dinsbeskar · 2 days ago
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Wicked Game (Sauron/F!Reader)
He knows he shouldn't covet you, that he is above such earthy things as love. So why does he stalk you in the forests you call home? It's love at first sight, and the feeling is mutual; or:
Sauron engages in some light stalking and gets the girl somehow.
Prequel to In the Dark of the Night // AO3 Link
Songs to listen to: Wicked Game / Beautiful Stranger / Iris
What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you
Warnings: 18+! Smut, fluff, lil bit of angst, P in V sex, fingering, licking/biting. Sauron!! He's super creepy, sorry, idk what to say, there's some stalking, some creepy behaviour, he's a bit unhinged. Love at first sight!! Like babe it's been an afternoon, calm down. Anyway we move fast!!
A/N: bro is head empty, no thoughts, down bad in this, sorry!! in this house we subscribe to the 'elves fuck once and they're married for eternity' idea, so there's that tiny spoiler for you!
Word Count: 6.2k!
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Mairon was already old when he met you, unfathomably ancient in fact, wandering Arda and beholding the power of creation, amongst other things. He was sure he had already experienced everything there was on the physical plain, but you would prove him wrong indeed. When the first Elves awoke, he felt a pull, like many of the Ainur, to see the new life that now roamed the forests and plains they had sung into being. He was not the first spirit to stumble across the peoples of Middle Earth, and he would not be the last. Watching your people dance and sing and create gave him new inspiration to take back to Aulë's forge, to bring order and balance to your lives as he saw fit, for who could know better than he?
Today was a feast day, when all of your people were out in the forest hunting and foraging, mirthful song filling the glades as you ran barefoot through the trees, breathless with laughter and exertion, carrying a basket of berries meant for the evening's festivities. Pale golden light streamed through the leafy canopy, dust motes floating in the rays and sparkling like the stars above. You looked around for your companions, a little far off beyond the thicket you had picked through for its fruit. Unperturbed, you continued, hearing the silvery sound of water flowing somewhere in the vicinity. A drink or a dip was almost certain, you thought, to refresh you and your companions before the feast, but you would find it first and save them from searching. Soft birdsong and rustling leaves accompanied by a warm breeze made for the perfect setting; how could you wish for more?
He makes a great effort to be silent, not wishing to frighten you, unsure of how his sudden appearance might affect you. After all, you hadn't heard him the countless times before, why should you now? He matches your footsteps, remaining in step with you behind the trees in the merciful shadow, careful not to disturb the undergrowth, picking carefully through the wildflowers that scent the air. Your pointed ears prick up at a rustle in the trees, and you snap your head round to investigate. He darts behind a gnarled oak tree, holding his breath and awaiting your discovery. You smile and shake your head softly; what could you possibly be afraid of in these forests, your home for decades? You continue following the sound of the stream up ahead, ignoring all other sounds in the forest now, much to his satisfaction. How innocent you are, how much you need his protection, for what would you do if there were forces that wished to subdue you or do you harm? The glint in his eye grows as he draws closer, still choosing to remain hidden from you. He could use his powers to disguise himself, to stalk you unnoticed almost hand in hand with you, and had done on a few occasions, close enough to smell your soft hair, even to take a few strands for himself, but somehow he likes this better, imagining you the innocent prey to his stealthy predator, a thrill at the though of catching you rushing through him as quickly as he pushes it away. He only wants to watch you, to know you, to observe, nothing more. What interest could you possibly have in one another beyond curiosity?
The first time he saw you, many moons ago, you'd been surrounded by your fellow Elves, dancing in harmony in a field of wildflowers, sweet music in the air. He hadn't thought much of you at first if truth be told, you were all very much alike; all fair and graceful, joyful and innocent. It was only when the music picked up, your dance became faster and more frenetic, that an Elf with long golden hair had tripped and fallen, disrupting the rhythm, leaving all your companions giggling at her misfortune. He too had laughed at her stumble, grateful that the music covered his sudden outburst, but then he noticed you, with your hand outstretched and a comforting smile to greet your fallen comrade, who shook herself off while you picked stray leaves from her hair. She seemed unhurt, and no one else was concerned, already having resumed their merriment, but you held back a moment to check she was well. He was instantly captivated, itching to reveal himself and carry you off, to protect the light within you, or consume it wholly. The tiny semblance of self-restraint he had left held him back, told him to wait and observe, to absorb all he could about you; the idea of you rejecting his advances was intolerable, triggering waves of nauseous anger throughout his being. No, patience would serve him, and so he had waited, oh so patiently. Your kindness had, and would, be your undoing.
Illuminated up ahead is the stream you've been chasing; it's small, barely a trickle, but you follow it regardless. The water is cool and clear and refreshes your worn feet, and you lift your dress to keep it clear as you pad down the river bed, feeling the sandy mud between your toes being washed away as you lift your feet into the current. The light is beginning to fade now, you know you should turn back, but you're sure there is a pool nearby, and it would feel so good to swim a little before getting back to the others. They could share in it tomorrow, but today you could bask in some sweet time alone.
He has been following your softly trodden path in the mossy forest floor, but when he reaches the water's edge, it vanishes. Cursing, he casts about, searching for a hint of your next steps. He had only stopped for a moment, distracted by the way your hair catches the light, your graceful smile, the way your dress flows over your frame. A fleeting thought of taking that same dress off you, the image of you pliant underneath him, all had left him breathless, frankly caught unawares, still unused to the urge to get close to you even after all this time, and the strange feelings that coursed through his fair form that he had never experienced before setting his gaze upon you. He had passed a few golden afternoons like this - perhaps many if he were ever honest - watching and waiting for you, but every occasion felt like a lifetime, which for Mairon was indeed no understatement.
Frustration coursed through him, filling the pit of his stomach with a strange churning at the thought of losing you; it was a feeling he couldn't quite place, nor come to terms with. These mortal forms were not for him, he decided, the lack of clarity in these feelings was suffering enough, and he turned to leave, embarrassed now that he had let it get this far. It was a foolish errand, carried out once too often, following you through the forest with no thought but to see what you would do if you only turned around, saw him, embraced him-
A sharp crack rang out through the trees as he snapped a branch under his feet in his haste, all thoughts of moving in the shadows abandoned as his self-admonishment moved him to run, to leave now before he could become entangled with you. But as he scolded himself for his lack of self control, he heard you call out.
"Who's there? Did you find me? And here I was, hoping for some peace," you laugh, expecting your friends to join you as you wade in the crystal clear waters.
Your eyes widen and you stare at the stranger who appears as if from the shadows themselves, a small smile gracing his face. He is ethereal, and frankly you have never beheld a being more beautiful, but for the first time in your life, a small voice deep in your mind advises caution.
"I didn't mean to startle you, young one," his smooth voice reaches your ears and sends tingles from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.
"You didn't," you lie, after a long pause, not wanting to discomfort him any more than he seemed to be. Blood rushed to your face as he regards you intensely, as if you'd met before.
"Were you looking for something? The pool perhaps? It is a warm day, I couldn't be too surprised to find someone else had the same idea." You gesture to yourself with your skirts around your waist, legs submerged.
He steps closer, still regarding you, his smile widening. You had said something right apparently, and you couldn't shake the feeling of satisfaction that his lovely smile gave you; as long as he kept looking at you like that, you felt you might be content forever, such were the tender pangs your heart suddenly felt in his presence. You didn't even know his name, and so immediately you ask.
"I have many names," he articulates carefully, eyes on yours, unblinking.
"So what name should I use for you?" You ask teasingly, beginning to step out of the water, wringing the edges of your skirts out.
Unthinking he stretches out his hand, and as if on instinct, you take it, not needing the assistance but immediately grateful you took it. His hand is warm and strong, and encircles yours comfortingly, fitting perfectly. A wave of some strange feeling overtakes you, a heat beginning in your abdomen, flowing through you. You've never experienced it before, but from what you have heard from your married kin, it might be called lust.
Your face feeling hot now, you look away, anywhere but at this beautiful stranger, and notice a small dark stain blooming on his shoe. Your eyes widen and you drop to your knees to look closer, unheeding of the change in his stance as he takes you in from above. What magic could you wield over him in this position, he wonders.
"You're hurt, my lord," you motion to his foot, and he realises that in his trance, the branch had broken his sole and pierced his flesh. The pain had gone unnoticed until now, your spell over him seeming to soothe any ill in his body or soul, but now that you'd pointed it out, he winced and cursed this body of flesh and bone, so easily vulnerable to the perils of mortality, even if his fëa was not.
"Come, let me look at it, it might be serious," you beckon him to follow you to a fallen tree trunk, lying oh so conveniently on its side, as if waiting for two lovers to take their seats on its bark. He stands awkwardly, watching you, his brow furrowed as if he had no idea what you have planned, before you laugh and pull him to sit. Without ceremony, you strip him of his shoe and examine the wound.
"That is a lot of blood for such a small wound," you murmur, tracing the arch of his foot. You find yourself touching his skin a fraction too long, and without looking at him, you straighten and go back to the pool.
His eyes never leave you, even as you avoid his gaze, ripping a strip of gauzy fabric from your dress and wetting it, before hurrying back. Almost imperceptible to the average observer, your hands shake, but he is not the average observer, and he has observed you for quite a while now. You're nervous, he realises with a tiny smirk, and it thrills him, sending a delicious shiver down his spine. All these new feelings this body gave him, they don't appear to cease evolving while you're this close, close enough that he feels your breath on his skin and nearly gasps. He needs to pull himself together, but try as he might, alas, your kindness was intoxicating. He had known such goodness in Aman when he'd dwelt there with his kin, if you could call them that, but his recent company was somewhat lacking in that department.
You sit back on your haunches and look once more at the wound, now nearly clean and seemingly smaller than it had been. Shrugging to yourself, you carefully dab away the blood that still drips onto the ground beneath you, soaking into the moss and ferns; you don't notice how they seem to brown and wilt with each drop.
"Is everything alright, my lady?" He asks, quick to notice your confusion, eager to distract you from the plants at your knees.
His lady, that did sound delightful. You know it is a manner of speech, but for a moment it is rather blissful to imagine it, the lady to this gracious lord.
"I think I might have overestimated how badly you were injured, it seems to be only a scratch," you reply, still a little bemused as to the disproportionate amount of blood. How were you to know that he could heal himself with nary a thought.
You start to pull away, but he is reluctant to let you go so soon, wishing for a moment it had been a serious matter, that he would require all of your gentle care and undivided attention for the foreseeable future, kicking himself that he didn't allow the wound to fester and bloom. He casts about for any excuse and uncharacteristically lands on a weak one.
"Your dress, my lady, how can I make it up to you? After all, your efforts ought not be in vain." He knows how to ingratiate himself with most folk, and makes the most of his skills to do so, but there is a tiny part of him now that actually feels he owes a kindness in return. It's an alien notion, and he attempts to brush it aside, but as he lingers in your presence, he realises that he would sooner abduct you from this glade than let you leave him, and if a kindness is what it will take, then he will fulfil it.
A small crinkle appears in your brow, then you glance down at the torn hem and chuckle.
"It is nothing, my lord, easily fixed, and anyone would have done the same." You graciously reply.
The way you look up at him through your lashes, his heart skips a beat; he didn't even know it could do that.
Your small nervous smile becomes radiant, beaming even, as you bask in the glow of the dappled light illuminating his face. You realise you don't want him to leave just yet, inexplicably drawn to his presence, and you cast about for any reason at all that would keep him here.
"I'm afraid your shoe is a little wet." To your credit, it actually is wet, full of blood, but in an inexplicable act to scupper his departure, before he can react and you can elaborate, you find yourself holding it on the water's edge.
Your hands move faster than your brain, and you drop it into the shallows, looking him dead in the eye.
For a moment, all is still between you, and you bite your lip, your mischievous grin suddenly uneasy as your mind catches up with you and you consider what in all of Middle Earth you just did. This is a total stranger, an ethereallly beautiful one at that, and you have no idea how he will react to your escapade. You straighten and wring your hand a little behind your back, awaiting a wrath that would never come.
"It would appear it is very wet, my lady." And he throws back his head and laughs long and hard, a sound that you want to elicit from him again and again.
When you are lying entwined together, many years and hardships later, he will ask you what you were thinking, and as ever you answer him honestly: you only wanted him to stay, however you had to do it.
With a playful laugh, you retrieve the sodden shoe and shake it off, before holding it out to him. He can still leave, you think, but it will be mighty awkward.
He takes it, throws it behind him, kicks off his other shoe, and shrugs off his robe. Your mouth falls open a little and you lick your lips unconsciously, as his frame is revealed, taut and lean, through his thin shirt. He rucks up his trousers and joins you in the shallow water, shivering a little at the sensation.
Instinctively, you outstretch your hand to steady him, and he takes it without thinking. His touch soothes any nerves you had and sparks a fire that seems to trail up your arm and end in your aching chest. You hadn't noticed you were holding your breath and slowly exhaled, careful not to alert him to your sudden onslaught of sensation. He considers you for a moment, smile tugging at his lips, seemingly fascinated by where you are joined, fingers entwined. And then he has a mad idea.
The tension in the air is cut by a sudden splash of water on your face, and as you clear your eyes, you realise he was the one that had thrown it. He had seen many an elf play-fighting in the water all the time, throwing it at one another joyously, victory seemingly determined by who doused their opponents the most. He had never partaken, obviously, but now inspiration took him, and you had made the first move with his shoe, but now as he watched your face screw up with indignation, water in your eyes and hair, he wasn't so sure it was the right jest with which to entice you.
For a moment you are dumbfounded. This stranger, whose name you still didn't even know, whom you'd only met in the last hour, had started a water fight.
Seemingly affronted, you snatch your hand away and make to leave, turning your back to him. His face falls and he realises this was probably not the way to win your affections.
"My lady, I-" his apology is cut short by an armful of water to the face, as you reach down into the pool and swing as much as you can in his general direction in one fell swoop.
Cackling with triumphant laughter, you can't help but feel a little sorry for him as he stands there absolutely sopping wet, eyebrows in his hairline, looking positively flabbergasted. Unfortunately for you, his eyes narrow as he realises your subterfuge, and the game commences.
It is over soon enough, the two of you emerging soaked and giggling like children, having run rings around each other and giving as good as you got, both of you thoroughly avenged. As you both wade back to shore, he takes your hand and holds it in the air.
"Ladies and gentlemen, lords and ladies, I present the victor of the battle-"
He is interrupted by the both of you breaking down into breathless laughter once again, two strangers no more.
On the sandy bank, he climbs out first, and awaits you, but you hold back.
"What should I call you then, my lord, unless that is what you prefer to be named?" You have to ask, needing introductions now you had so thoroughly beaten him in battle, never mind your fascination with him, the overwhelming urge to pull him close.
"I have many names, my lady, and you have not yet told me yours," he replies, almost but not quite frowning at you, confused as to why it really matters, why you would need to know who he is after having passed such a pleasurable afternoon together.
"You first, I asked you before and you avoided the question." Your expression is now serious; why would he want to conceal himself from you, after you had passed such a pleasurable afternoon together?
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I have many names, but the one I prefer," he holds his breath a little, still unsure as to how you might receive him, "is Mairon."
After a long pause, in which he considers fleeing, or possibly burning the forest down, your expression brightens as you mull over his name, feel it in your mouth, wonder over the meaning.
"That is beautiful," you murmur, "the admirable? You must be something wonderful to have earned such a name, my lord."
Relief washes over him as he realises his true name must not yet be known in these parts; rumours and slander would not colour his attempts to woo you after all.
His gaze softens as he watches you taste his name on your tongue, and he has a sudden aching longing to know what it sounds like when you're on your back and breathless under him. Surely nothing could be sweeter.
"And you, love, what am I to call you?" He is so struck by you, he barely notices the crucial detail that slips from his lips, but you do, and you regard him with a strange look he can't place.
Love, he said, so casually and so delicious to hear, your breath hitches and for a second the world spins. You've only just met this man, if he is even a man, and he uses such pet names as if you've known each other a lifetime.
"Amarië, that's what everyone calls me." You had almost forgotten he had asked, and it was only the silence between you that reminded you to answer.
"Goodness. A fitting name for so virtuous a maiden." He steps closer, still on the bank, oh so tall above you, the light through the trees illuminating him from behind, leaving his features in shadow.
Of course, he already knew your name, and had always thought it fitting. Indeed, it was one of the reasons he had hesitated to approach you, for surely one so good could not possibly want nor need one such as him, despite the ache in his heart that told him you were his to take, the rest of Arda be damned. He knew his purpose in Arda was a valiant one; his methods, however, he was aware they were... contestable.
Your face grows hot at his compliment, and you look down and away, anywhere but at his gaze, currently fixed on you, intense and contemplative. He gently lifts your chin, seeming to study your every feature, every nuance in your expression until he sees what he desires.
A shadow passes over his face, before he tightens his grip and finally pulls you from the shallow water. You stumble a little, but he is right there to catch you, strong arms around you as your free hand is crushed between you, pressed against his chest. His eyes are dark, scaring you and thrilling you all at once, like a wolf studying its prey before their total annihilation. Then he takes your face in his hands and claims your lips, as if he's finally satisfying some dark long-held urge, and you cannot help but melt.
It is as if he has done this a thousand times before, teasing you with his tongue, demanding entrance to your mouth as if he wants to drown in you.
Electric tingles spread over your skin everywhere he touches, from your neck where he grips you softly, to your lips he has claimed for his own, to your waist that he refuses to yield from his embrace.
He is unrelenting, refusing to let you come up for air, even as you claw at his arms for release. Finally he seems to realise his mistake and pulls back, lips swollen and parted in pleasure. You take a deep breath, chuckling a little as you do so.
"You are no Elf, my lord Mairon," you remark, righting your dress and smoothing your hair where he had wound his fingers.
With a slightly apologetic smirk, he nods. "I am something far greater, my love, so from time to time, I might forget such... intricacies."
In this moment, you feel as though your heart might burst, wanting him close, touching you, encircling you. But a shiver travels down your spine as the little voice whispering warnings becomes a scream, beholding him not as an ethereal being sent to ravish you, but a danger to ruin you. It was all too brief and you shook it off, for how could this beautiful creature ever mean you harm?
Evening becomes night, and you migrate from the tree trunk to the forest floor. Nestled into him with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you share the basket of berries that will surely be missed at the feast of your kin, and talk for hours about everything and nothing. He tells you of his work, that he is a smith and loves nothing more than to create beautiful things, but he has never had more exquisite inspiration than you.
He seems to know just what to say, soft words whispered only to please you, and all you want is more. He traces his fingers up and down your arm, across your collarbone, into the shell of your ear, idly mapping every inch of you.
He doesn't press you further than gentle touches and tiny kisses peppering your skin. Perhaps though he is no Elf, he is aware of your people's customs, that to give yourself to him in body would be to make the two of you one forever, body and soul. You're not so sure that isn't what you want, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless; after all, you have only known him an afternoon.
It takes all of his self-restraint to suppress the urge to take you here and now, after all, who were you to stop him? But he wanted you when you were ready for him, mind, body, and soul, and he was willing to wait, even if it took an age. Admittedly it would be a difficult wait, he muses, as he realises the close proximity of your body to his is having an unexpected effect on him. He shifts position to avoid you noticing how hard he is just from touching you, and he prays to any of the Valar who might have an ear for him that his wait for you will be swift.
You twirl a tiny flower idly between your forefinger and thumb, gazing up at the heavens, your other hand wrapped in his. You are such exquisite inspiration, he muses, smirking as he realises he can have you after all. He sits up, making you groan, robbed of his warmth.
"What are you doing, love?" You complain, taking a slightly petulant tone that makes him chuckle.
"You'll see, patience is a virtue," he reaches out with his closest hand and smoothes your hair, gesturing for you to lie back down.
You kick your feet a little, suitably admonished but impatient still.
"Come back to me, I had just got comfortable, and you've ruined it now!" You laugh at him, his back turned to you so you can't make out what he is doing.
You sigh long and loud, earning an affectionate chuckle, before you lay back down and close your eyes. It is but a few moments later that he grasps your hand and pulls you up to face him. When you see what he has readied, you gasp, tears pricking your eyes.
Purple irises grow with literal wild abandon in these fields and you had always loved them, weaving them in your hair and stitching their image on your garb. In his hand, perched on his fingertips as if it is the most precious thing in creation, is a tiny iris in full bloom, its slender stem wound and plaited into a ring, with its gorgeous indigo flower crowning it like no diamond ever could.
He is on his knees in front of you, ring in hand, and for a second you cannot quite put the pieces together. You have known him a day, if that? It is a beautiful gift, but can you accept the deeper meaning behind it, that seems to lie in his expression, if not his words.
"It is beautiful, my lord," you sigh, "I think I shall require your aid in putting it on, it is so delicate after all."
Your heart aches at his wide smile, the crinkle of his eyes as he wordlessly slips it onto the fourth finger of your left hand, which surely he cannot know would mean-
"I would make you mine, my love, if you would have me," he murmurs, heart beating out of his chest, sentiment momentarily making him soft and weak for you.
So he does know the significance, and in an instant you feel as though you've been doused in liquid fire, nerves tying your stomach in knots, regarding his gift on your finger with equal parts trepidation and excitement.
You close the space between you and grasp his face with both hands, claiming his lips for your own, fingers travelling to his hair and over the pointed tips of his ears. He moans deep in his chest and pushes you backwards into your makeshift bed, peppering you with kisses until all your skin is ablaze.
"I am yours," you breathe, words so soft he might have missed them, had you not whispered directly into his ear, clutching his neck and whimpering as he maps every uncovered inch of you he can reach with his lips.
He groans, a noise so guttural it surprises you in the best way, sending a wave of arousal to between your legs. He rolls his hips against yours, and you feel something hard against your mound, through all the layers of fabric between you.
The stars blaze above you, hot and bright, but they have nothing on the way he makes you feel. You have heard of love at first sight, but never thought it might happen to you, that it was rare enough if it happened at all.
His hot breath trails down your neck to your collarbone, and his clever fingers work to unlace you from the fabric shielding you from his gaze. He stops a moment, breathing heavily.
"Tell me you want this -" his silver tongue licks your ear and sucks at your neck. "Tell me you need this."
His gaze is so heated, and his voice rough with arousal, that you clench your legs together to relieve that ache that has been building there since you met him. It seems like forever ago now, impossible that it has not even been a day.
"I need you," you hiss, desperate for any touch he'll bestow upon you. "...I'll always need you, now that I have you, I can't let you go."
Your words shatter the last remaining resolve he had not to ruin you, and he takes you as his own. Stripping every inch of you until you are bare before him, desperate for his skin on yours, he wraps you in his arms, legs entwined with yours. The violent urge to claim you was not satisfied, but he would have plenty of time to show you all of him; tonight was your wedding night, and you deserved what gentleness he could provide.
He runs his fingers through your slick, fascinated by how wet you are for him. Perhaps these mortal forms were not so bad after all.
You moan his name and beg for more, though you cannot possibly know what you are asking for. His lascivious grin sends tremors through you, a swooping feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you there is no going back now.
He loosens himself from his trousers, shucks them off almost clumsily in his haste to be inside you. He is beautiful, you reflect, as you take in his bare torso, his strong legs, and all the flesh in between. His size shocks you a little and you wonder how he plans to use it.
He sees your eyes widen and immediately covers you with his body, kissing softly at your neck so to better hear your tiny sounds of pleasure. In time he will make you scream, he vows.
"It's alright, love," he reassures you with a soft smile, "I've got you, I won't let it hurt."
His fingers move in comforting circles in the small of your back, at the apex of your thighs, across your mound. He gathers the slick from your entrance, readying himself with a stroke. He is already so painfully hard, but he has to come inside you, no way will he waste his seed on the forest floor.
He holds your gaze as he lowers himself to between your thighs, wrapping your legs around him.
"Pull me to you, love, make me yours," he pants, cock straining at your entrance, waiting for you to take the plunge.
It's like standing at a precipice; the fear of falling is so closely tied to the fear of jumping. But you bite your lip and dig your fingernails into his back, tighten your calves, and pull his lower body into yours.
You want to scream, the stretch is too much, he is too big and he's hitting somewhere delicious inside you that makes you see stars. He doesn't move, letting you feel all of him, relishing in you taking him like the good girl you are.
"Well done, love, so good for me, you feel so fucking good," he exhales, towering over you while the moon illuminates him from behind, leaving his expression inscrutable.
His fingers on your abdomen are so soothing, the stinging stretch you felt disappears, leaving only white hot pleasure in its wake. You begin to move your hips against him, aching for more friction, more skin on yours, you'd take anything he would give you.
At first his movements are slow and rhythmical, as if you are made of glass, but your impatient whines encourage him to release himself upon you, snapping his hips in time to your thrusts against him, endlessly surprised but thrilled at your eagerness to please him. He has chosen so well.
The intensity of the moment gets the better of both of you, and before long you are chanting his name in his ear, chasing your inevitable ruin on his cock.
He comes first, much to his eternal embarrassment, unable to prevent spilling inside you as your tight cunt clenches his flesh. You feel him pulse inside you and it tips you over the edge, a silent scream on your lips as fire overtakes your flesh and leaves you drowning in him.
For a second, you behold each other as you truly are, not in body but spirit, and it terrifies you; you see something black as the darkest night throwing off flames that lick at your being, triggering that sick swooping feeling in your abdomen again. He is enthralled by you, bright and radiant like the morning star, and he wants to coat himself in your light, drink it in and burn all of Arda until there is nothing but the two of you in the cosmos.
His attentions to your neck slow and he leans back to look at you in all your glory, radiant under him in body and soul, as you lazily trace his hips with your fingers, coming down from your high and needing nothing more than to be held.
"You did so well, my love, so good for me," he whispers as he releases you from his grasp, laying you down beside him and pressing himself against your back with his arm slung over your torso possessively.
Your eyes begin to droop with the lateness of the hour and the exertion of your wedding night, and while he murmurs in your ear how much he loves you, how proud he is of you, how much he needs you, you take his hand and sleepily press a kiss to his palm. You snuggle in closer as he draws his robe around the pair of you against the night's chill, and slowly drift off, a smile on your face even in sleep.
He gazes at you adoringly, murmuring sweet nothings as your body relaxes into his.
"Beautiful girl, only mine," his voice is so soft yet somehow it finds you even as you begin to slumber. "My sweet wife, we will know peace together, I swear it to you."
He wants to claw inside his own chest and pull his treacherous heart out with his bare hands, for surely that pain would be easier to bear than this. He curses himself for being so weak, and you for being so tempting, before closing his eyes to join you.
He thought by having you, possessing you, that these feelings might be assuaged, that the urgency he felt to be near you would fade, and he could move on from this unique torment. Alas they had increased a hundredfold, and he swore on his fëa itself that no harm would ever come to you, that he would cherish you all his days.
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you
No, I don't wanna fall in love with you
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kayhi808 · 2 days ago
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First Crush ask.
Feel free to to ignore but this just came into my head and I needed to get it out before I forgot.
We’ve seen how protective our Miss Abby is of Mama and of Papa Bucky, but how would she handle Uncle Steve having a date?
Maybe she’d be scared he would like this new person more and wouldn’t come home. Mama and Bucky would have to try and convince her that’s not going to happen but she’s still unsure so she insists they stay over and she tries to stay awake until he comes home just to make sure.
Then maybe a couple of weeks go by and she finds them hanging out in the living room so she climbs into Uncle Steve’s lap and asks “Is she’s your giwlfwens?”
And lastly, when they do become bf and gf, she says to her Mama something about having more family now cause she has Aunty as well 😩😩
@jvanilly and I were just brainstorming about fixing Steve up with someone. Abby is protective over Uncle Steve but it's different. She doesn't wike some of his dates, but most times she isn't too bothered. She's secure in the spot she holds in his heart. He made them families. He can't take it back. Families are forever Hope you enjoy this.
Autumn is turning the leaves to bright orange, red & yellow on the walk to daycare. Mama is on a business trip with Director Fury for the next 2 days, so Bucky was on Abby duty until he got called away on a mission. Steve said he'd stay with Abby & it wasn't a problem. How hard could it be?
Steve has a grip on her hand as they make their way down the sidewalk, slowing his steps to match hers. "And you knows what?"
For the 15th time this morning, "No, what?"
"Maui, tinks he's so funny, but he's not. I needs to tell Chloe & Mia we can't wikes him. Pu'a is NOT boat snack."
"But what if they run out of food? Maybe they HAVE TO make Pu'a a snack."
Abby dramatically gasps & tugs her hand out of Steve's & stops in the middle of the sidewalk. "Uncle Steve!!" She glares at him & he laughs. "You not funny either. Dey's on a boat! The ocean is sooooooo bigs. They can eat fish!" Steve laughs harder which infuriates Abby. She turns on her heel & stomps her way towards daycare. Steve tries to grab for her hand but she jerks her hand away & keeps it out of his reach, so he ends up just following close behind her.
They get to her classroom & Abby is still in a bad mood. Ms. Grace greets the kids & parents at the door. "Good morning, Abby." She looks up, not expecting to see Steve. "Oh..uh good morning, Mr....Captain Rogers." Her cheeks flush pink as she kneels down to help Abby off with her jacket. She notices the scowl on her face. "Are we feeling ok, Abby?"
"I's mad." She shucks off her jacket, "Tank you, Ms Grace."
Abby goes off to sit with Chloe & Mia, "Hey, where's my goodbye?" Abby gives Steve a scowl & shakes her fist at him which makes him laugh. "I'm sorry. I kind of riled her up this morning."
Grace hides her smile, "I can see that. Where is her mother today?"
"Y/N is on a business trip & Bucky is on a mission. So that leaves Uncle Steve." He looks over at Abby & he sees all 3 little girls giving him the evil eye.
"Wow! You really messed up. She tattled on you." Steve grimaces. "I'll try to smooth things over before you pick her up this afternoon. "
Steve smiles down at the cute teacher, "I"d appreciate it."
******
"Abby, honey, can you put your toys away? Uncle Steve is here for pick up." Grace gets Abby's backpack from the hook along with her jacket.
"Hi's Uncle Steve." Ms. Grace helps Abby on with her jacket, when Steve pulls Pu'a out from his jacket with a sign around it's neck.
"Here, I made Pu'a a sign for you."
Abby takes her stuffie and shows Ms Grace. "What it says, pwease?"
Grace breaks into a smile for Steve, "It says, 'Not boat snack. DO NOT EAT'." Abby gasps & hugs the pig to her chest. Standing, & whispering, "Good job, Captain."
"Tank you, Uncle Steve! I loves it so much!" Abby raises her arms up for him to pick her up. Once settled in his arms, she gives him a peck on his cheek.
"I apologize for this morning. I was not funny."
"No, you wasn't." Squeezing his face between her palms, "But I forgives you, cos you so cutes. Isn't hims cute Ms. Grace?"
Bright blue eyes filled with humor meet hers, "He's got potential." That earned her a cocked eyebrow from the super soldier.
"You no tinks him cutes?" Ms. Grace lifts her shoulder in a delicate shrug. "Wook! He's so handsomes."
"Abs, stop." Trying to angle his face away from Abby.
Abby reaches over to squeeze his bicep, "Show her your muscles. Hims so strongs," giving his arm another squeeze. "I helps him make dis at the gym."
"Wow, did you?" Grace tries to hide a smile.
"Uh-huh! Show Ms. Grace your tummy! Even his tummy gots so much muscles.
Taking Abby's backpack from Ms. Grace, "Ok Abs, that's enough." Grace laughs at how uncomfortable he is. "Say goodbye to Ms Grace. We'll see her in the morning."
"No, waits. Hims runs super fast, like a car! He has fancy bicycle like my Papa. It goes brrrmm brrmm! He's also smart in the brains. He can reads you storybooks." Steve hurries out of the classroom.
"Abigail! Why did you do that?"
"What? Ms. Graces is so nice & pretty. I loves her. You haves to ask her on a dates!"
Steve looks back at the daycare center & sees Grace watching them from the window & that brings a smile to his face.
@waywardhunter95 @wintrsoldrluvr @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @samsgirl93 @buckitostan @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool @baw1066 @nommingonfood
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shellbilee · 3 days ago
Text
Hey There Darlin' - Chapter 10
A Glen Powell RPF Series
Warning: Smutttt, cursing
AN: Sorry it's been a while guys, I appreciate you all following along! I've just had some big work changes happen lately and they've taken all my energy and time. I'm hopeful to be back to regular posting soon! xx
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Billie
“Thank you” Billie says to the server, taking the mimosa from her gratefully and gripping the glass in an effort to distract herself from the ticklish sensation of her pedicure.
She flashes an apologetic look to the spa therapist holding her foot when she still reflexively jumps a moment later, the woman looking up at her with an amused smile.
“This is literally the most fancy place I’ve ever been to” Billie says, taking a sip of her mimosa and turning to Sloane in the cushioned chair beside her.
“I know. It’s crazy isn’t it? I didn’t even know this place existed” Sloane remarks, sipping her own drink and relaxing back into the pillows.
Billie looks around the very exclusive spa, luxury and opulence dripping from every corner. It’s all polished stone and scandi-style wood, giant windows lining the walls that look out onto perfectly manicured, palm tree-lined gardens. Chelsea had invited twenty or so of her closest girlfriends, and of course had booked out the entire luxury space for a morning of indulgent pampering. The spa session was to include manicures and pedicures, scalp rubs and hydrating facials, finishing with an hour long, full body massage. 
From there, they were all headed to Beverly Hills where they’d participate in a pole dancing class, before getting their hair and makeup done and moving onto cocktails and dinner at an exclusive rooftop bar. Following that, the night was to finish off with more drinks and dancing at some exclusive LA club that Patrick apparently had connections to. It was like a bachelorette party straight out of a movie. 
Billie looks around the room again and watches some of the younger girls reaching for their next round of mimosas, two girls - who she thinks are Ellie and Isabelle, the best friends of Chelsea, each shooting a shot of tequila.
Billie can’t help the way she grimaces then, unable to think of anything worse than tequila shots, let alone tequila shots at twelve-thirty in the afternoon. With the day of events they had ahead of them, she was already betting that they wouldn’t be making it to dinner. 
“Hey girl” Sloane says, Billie turning back to find Bec walking over and sitting in the empty chair next to them. 
She’d been talking to Terri - her and Chelsea’s mother, and the rest of the ‘adults’ that had been invited along.
“You ok?” Billie asks, noting the tinge of concern colouring her best friend’s face.
Bec nods. “Yeah I’m fine. I just can't believe the level of extra Chels has gone to” she explains, gesturing with her hands to their surroundings, “I mean my bachelorette was fancy but this is just next level”.
Sloane laughs, leaning over in her chair as she sips her mimosa. “What did you do for yours?”
“We did a winery tour and stayed in a beachfront house down in Malibu” Bec explains, nodding her thanks to the server when a mimosa is suddenly brought over, “It was amazing. But nothing like this”.
All three of them turn when a cheer is heard across the room, looking over to find another round of tequila shots being downed.
“Did you have girls doing shots in the middle of the afternoon at yours?” Billie asks with a giggle, feeling her thirty-year old inner self shiver in disdain, “There’s no way those girls are making it to the club if they keep going like that”.
Bec laughs, shaking her head no, the three of them grinning at one another and apparently choosing to ignore the memories of their own antics when they were twenty-four.
Billie’s phone dings and she reaches to pick it up, smiling down at the screen when she sees it’s a text message from Glen. She taps at her phone, opening the message, a picture of Nugget and Brisket relaxing in his backyard filling the screen.
“Glen?”
Billie looks up and only smiles, answering Sloane’s question without words. She turns her phone around to show the girls, explaining that Glen was looking after Nugget today.
After a somewhat lazy morning, Billie had convinced Glen to go on a run with her - an easy two and a half mile around her neighbourhood. There’d been healthy competition between them, each teasing and pushing one another to go faster, eventually making it back home sweaty and laughing.
Cooling down with a post-run water in the kitchen, Billie had mentioned that she was worried about leaving Nugget all day, given Ryan and Lachlan - who would normally look after him, were away for the weekend celebrating their new found engagement. 
That had led to Glen suggesting that he take Nugget himself, offering to take him to his place for the day where Nugget and Brisket would undoubtedly tire each other out. Billie had immediately declined the offer, telling Glen that her eight-five pound golden canine was significantly more work than little Brisket, but Glen had insisted everything would be fine.
She’d eventually warmed to the idea after Glen had eased all of her potential concerns, finally accepting his offer.
“Wow he's already dog sitting after a week? I'm impressed Bil”
Billie laughs and rolls her eyes. “Shut up Sloane”
Sloane grins, teasing her. “What's he doing tonight?”
“Going out for a friend's birthday” Billie shares, looking at the two girls, “Actually, that friend is Chord Overstreet”
Bec raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Do you know where he's going?”
Billie shakes her head. “No, I didn't ask”.
“Why not?” Bec asks.
“You should meet him out somewhere” Sloane suggests at the same time, Bec immediately nodding in agreement.
“Nah, I don't want to be too clingy. I already spent last night with him” Billie says, taking another sip of her mimosa,  “And this morning” she adds after a moment, a sly grin pulling at her lips as she winks at her two friends.
Sloane wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
“And how was it?”
Billie chuckles.
“Incredible”
“Just incredible?” Sloane presses, clearly wanting all the juicy details and making Billie grin.
“There are no words” she replies, sighing almost dreamily as thoughts of yesterday’s shower suddenly replays in her head, the scene quickly morphing into a replay of their post-run shower from this morning. 
“Girls, the sex is insane” Billie remarks, looking at Bec and Sloane in turn, “He’s just---, I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s because he’s just so fucking gorgeous and I’m just so attracted to him, or if----”
“If he's just that fucking good?” Sloane asks, finishing Billie’s sentence and making both Bec and Billie laugh.
“Yes or that” Billie replies, leaning back in her chair and shaking her head at her friends.
“It’s probably both” Bec exclaims, winking one big blue eye mischievously, “The man definitely knows what he’s doing. He’s Glen Powell for God’s sake” she adds, her voice dropping to a whisper when she says his name and giving a sideways glance at the women working on Billie and Sloane’s feet.
Billie smiles sheepishly, knowing that is absolutely the answer.
She looks back down at her phone, fingers tapping at the screen as she types out a reply.
😍😍
You've tired them out already?
Typing bubbles appear almost immediately and Billie can’t help the way her heart rate picks up instantly.
They did it themselves, they've barely stopped running since they got here
Billie grins, instantly thankful that she’d agreed to take Glen up on his offer.
Thank you again for this Glen, I really appreciate it!
You're most welcome darlin. Hope you're having fun
“Guys, take a photo with me” Billie says, opening her camera and holding it up in front of them.
Sloane and Bec both lean in, mimosas in hand, Billie snapping a quick selfie of the three of them. She looks down at the picture - Bec smiling happily, Sloane pouting sexily and Billie winking as she grins, sending it to Glen with a quick message.
Definitely not as much fun as my shower this morning but I’d say it’s pretty damn close 😉
---
Glen
Glen relaxes back into the lounge, taking a sip of his beer as he looks around the semi-crowded, exclusive rooftop club. It’s a typical Saturday night crowd - a mix of high profile people and social media influencers, several groups milling about the venue. Some are on the dancefloor in the centre of the club, swinging their hips to the heavy beat of the music, others drinking extravagant cocktails, talking and laughing in the many booths dotted around the edge of the rooftop.  
He looks over at his group seated on the u-shaped lounge, nodding at Chord sitting across from him and holding up his beer in silent cheers to his long time friend. He pulls his phone from his pocket and signals to Nick and Priyanka beside him, the rest of the group following suit and looking up at Glen’s phone. He snaps a group selfie - everyone smiling and laughing, looking over the photo before tagging his friends and uploading it to his Instagram.
He does a quick scroll through his notifications - majority of them fans reacting to his earlier posted story of Nugget and Brisket playing, most of them comments from people going wild thinking he’d adopted another dog. He skims over the words from his fans and smiles at their reactions, noting a comment from his sister Lauren laughing at Brisket’s attempts to wrestle with the much larger dog.
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He flicks back to his feed screen and notices Billie’s profile bubble showing a new story, clicking on her picture and immediately sucking in his breath when a video starts to play.
It’s a clip of Billie and who he figures is some of the other girls at the bachelorette party, each of them standing next to a pole and wearing heels so high it hurts his feet just to look at them. He realises it’s them at the pole dancing class - some of them bouncing on the spot to the music, some of them grinning and laughing at one another as if they’re waiting to be counted in. Glen’s eyes are glued to Billie near the front of the class, running over her figure dressed only in a crop and tiny pair of shorts that accentuates her already perfectly, peachy ass. He fights the urge to groan out loud, immediately wishing she was here with him, every single muscle in his body suddenly contracting when the girls all start to move.
Fuck.
They move and dance in practised unison, tossing their hair and swinging their hips, grabbing at their poles and lifting themselves before they’re kicking their legs out and swinging around. Glen can’t look away, mouth falling slack as his eyes follow Billie’s every movement, watching her muscles flex as she slowly lowers to her knees. She grins sexily at the camera, sliding her hands teasingly down her near naked body, rolling onto her back and arching away from the floor in the most erotic way. In an instant Glen’s in his own little world, feeling like Billie’s dancing just for him, watching as she rolls and grinds her hips like a wicked vixen and leaving him practically drooling with want. 
All too soon the video is over and Glen has to reach down to readjust himself, subtly shifting on the lounge so that no one notices the suddenly growing erection in his jeans. 
He breathes out heavily, feeling his heart racing in his chest, reaching out and taking a sip of his beer in an attempt to settle his thoughts. All he wants to do is find Billie and take her home, lick every single inch of her perfect curves and fuck her into the sheets until she’s desperately screaming for him. 
He takes another drink and shifts his hips on the seat, fingers suddenly flying across the screen as he types a reply to her video.
Fuckin hell, darlin’ 🔥🔥🔥
I’m gonna get a pole installed at home so you can show me this in person.
He flicks through the rest of her Instagram story - a group shot of them at the class, of her, Sloane and Bec getting ready for their next event, of Billie and who Glen reasons must be Chelsea, the bride to be, grinning at the camera with cocktails in hand. She’d posted the last photo an hour ago - a full length shot of Billie, Sloane and Bec, dressed for a night out and dolled up gorgeously, the three standing with their arms intertwined and grinning happily at one another. 
Glen smiles down at his phone, looking over Billie, desperately wishing he was with her tonight. He already can’t wait to see her again, to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to kiss her perfect lips. There are so many things that he adores about her, things that make him smile stupidly whenever he thinks about them, things that make him wish she was with him whenever she wasn’t. 
He knows it’s more than just the sex too - and while that part is just as indulgently incredible as he could have wanted, he knows there’s more to the way he thinks and feels about Billie, something deeper, something building. He also knows that he probably shouldn’t be feeling these things about a girl so soon, that voicing any of this a week after seeing someone is a sure fire way to make it all come crashing down. But still, for a thousand reasons that he can't even list, he just can’t seem to get enough of her.
Glen puts down his phone and takes another drink, finishing his beer and turning to listen to his friends chatting beside him - one of them telling the group about her newest role on an upcoming netflix mini series. 
“Another round?”
Glen looks over to see his friend Jay gesturing to the bar across the way, nodding at him in question. Glen tips his head in silent agreement, asking the group for their orders before they both stand and make their way over to the bar. Standing in line, Glen and Jay are in deep conversation about the upcoming football season when Glen feels a tap on his shoulder, turning to find two attractive women standing behind him and smiling up at him flirtatiously.
“Hi, Glen?” the first girl says, her long blonde hair pulled back in a slick ponytail that that cascades down one shoulder and makes her look like Barbie, “I’m Tiffany, and this is Pia” she says gesturing to her equally pretty friend beside her, the other girl tipping her head when Glen smiles at her.
“Hi” Glen replies, nodding politely and looking at each of them in turn, “Nice to meet you both”.
“We were just wondering if we could get a photo?” Tiffany asks, gesturing to her phone and flashing Glen a dazzling smile. 
“Yeah, yeah, sure. Of course”
Tiffany hands the phone to Jay and Glen steps back beside the girls, the two posing on each side of him and leaning in close. He can smell their spicy perfume, the scent tickling his nose as he keeps his touch high on their backs, smiling at Jay when he holds the camera up and snaps a photo of the three of them. 
“Thank you” Tiffany says, taking her phone from Jay and turning back to Glen with another charming grin and looking around, “Are you here with anyone?”
Glen nods, “Yeah. I’m here with some friends for a birthday” he answers, as always wanting to give as little information as possible.
“Oh yeah? Where are you sitting?”
Glen offers a polite tight lipped smile, gesturing in a vague direction to the other side of the rooftop, “Oh, just over there. There’s a big group of us”.
Glen breathes out through his nose silently, searching his brain for something he can say to wind up the conversation. He’s been in this situation several hundred times, and on any other occasion he probably would have been flattered and engaged both of them further. Still, as attractive as they both are, the thought of talking with another woman that isn’t Billie makes Glen’s stomach flip in the worst way.
Obviously noting his nonchalance, Tiffany flashes another smile and leans in close to him, her hand finding his arm and squeezing gently.
“Well, we’re sitting just over there” she presses in a sultry voice, pointing to a booth to the side where two glammed-up girls are currently sitting and talking, “So if you get lonely and want some company, you know where to find us”
Glen nods, offering another small, polite smile when she pulls away and winks at him, Pia offering her own dazzling smile as they both step away.
Glen exhales heavily and turns back to Jay, opening his mouth to comment on his encounter only to find Jay deep in conversation with a girl beside him. He chuckles at his friend, taking advantage of the quick moment of peace and pulling his phone from his pocket. To his surprise and delight, there’s a message from Billie, responding to his previous reply to her video.
Just so you know, there's typically a charge for private dances 😉
Glen grins down at the screen, typing a quick comeback to her witty words.
I wouldn't expect it to be free. I’m sure we could work out some sort of trade.
He steps forward as the bar line moves, glancing down at his phone as her next message pops up.
A trade sounds interesting… what did you have in mind?
Glen’s grin grows wider and he clicks his tongue, all manner of ideas instantly flying through his mind. He loves their teasing, flirty banter - just another one of the things he adores about Billie. 
well, my face between your thighs for an extended period of time would be my first offer…
He imagines her face right now - the way she’d be smiling stupidly at her phone, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly in that way he loves, his own lips stretching wider as her answer pops up on the screen.
hmm, that IS awfully tempting. But what would the second offer be?
Glen chuckles, biting his lip as he types again, sweetening the deal.
My face between your thighs for an extended period of time AND breakfast in bed?
Oh you drive a hard bargain, Mr Powell.
He runs his tongue along his teeth, typing again. 
So it’s a deal then?
Her response is immediate and he can't help the laugh that escapes him when he reads her reply.
🤝😍
He laughs and shakes his head, typing another message as he steps forward in the bar queue.
How’s your night going otherwise darlin?
Really good actually! The girls and I are all holding strong, the younger girls not so much haha. We just got to the club so I’m very ready for a dance! 😍
A photo comes through after her message, Glen clicking on it so that it takes up his whole screen. It’s a selfie of Billie, her teeth flashing in a sultry, gorgeous smile, her hazel eyes lined with a dark shimmery charcoal and looking even brighter than usual. Her skin looks smooth and flawless, glowing from makeup tricks that he’s consistently perplexed about even despite regularly having it applied to his own face. He can’t quite see her outfit but he can see the enticing tease of cleavage beneath pink straps, deciding from his own up close experience with her breasts that she can’t be wearing a bra underneath her dress.
He can’t help the expletive that falls from his mouth then , feeling his still semi-hard arousal twitch in his pants.
You’re fuckin stunning, peach
Thanks handsome 😘
Glen exhales and puts his phone away, not wanting to bother her anymore on her night out. She looks utterly stunning, and he knows that if she were here right now he’d be all over her in a heartbeat. 
He looks up when Jay turns back to him, the girl he was talking to having since left, but not before sharing her number with him. Jay wiggles his eyebrows when he shows Glen the newly added contact named ‘Tara’ on his phone, Glen laughing as they both finally reach the bar and order their next round of drinks.
“Oh wow. Here comes the parties”
Glen frowns at his friend before following Jay’s eyeline over his shoulder, turning to see a small sea of girls dressed in varying shades of pink filtering through the entrance. One girl among the masses is dressed in white sequined mini dress, a short veil perched on her long honey coloured curls and quickly identifying her as a bride to be.
“They must know someone at the club” Glen reasons out loud, knowing that the exclusive nature of the lounge meant that parties were very rarely allowed entry.
He looks over the new group of patrons, noting with a smirk that he’s not the only one who’s noticed them - several groups of guys around the club are now looking over the bachelorette party with eager interest like hungry lions to a group of grazing antelope. He chuckles and shakes his head, turning back to the bartender and nodding his thanks when she serves up half a dozen beers, telling them that she’ll bring the rest of the cocktails over to them.
They make their way back to the booth with drinks in hand, Glen passing them around before sitting down next to Chord and tapping his glass with his. He glances over at the now surging dancefloor - made busier by the club’s newest guests and the change in music to pop classics of the late 90’s, admiring the masses of swinging hips, exposed skin and cocktail-fueled, shouted singing before turning back to his group and laughing along with their conversation.
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---
Glen steps out of the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him, rounding the corner and offering a polite smile to an oncoming woman as they side step one another in the corridor.
“Glen?”
He does a double take before he stops in his tracks, frowning as he looks down at the woman and searches his brain to place her. If she was a fan she’d have said his whole name, but saying only his first name told him that she somehow knew him personally.
Her face softens into a smile as she looks at his confusion, and in an instant the familiarity of her expression sinks in like a piece in a puzzle.
“Bec?” he says, immediately recognising Billie's friend and shaking his head incredulously, “What are you doing here?”
Her smile stretches into a grin when he says her name, a soft laugh leaving her lips. 
“We’re here for my sister’s bachelorette” she explains, pointing to the white glittery sash slung over her shoulder that says Maid of Honour and making Glen want to kick himself for not realising the very obvious answer.
“This was the last stop of the night, drinks and dancing” she adds with a laugh, gesturing towards the main area before looking back at Glen curiously, “What about you, what are you doing here?”
As the sheer coincidence of it all settles in his thoughts, a realisation dawns and immediately takes over his brain. 
“I’m here for my friend's birthday” Glen replies quickly, aware that his heart has suddenly begun racing in chest, his insides squirming in anticipation.
He’s asking the question before he can really think about it, the words blurting out of his mouth before he can even stop himself.
“Is Billie here?”
Bec’s face somehow splits into an even bigger grin at the mention of her friend, her silky, pale brown hair swishing as she nods. 
“She’s on the dancefloor with Sloane”
Glen manages to suppress the grin that threatens to take over his entire face then. “Do you think she’ll mind if I come and say hello?”
Bec laughs, looking up at Glen with amused eyes. “I think she’ll mind if you don’t”
They both laugh, smiling back at one another for a moment before Bec is pointing over her shoulder at the women's toilet door.
“Give me a second to use the bathroom and I’ll take you over to them?”.
Glen nods and steps back to let her pass, suddenly feeling giddy with excitement.
Billie.
He can’t believe she’s here - that out of all the places in LA, she’d by some miracle managed to end up at the same club he was at. What were the chances of that?
Glen inhales deeply, letting the air expand his lungs before he’s breathing out again, leaning his head back against the corridor wall and closing his eyes to savour the moment.
“So it seems you were lonely after all”
His eyes flash open to find Tiffany, the girl from earlier, standing in front of him and leaning against the wall suggestively, her lashes fluttering as she looks up at him. He does his best to control his disappointed expression, offering a half-hearted ‘hey’ as she steps closer to him and once again puts her hand on his arm.
“C’mon, my friend is just at that table over there” she presses again, long ponytail flicking as she points over to a booth just outside the corridor and squeezes his forearm, “Let us buy you a drink”.
He clears his throat, trying to decide on how to decline in the gentlest possible way, opening his mouth to say as much when he’s beaten by the sound of the bathroom door shutting behind him.
“Alright I’m back” Bec’s voice says suddenly, interrupting the interaction as she appears beside Glen, “You ready?”
Glen watches Bec take in the scene in front of her, her eyes landing on Tiffany’s hand and travelling along her arm until she’s looking at the blonde’s face. They stare at each other for a moment, silent and assessing - Glen's years of growing up with two sisters instantly alerting him to the unspoken communication between the two women. All of a sudden he feels like he's walked into a lion's den, exhaling silently as he looks between both of them. He watches Bec's lips suddenly stretch into an all too sweet smile at Tiffany - a smile that he’s immediately certain is anything but sweet underneath, Tiffany’s hand quickly slipping from his arm as her expression morphs into a scowl that makes him think of angry Barbie.
Glen clears his throat, the sound cutting through the invisible tension like a knife, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair as he looks down at Bec.
“Ready when you are Bec”
She's still looking across at Tiffany - her smile somehow even wider than before, eventually breaking her gaze and turning to Glen, gesturing for him to come with her.
He offers Tiffany a polite, almost apologetic smile, nodding before he moves and follows Bec out of the bathroom corridor. He exhales loudly when they step out into the main area and back into the pulsing bass of the DJ, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks down at Bec beside him.
“So that must get annoying sometimes” Bec comments without looking at him, pausing for a moment to scan the dancefloor, “You know, when you just want to be out and minding your own business?”
Glen shrugs, acutely aware of the protective, older sister tone that's suddenly taken over her voice.
“It does get old sometimes. But unfortunately, it’s part of the territory”
She turns to him but doesn’t say anything, and for a split second Glen swears he sees her eyes narrow slightly - all of a sudden unable to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being silently measured up. 
He watches as she smooths down her baby pink dress and turns back to the dancefloor, scanning the crowd once again before gesturing for Glen to follow her. He smiles when her walking immediately transforms into dancing, her hips swishing to the beat of the Britney Spears song that's playing as they step onto the floor and move through the sea of people. Glen scans the crowd around them, searching for Billie ahead of them, his stomach a pit of nervous excitement and simmering anticipation knowing he’s only seconds away from finding her.
It’s then that he spots them - two girls just up ahead, swinging their hips and throwing their arms up, dancing just separate to the rest of the pink-clad group beside them. His eyes fall to the taller of the two with her back to him, a short slip dress made of glittery, rose pink mesh-like material draped over her luscious curves like a silky waterfall. The dress is completely backless save for two thin straps that criss-cross over her lower back, a slit on one side of her leg that nearly shows her hip bone whenever she moves a certain way. He can see a tattoo in the centre of her upper back, the finely drawn, intricately detailed inked flowers that he’s slowly becoming more than familiar with suddenly coming into view as he steps closer.
Billie.
The second he realises it's her, the more the familiarity of the rest of her settles into his brain. The enticing slope of her waist into her ass, her long, toned legs, her buttery smooth, tanned skin. He exhales as he looks over her, feeling his pants tighten almost reflexively at the sight.
She looks fucking incredible.
He sees Sloane dancing beside Billie, the smile on her face growing when she spots Bec returning to them on the dancefloor. Glen can’t help his laugh when Bec enthusiastically points at him beside her as if to say ‘look who I found’, Sloane’s eyes lighting up when she looks across and recognises Glen.
He grins at her, nodding his hello, watching as she immediately starts to dance into an oblivious Billie and forcing her backwards into him. He chuckles when Sloane winks mischievously, and he makes a mental note to thank both Bec and Sloane for once again for being the ultimate wing women.
He smells Billie’s coconut scented shampoo the second she invades his space, unable to stop the grin that’s taken over his entire face when she backs up into him. He watches as she whips around, her hands held up in gestured apology, her gorgeous, hazel eyes widening when she realises exactly who it is that she’s just bumped into. 
The way her eyes light up, the way her lips stretch into the most breathtaking smile, the way her whole face transforms into a picture of utter happiness. In one quick moment, every single thought in Glen’s mind is blank save for thoughts of Billie and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than right here with her. 
“Hey darlin’”
“Glen!” Billie beams, blinking up at him incredulously and immediately reaching for his arms, “What are you doing here?”.
“I’m here with my friends. Coincidentally, this is where Chord’s birthday is” Glen explains, bending down to speak in her ear and unable to stop himself from pressing a fleeting kiss to her jaw just below her ear. 
He watches as Billie shakes her head in almost disbelief, her expression a mix of shock, confusion and absolute delight. Glen reaches for her hand and twirls her around, his eyes taking in the rest of her now that he can actually see all of her.
The front of her is just as sexy as the back, the dress’ loose cowl neckline allowing him a perfect view straight down her chest and confirming his earlier thoughts that she's wearing nothing beneath the glittery material. Her outfit leaves little to the imagination and for a moment all he can think about is undoing the tiny straps and watching the dress slip from her skin and pool at her feet. 
“You look fuckin’ gorgeous, Billie”
Billie practically beams at him, moving her hands to his chest, Glen pulling her closer and sliding his hands down to her hips. He swears he feels her shiver then, his fingers teasing the skin just beneath the short hem of her dress, leaning down so that his lips are at her ear again.
“I don't want to take over your night, I just wanted to come over and say hey” he breathes just loud enough for her to hear, loving the way her fingers flex against his chest as if she's just as affected by him as he is by her, “Come find me later?”
She grins and nods, Glen twirling her around again and looking over her once more, fighting the urge to action his explicitly sinful thoughts and instead flashing her a wolfish smile that he knows she can see right through.
She returns his smile and he immediately thinks all kinds of things that he definitely shouldn’t be thinking in the middle of a crowded club, shooting her a final wink before turning and making his way off the dance floor. He walks across the venue and back towards his friends, instantly wondering how he’s possibly going to be able to concentrate on anything else but her for the rest of the night. 
“Where have you been?” Chord asks when he sits down in the booth, holding up a fresh beer that Glen takes with a grateful nod.
“I found a friend on the dancefloor”
Chord raises one suggestive eyebrow, looking at Glen with amused suspicion, “A friend?”
Glen laughs. “A girl” he says, pausing to take a sip of his beer, “A girl I’ve just started seeing”.
Chord grins teasingly, pressing for more information.
“I met her last week at Rufus” Glen says, nearly shouting over the heavy bass of the new song that’s just come on, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair.
“What's her name?”
“Billie”
Chord takes a drink of his whiskey, tilting his head as he looks at Glen. “Do I know of her?”
Glen shakes his head no, and Chord flashes him a knowing look that only friends can communicate through.
Glen clears his throat, unable to help himself from sharing more.
“She's incredible man. It's been a week and I'm already mad for her”
Chord chuckles. “Wow, the sex that good is it?”
Glen laughs, shaking his head, a grin taking over his entire face. “You have no fucking idea”
They both laugh and Chord holds up his glass, Glen clinking his beer against his before they both drink to their cheers.
Glen lets out a breath and relaxes back into the lounge, tapping his fingers against his beer bottle and glancing over his shoulder at the dancefloor across the way.
---
Several rounds of drinks later, Glen is feeling a little drunk. 
A little drunk is perhaps an understatement. Moderately drunk. Sort of intoxicated.
Numerous beers and several shots have left his inhibitions lowered and his thoughts fuzzy - fuzzy, but filled with thoughts of one thing and one thing only.
Billie.
His group has gotten progressively more lively too - also emboldened by several rounds of birthday shots and cocktails, so when the music suddenly turns into a slow r&b song and they’re dragging him onto the dancefloor, he barely fights the grip on his arm and lets them lead him towards the heavy, sensual bass. 
The instant he steps onto the dancefloor he’s scanning the pulsing crowd for Billie, suddenly unable to think of anything he wants more than to feel her body pressed up against his. He finds her a few seconds later, dancing near the centre of the crowd with Bec and Sloane, her hips grinding to the beat as she tosses her head in time with the music. She looks carefree and sexy and everything his alcohol tinged brain wants right now, and before he can even think about it he’s dancing through the masses towards her.
He sees her turn and swing her hips, tossing her long chocolate curls and smiling over her shoulder, her face suddenly lighting up when she spots him walking towards her. Glen’s acutely aware of two guys dancing just behind Billie and Sloane - their intentions definitely mirroring his own, Glen shooting a charged look of unspoken warning at the one closest to Billie as he closes the distance to her and reaches for her hand. 
In one quick moment, all he can think about is tanned, glowy skin and perfect, luscious curves.
“Hey you” Billie greets when Glen pulls her in close to him, leaning in and bringing her lips to his ear, “Come to dance with me have you?”
Glen grins, his hands reflexively moving to the thickest part of her hips, the tips of his fingers brushing the skin just below the hem of her short dress. 
“Just couldn’t stop thinking about you darlin’”
Billie grins, her lips parting gorgeously and her hazel eyes bright as she looks up at him. “Well that makes two of us”
The song changes to something slower, darker, dirtier, and Billie doesn’t miss a beat - turning in Glen's arms so that her back is pressed against his chest and her ass is flush against him. In one quick moment all the blood in his body rushes straight to his cock and for the second time tonight he’s fighting his growing arousal in the middle of a crowded club.
She’s rocking side to side in time with the heavy music, her ass rolling and grinding and making Glen so painfully hard that he’s certain there’s no way she can’t feel him behind her. Billie’s head falls back against his shoulder and she reaches up to link her hands behind his head, Glen’s hands slipping lower until his fingers are nearly teasing the slit on the hip of her dress. Glen dips his face to her shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent and pressing a lingering kiss to her collarbone, looking down her body and groaning at the view of her tits under the shimmery pink fabric. All of a sudden he wishes he was anywhere but here - somewhere alone with Billie so that he could have his mouth on her nipples and his hands all over her naked skin.
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Glen is practically panting, his heart hammering in his chest, his entire body on fire. He knows Billie feels the same as he teases his fingers along her thighs, each one of her satisfied sighs only stirring him on more as he whispers in her ear how fucking good she feels and how damn sexy she is. Glen feels like they’re in their own little world despite them being in the middle of a crowded dance floor, Billie’s body pressed against his so tight there isn’t an inch of space between them.
Fuck.
Eventually the song ends and Billie unwraps herself from Glen, Glen taking advantage of the opportunity and leading her off the dancefloor. He’s desperate to kiss her, to taste her, to have her lips pressed against his own, desperate to have her all to himself so he can show her just how badly he wants her. He spots an empty lounge in the back corner away from the busiest part of the club, feeling Billie’s grip tighten around his hand as she lets him guide her towards it.
His mouth is on hers before either of them can even sit, Glen licking into her mouth as she kisses him back eagerly. He lifts her legs across his lap and cups the side of her throat with his hand, Billie all but whimpering into his mouth when his free hand grips roughly at her naked thigh. There’s a fire behind his ribs - suddenly raging in his insides, every single fibre in his body burning with a decadent desire to consume every single part of Billie.
At some point they pull apart - and Glen’s intoxicated mind can’t even tell how long they’ve been kissing, his lungs burning as he looks back at Billie’s dark, hooded eyes. He’s warm, too warm, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, his mind foggy from a mixture of too many beers and his absolute craving for Billie. His cock is straining against his jeans and pressed against her thigh, every small shift of her on top of him sending his body further into overdrive.
“I’m so fucking hard for you, peach” Glen breathes, loving the responsive little moan she lets out at the sound of his words in his ear, “Please let me take you home, Billie. I need to take you home”
He bends and kisses her neck while he waits for her reply - her skin sweet, intoxicating and deliciously addictive, Billie’s hands gripping his biceps in a way that he knows is an answer without words. His eyes lift to meet hers - hers, gorgeous and glossy with want, and he can’t help the way every single one of his deep muscles squeezes when she nods her head yes.
“Just let me tell the girls I’m leaving” Billie sighs, nearly panting as she fumbles for her bag and phone on the plush material beneath them.
Glen busies himself with pressing kisses along her jaw and down her throat, his fingers gripping the fat of her thigh as Billie types on her phone. A small moan escapes her throat when he reaches the space just beneath her right ear, and he somehow makes a mental note in his inebriated brain to remember that for later on. 
He loves that she’s just as affected by him as he is by her - the decadent desire to have her all over him and everywhere, to be buried inside her, thick, deep and heavy, over and over, and over again. 
He smiles against her skin when he hears her curse his name out loud, her voice soft and breathy in that way that he finds so desperately irresistible. It all but ruins him, and it takes everything he has to remember that they’re in the middle of a crowded LA club and not at home alone in his bedroom.
The sound of a giggle rumbles in her throat and he forces himself away from her skin for just a moment, following her eyeline to her screen and squinting to focus on the words on her phone.
Bec: Get it girl! Be safe 🩷
Sloane: You better ride him good B! 😉🍆
Glen chuckles before he bends to kiss her again - needing to have his mouth on some part of her, holding the back of her head still as he captures her mouth in a hungry, near bruising kiss. It makes him dizzy - the indulgent feeling wrapping around his spine and making his skin prickle in the best way.
He feels Billie’s hands on his face and before long she’s pulling away from him, her lips red and kiss-swollen and so sexy it makes him want to groan. He loves that she’s practically panting - that both of their chests are heaving in their joined embrace, her usually bright hazel eyes now dark and lust blown in a way that he’s certain mirrors his own.
She smiles as she looks at him - soft and sensual and making everything inside him burn hotter, her eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips and back again. 
“Take me home, handsome”
----
Glen has no idea how he and Billie didn't just fuck in the Uber back to his house.
It was all lips and tongues, wandering hands and near silent moans, Glen's fingers teasing beneath Billie's sinfully short dress at some point to find her thighs already hot, wet and deliciously wanting.
And fuck if that hadn't taken every ounce of self control he had not to bend down and bury his head between her legs - Uber driver be damned.
Glen’s raging hard, so hard it almost hurts, that when they finally arrive at his address he's practically bursting out of the car and sucking in lungfuls of the cool night air like a panting dog after a run. 
His mouth is on Billie the moment they’re through his front door - Glen pressing her up against the nearest wall and devouring her throat with his lips, his arousal forced up against her pelvis in an attempt to feel some kind of relieving friction.
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In an instant Brisket and Nugget are bouncing happily at their feet at the return of their owners, Glen and Billie somehow mustering enough restraint to break apart for just a moment to greet their excited animals. They manage to settle the boys in lightning speed, Glen immediately wrapping Billie in his arms and latching his mouth back to hers in a heated, feverish kiss.
He slides his hands down underneath her dress and grips the ample, peachy flesh of her ass, lifting her into his embrace and nearly growling when she wraps her legs around his waist and presses flush against his raging arousal.
He’s delirious - drunk off alcohol and the addictive smell, taste and feel of Billie, wanting, no, needing to have more of her as he kicks off his shoes and navigates blindly through his house. She’s already working the buttons on his shirt, having undone all of them by the time he sets her down on her feet in his bedroom, Billie pushing his shirt off his shoulders and grabbing at his newly naked chest
Glen slides his hands to her neck and down to her shoulders taking the shoelace thin straps of her dress with him - pulling away from her swollen lips in time to see the glittery pink material slip down her skin like a shimmering waterfall and pooling at her feet. 
It’s then that Glen actually takes a step back to admire the stunning woman in front of him - letting out a heavy, shaking breath and biting down on his fist as his eyes rake over her perfect form before him. Standing there in nothing but a pair of string-thin purple panties with her skin flushed and glowing, her tits soft and perky and her hair long and tumbling down her shoulders, she looks nothing short of a goddess and Glen feels like he’s going to spontaneously combust. 
“Fuuuuck Billie. You’re gorgeous”
She smiles at him - soft and kitten-like, sensual and devious, and it’s all it takes to have Glen kicking off his shoes and undoing his belt, his eyes never leaving hers as he takes her hand and pulls her towards him.
He kisses her then, hard, fast and hungry, his free hand roaming her naked flesh as her sweet scent takes over his senses and sparking something primal deep inside his core. He lays back on the bed and pulls Billie down with him, her legs falling to the sides so that she’s sitting over his torso and looking down at him with dark, glossy eyes.
He’s so fucking turned on, every single part of him hot and throbbing with addictive desire, to have her, to take her, to feel her until she’s begging him to stop.
“Sit on my face peach, I wanna taste you so bad”
Billie lets out a sound that he can only describe as a whimper mixed with a moan - like she’s going to fall apart from just his words, Glen’s grip on her luscious hips firm as he guides her up his body until her legs are on either side of his face.
He smells her arousal instantly, and he doesn’t miss the darker patch of purple on her thong, his tongue reflexively wetting his lips as he looks at her covered sex. He swears he’s never been more turned on than he is at this very moment, his whole body practically vibrating as Billie straddles his face.
He reaches up and gingerly pulls the silky material aside - unable to stop the growl of wanton approval that instinctively rumbles in his chest at what he finds. 
She’s fucking glistening, sopping wet and waiting for him, the sight of her perfect pink folds making him involuntarily buck his hips into the air, his grip on her hips digging so tight he’s sure he’s hurting her.
Fuck.
“Are you sure?” Billie asks, a hint of hesitation colouring her breathy voice - Glen not missing the way her hips are already subtly grinding as she hovers just above him.
Glen swallows thickly. 
He’s never been more sure of anything in his fucking life.
He doesn’t answer - too far gone in his thoughts about what he’s about to do to Billie, instead gripping at her buttery skin and pulling her down onto his waiting tongue. 
---
Previous Chapter
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absfawn · 4 hours ago
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ SUBURBAN BLUES ❞
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤpairing. milf!abby x mechanic!reader
SUBURBAN BLUES, Abby Anderson, the southern peach of the neighbourhood, the sweetest to ever be in the bluebonnet state has built a family to be proud of. With a blue collar wife, Ellie, and her baby cub Remi to take care of her life should feel complete, whole. Yet on the cusp of a failed marriage, she’s lonely, struggling to do everything this household requires. She seeks solace in someone else and that friend just happens to be you. ⛧ warnings. not really any smut in this part, but still 18+, tooth-rotting fluff, a lil sprinkle of our dear old angst, flirting, mostly from reader, they are a heavy flirt oops! but abby secretly loves it, tehe wc. 5.3k masterlist.
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There’s nothing like summer heat in the middle of August. In California, it could be more than brutal, the cruel heat waves penetration from the tall windows making Abby nearly sweat underneath the warm sun. As far as it was, it could surely make an impact. After nearly half the night, not to mention a few hours this morning, she finally got Remi to sleep. Even if she felt light-headed, her sweet baby’s screams turned into murderous knives each time they came hurling towards her head.
Ellie didn’t really seem to like getting up, only if she was asked. Abby got tired of asking so she would get up in the hour of rooster, cooing her six month baby back to sleep. Godbid anyone disturb her sleep. Ellie was the working one in the family, she was owed her rest, according to her.
As time went on, it was difficult on every level not to feel a certain kind of resentment. It rested on Abby’s tongue, a weapon to use as she wished. When she feels particularly exhausted, she reminds Ellie of why she’s so goddamn tired. Taking care of a child, much less a baby, is a full time job. Most days, she feels as if she’s doing it all alone. Without the help of her wife, the one who is supposed to be there, they choose to do this together but she can’t help but feel as if she’s all alone in this. 
It all boils over on a Sunday afternoon, heat rises as long with overflowing emotions, suppressed until Abby has finally had enough.
Ellie with her hand on her hips as pinches at her forehead, repeatedly rubbing over the skin. It’s a necessary fight to be had, she knows it even if she’d rather ignore it, Abby has reached her limit. With crimson cheeks, and an irate frown, she’s calm as ever but she talks so lowly, the only thing keeping her from screaming off the top of her lungs is her sleeping daughter upstairs. 
“You don’t help, Ellie. You’ve completely checked out. See? Even when I’m talking to you, you’re not here!” Abby snaps her fingers in Ellie’s face to regain her attention. “I might as well be expressing my concerns to a wall.”
“I’m listening.” Ellie argues. 
“Yeah, just about as well as you listen to Remi’s cries at night.” 
Abby knows it’s backhanded, she wants it to hurt but at this point part of her wonders if you’re even listening to her. She doesn’t even bring up the fact they haven’t had sex since she gave birth. Not a bone in her body wishes to vocalize her need for affection, to be touched, loved — cared for. 
Ellie opens her mouth for a countless number of excuses to tumble out but Abby knows her too well. She won’t have it, not for another moment. 
“Just do better, Ellie.” 
The remainder of the afternoon, Abby spends it with Remi. Feeding, burping before putting her down. Mindlessly, she focuses on tasks requiring no further though. Deep cleaning the fridge, finishing the laundry, and she vacuuming the living room when she finally breaks down. 
She wants nothing more than to smash their wedding picture to bits. Five years ago, she would have said it was the happiest day of her life, but now the day she had Remi was. Even if having her daughter reshaped her marriage for the worse, the only kind of magic she finds is those baby blue eyes staring back at her. 
She still has the love of her life even if it’s shifted from her wife to her daughter.
All Abby has time for is Remi, she can’t cater to a relationship where she’s the only one fighting for it. Ellie is content with hiding in the shadows of their issues, spending her time away from Abby in any way she can. This time Ellie goes for a run around the neighborhood, when she runs into you. 
It isn’t the first time, the two of you tend to go jogging at the same time. Ellie joins for a bit, but you’re usually passing her. It’s a bit of a bruise to her ego. Your endurance is better than hers, but you make fun of it, it’s really that big of a deal. It’s a nice stress reliever and it’s a stroke to your ego. 
Bending over the hood of your car, just in your black shorts clinging to your sweaty body and your sports bra slightly wet, Ellie approaches sitting next on the stool next to your massive tool box. They’ve spoken a few times, nothing more than surface level conversations. Small talks that numbs your brain, good enough to get rid of the silence but not enough for a friendship to blossom. 
“So,” Ellie pauses, “How much do you know about cars?” 
Ellie wants to slap herself in the face for being so painfully awkward, she might as well have stumbled over her words, that would have been less embarrassing. You stand up to your full height. Ellie would say it’s intimidating, just a little, especially when it always looks like you’re going to punch a bitch out if they say one wrong thing to you. 
You’re really the pariah of the neighborhood. Most of the time, you don’t come to cookouts assembled by the neighbors, you keep to yourself, the only time you’re ever seen by anyone is on the weekends, working on whatever car you’re flipping next. Jesse, the man who lives on the other side of Ellie, knows you work at a shop, but that’s the only detail anyone has seemed to pull out of you. 
“You know I’m a mechanic, right?” You gesture to the massive tool box, one that probably cost more than Ellie’s monthly salary. You shut the hood of the GT-R, clearly you weren’t going to get some silence but you didn’t mind, your back could use the break. Taking the towel out of your pocket, wiping the grease and grime off your hands and forearms, wiping the excess sweat off your head forehead.
“Well obviously.” Ellie says. 
As if you didn’t just have a drill in your hand moments ago. 
“What do you need?” You keep it short and sweet, especially the way Ellie is looking you up and down. As if you’re something to be devoured, you shrug it off, grabbing the tools you’d be using and dispensing them into the drawers. 
“It’s this collectible car, we have a 67’ camaro but it doesn’t run. We have a new motor for it and a new timing belt but I can’t replace it. I fucked it up the last time so my wife is adamant about me not touching it again.” 
You offer her a light chuckle, of course she fucking did. Idiots thinking they can do it after watching one video and then get stuck somewhere in the middle, fucking up the vehicle even more. At least Ellie wasn’t pretending like she knew what she was doing. Still, you didn’t know if you could get past the way she’s looking at you, a desperate need curved into her eyes. One you sure as hell would not be giving to her. You weren’t going to be caught in some fucking mess. 
More than anything, you enjoy your quiet life. Day in and day out, there’s solace in a steady life, no surprises. It’s the way you like it. Going to work, coming home and going for your evening run, working on cars until you're met with the midnight sky until the day repeats itself. It’s predictable, easy — comforting even. 
“It’s going to cost you, m’not free.” 
“Of course, whatever you want.” 
Curtly, you nod as if you’re asking if she needs anything else but Ellie sits there looking at you like a deer in headlight, emerald eyes so lost in yours but you’re just looking at her with a scrunched face and furrowed eyebrows. You’re positive you would find drool on your garage floor if you met her where she sat. You want to chuckle when she flexes her arms as if you’re supposed to be impressed by it. 
Ellie opens her mouth as if she wants to say something else, but you cut her off. Grabbing a business card, with your work cell on it and handing it to her. “Text me when you want me to come over and take a look. Just give me a little heads up so I can move around my schedule.” 
“Yeah, of course.” You chuckle as she stands up losing her footing as she stands
up. 
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around then. Maybe for our next run?” 
Our? 
“Sure, Ellie. Have a nice night.” You keep it short and sweet, scared she might try something else if the interaction lasts any longer. Closing your garage door, finally in silence away from the prying eyes of Ellie. Her poor fucking wife, you thought. Such a sleazeball for making starry eyes at someone you’re not married to. Regardless, you’ll keep your head down, you don’t want to get tangled into someone else’s mess. 
Treating yourself to a hot shower, you let the steam nearly suffocate. The water pressure hits your back perfectly, helping with some of the tension you carry from your shoulders. Today’s work finally catches up to your body, shutting your eyes as you let the water wash away the sweat and dirt, the muddy gray water pooling at your feet. It’s the most relaxing part of your day and you don’t take it for granted. Some days it’s the one activity you look forward to the most, as depressing as it sounds. It isn’t long until you’re falling asleep in your clean, cold sheets, soothing your body to a full night’s rest. 
You were running late. Sure, they live next door, and you wouldn’t have far to go, but shit you were late. You had promised you’d be there to fix the car at 10, and as you stumbled through the living room, trying to get yourself ready and boots on your feet, you noticed it was a little after 10:30 on the click above the stove, almost taunting you that you had overslept. Which wasn’t like you. You were always on time, maybe just a couple minutes early. 
Shrugging on your jacket the minute you step outside into the crisp air, you shoved one of your breakfast protein bars in your mouth, your toolbox tucked under your arm, and your hand quickly slammed the door behind you. Winching at the loud sound that echoes through your eyes. If you keep slamming things, you’re going to have to end up fixing the door every goddamn night.
You could tell Ellie and her wife, who you still have yet to meet, have lived here  for a while just based on how neat and tidy their garden was. The flowers still looked fresh, watered regularly, and overall the colors were beautiful. You’ve not been here a long time, but long enough to know that you barely see Ellies car in the drive, the spot usually empty whenever you go outside. Did she have someone to keep it that pretty? Her wife, maybe? Shrugging away your thoughts, you took a few long strides up the pathway, up the 3 steps and stumbled over one of the plant pots when you weren’t looking where you were going. Knocking the ceramic off the step completely and breaking just beside you with a loud crash.
“Shit, fuck!” You groaned, kneeling down to pick up the broken pieces carefully, nipping yourself in the process of trying to clean up the mess. “Jesus Christ.” You frowned, looking around, suddenly more nervous than you were for being late. “Fuck.”
You were so into trying to clean up the mess your dumbass had made that you weren’t fully focused on a certain blonde looking through the window on the door, watching you clumsily throw the small piles of soil into the other flower pots, still wanting everything to look as pretty as it did when you walked up their pathway. “Are you okay?” Came a gentle voice. A voice that caught you so off guard that you almost fell down the steps this time.
“Oh fuck, hi!” You stammered, standing to your full height when the door opened and a small giggle had caught your attention. “Shit, I swear I didn’t break it on purpose, I wasn’t looking where I was going and somehow walked right into it. M’sorry.” You apologized profusely, your breath getting caught in your throat when your eyes found baby blue ones staring back at you. 
Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, down her back, a soft smile tugging at her plump lips, one of the thin dress straps fell down her shoulder, and you didn’t know where to look all of a sudden. Her pretty face? Her freckled shoulder? Her legs? Shit, focus dumbass. “I spoke to your wife, well I assume she’s your wife, told me about a car that you needed fixing so uhm, here I am”
Really? Why are you nervous right now? She hasn’t even said anything.
“Or if you’re busy I can come back later—”
“You’re bleeding.” She cuts you off, eyebrows furrowed and it’s then when you realize she’s not even looking at you. More so looking down. Your hand was bleeding. How didn’t you notice or feel it?
“Sorry?”
“Did you cut yourself on the pot? Come in, I can fix it for you and you can tell me what Ellie told you.” You don’t miss the huff she lets out when she simply wraps her hand around your arm, and tugs you into her home. Hiding the blush on her face at the firmness of your muscles beneath her hand.
The coldness from outside was gone just as fast when you found yourself standing in the hallway, the warmth from the living room fire instantly stopped the small shake of your body as you watched her halt in her steps, turn around and quirk an eyebrow up at you. “Are you coming?” Her sweet voice spoke, soft and smooth like honey.
Fuck. Maybe.
“Yeah, yeah, m’coming” 
Your legs pick up, feet moving towards her while she slips into the kitchen, the fruit scented perfume filling your nose the more you walk, the more you follow her like a love sick puppy. Really, what the fuck are you doing? She’s married. “Is the cut deep?”
“It’ll be fine, seriously, you don’t need to fix me.” You chuckled under your breath. “It happens all the time, always breaking something and getting injured.” 
“So you're a clumsy person?” Her next question comes, looking at you with a soft smile. A smile you’ve never seen before. Especially not by someone so beautiful, so sweet. 
“I wouldn’t say I’m clumsy, sometimes I see things and I just get,” you paused, a smirk curving up on your lips when you find her looking at you, waiting for you to finish. “Distracted by pretty things.”
Her cheeks flush, something you don’t miss as she beckons you to sit on the stool beside the small island in the middle of her kitchen. “M’sure that’s it.” She giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 
“It is.”
“What did Ellie tell you?”
You turned your head and if it wasn’t for the fact you were sitting down already, your knees would have buckled beneath you and sent you flying to the floor when you found her bending down, reaching for what you could only assume was a first aid kit, and making soft grunts trying to reach it. “Jesus.” You mumbled, biting your fist.
“Did you say something?”
“Just that I like the flowers in your garden. S’pretty.”  You coughed, squirming around on the stool and trying to contain the thoughts swimming around in your head. Swallowing when she stands up and looks over at you. First aid kit in hand.
“Oh, thank you,” She smiled shyly, placing the small green box on the counter. “I love my garden, it helps me with stress. Minus getting my clothes dirty, I hate that part.”
I don’t. I’d love to see you in dirty clothes. 
“So you tend your garden?”
“If I left it to Ellie, they would all be dead.” The smile she gives you doesn’t meet her eyes. It wasn’t like the previous smiles she’s given you. It seems more emotionless. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Not used to talking to someone about hobbies I love doing,” Her fingers felt soft against your skin when she lifted your injured hand, your rough skin against her softer skin had shivers running down your spine.
“Your wife doesn’t talk about them?”
“Doesn’t really talk about much apart from work, but s’okay. I’m Abby by the way.” 
Once you introduced yourself, you shook her hand with your only good one and smiled at her. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Abby. If it helps, i would gladly love to hear about your other hobbies.”  
Abby’s breath hitched in her throat, was it because you wanted to know about her and all the things she loved, or was it because you were touching her? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t mind it. You were kind and gentle, something she hasn’t felt in a while. “I warn you, they can be boring.”
“Impossible. I will listen no matter what.” 
Abby was careful with your wounded hand, cleaning the cut with one of her antiseptic wipe gently, dabbing away the drying blood, as well as the fresh with a neatness you hadn’t see before. Just like her flowers, she took care of you like you were fragile, always mumbling what she was going to do next, warning you the antibiotic might sting a little. Stunned at how you didn’t even flinch, and then she was asking herself things. Were you used to getting injured? Had this happened before that you barely reacted to anything like this before? Abby had many questions, but then again, so did you. Of course.
“Have you guys been married long? Wait can I even ask that?” 
“You can, if you want a truthful answer,” Abby replied with a soft laugh that had your heart racing. “We’ve been married long enough to have a daughter, if that’s what you want to know. She takes care of her, in her own way, i guess.”
“We don’t have to talk about your wife, if you don’t want to. We can talk about more of your hobbies if you’d like. Or even talk about your daughter, i bet she looks just like you, hm?”
“Didn’t Ellie tell you about the car? I wouldn’t want to bore you with things about my life.”
“What about you is borin’, sweetheart?” God fucking damn it. 
The way you were looking at her made her feel seen. Of course, Ellie’s had looked at her before, but she’s never looked at her the way you are. Like you really wanted to know her, wanted to know her likes and dislikes. Looking at her like she was everything. You were looking at her like she was the only woman in the world, something her own wife doesn’t do. And she loved it. “I’m a mother who stays at home—”
“Who tends to her own garden, looks after and takes care of her daughter, fixes an injured person who was stupid enough to broke her really petty plant pot that i still need to clean up. Wouldn’t call you borin’, love, i would say that you just live life differently and none of that is borin’. I think it’s pretty beautiful, it seems like your wife is the borin’ person in this situation, but what do i know? Maybe the fact she makes you tend your own garden while you’re already takin’ care of your child. Not my business though, just an observation, if you will.” You shrugged, licking your lips and smirking at her. 
“She does care, in her own way.” Abby found herself defending her wife, a wife who barely see’s her. Why? Abby still loved her, or maybe she thought she did, she wasn’t so sure what she felt half the time. Ellie’s never there for the important parts. She misses the different yet small milestones her daughter makes and that makes Abby’s blood boil. If she can’t be there for her wife, she sure as hell can be there for her daughter.
“Never said she didn’t, Sweet. I’m just sayin’, if you were my wife, gave birth to our daughter, i would not let you lift a finger.” You found yourself admitting, eyeing her up a little more than you should be doing. Ellie, her wife, asked you to fix her fucking car, so why are you flirting with her wife? “I mean, those dirty clothes you mentioned, you’re telling me she doesn’t even wash them for you?”
“She has a job.”
“She also has a family.”
Wrapping the bandage around your hand, Abby pouted at your sudden wince and cleared her throat. “There, done.” The Blonde murmured, the tears welling up in the corner of her eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you, and before you could even do anything, Abby’s wiping them away and smiling again. “The car is in the garage—”
“M’sorry if i made you upset,” You sighed, reaching your hand up and wiping away the droplets that fell down her cheek. “That wasn’t my intention, you just, you’re doing everything, you know? S’not fair on you is all i’m sayin’.”
“I appreciate you worrying, but m’okay.”
“Well, I live across the street, so if you need someone to talk to, just come over” You smiled, the thud of your boots hit the floor as you push yourself to your feet and tugged at your jacket sleeves. “Right, your car.” 
Ignoring the fire in her stomach, Abby just nodded, moved toward where the keys were hanging up and grabbed the one for her car, completely oblivious to the way your eyes were raking her up and down, licking your lips and turning around just so you could keep yourself calm. “Okay, I think it’s this one— are you alright?” She giggled upon noticing you weren’t facing her anymore.
“Yeah, just hot in here, no?” You huffed softly under your breath. “Might be in for a heatwave this week.”
More like you’re in heat. 
“Well, if it gets too hot in there, i’ll bring you something to drink, if you want.”
Your eyebrow quirked up as you turned slightly, looking at her with that stupid fuckin smirk. Oh, what a pretty housewife she is, you thought. “Thanks, Sweetheart.” The petname rolled off your tongue so smoothly and in a way that had Abby’s stomach fluttering.
“Y—You’re welcome.” Well fuck.
Just as you grabbed the keys from Abby’s soft hands, the sound of loud crying rang through the baby monitor and had the blonde frowning but quickly smiling at you again. That smile was going to get you into trouble. You were fucked. “Shit, sorry, I need to go and feed her. If there’s anything you need for the car, it—”
“Don’t worry, Love. I got everything i need.”
This time, you didn’t miss the dark crimson blush Abby was sporting as she rushed out of the kitchen to attend to her daughter.
After the next few weeks, you’ve considered Abby to be a good friend. You didn’t mind listening to her problems, you very much enjoyed being there for her when no one else seemed to notice how much she struggled. Having a newborn and an absent wife was no easy feat, especially when you feel like you’re doing it alone. 
The amount of times you’d been able to be there for her were piling up, one after the other, bringing you closer to her. It’s the only reason you felt the need to wish her a good evening before you exit for the night. All the grease and oil on your body, the aching in your lower spine bending over the hood, you need rest — badly. 
Coming through the garage, her car started acting up and giving her trouble so she hastily called you, again — you couldn’t find her in the living perched on the couch, where she’d usually be with her daughter but you couldn’t find Abby there. You climb up the stairs, going into the nursery when you see her cradled in Abby’s strong arms, but she uses every ounce of a gentle hand when her daughter’s in her care. 
With her eyes shut, she couldn’t have been possibly aware of how exposed she should feel. The dress she’d been wearing pulled down to her waist, her upper torso exposed, but all you could focus on was her breasts. Full, breathtaking breasts, her baby girl suckling on the milk funneling into the infant’s mouth. You try to move, look away, save yourself but you can’t. As if your feet are nailed to the hardwood, you’re unable to move an inch, only in awe of the women in front of you. 
The beautiful blonde taking away every last breath you have. 
You’re thinking about how much you wish to touch them, feeling the soft skin in your palm, how sensitive they would be, thumb grazing her lactating nipple. Would she whimper, whine, or even let a moan fall from her lips? The squeeze in your thighs is involuntary, the rapid beat of your clit as you drool over the sight of her breasts. They are so full, begging to be sucked and teased. Before you can help it, you’re drifting to unspeakable thoughts, the image of your mouth sucking on her nipples, another white substance falling on your tongue. Allowing your taste buds to revel in it as you swallow every drop. 
There’s an even more unimaginable thought coming to mind, one you’re not sure you can allow yourself to indulge in, if you do, there might be no point of return. Then you’re reminded of the sparkling rock on her left finger, the one that glimmers in the moonlight. Even if her wife isn’t around, you shouldn’t abuse that? Right? 
Abby begins to stir, blue eyes opening slowly as blonde eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Silently she questions the limits of a taboo dream and finite reality, her eyes adjusting to the bright light seeping from the hallway. 
Then there’s a creak, as soft as it should sound, the silence makes it echo. Abby comes to full alert, but then she just sees you. Yet, you feel like a deer in the headlights, caught red handed gawking at your employer’s wife. Vulnerable and exposed, and you’re acting like a teenager who's seeing tits for the first time. Severely, you’re in awe at the kind smile she offers as she cradles Remi to her chest. The sweet youngling, finding safety in the comfort of her mother’s arms. Too strong for her own good, after the little bits you’ve picked up from her over the past few weeks, all you can do is look upon her with intense admiration.
Abby motions for you to move closer, but you’re still nailed to the ground, too anxious to move any closer when she’s so exposed. You’re not sure if you can keep eye contact with her when your sight craves to drift south. 
Jesus, get your shit together. Fucking freak. 
Slowly, you get closer to her but thankfully she saves you, asking for the baby pink bib placed on top of the dresser. There’s also a blanket, but Abby doesn’t ask for it, leaving you even more puzzled. Does she not care to be covered? Perhaps, she feels comfortable? You try not to tumble down the dangerous black hole, wiping it from your mind entirely. 
“You think I would have remembered to grab it but she’s sleeping and I don’t want to wake her.” Abby coos at her daughter, lightly smoothing over her blonde hairline, almost invisible to the eye. 
“Yeah—” You speak quietly, not wanting to wake Remi. “Here.” 
Abby offers small thanks, with a gentle hand she wipes the milk from her face, making sure she’s clean of it as she continues to rock her to a peaceful slumber. “I wanna apologize,” You croaked out after a few minutes of comfortable silence, not wanting to startle either of them, as your eyes found a small canvas on the wall.
“Apologize?” Abby repeated, looking up from her daughter, a tired smile on her face, to find you no longer looking at her, more like admiring the paintings in the room over everything else. “For?”
“Interrupting something that’s very special between a mother and their child. It’s getting late, so i was just coming to find you to tell you i should be heading home, but i couldn’t find you, so” You were still nervous, rightfully so, but Abby didn’t seem to mind. She thought it was cute.
“My wife,” Abby paused, softly chuckling on how to explain it without seeming like she was overreacting. “She doesn’t, well, she never really has an interest in me doing this? I guess she just doesn’t like it, which is fine, but it’s okay that you’re here. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable that you’re standing there, so you can stop acting like it’s making me uncomfortable, please” She laughed. A beautiful sound you always want to hear from her. 
“She doesn’t stay with you?” Your reply was short, almost a scoff. “That seems a little shi— stupid.” You catch yourself quickly with a nervou laugh as you remember her child was quite literally still in her arms, in the same area as you and asleep. “I think it’s beautiful, if that helps. She’s missing out on a lot, you know?”
Abby doesn’t know how to repsond for a while. Part of you thinks you’ve overstepped on your words, insulted her wife in a way you didn’t mean to. But she just smiles at you again, and shakes her head. Those blue eyes piercing into yours which has you holding your breath at how pretty she looks. “It helps. A lot, actually. Thank you”
“You’re uh, welcome.” You nervously laughed and rubbed the back of your head. You didn’t know why she made you so nervous, but you were also not complaining about it too much. If anything, you loved it. Maybe that was because you were a freak. A freak who was thinking about touching her tits not even an hour ago. “I should really get going though, is there anything else i can help you with before i go?” You smiled.
Are you flirting right now? Shut the fuck up, she’s married.
“No, it’s okay,” Abby whispers, not wanting to wake her daughter up, who was soundly asleep in her arms. “You’ve done enough to help me, with the car and everything. I could make you something to eat when you’re here again? An extra thank you for helping me” She suggested, her lips curving up into a smile which has you forgetting how to breathe for a few seconds. 
“I would like that, Mrs Anderson”
“You can call me Abby, you know?”
Her question, such an innocent one on her end, had you smirking deviously, like the freak you were and looking at her like she was your prey and you were ready to pounce on her at any given moment. “Mommy sounds better rolling off my tongue. Well … to me at least” You gave her a subtle wink before walking out of the room. 
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muffinlance · 4 months ago
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AND I finally got around to tracing all the isopuppy plushie pattern pieces! And found all my process photos! And started writing the directions! I am rocking today!
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guinevereslancelot · 9 months ago
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the guy i'm in the middle of breaking up with just went to sleep???
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wxywardsun · 1 year ago
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Wildest thing supernatural ever pulled was the “two prophets can’t exist on earth at once” thing cause it results in a malformed prophet and..something something balance of the universe..something like that..I can’t remember. Like..what do you mean we can’t just have a cool prophet duo? We just deserved more prophets in general! They were so interesting and had layers to them,their whole entire concept was so cool to see and yet we saw so little of them in a sense. I just wish they were utilized a biiit more.
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sleepy-the-loz-enthusiast · 5 months ago
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Me: I'm gonna be productive today because next week there are two very important things that I need to study for
My brain: ...
My brain: Best I can do for you is 'can't get out of bed' with a side of 'feeling like shit and guilty'
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futureghost97 · 2 years ago
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rant in tags bc I want to sob into a pillow
#I can’t describe to you guys what my job is like. I know I post ridiculous funny stuff but it’s very rarely funny in the moment#I’m a substitute teacher‚ which means that even though I’m in the building EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR#and even though I’ve known most of these kids since LAST DECEMBER (2021)#they just. don’t fucking listen to a word I say#it took 14 minutes and a dean of students in the room with me today to get one of my classes to stop talking over/ignoring me#and I’m not even yelling at them‚ I’m literally trying to 1.) say ‘good afternoon folks!’ and 2.) tell them what the assignment is#all day long I’m ignored and disrespected by the same kids and there are no consequences because this is a charter school#and day after day I’m also disrespected by staff because I’m ‘just a sub’ and you#everyone keeps calling out of work#we finally filled the last VACANCY we had TWO WEEKS AGO. we’ve been down 3 full time teachers since the beginning of the year#and as of two weeks ago we finally filled the last vacancy. so I could go back to JUST substituting.#but today the 7th grade ELA teacher just gave us his one-week notice which means that now that I am the ONLY BUILDING SUB#(we started the year with 3‚ now it’s just me)#I have this terrible suspicion that ​I’m gonna get stuck with 7th grade ELA for the rest of the year. while trying to do grad school.#I just… I’m exhausted all the time#and I act like I’m not but I am#this job is so demeaning and exhausting and I love my students (specifically my 8th graders and high schoolers)#but I’m not gonna see them for the rest of the year. I’m gonna be stuck in 7th grade ELA I just know it#when I say that the middle school is like an active war zone I’m not joking#I had to stop a kid from choking out his classmate today#I leave work every day with headaches because it’s always so fucking loud‚ even in the middle of lessons#I want my old job back‚ this year has been exhausting and I don’t know how I’ve ended up taking on so much more than I’m supposed to#I covered 6 out of 7 periods again this week. the most that any full time teacher has to teach is 4 out of 7#and the subbing coordinator keeps giving me the heaviest coverage loads and then telling me he’s ‘disappointed’ by how tired I am#he also gave every single person on the subbing team specific shoutouts in his daily emails… except me#tldr I’m feeling disrespected by students and overworked by my coordinator and undersupported by admin and taken for granted by coworkers
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tonycries · 4 months ago
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The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.
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Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)
A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.
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“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”
“Duh, I know everything.”
“Nuh uh, Toru.”
“Yuh uh!”
The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 
Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.
A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.
You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.
Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-
Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:
Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 
Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 
Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.
Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.
And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.
Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 
Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”
“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”
You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”
“...you would not.”
“Would to.”
“Would not.”
“Would to.”
“Would- Sugu–!”
And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”
He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.
With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”
Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”
You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 
And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 
Everything. 
Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 
“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.
Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”
Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 
If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.
Just a friend comforting a friend, right?
So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.
Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.
That night ended with a second kiss. 
You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 
Everything. 
But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.
“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”
And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 
He learns another two things that night:
Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 
He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.
It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.
Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.
According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.
“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”
God, what a way to start the year.
Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”
And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 
“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”
“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”
“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”
And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 
But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”
You knew. 
You’d kissed him back. 
“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”
You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 
The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.
But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”
“Where?”
At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 
“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 
Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”
Close - too close. So dangerously close.
He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”
“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 
And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 
“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 
There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.
Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”
Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  
Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 
And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 
His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.
Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 
Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 
He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 
“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”
You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 
Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”
“I’m serious, Satoru.”
And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 
Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”
As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.
“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”
Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 
So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 
Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 
“Toru, I have a date.”
The fourth kiss.
Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”
And the last.
He fucked up.
He really, really fucked up.
That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 
He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 
What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 
The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 
You, that loser had you.
“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”
“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-
“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”
And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-
SLAM!
Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 
And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 
“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 
Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”
Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”
“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”
And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”
Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”
A beat of silence passes. One. Two.
Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 
“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”
Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”
“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”
And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 
Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.
His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”
Oh. 
Shit. 
“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”
And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”
“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”
“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”
“...”
Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 
Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.
But you don’t.
Fuck. 
And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 
He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 
“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 
And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 
“Oh.”
Then the movie is unpaused. 
---
The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 
The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.
Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 
The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.
“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-
Ding!
Ah, there. 
You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…
Satoru. 
Speaking a mile a minute.
Satoru.
“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”
“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 
What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 
But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 
Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.
It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.
Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.
“You loser.”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-
That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”
“Huh?”
You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 
Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”
“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”
And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 
Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 
“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”
“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 
“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.
“Toru!”
“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”
And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”
“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”
It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 
And it’s sloppy.
Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.
“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”
It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”
The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.
“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”
A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.
And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 
Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.
You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”
“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.
And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.
“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 
“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”
So goading. So like you. 
At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”
Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 
“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”
And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-
“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”
Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 
“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”
He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 
But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 
“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”
It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?
“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”
And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 
“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 
You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 
“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 
Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 
But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”
You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 
You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.
But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.
Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 
“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”
And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”
It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”
You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 
And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 
“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 
And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 
He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”
Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.
At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 
He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 
“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”
And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”
“You have no idea.”
That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 
Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 
And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 
“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”
“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  
Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-
“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”
And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 
Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 
“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 
You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.
Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”
You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 
He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 
“That’s more like it.”
You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  
Deep. Ruthless.
“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”
You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”
But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.
“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”
“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”
You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 
He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 
Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”
“Still not convinced.”
But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”
“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”
“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”
You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.
Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  
And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 
Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.
“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.
“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”
Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.
“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”
“Well, only one way to find out~”
“Oh shut up you-”
SLAM!
“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”
There were only two more lessons to be learned:
Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 
Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.
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A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?
Plagiarism not authorized.
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inmaki · 9 months ago
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gojo showing off your back scratches to geto
( cont from this fic! req, visual ) .
contains: sex talk, desc of back scratches, crack, sugu is called daddy once (as a joke.. right..)
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everything was relatively peaceful in suguru's apartment. key word: relatively.
a forgettable yet appreciated sunday afternoon, not a cloud in sight despite the weather forecast predicting downpours of rain. either way, the raven-haired man insouciantly rested across his white couch, reaching the conclusion that today would be a day for self-care, relaxing, and perhaps some meditation.
there was only one thing ruining his peace.
all morning, suguru has been forced to try and ignore the stain a certain someone has left on his couch — a pair of unecessarily expensive yet dirty shoes being the culprit.
despite these attempts, every once in a while his gaze can't help but wander over at the mark — as if it'd poof out of existence if he glared hard enough.
"fuckin' asshole.." he mutters. it was a wonder his relationship with his best friend managed to stay so promising despite all their differences, yet suguru wouldn't have it any other way, even after situations like this.
right when he grumpily turns back to the tv — which was playing some crappy, low budget rom-com — his apartment door is yanked open and suguru swears he nearly jumps out of his seat.
great, was this it? was he about to get robbed, perhaps evicted? and then probably die? forced into the afterlife knowing gojo's shoe-shit was still on his new couch? no that can't—
"i fucked her!"
suguru whips his head towards the apartment door, announcement being disregarded as he nearly groans in agony. speak of the devil.
big blue eyes peak out from under circular sunglasses, one hand already raised in preparation for a dap up while his stupid, big, dirty shoe pushes the door closed behind him. gojo wears a black compression shirt with grey sweats, marching over to his friend with a ginormous grin across his cheeks.
"take your shoes off, now," suguru snaps, nodding to his friend's feet with a frown.
"yeesh... whatever y'say, daddy," the bastard never loses his smile as his hands raise in surrender, kicking them off by the door smoothly. "what's got your panties in a twist?"
geto pinches his nose bridge. "don't call me that," as he continues the scolding, he points to the living room with his free hand. "you got a mystery stain on my couch, satoru. do you know how many youtube videos i watched trying to get this shit off?"
unphased, gojo takes a look at the strangely colored blob against the armrest's leather material and shrugs. "my bad. did you try febreeze?"
"what— no? dude, febreeze is for.." when suguru looks back up to sourly meet his gaze, he could immediately tell the white-haired man was already drifting back into la-la-land, words going in one ear and out the other. "..nevermind. why're you here?"
at the reminder, satoru seemingly brightens, head shooting back up as if he was just told he'd won the lottery.
"oh god, don't make that stupid face—" he pauses. "the fuck are you doing?" suguru might as well say goodbye to his self-care day, because now gojo was stripping in the middle of his living room, shirt thrown haphazardly onto the still-very-much-stained couch.
"just look!" suguru squints as his friend swivels around to face the wall, pushing his bangs away to get a better view of the— oh shit.
it takes the raven-haired man a second to process what he's seeing before shuffling forward, closely examining the achingly red, bulging scratch marks displayed sexily across the latter's back and shoulders. "no way.."
suguru knows the strongest sorcerer well enough to notice how he purposely didn't use reversed cursed technique on these scratches, just so it'd be obvious to anyone that caught a glimpse of what exactly occured. to his further dismay, he can already picture a smug and sweaty gojo walking around their local gym like this, proud simper on his pretty lips as he easily raises a pair of weights in his veiny hands.
a hiss escapes geto's mouth as he runs his finger down a particularly agitated one, knowing exactly how painful they could be after experiencing many hook-ups of his own. even so, satoru only licks his lips, neck craning to the side so he can pride himself in his friend's gobsmacked expression.
"damn, these are deep. you actually hit it?" suguru confirms, raising a celebratory hand.
turning back around, satoru daps him up, a massive smirk now on both their faces. "hell yeah, it was amazing."
it was impossible to predict what gojo would do next after barging through his front door — especially considering how many times he's done so — but this has to be the last thing suguru ever expected.
not that he was complaining — in fact, all of geto's temper and need for relaxation seemingly flew out the window, the feeling of proudness for his best friend overthrowing anything else.
and even if he hated to admit it, the way gojo was so eager to come over and announce his virginity loss to him was more than a little endearing, and dare he say cute.
"that's great, man. congrats." suguru leads him into the kitchen — still shamelessly shirtless — to grab them both a can of beer in celebration. while the white-haired man usually didn't get involved with any form of alcohol, this occasion was most definitely exception-worthy. "you made y/n cum too, right?"
an offended glare is shot his way. "duh, two times."
"huh. surprised you could last."
as suguru pours their drinks into two fragile cups, gojo exhales, not bothered in the slightest by his jab. "dude, same.." he admits dreamily. "she was so fuckin' tight and warm.. and oh— fuck, her moans? heavenly.. 'can't believe i didn't bust after the first minute.."
geto gulps, trying his best to ignore the mental image his brain was producing from his dirty words. you can't blame him — both of you were smoking hot, and he was a simple man.
even now, he could already imagine what you both looked like; panting and moaning, skin-slapping so loud that it echoed through the whole room, how blissed out you'd look as gojo's cock split you in t—
satoru's playful sigh cuts through the tensing air. "who knows sugs, maybe you'll have another kind of stain to worry about next time we're over~"
he's never snapped out of a daydream so quickly. "don't even joke about that."
over the next hour, the two men sat manspread on the stained couch, taking leisure sips while recalling satoru's final moments as a virgin — suguru giving out his secret tips and tricks along the way.
maybe sometime, suguru could offer some.. hands-on learning instead.
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mlist! <- sugu.. how could u think abt ur bestie and his gf like that... tsk tsk tsk (if u enjoyed reblogs/comments r appreciated heheh)
© inmaki on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.
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paper-mario-wiki · 2 months ago
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since i have a dog, i walk the circumference of the apartment complex i live at every single day, so im seen frequently by many of my neighbors. i have a friendly relationship with most if not all of them, though there is the unignorable matter of me looking like a girl half the time, and looking like a boy half the time.
there are of course those who will see me and either smile politely and ignore me, or just keep walking eager not to engage, and there are those who choose "hey dude" or "hey man" whenever we pass each other in a genuinely friendly way, which i dont pay any mind and say "hey, how ya doin!" in response because why chance creating needless conflict with someone i see every day?
but the most friendly, accepting, and outwardly supportive demographics BY FAR are high school students and women over 40. i have had my outfits, regardless of gender, complimented by many teenagers (one kid called my halo "gangster" and ive been riding that high for a few weeks), and on my daily rounds im stopped most often by a handful of different post-middle-aged women who like to talk to me about horses, or my dog, or the weather, or just about our days, and it's always very pleasant.
i have not told a single neighbor in the months ive been living here "im a trans woman" or anything remotely related to my gender, and yet the three grandmas i speak to often are always quick to offer a "hello my dear" or "good afternoon sweetheart", and they always smile at me the same way-- regardless of whether my face is covered in makeup or beard hair.
for that, i am grateful.
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fatherbrat · 8 days ago
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ONE LAST TIME, R. SUNA
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sum. two months into your relationship with your current boyfriend, your ex-fwb finally sends you a voicenote to let you know exactly how he feels about it.
feat. rintarou suna
cw. ex-fwb!suna, cheating, mutual masturbation (kinda lol), jealousy, dirty talk, anal mention, pillow humping, possessiveness, degradation
wc. 1.2k
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When you posted your first official pictures of you and your new boyfriend, you had expected Suna to react…negatively. You basically braced for impact the moment you hit post, but all you got from him was an Instagram notification and two texts.
sunarin liked your post.
rin ;)
lmk if you want me to delete our pics.  and hmu when you two break up :p
You never bothered replying, initially not sure how to reply, and then forgetting about the texts entirely. The two of you barely have any contact for a few weeks after that, but he's obviously keeping up with your socials; liking every post and viewing every story. It doesn't bother you, but it's weird going cold turkey on your relationship like that. You had expected him to reach out for some sort of closure. You wanted him to. 
Halloween swings by in no time, and (much to you boyfriend’s dismay) you dress up as a sexy nurse. You don’t remember much of the night, but you do know that you posted a picture of you and your friends all dressed up on your story before getting blackout drunk. 
Your phone dies early on in the night. Your friends take good care of you up until it’s time to bring you back home, and you don’t wake up until the afternoon. You don’t check your phone until a couple hours after that—long after it's been turned on and charged to 100%. 
When you finally check it, two particular notifications catch your attention. 
sunarin liked your story. 
rin ;)
Voice Message
The voice message is 12 minutes long. 
You exit your texts immediately, opting to distract yourself by tending to your other notifications. It doesn’t help much. Your mind races, wondering what he was talking about for so long and if it was really so important that he reached out after almost four months of near-silence. 
You toss your phone onto your bed, shaking your head. You try to ignore it, cleaning the bathroom and folding the laundry and vacuuming the living room all in an effort to forget about the lengthy recording sitting in your phone. 
But it doesn’t take long for the curiosity gnawing at you to win. 
You practically run back to your bedroom, grabbing your phone and sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. Your fingers move quickly across the screen, hitting play without hesitation. 
The first 8 seconds are nearly silent, and you start to wonder if it’s possible that he sent such a long message by mistake.
But then you hear a heavy sigh.
“I like your costume.” His tone is hushed, like he’s telling you a secret. “You look hot.”
There’s another moment of silence, like he’s giving you a chance to change your mind and stop listening. 
But then Suna moans and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. 
“You never answered my text, y’know. When I asked if you wanted me to delete our pictures. So, uh, I kept ‘em.”
Oh. 
Oh fuck.
“I’m looking at one right now. It’s from last Halloween. When you-“ His breath hitches. “When you went as a Playboy Bunny.”
You remember. Suna dressed as Hugh Hefner and the two of you went to a party together. Then he took you back to his apartment and fucked you while you were still wearing the bunny ears and bowtie. 
You’re pretty positive you’re not wearing the bodysuit in the picture he’s looking at. 
“I don’t know how much of this night you actually remember, but I can describe the picture for you.”
You tense, anticipation sending goosebumps up your arms. 
“You’re kneeling on the ground, looking up at the camera, and you’ve still got those bunny ears on your head.”
This voice message is going in the last direction you thought it would.  Is he—?
“You’ve got cum all over your face, baby.” He laughs to himself before continuing. “And you’re sticking your tongue out like a fucking whore.”
Suna takes a ragged breath, a sound you're all too familiar with. It confirms your suspicions—he’s definitely jerking off. 
“That was a good night. We had a lot of good nights.” He sounds miffed all of a sudden. “I seriously doubt the boyfriend is fucking you as good as I did.”
You suppress a shiver. A pang of guilt heats your chest at the mention of your boyfriend. You should stop listening. Delete the message. Tell him to delete the pictures and then probably block him. 
Or you could let the message keep playing. 
Suna inhales sharply, followed by a shaky moan. You swear you can hear the sound of his fist stroking his dick. 
“I hope you’re not letting him put it in your ass like you let me. That’s our thing, okay?”
Under different circumstances you would have laughed. 
“Fuck,” he hisses. “And I hope you’re not letting him spit in your fucking mouth. Or–shit–doing that thing where you’d suck me off with your head hanging upside down off the bed.” He falters at the end of the sentence, groaning into the phone.
“I’m not gonna–” he interrupts himself, sighing deeply. “I’m not gonna pretend I’ve been happy for you. I miss you.”
You feel hot all over, a heady combination of annoyance and arousal and embarrassment. There’s a dull throbbing between your legs and in the back of your mind you wonder if this is what Suna wanted when he sent the message. 
“Just–just let me fuck you one more time. Okay princess? I’ll make it sooo good for you,” he whines. You can hear his hand picking up speed.
“It’s still early. Two months is nothing, it won’t even count as cheating.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “God, just one last time. Please?”
Without thinking, you grab a pillow and position yourself over it in a straddle. You won’t let him fuck you, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make you come one last time.
“I promise I’ll do that thing you like with my tongue. And you can pick all the positions if you want to.” There’s a tremble in his voice. “Or just lay there. I’ll do all the work.”
You grind into the pillow beneath you, picturing the expression you know he’d be wearing if he were in front of you–batting those dark eyelashes with raised eyebrows, just barely able to control the smug curve of his lips.
Heat pools in your gut and a whimper falls from your lips. Suna keeps talking.
“I know you miss me. You have to. You’re probably touching yourself to this right now.” 
You gasp softly and rock your hips faster.
“Such a fucking slut.” You hear the telltale quiver in his voice that tells you he’s getting close. “My fucking slut.”
You moan, his words giving you flashbacks.
“Oh fuck. Fuck, I’m coming,” he rasps, before letting off a series of moans and whimpers that almost make you concede. You grind harder into the pillow beneath you, imagining Suna in his room, chest heaving, talking into the phone and making himself come to pictures of you. 
That does it. A tsunami of pleasure washes over you, forcing your body to tense before you go limp, collapsing onto your bed with a shudder.
You and Suna breathe in tandem, both of you catching your breath. 
You hear another laugh through the phone. “Damn, that was a lot.” There’s the sound of sheets rustling. “Kinda made a mess, princess.”
He’s silent for another few beats before clearing his throat. “Text me, okay?” he says quietly. “Please.”
The voice message ends.
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hedgehog-moss · 18 days ago
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Today was very sunny so I went on a nice long walk in the woods with Pirlouit, to stock up on kindling for the winter. He was walking jauntily, I think he really does enjoy going on little missions with his baskets! Now and then I tied him to a tree surrounded by enough vegetation to keep him busy for a bit, and I gathered wood all around him while singing to him. Avec le soleil et le vent ♪ avec la pluie et le beau temps ♫ on vivait bien contents ♪ mon âne, ma Provence et moi ♫ (Technically this song says cheval, not âne, but I always replace the word horse with donkey so my songs are more interesting to him. The only donkey songs I know are very sad, like Le petit âne gris which ends with "Poor beast of burden, abandoned by men, he died without a farewell", I can't possibly sing this to Pirlouit. He already has a resting sad face that he can't do anything about.)
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I heard leaves crunching behind us, a few times. Steps. Discreet steps. I turned around, looking for the deer who was apparently following us from a distance.
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^ Do you see her? Right in the middle. I saw her immediately, but only because I have had so much practice.
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Hello, Pampérigouste.
Sometimes all she wants is to be witnessed. "Aha, do you see me? I'm out of my pasture!! You lost! Look at me" and then I'm like "I see you, Pampe. Wow!! How ever did you fool me again?" and she goes home, having ticked this off her Sunday morning to-do list.
But today she wanted to play. Instead of going home she kept trotting away from me in the direction of the road; this hilarious game is known as "Can you catch me before I'm on the road? :)"
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I did not want to play. I had wood to gather, and Pirlouit was still tied to his tree and he hates being left behind, like a poor beast of burden abandoned by men. He was already braying angrily. I decided to wash my hands of Pampe, which sometimes works to make her go home. You need to act supremely uninterested in her for it to work. If you glance back at her she'll assume you're still playing, and continue prancing about in the woods.
I'm great at not glancing back. If Eurydice was my llama I would have saved her no problem. I went back to collecting wood, never paying attention to Pampe, even when Pirlouit turned around and stared in the direction of the road, his ears alert, doing his best to inform me that Pampe was going in this not-allowed direction.
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Stop it, Pirou. We're ignoring her. Do you want me to leave you alone again? I bet she'll get bored before she even reaches the road, and if she doesn't, well, godspeed. Someone somewhere will get a free llama and she will be their problem. (I had a busy to-do list of my own for this afternoon so the question of how she escaped from her pasture is a problem for tomorrow-me.)
But then I went home and drafted some Pirlouit photos on tumblr to write a post tonight about our wood-gathering walk—and I read some asks from this week that I hadn't yet got around to reading, and I found this. (@confusedpersonsposts Thank you for sending it!) A wandering llama, terrorising horses. The article says this happened Sunday morning.
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(I really love the shade that makes this look like a police lineup)
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The second ask said "yesterday" (and was from a few days ago)—but the first one I saw was the message with the screenshot from the article, which said Sunday morning, which was exactly when I left Pampe walk away by herself and told her to go be someone else's problem.
For a second, in my brain, it made some kind of sense.
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suiana · 3 months ago
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(yandere! doctor x gn! patient) (cw: nsfw, yandere stuff, drugging, bribery, dubcon?)
your doctor is a little weird, you think.
he's a nice guy, yeah. does his work well, always smiling and constantly reassuring you that nothing's wrong with you. sending you off with a nice pat on the back as he emails you your prescription yet again.
but he's nowhere near professional.
his hands linger on your body far longer than what would be considered appropriate. eyes dark and unreadable as you tell him about your lovely significant other that's waiting for you outside of his office. how he'd try and talk bout his own life in an attempt to get you to stay in his office more...
if anything, he acts more like a possessive boyfriend than your doctor.
though you suppose he's just a little eccentric like that. he's a reputable doctor. everyone loves him, and so do you! he's treated you numerous times and his checkups are always so thorough. surely you can just let his... odd behaviour slide.
today you're coming in for a body checkup. lately you've been feeling dizzy and warm despite it being the middle of winter. you wonder if it's because you've gotten ill or someone's poisioning you. after all, there's been some weird holes in your arm whenever you wake up lately.
your excellent doctor has scheduled you in at 4.30 in the afternoon. he was busy earlier today, he says. you understand, he's a busy doctor. your spouse hasn't ended their shift yet so you came in alone. they haven't been answering your texts since they left home earlier today. you can only hope that they've been busy, you'll ask them when they come home.
entering his office, you are met with his polite smile and his melodious voice.
"please sit."
you obey, sitting down in the seat in front of him as you fiddle with your fingers. your doctor looks rather... distracted today. his usually tidy hair is a mess, his glasses wet as though they had just been cleaned.
"it seems that you are feeling warm and under the weather. do you have any other symptoms, my dear?"
"yes... i've been feeling rather..."
you pause, not knowing how to say it.
"aroused?"
you nod. your doctor seems to know you so well.
he hums, going back to his screen before putting on a pair of medical gloves and gesturing for you to lay down on the bed nearby. you oblige. hopefully he'll figure out what's going on with your body.
he starts off normally, prodding and pressing against certain areas of your body. you answer accordingly when he asks you whether they hurt, whether you feel weird or not. it's like any other medical examination.
"so how's your lover been?"
small talk. you realize he's always been a big fan of small talk. asking about your life, humming and smiling as he replies with answers about his own life too. sometimes he says something personal about your life, like how you go shopping on saturdays with your lover or how you sleep with the lights off. you wonder how he knows, is he stalking you? but you shake your head at the thought. you must've told him and forgot.
"they've been... fine. haven't texted me back yet unfortunately."
"mn, i see."
silence washes over the two of you as he continues prodding and touching you. his touches linger, soft and almost as though he was yearning to touch you even more. his tone of voice was nonchalant, like he didn't care.
you feel slightly uncomfortable.
"um..."
"hm?"
"i-i... i guess i'm worried about them. ever since they went out to work in the morning they haven't replied..."
"i am aware."
you remain quiet after that, pursing your lips as you ignore the way his touches have you growing progressively more turned on. you figure it must be a side effect of your condition.
"my dear, can you tell me what you feel what i touch you here?"
"huh? w- h-hey..."
you let out a soft moan as his gloved hands caress your clothed thighs. calm down, he says. it's just a part of the examination. you shudder slightly, squeezing your eyes shut. you feel the warmth in you grow as he continues to gently caress your thighs.
he's right, it's just a medical examination. he wouldn't touch you like that. plus, you have a significant other already. you shouldn't be feeling like this because of his touches. it's wrong.
you exhale shakily, fluttering your eyes open as you stare at him.
"i-it feels nice..? it makes the warmth worse, doc."
"i see... what about over here?"
you let out a gasp, eyes widening so wide you were sure they'd pop out of your skull. where... were his hands touching? surely you're dreaming?
but you weren't. when you looked down, you could clearly see his hands on your nether regions, gently groping and caressing the area.
"w-what are you-"
"i am merely testing to see which parts of your body react to my touch. please do not worry, my dear. this is all medical procedure."
"but it's my-"
"shh... i know. does it feel good? what do you feel?"
you shiver under his touch, whimpering softly as you try sitting up. were you overthinking it? he's just your doctor. this is part of the examination, it's fine.
yet you feel as though his touches have a deeper and more sinister meaning behind them.
"please don't-"
"why not? i've seen your significant other touch you like this multiple times. you've always reacted wonderfully under their touch."
"h-huh?"
your doctor pauses, eyes widening slightly before he lets out a chuckle. his hands continue palming and caressing your privates, almost as though he was... toying with you. with every touch you feel yourself getting more and more worked up, cheeks flushing even more.
"oh dear, i haven't told you have i? i've been keeping a close eye on you... i thought you'd have figured it out by now. your lover certainly has."
you squeeze your eyes shut as his touch, your mind growing fuzzy. what.. did he say? you can't quite understand... all you can feel is how bothered you're getting and how you want him to touch you even more.
"i am pleasantly surprised with how well you are reacting to my touch. i never expected you to react so positively to the drug."
"d-drug? ah... no... don't grope me like that..."
he continues palming at your clothed privates, a calm smile on his face. you can faintly make out the way his cheeks were turning red and the hardening of his pants.
"right, i did tell them not to tell you... my dear, your significant other has left you."
"no... what are you... talking about doc? hah... how would you know anyway..?"
"oh, because i told them to. i gave them some money a few months back and they've been working for me up until... today."
if you were a little more sober, you would've pushed him away and ran for your phone. unfortunately, the aphrodisiac you had been injected with last night has reduced you into a needy thing desperate for his touch.
"what did you do-"
"well my dear, didn't you notice the injection marks in your arm? your significant other had been administering you with tiny dosages of this particular drug i've given them. it's supposed to make you feel good."
"g-good..?"
you hear your doctor chuckle, his hands moving away from your sensitive parts. only to quickly undo the buckle of your pants and slip his hand down on your newly exposed skin.
your breath hitches, hips instictively bucking against his hand as you let out a low whine. you can't think anymore. your brain is so muddled with feeling good that you aren't even worried or disgusted by what he's saying. all you want is him, him, him. he makes you feel good.
"yes my love, good. aren't you feeling good right now?"
"mn mhm!"
you nod your head eagerly as his hands gently toy with your sex, rubbing and fondling you gently. he continues smiling down at you, pleasuring you with his fingers before pulling away. you whimper, face hot and red as you desperately try and pull him back. why would he do that? he was just making you feel so good...
"haha, you want me to continue touching you?"
you nod again. your doctor grins widely at your words, taking off his gloves before you hear the clink of his belt hit the floor.
"well, i suppose i'll get on with my second part of the medical examination now then."
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moviestarmartini · 22 days ago
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alta suciedad. — franco colapinto x f!reader
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summary: while interviewing franco, you misunderstood what he meant with 'talented with his tongue'. lucky for you, he's more than willing to actually show you his skills.
wc: 2.9k
warnings: interviewer!reader, hispanic!reader, porn with an ounce of plot, set during media day of the austin gp, casual sex, oral sex (fem recieving), p in v, unprotected sex, pull out and pray, mean dom!franco, dumbification, degradation, a teeny amount of praise, aftercare, spanglish/sentences in spanish.
A/N: based on this request and took some inspo from this other anon, i'm literally giggling typing this in order to publish it. no specific song for today even though there's a few references even in the title. hope y'all are hungry!!
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“I’m talented with my tongue.” 
You didn’t have that much experience when it came to interviewing professionally— you’d been a kid reporter at the same sport you strived to get there, and in the course of getting there, you’ve seen a thousand and one million things that impressed you. 
But this? 
Your mouth hung open, giving him a few rapid blinks while your brain processed the information. 
“You wanna see?” Franco Colapinto insisted, not reading your expression well enough, or ignoring it at the very least. 
“¿Aquí?” You blinked, unable to process the event in the main language of the paddock. You were one of the youngest reporters there, but that didn’t mean you were inexperienced. That had just completely caught you off guard. 
Franco cocked a brow before showing you and the camera how he could manipulate said organ so the sides touched and a tiny hole formed in the middle. 
Yet again he surprised you, or more you surprised yourself with how further down the gutter your mind was at. 
“Oh, good!” You snapped out of it, but he had seemingly finally connected the dots, or so the smirk in his face made it seem like it. 
“Well, thank you for having us, Franco. Good luck during the weekend.” Your  composure was back not even two seconds later, the cameraman soon signaled the transmission was off. A relieved sigh left your lips while your shoulders relaxed, giving your coworker the mic and transmitter to take to the media tent just a few steps away. 
You were just turning back to head there as well, ready to get immersed in writing a report before your name was called. Your heels turned you around by force of habit, not realizing the tone in the driver’s voice might mean trouble. 
“Yes?” You asked politely, hands clasped in front of you to avoid any chance of fidgeting. Your little crush was idiotic, or so you considered it from the day you first interviewed him. 
“¿Qué vas a hacer hoy?” He took a step closer in order to ask the question, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans. 
“¿Perdón?” You realized that sounded rude, your voice repeating a better answer soon after. “Seguir trabajando, why?” A frown settled between your brows, head leaning slightly to the right. Where was this going exactly? The confusion only settled further when you noticed his eyes darting around before leaning in. 
“Si querés que de verdad te enseñe que puedo hacer con mi lengua, entra al motorhome después de las siete, te dejo la puerta de atrás abierta. Mi cuarto está a la izquierda.” And with that, he pulled away, turned around and left. 
You did the same, convinced the idea was just a figment of your imagination, the drought you’ve been suffering for more than a year to get there tricking every nerve in your brain to believe those words. It was settling into the late afternoon, and you worked at a pace Sonic would envy. His words bounced around your gray matter, and after much debating you stayed after the six pm mark, when everyone else left. You peered your head out of your station noticing how the place was almost empty. It was Thursday after all, the whole crews were not active until the following day. 
The curiosity got the best of you, and you packed your bag to head there, skittish at the sight of anyone who crossed your way— or at least the few that did. 
No one was used to walking behind the team buildings, never mind during what’s considered after hours. Your breath got stuck in your throat when you noticed the door ajar, and no one came in nor out to justify the fact. 
“Thought you wouldn’t come.” Franco’s voice snapped you out of the hesitation, arms crossed over his chest. 
“I thought I was supposed to come in by myself.” You got the bravery to counter with the way your heart sped up with adrenaline coursing through your veins. 
“You’re late.” Franco’s response was quick, witty. His tone made you raise your brow; it was… different. Commanding, you could pinpoint. 
“I shouldn’t come out and get you, vení.” Before you could even process it, he took your arm and dragged you inside, going straight down the hallway and taking a left before the door closed shut— no witnesses visible to what he had just done. 
“You can sit wherever you like.” He invited, his voice was back to its playful tone. You nodded, putting your bag down by the door and sitting on the small couch near a corner. 
“Sos muy bonita, ¿sabías?” He complimented while finishing to fix up his room, side eyeing you. 
“Why am I here? What do you want?” You asked bluntly, not accepting the compliment. 
“Look, if you wanted me to write positively about you on the piece, you already got it.” You carefully watched him take a seat next to you, and you both turned to face each other.
“Tonta también, ¿no?” It was as if you were ignoring each other’s words, and before you could get offended, his fingertips brushed your hair out of the way of your face. Any smart quip you could’ve thrown at him flew out the window, your lips parting. 
“That’s just how you looked at me earlier. When you thought I was referring to something dirty. Tontita.” He inched closer. You couldn’t help but do the same, a bit eagerly, eliciting a laugh out of his lips. 
“Do you like me?” It was his turn to be blunt. Without hesitation you nodded, squeezing your lips into a thin line after realizing that might’ve been a mistake. An embarrassing one at that. 
“No pasa nada. Vos también me gustás preciosa…” His voice trailed with his head leaning closer, lips brushing against the prickled skin of your neck. “…inteligente…” A kiss pressed to the area. “…y al parecer, puta.” 
The gasp disappeared between the blurred lines of your lips and his crashing, the term disappearing in your mind while you kissed him. Your hands gripped the material of his team shirt while his own lowered down your back, pulling you closer, almost on top of his lap. 
“¿Hacés esto mucho? Sneak into other drivers’ rooms?” He asked while leaning back down to kiss your neck with a twinge of more harshness, ragged breath leaving your lips while you shook your head ‘no’ 
“¿Sos muda? Habla.” There was that commanding tone again, his fingers delving into the skin of your thighs to squeeze what he wanted out of you. 
“No. Nunca.” You replied with a gulp, leaning your head back to recieve more kisses as a reward for your answer. 
“So I’m the lucky winner?” It sounded something between a compliment and a joke, and you decided to humor him a little with a smile. 
“One could say so.” You replied, thinking you’ve gotten the gist of it. 
“I’m surprised. With that skirt…” He shook his head after tutting, making you figure out the context of his words. You were into it enough to not get offended by the allegation, normally would have defended yourself with the fact it was terribly hot outside. You didn’t like dressing similar to the rest of the reporters in the paddock, and maybe this once it played both in your favor and against it… sort of. 
His lips captured yours again, his tongue swiping your bottom lip. You weren’t dumb— even if he liked to say so— parting your lips without complaint, feeling the way your tongues tangled together while he pushed you down until your back hit the fabric of the furniture. 
The open mouth kisses started redirecting their path down your jaw, following a trail down the length of your neck. He took the opportunity to breathe your scent. 
“Olés tan rico,” He groaned, the growing erection in his jeans pressing against your upper thigh. 
“I can already imagine how that pretty pussy tastes. Can’t wait to make you cum just using my tongue.”  The idea made you shudder, his hands raising your top to move it out of the way while he kept kissing back. You took the initiative to just pull it over your head and throw it somewhere else. 
“You’re so good, stripping for me without having to ask.” Franco cooed, his pace slowing down when his mouth reached down your belly button, making him look at him expectantly. 
What you didn’t expect was for him to just tug on your denim skirt up to completely move it out of the way without removing the piece, his knuckles brushing the spot marked with your aroused slickness, your hips involuntarily twitching to lean closer into his touch. 
“Si solo te he besado y ya estás re mojadita,” Another coo left his mouth, this one with a certain amount of jest in it. You felt deeply embarrassed in a way your face displayed it, only making his smile grow in size. 
Franco almost ripped off the underwear and chucked it somewhere in the room. No moment to adapt was left at your disposition, his tongue pressing flat against your wet core. The noise of a moan coming from you clashed with the hum of satisfaction he felt from the sheer taste of you. 
“So sweet,” Franco praised, and those were the last words to come out of his mouth before he started to back up his words from earlier. 
The whole situation felt like a dream. Not only the fact he made an advance upon noticing how far down the gutter your mind was, but the fact you even came there in the first place. Not that you regretted it, with how he flicked that sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue.  
You didn’t believe his promise earlier— thinking it was just silly dirty talking— but he was proving you wrong. Your moans were the perfect evidence, fingers tangling in his curls while his left hand rose up to grope your exposed breast. 
The shuffling noise outside the room made him perk up and away from your dripping cunt, chin glistening with your wetness. He pulled his index fingers to his lips to signal you to be quiet before continuing, but his attempt fell futile. You were reaching your release quick, his magic working a little too well. There was no warning; his other hand left the grip on your thigh to cover your mouth, holding it down a bit too roughly to send a message. 
Your muffled moans and cries only set him off, teasing your entrance before licking the trail up to your clitoris, suckling on it. He fluttered his eyes open, and the sight was nothing but completely arousing. Your eyes were rolled back, column arching up while his expert affections tipped you over the edge. Your thighs simultaneously shivered and lightly squeezed his head, and it was enough for Franco to decide he was in heaven. 
Once the overwhelming sensation started to wear off, your legs relaxed, allowing him to pull away. With a clearer mind you noticed how his chin and lips glistened before removing the substance with the back of his hand, as if it was just sauce from an actual meal. 
“¿Por qué me mirás así?” Franco wondered at your blissful expression. “¿Ya te enamoraste, putita?” There was no verbal answer; he was eager to link his lips with yours again in yet another sloppy makeout session. This once, however, you couldn’t pretend you didn’t feel his erection pressing against your inner thigh. 
Taking initiative, your hand lowered down his torso to fumble the button of his pants a little before being able to undo it. A groan followed by teeth tugging at your bottom lip was the reaction you gained from jerking him off slowly under his underwear. That gave you enough confidence to swipe your thumb across the leaking tip in order to tease him. 
The sound of a moan from him echoed inside your mouth, a hum from satisfaction leaving consequently. However, your moment of dominance soon faded with his hand slapping yours away before spreading your legs even further— to the point it pulled on the muscles of your inner thigh just a little, the burning sensation mushing with pleasure— the skirt hiking up to rest on your torso. 
“Do you want me to fuck you?” He leaned in to whisper, feeling him nudge your entrance in order to tease you. The sensation that followed was something similar to your brain shutting down, managing to only nod. The smell of his cologne, his body pressing down on you. 
Franco, Franco, Franco, Fran— 
“¿Qué pasa tontita? Say it.” He egged you on, threatening to push himself inside, but not making it far enough to bring you satisfaction. 
“Yes, por favor.” You begged, getting a chaste kiss for a reward followed by the intrusion spreading your warm walls. You saw the way Franco tried to keep it together, the façade crumbling under a groan. You felt too good. His mind could only pinpoint your body under his, the warmth hugging his stiff dick and electrifying every nerve of his being. 
His mind couldn’t stop chanting your name. 
“Move,” You asked nicely, though it came out in a huff. He found himself too enthralled to complain at your tone, instead complying. 
The lower tone of his moans harmonized with the high pitched of yours, the sound of skin frantically coming in contact filling up the room enough for both of you two to forget what could possibly be going on outside. At least it had been a while since you last heard people outside doing whatever. 
“Dios, que apretadita estás,” Franco groaned out loud, his lips brushing against yours. You took the leap, closing the distance between the two of you. But you couldn’t get much out of it due to your own fault, moans interrupting the session. 
“No, besáme.” You whined when he pulled away slightly, and a smirk rose at his lips before he locked them with yours, pace increasing. You struggled to engage further, the moans and groans interrupting. 
“No, besáme.” Franco replicated your plea from earlier before laughing between heavy breaths. 
You couldn’t do anything but pucker your bottom lip out, not finding the words to complain about how mean he was being. Besides, all coherent thoughts disappeared the moment you felt your second orgasm peeking from behind you at a rapid rate. Your nails dug into the uncovered skin of his forearms, just below where the team shirt started covering his biceps. 
“¿Por qué me apretás tanto?” He hissed before falling upon the realization, deciding to keep having his fun with you and slowing down. 
“Fuck— ¡¿qué te pasa?!” You groaned, feeling the release reeling down into a sensation of being completely stuck midway. 
“Dale, decime lo que quieres. De forma bonita, como vos.” He kept his thrusts slow and deep, trying to contain his own release from the pulsating walls squeezing the life out of his cock. 
“I wanna cum,” You felt the embarrassment of having to request that out loud settle in your stomach, soon washed over by the sensation the quickening of his hips gave your core. 
“Si, si. Franco, that’s it,” You cried out, hiding your face in the crook of his neck while your thighs shivered once more. 
Your cunt was so warm and tight he almost didn’t pull out. Almost. After a groan left the back of his throat, droplets of white painted your lower abdomen, thankfully not staining your skirt. 
He kept himself supported by his forearms, allowing him to lean in and kiss your forehead and cheeks. 
There wasn’t much to be said, you knew that, and so did he. Carefully, he fixed his underwear and pants before getting up, muttering something under his breath in his attempt to find the wet wipes he knew he had… somewhere in the organized clutter of his room. 
“Dejá que te limpio,” His voice was tender, the wet tissue dragging across your skin to remove the seminal liquid, before another carefully cleaned the sweat off your forehead and neck. 
You thanked him with a nod, unable to hold eye contact for long. Once you felt comfortable you sat up, fixing your clothes and hair before getting up on your legs, still a bit wobbly. You took it upon yourself to clean the damp spot on the couch where you laid, still embarrassed by the whole ordeal. 
Quickly, you slipped your underwear on, unaware of the pair of eyes following your every move with a cold calculation. 
“¿Qué vas a hacer hoy?” The question he asked to what seemed to be ages ago popped up again, making you turn, just as confused as you were earlier. 
“Dormir… cenar. Ya veremos, dijo el ciego.” At your cheeky response his laughter echoed through the room, arms folded over his torso. 
“¿Habrá un espacio para mí en esa cena o nos vemos mañana a la misma hora?” He took a step closer. Then another. And another. Until he stood in front of you, leaning down enough to whisper in your ear. 
“No importa si no me querés ver hoy en la noche todo caballeroso, mañana procura llegar a tiempo y controlar esa boquita.” Yet again, his voice electrified goosebumps all over your skin. 
What did you just get yourself into?
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