your wife on the workbench instead?” this fic is 90% worship, 10% sawdust, and 100% me blacking out from thirst. thank you for enabling this. 🙃

♥️ lani

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