#(although not in those exact words of course)

[tinysunshine]

━━━━ ✧˖°‎ 𝐆𝐎 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐑𝐘, 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

‎ ‎ 𝐃𝐀𝐃'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒! 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 & 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋: 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

tags: daddy issues, implied death (not of a major character), age difference, mentions of sex and sexual situations, angst, hurt/comfort

word count: 6.7k

slight alternate universe. warning: this isn’t a happy fic, but the rest of the series is. use discretion.

“You don’t think he’d,” he doesn’t finish. For a strong, tough man like your dad, who’s always a little too confident, Rick is surprised to hear the nervousness in his voice. He knows what your father is trying to say. Does Rick think Daryl would touch you? Rick doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to think about it, but not for the same reasons your father is thinking. God, not for those reasons at all. Someone needs to hit him in the head to knock some sense into him, and he knows it. Thoughts of you have him all screwed up. “No, of course not. Daryl - he’s a good guy,” Rick assures, with so much emphasis on the last part that it almost sounds like he’s trying to clear his own conscience. Your father nods, pleased with that answer. He lightly taps the door of the barn twice before walking in. But not before he says, “Good,” with a little nod, like he’s thinking to himself. “Because I’d fuckin’ kill him.”

“You still mad?” Daryl asks you, falling into step right beside you. He has to slow his own stride down to match your pace. 

You’re pissed. Sulking. In a bad, pouty mood - all because your father lectured you this morning in front of the entire group. Daryl gets it, how that must be embarrassing, but this group has seen each other in far more humiliating situations than that. He thought you’d be over it by now. 

You let out a sigh, so dramatic that Daryl almost laughs. But he knows better - doesn’t want you to be mad at him too, although he doesn’t really understand why. Why does he care if you’re mad at him? He tries to pay the question no mind, and he tries to ignore that inner feeling he has, the one that points to why he cares about what you think about him so much.

It's too much to ponder when he hasn’t eaten in almost two days. 

Instead of bugging you about answering, he grabs your bag that’s pretty much empty and carries it for you. You’re the only person in the group with an empty looking bag - he saw you the other day, shoving all your heavy stuff in your father’s backpack, and when he told you to cut that shit out, you asked Daryl to carry the rest. 

Now his bag feels like he’s carrying fucking rocks around, but. He just wants to help you out. You’d been dragging your bag on the ground the last few days, anyway. Daryl was sick of watching it.

“My dad’s just such a,” you search for the word, shaking your head when you give up and realize that nothing intelligent or mature is about to leave your mouth. 

“He’s such a hardass. Such an asshole. He treats me like a fucking kid, and I’m so sick of it.” Truly, a statement that comes out of a kid’s mouth. You’re pretty positive you’ve said the exact same thing about your father every single day you’ve been around him since the first time you put on a training bra. 

When you were a kid, you were so close to him. Daddy’s girl. Your parents split up when you were young, but you always loved your father so much. He was fun, calm, caring. He understood you, and he always took you to do fun activities. Was always cozy, and warm, would spend hours playing board games with you, watching movies with you, would tell you history stories about different wars and ancient civilizations and explain to you what life used to be like. 

As a kid, you loved that so much. Your father was a history nerd, a military guy for most of his life, and those storytimes with him are some of the best memories you have together. He loved to be outdoors, and hiking and camping and whatever outdoor activities he could come up with were such big parts of your time together. 

That all changed when you started to grow up. Your father is traditional - and when you started to look like a woman instead of like a kid, his entire attitude towards you changed.

Not in a weird way, just - it was like he didn’t know what to do with you anymore. Like he couldn't connect with you, and even worse - like he didn't even want to try.

The first time you wore a full face of makeup around him, he looked disappointed. Cancelled the camping trip he was supposed to be taking you on, because he said it was obvious you weren’t into things like that anymore. Not even in a cruel way, it was like he really believed that. No matter how many times you tried to tell him that you could enjoy both things. 

You loved being his outdoor adventure buddy -  even with pink nails and shimmery eyeshadow. It didn’t have to be one or the other. But it caused so much tension in your relationship, the only way you guys even got semi-close again was because of fucking walkers. You quite literally didn’t have anyone else when the world went to shit, and your father always fulfilled the duties he promised he’d do. Like take care of you. Keep you safe, keep you alive. 

He’s just such a dick. And the worst part is, he doesn’t even think he’s being mean. 

Daryl takes a minute to respond. “Nobody likes their old man, you know that? Get over it already. ‘M sure yer just fuckin’ hungry and,” you stop walking altogether and give him the meanest look you can muster. Daryl’s smart, and he knows you’re about to snap, or cry, so he holds up a hand in mock surrender. 

Up ahead, leading the group, Rick turns around. “Everything okay?” He asks, voice too loud for the state the group is in. If a herd of walkers somehow approached, you doubt anyone would be able to fight them off. 

Daryl just waves him off and Rick turns back around and keeps walking. To where, you don’t fucking know. You’ve just been aimlessly walking for days now. Your father is right next to him, best fucking friends, you think, annoyed at the thought. 

You’re mad at your dad, but his lack of concern still hurts.

He doesn’t even turn around.

────

“Didn’t know they were such good friends,” your father says, taking a seat next to Rick. The group found an old barn with a roof that looks like it’s about to cave in, but it’s big enough to shelter everyone and there’s fresh water nearby. 

This is the group’s second night at this location, and everyone is finally settling in. Most of the group is just happy to have some water to clean themselves off, to refill their bottles, to lay on something that isn’t the hard dirt ground. 

Your father is too big to be sitting against the barn like Rick is, but Rick’s happy for the company. He really enjoys talking to your dad, respects him greatly, and he considers him one of his right-hand men, up there with Daryl. 

When the fuck did he become a leader like this? It hurts Rick’s mind to even think about it. He sighs, but follows your father’s line of vision to the field in front of the barn. 

Rick didn’t notice it before, but you’re walking with Daryl towards the barn, probably coming from the water source. It’s hard to see you clearly because it’s dark as hell, but Rick can make out the sound of you giggling, and the sound of Daryl telling you to shut up already. But it’s fond, and Rick can tell - because you keep laughing, and Daryl tells you to knock it off, and shit - 

Why does Rick feel so tense about you getting close to Daryl? 

He clears his throat, attempts a nonchalant shrug. 

“You know your girl,” he tells your father, as if you giggle and go on night outings alone with anyone else in the group. “She’s friends with everyone.”

Your dad doesn’t say anything for a moment, but Rick knows him well enough to know what he’s thinking about. Recalls the way your father had to pull you aside the other day to tell you to look around before you change your clothes when someone else spotted Eugene trying to peep on you through the trees. 

He thinks about the one of the first nights after you both joined his group, when you got a little too drunk back when things like food and alcohol were still plentiful, and told some wild stories around the campfire. 

He remembers that you were charming as ever, won everyone over, but when you’re drunk you’re pretty flirty, and Rick could hear your father warning you to be careful at your tent later on. He told you to watch it, and leave that grown man alone. Rick could only assume he was referring to Abraham, the man sitting next to you that night, but he never thought too much about it except - 

That’s a lie. Rick thinks about it all the time. Honestly, Rick thinks about you all the time. 

He doesn’t know how your father does it. By that he means: how your father deals with you. 

You’re a beautiful woman. Smart, stubborn - you act a lot like your father. Rick admires your dad so much, and he admires you too. It’s not easy to survive in this world, but beyond just surviving, you have qualities nobody else in the group possesses. You have traits that Rick didn’t even know still existed. 

You’re optimistic, most of the time. You still laugh, you still smile, and above all, you have hope. Rick knows you do, even when you drag your feet and cry about the heat and make a big fuss about eating frog legs. You get moody, sure, but who doesn’t in this kind of environment? Living this kind of life? 

Rick admires that you don’t try to be something you’re not. You’re not stoic, you’re not cold, and you’re not tough in the ways that everyone else is. You’re tough in your own way, and the other day Rick saw you making a wish on what you thought was a shooting star, and he doesn’t know if it was, but the fact that you even made a wish. Closed your eyes and hoped - it was beautiful. You’re beautiful. 

And Rick can’t stop thinking about you. 

He doesn’t know how your father deals with you, because you’re both so different beyond the few qualities that you share. He’s cynical, and Rick understands that. He’s also hard on you, and Rick likes your father, but sometimes he thinks it’s pretty shitty that he gets on you about things you can’t really control. 

Ain’t a fashion show, he’ll say, if you stop walking for even a few seconds to get your hair out of your face or to apply some chapstick. Ladies don’t curse, c’mon, remember what your mother taught you, he’ll say, if you even say the word damn, or god forbid, anything worse. When you cry, he’ll tell you to toughen up, when you giggle, he’ll ask you what’s so funny, in a tone that says laughing is off limits in a world like this. 

He means well, he really does, Rick knows he does - he thinks he’s doing what’s right for you. It’s just -

Fuck, what does Rick know? Maybe he is doing what’s right. Rick just hates to see your expression whenever your father tells you off, hates the way you lose your little spark for the following days afterward. 

“I just worry about her,” your dad says, shaking his head. Rick wonders why, because you seem like you have a pretty good head on your shoulders, but he doesn’t have to wait long to hear an explanation. 

“No life experience. Will never get to live, not fully. Spoiled her whole life, sheltered. Thought I was doing the right thing by keeping her safe, by giving her rules. She went to college for a little bit, but then this shit happened and,” he sighs, leans his head against the barn. “She’s a smart girl. Real smart. It’s a damn shame this happened, she’ll never get to live a normal life.” 

He doesn’t have to say it outloud for Rick to know that your father feels guilty. Guilty, that this is the situation you’re in, as if he had any part in it. Nobody could’ve predicted that the world would come to this. 

He’s a damn good dad, and Rick wants to tell him that, but then you’re standing right in front of the both of them with Daryl, although he stands a little bit behind you. 

“Ought to be getting to bed, don’t you think?” Rick finds himself saying, looking up at you from his spot on the ground. You’re wearing shorts, and he’s not your father, but he thinks that if he had a daughter, he’d tell her to put on something a little less…short. 

Then again, there’s not a lot of clothes to pick from. Rick did see you cutting some clothes with Rosita a few weeks back, and he remembers your father just shaking his head at you. “Focused on the wrong shit,” he murmured, and Rick thought it was funny. 

Cute, you trying to make things more…you. He tries to push the thoughts away about how hot he found those little crop tops you made yourself, the way you tied the cut pieces into a little knot, resting on the small of your waist, the shorts that you knew were too short because you kept telling everyone about your cutting error before they could comment on it - the way the material dug into the soft, plush part of your thighs. The -

Fucking hell, Rick needs to be shot in the head. He’s thinking about how sexy his friend’s daughter is, right fucking next to him. He must be staring, because Daryl snorts and squeezes your shoulder on his way into the barn, telling you and your father goodnight while Rick just stares. 

“What were you doing out by the water this late? You were alone with Daryl?” Your father asks, and he doesn’t sound angry, he just sounds kind of accusatory. Rick tells himself that he doesn’t want to hear the little spat you’re about to get into, because it will be a spat, he knows you too well, but the truth is that he actually does want to know why you were alone with Daryl this late. 

It’s no secret that you like Daryl. You’re friendly with everyone in the group, even the men, but with Daryl it’s different. He pretends like he’s annoyed by you, like your constant whining and talking and the arguing with your dad pisses him off, but he’s always the first to come to your side. To help you, sometimes before you even ask for help. 

You follow him around like a lost puppy, call him your bestie, whatever that means. Daryl always just replies, “We ain’t…whatever that is,” which makes your dad laugh, and then you pout, but even though Daryl denies being fond of you, Rick knows he really likes you. In what way, he’s not sure. 

But you’re wearing his vest with the wings on the back right now. 

You kick a little rock towards your father, and Rick wonders if you did it on purpose. “Needed to wash my shoe off. I stepped in mud, and since there’s no shoe stores around here, I had to clean them. Daryl offered to come with me, so I didn’t have to go alone, and then we saw fireflies, only Daryl says they weren’t fireflies, but,” and you could go on and on, Rick can tell. 

You’re happy. Excited. You genuinely had a good time with Daryl, and Rick catches himself almost smiling. Until your dad interrupts. 

“Ask me to come with you next time. You need to leave Daryl alone. You’re always buggin’ him,” he says, standing up. You just glare at him, and then at Rick, like he did something. He hates that you might think badly of him, even for a second. You stomp into the barn, and if there was a proper door, Rick bets that you would’ve slammed it. 

Your dad is quiet for a minute, before heading to the door of the barn himself. 

“You don’t think he’d,” he doesn’t finish. For a strong, tough man like your dad, who’s always a little too confident, Rick is surprised to hear the nervousness in his voice. He knows what your father is trying to say. 

Does Rick think Daryl would touch you?

Rick doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to think about it, but not for the same reasons your father is thinking. God, not for those reasons at all. Someone needs to hit him in the head to knock some sense into him, and he knows it. Thoughts of you have him all screwed up.

“No, of course not. Daryl - he’s a good guy,” Rick assures, with so much emphasis on the last part that it almost sounds like he’s trying to clear his own conscience. 

Your father nods, pleased with that answer. He lightly taps the door of the barn twice before walking in.

But not before he says, “Good,” with a little nod, like he’s thinking to himself. “Because I’d fuckin’ kill him.”

��───

It’s hot out today. 

It’s been hot, but today it’s so warm, you feel like you need to rip off your clothes and - 

Okay, fine, you can admit that it just might feel hotter than normal because Rick took his fucking shirt off earlier when he was washing it in the stream. And, ever since then, you’ve felt the need to rip your clothes off, for reasons that go beyond the sweat on your skin. 

Rick is just so, so - sexy. Everything about him. Ever since you met him, you’d been enthralled with him. You honestly never found older men sexy, back when life was normal, but your type has changed since this became your new reality. 

There’s no men around that are your age. Anywhere. And, if by some chance you somehow found one, the chances of that man being hot, or sexy, or smart, or anything you’d be interested in is just so unrealistic. 

Maybe living like this, in survival mode, has changed what you think is hot. You used to find skinny guys, tall and geeky, with piercings and tattoos hot. You hardly have any experience with men, so your type is just a loose kind of description of the men you’ve fooled around with. 

But Rick knocks your socks off. Silly to say, but that’s the only way you know how to describe it. He’s so smart, and he’s in charge, and he has the prettiest eyes and the sexiest little smirk, and his hands are rough and his cockiness is annoying as hell, but every line on his face, every grey hair you see on his head - it just does things to you, okay? All day long you think about Rick, Rick, Rick. 

Your crush on him is insane. So what, maybe you only like Rick so much because he’s the only eligible bachelor around.

Except: He’s not. Daryl Dixon is right up there with him, and if you had to choose which one you like more, well -

You wouldn’t be able to. Daryl is rougher, but Rick is more intense, if that makes sense. Rick is classically handsome, but Daryl gives that bad boy vibe. Rick doesn’t put up with your shit, but Daryl does, and you kind of like - 

You stop yourself. You’re sitting by the water with the rest of the group, pretending to wash your extra shirt but you’re really just watching Daryl and Rick. They’re across the stream from you, talking to Carol and Glenn. You find a tiny flower by the water, and you pick it up while your extra shirt soaks, picking the petals and saying Rick and Daryl’s names in your head.

Rick, pick, Daryl, pick, Rick, Daryl, pick, pick -

Until your name snaps you out of your thoughts. It’s Rick, calling you and motioning for you to go over to his side of the stream, where a few other members of the group are. He has a shirt on now (worst news of the day), and he’s got a piece of fruit in each hand, one that he’s already taken a bite out of.

Where he found fruit, you don’t know, but you really don’t care what he’s holding. The fact that he’s motioning for you to come over is all you care about. 

You almost trip over a log as you walk over to him, and when you stand beside him, he smiles at you and hands you a peach. You grin back. Peaches are your favorite. 

“Who’d you have to kill for this?” You ask, and Rick and Daryl and Carol and Glenn all laugh, but you’re serious. A fresh piece of fruit? In this world? Yeah, right. It must’ve come with some murder. 

In any case, you bite into the fruit and taste the sweetness almost immediately. Carol and Glenn throw their peach pits on the ground and walk off, but Rick and Daryl stay, just watching you. You can feel their gaze as you take a seat on the grassy ground, and then Rick and Daryl follow suit, Rick next to you and Daryl on the other side of you, legs stretched out in front of them. Yours are crossed. 

“Fuck you moanin’ for?” Daryl asks, and Rick lets out a little laugh, but you have no shame. The peach tastes really good, and now that you think about it, you can’t remember the last time you had anything sweet. 

“Just happy to have fruit,” you answer, and you take a break from eating to look at both men, one on either side of you. Rick’s lips are covered in the juice of the peach, all wet and shiny, and you never payed this much attention to his mouth before but. Wow. You think you’d like to kiss him, so you quickly turn your head to Daryl, right about the time Rick finishes his peach and tosses the pit away. 

Daryl’s not even eating his anymore, but you can smell the fruit on him. His tongue licks over his bottom lip, and you just - ugh. You look him over, wonder if the juice spilled on his neck, or his clothes, what it would taste like if you licked his salty skin after making him all sticky, but the thought makes you so hot that you have to turn away. 

Daryl walks off while you finsh your peach, mumbles something like how the fuck’s it gettin’ hotter?, and you wonder the same thing, think it has something to do with both of the men on either side of you.

Rick stays sitting with you. Leans his back against the log behind you both, keeps his eyes on you. Your father is on watch with Sasha, so for right now, around this water, everything is okay. Safe. 

“You’re makin’ a mess,” Rick comments, and the way he looks at you, the expression on his face - you don’t know how to explain it, but you feel warm. From more than just the sun and his pure hotness. It’s like he can see something in you, something he likes, but you could just be imagaining it because you’ve never had a crush this big on someone, and then -

And then Rick is grabbing your chin gently. He leans closer, and you can’t believe it’s happening. You’ve imagined kissing Rick so many times, the way his lips would feel, the way his tongue would feel against yours, the heat of his body inching closer to yours. You just never imagined he would kiss you in front of the group, but you’re not complaining. 

You lean in, eyes closed, but -

Rick doesn’t kiss you. 

He just wipes the peach juice from your chin with his thumb. 

You can’t even fake the disappointed look on your face, but he’s still this close, and it’s now or never. At least, that’s what you think before you make a bold move. You know you’ll be kicking yourself over this later, because you know you’re probably about to embarrass yourself, but you have to try. 

There’s no harm in it, anyway. Rick just thinks you’re flirty. It’s no big deal. 

You press a kiss to his thumb, the one that’s by your lips, and you really hope your father is keeping watch far away from the stream, because you dart your tongue out and lick the pad of Rick’s finger.

“Thanks for cleaning me up,” you say, voice soft. You blink up at him, know enough about men to know that look always gets them flustered, and Rick swallows hard. He nods, always polite, and then pulls away from you and walks off.

You don’t feel embarrassed, because you see him turn around to look at you. He almost trips over a huge fucking rock, and you giggle, but it feels good.

You got Rick Grimes flustered - and the best part?

He turned around to look at you.

────

You’re sitting by the fire, pretending to focus on sharpening your knife, but your eyes keep flicking toward where Daryl and Rick are talking. They’re far enough away to where you can’t hear them and they can’t hear you, but you want to hear them. You want to be a part of whatever conversation they’re having, not because you think it’s interesting, in fact, it rarely is - you just want to be around them. 

So bad. Not being close to Rick or Daryl genuinely feels like you’re missing a limb these days, and you know that’s pathetic but you can’t help it. It’s just the way you feel. 

Rick is always busy, and Daryl is just as busy as him most days. They don’t have time to wallow in the misery that is the group’s living conditions, and they don’t have time for fun. They just keep going, and you’re kind of jealous of that. Most days, you just wait around for orders, and you don’t want to make the decisions but you also don’t like sitting around. It makes you scared, depressed sometimes, so you try to keep busy by following Daryl and Rick around whenever they let you. 

It’s better to be next to one of them than to be partnered with your father in any capacity. Things between you two aren’t good, and you don’t know how to make it better. You don’t know what to do to make him see that he’s being too hard on you. 

Everything you do is a problem for him. Everything you say, in his words, reflects badly on him. You can’t relax when he’s around, and you don’t even want to. You don’t want to be around him at all, honestly, but you’ve got no choice. 

“Don’t even think about it,” your dad says, and his voice shocks you so much, coming out of nowhere like that, that you almost cut your finger on the knife. You practically gasp. He takes a seat next to you and takes the knife from you to free up your hands, starts sharpening it, but you know it’s not to be nice. 

It’s to prove how much better at it he is than you. As if you care. You shouldn’t even have to know how to sharpen a knife, and even though women don’t get the luxury of being girly these days, or even soft, you still think that your father should’ve offered to sharpen the knife for you in the first place. Daryl would’ve done it for you had he seen the way you were handling that thing. 

“What are you going on about now?” You ask rudely, crossing your arms. Your dad shakes his head like he always does when he’s talking to you, like you’re so ridiculous he can’t even form a proper reply. 

You keep pressing. “Don’t think about what, dad?” It doesn’t even occur to you that he noticed you looking at Daryl and Rick. The crush you have on those men - you’re so alone in it that you get stuck in your head sometimes. Sad as it is to say, looking for those little moments of flirt or fun with Rick and Daryl has made life a little easier. Beyond just a romantic crush, those men represent something more to you - 

Not hope exactly, just. The little spark that keeps you moving. 

“Watch your fuckin’ tone,” your dad warns, handing you back the knife. It’s so sharp, you almost jump from the handoff and the tone of his voice. He’s mad. “You know what. Or should I say, who.” 

You get so embarrassed that you feel yourself cringe. You hope that anyone else who might be around didn’t hear him say that, because if everyone knew about the crush you have on Rick and Daryl, you’d be fucking mortified. 

Your dad laughs, but it’s a mean laugh. You want to defend yourself, but deep down, you long for the time in your life when you didn’t even know what his mean laugh sounded like. 

“Cut the crap, kid. Everyone can see it. Starin’ at ‘em, following them around. You need to let up. Give ‘em some space. Rick’s got enough on his plate as is, and Daryl is just,” your dad doesn’t even get to finish what he’s saying, because you start crying. 

Big, ugly tears start spilling from your eyes. It’s not just this conversation that’s making you so upset. It’s everything.

It’s the fact that you’ve never had a proper boyfriend. It’s the fact that your skin itches, that conditioner is no longer a thing, that you’ll never get your nails done again, that you’ll never hug your mother or your best friend again, that you’ll never have a fucking iced latte every again, that you’ll never sleep on a bed with a real mattress another day in your miserable fucking life. 

It's the fact that you've had a headache and a fever for the last week, which is why you've been so fucking hot, and there's no medication to make it easier.

It’s the fact that you’ll never watch your favorite movie, listen to your favorite song, fall in love, start a family, learn to fucking crochet - god, you could go on all day.

Your life is fucking over, and the one (well, two) thing keeping you from bashing your own head in with a rock is this little fantasy crush you have. You’re not hurting anyone, and honestly, maybe you might be making life better for Rick and Daryl. Maybe they also want a little fun, because unlike you, dad, some people want to still smile. 

It’s the fact that your own father thinks so low of you, he couldn’t possibly see how anyone would like you or think of you as something beyond a burden. 

But the worst thing? The worst thing, is the fact that you’ll die before seeing your father be proud of you.

You used to imagine graduating from college, starting a family, winning a prize, just - anything, to make him proud. To show him that the good in you was just like him, but now that will never happen. You’ll probably die before him, because you’re not cut out for this life and everyone knows it, and you feel sick that you’re starting to think that maybe good never existed in your father at all. Maybe none of this matters. Maybe -

You’re so hysterical that you can feel the eyes of the rest of the group on you. You wish you could tell your dad everything you feel, but instead, as he watches you, frozen, you just say one thing before scurrying off. 

“I’m still the girl you took camping, dad. I still want to hear your stories. I love you. I’m still your daughter.” You want to say more, but you run off to the barn, grab your sleeping bag and literally cover yourself with it. It’s so disgustingly hot inside the barn, let alone under the blanket, but you don’t care.

You hope you suffocate. 

────

A few minutes go by. Then a few more. You didn’t run away for attention, but you’re a little surprised and hurt that nobody even bothers to check on you. You’re about to cry even more, when the sleeping bag is lifted off of your head. 

You think it’s going to be your dad, but it’s not. It’s Rick, dressed in his newly washed white t-shirt, hands on his hips after he drops the sleeping bag in front of you. He looks scruffy, but clean and devastatingly handsome, and the look he wears of pure compassion makes you almost burst into tears again. 

He was probably such a good cop. You bet old ladies loved him. You bet he helped them cross the street. 

“You alright, honey?” He asks, and you’re so sad that the petname doesn’t even cheer you up. You just shrug sadly, like you’ve given up, and, well - you have. 

Rick sighs and moves to sit next to you, making old man noises as he does. Hard to bend down at my age, he said once, to which you replied, Must suck to be old, and he laughed. You wish you could make a joke about it right now, to lighten the mood, but you don’t have it in you to joke or say anything mean to Rick, even just teasing, because the fact that he came to check on you means everything. 

More than he’ll ever know. 

You decide to be honest. Pretending to be okay after crying like that in front of everyone will obviously seem like bullshit, and anyway, Rick has always been a safe place for you. You’ve talked to him one and one so many times, about all kinds of things. You know each other pretty well at this point, having starved and killed and lived in some of the worst circumstances imaginable together. Trauma bonded, maybe, but Rick means a lot to you. 

The thought that you might mean a lot to him, for the simple reason that he checked up on you and nobody else did, makes you feel fuzzy inside. A little less sad, but not by much. You bite your lip before the truth comes out. 

“Just don’t see the point anymore,” you admit to him, refusing to meet his eyes. “It’s like, you try so hard to keep us going. Everyone does. We keep going, but…for what? This is all there is. It’s not like there’s some city without walkers somewhere, or someone that’s going to come to our rescue. I’m just tired, Rick. I know I do the least out of everyone here, but,” Rick stops your talking by placing a hand on your thigh. You don’t know if he meant for you to stop talking, but the warm feeling of his skin on yours stops you in your tracks. 

“Hey. You do plenty. I get what you’re sayin’, but there’s definitely something more out there. We just have to keep going. Trust me when I say this,” a pause, until you finally look at him and meet his eyes. He looks so earnest that you start to believe him. 

“You’re beautiful. You’re young. There’s more out there. I promise you. Even if it’s just a warm bed, or a cold Coke, or another shooting star. There will be other people. You just gotta…hold out a little longer. You’re smart, you’re capable. I’ve seen the skills you have,” your heart breaks because you know that you learned all those skills from your father, and he doesn’t even notice. 

But Rick does.

Everything Rick is saying means something to you. Beneath his stoic, hardass, we live like we’re going to war everyday attitude, is a man that’s just as hopeful as you. It’s enough to cheer you up, just a little bit. Makes a thought in the back of your mind start sparkling too, because maybe you and Rick have more in common than you thought. Maybe there’s something to be said, for two people with the same amount of optimism. 

But before you get ahead of yourself, before you let that fantasy wash over you, you realize what you must look like. Face all puffy from crying, hair probably greasy since it’s not like you can take a proper shower. There’s a stain on your shirt and you feel sticky if you think about it too long. What if you have something in your teeth, and what if you smell? 

The insecurity is too much. You’re too vulnerable right now, and so without thinking, you say the most immature thing possible in response to Rick, and you wish you didn’t. You just feel even more insecure. 

“I’m beautiful. Yeah, well, doesn’t matter if that’s true. What good is beauty if I can’t use it? Just goes to waste,” your tone is clipped, and you pick at a piece of loose thread on the bottom of your shirt, hating that Rick is sitting here, being kind, and you go back to making it about yourself. 

Maybe your father is right about you. Maybe you’re just - bad. You hate it - that thought, this life, yourself. 

But only for a moment, because what Rick says next kickstarts your frozen heart. It was only frozen for a moment, anyway. 

“Your beauty is not wasted,” he says, with a matter-of-fact tone. Like he’s sure it isn’t, and how could he be sure of that, unless…?

Unless he’s the one appreciating it. You realize what he’s saying, that he thinks you’re beautiful, and for a second everything feels right in the world. 

Until your father enters the barn. 

Rick tenses, as do you, but just because Rick made you feel better doesn’t mean you want to see your father. You still feel shitty - health wise and emotionally, so you dismiss him as quickly as you can. 

“Go away, dad,” you tell him, shaking your head like you’re disgusted at his presence. The way he does to you. 

“Sweetheart, I,” but you don’t want to hear it. You love your dad, and you want his love more than anything in this world, but you’re starting to realize that his comfort is not something you can rely on.

Maybe you can look for comfort and love from other people, people who appreciate you, people who value you, people who care enough about you to check on you. To look back at you.

Your dad isn’t the same man he used to be. He’s not the same guy that told you those stories while you sat on his lap, who tucked you into bed. Who took you on outdoor adventures and sat on the ground to play trains with you.

He’s not the man you go to for comfort, and he’s not the man you go to when you have good news. Your father is not the man he was when you were a child, and even though he used to be, even though he thinks he’s doing the right thing - he’s not. 

But that doesn’t mean you have to change who you are. 

You ignore your dad, and Rick awkwardly clears his throat and goes to stand, but you grab his hand to pull him back down. If your father notices, he says nothing. 

Silence, until he gets the hint. 

“I think I’ll go with Abraham and Daryl down the road. Think we spotted a pharmacy, could see if there’s anything to help your fever,” he trails off at the end, as if that’s going to make you jump up and hug him or something. You don’t, but it doesn’t mean you don’t appreciate it. Only took a fucking week. 

You just stare at him, and Rick tells him thank you, and your father nods like he appreciates the respect Rick is offering him. Probably is glad that he’s not the one who has to comfort you. 

He’s one foot out the door when he turns to you and struggles to get something out. But he does, and you’ll never forget the look on his face when he says it. You’ll never forget that you did nothing, didn’t even say it back, when he told you he loved you.

I love you. I’m tryin’.

You ignored him.

When he’s dead, you’ll regret this moment. That you didn’t say it back. That you didn’t see your father for the flawed human that he was, that you didn’t appreciate his effort, or the way he did love you. You just don’t know it now.

You can’t even possibly anticipate how your life is going to change when he walks out that door. 

But for now, because this moment is all you know, Rick wraps his arm around your shoulders, and you lean against him. He’s strong and warm, kind of like your dad, and you sniffle and look up at him. 

“Rick,” you say tentatively, fisting the material of his shirt. “Can you tell me a story?”

‎ dad’s best friends! rick + daryl masterlist

[suswous]

It’s sorta funny (not funny) sometimes you’ll see an absolutely atrocious take on Israel-Palestine, and not even know which side they’re supporting.

[aetherraeys]

visual learner

poly!marauder x inexperienced!reader ⊹ 5.1k

for this request!

cw ⟢ suggestive, first kisses, nervous!reader, tension, teasing, slightly domestic, newly established relationship, lots of kissing!

being a late-bloomer was never really an issue for you, until you're faced with figuring out how to go about kissing not just one boy, but three.

a/n: yes this is 5000 words of kissing and what? not proofread

If you were to think back, it honestly never bothered you much, you’d come to terms with it quite well—you were a late bloomer.

Sure, it meant that you didn’t have the exact same experiences as most of your peers when growing up, making those late nights in the dorms when the voices of all your friends danced around the room, feet kicking giddily as they shared which boy they’d gone to Hogsmead with that weekend. Or when they detailed the innocent lingering touches and fleeting eye contact they’d made with their crush—in person demonstrations and all. Of course, those nights were fun, playful girls nights, but it more listening than reenacting for you.

Even as you progressed further, graduating and starting univerisity, it didn’t bug you like your friends had assumed it would—’it’ being your lack of experience.

And it wasn’t that you were undesirable, far from it, opportunity isn’t an issue—you just weren’t in a rush. It also didn’t make you any more eager to speed things along after hearing countless disappointing and awkward recounts of your friends experiences.

Quite frankly, it just wasn’t the be-all and end-all of your youth, you had plenty of other things to worry about, plenty of other things that kept your mind comfortably occupied. And you were still young, there was still time for you to play catch-up, if and when you decided you wanted to.

The thing is, you were under the impression had a say in it in the first place—when in reality, the universe had other plans for you.

And those plans?

As it turned out, took form in the shape of three boys.

You’d thought they were a bit strange at orientation, their dynamic an interesting sight to say the least. But it wasn’t very long before you were sucked into their orbit, well and truly in the thick of it—completely out of your depth.

Because you’d yet to have a boyfriend, let alone three, but alas—you found yourself unable to deny them.

Falling into place with them relatively seemlessly, although the boys had been dating long before you came into the picture and have known each other longer, that wasn’t why you kept finding yourself picking at the skin around your nails, knawing at the flesh on the inside of your mouth, frequently lost in deep thought.

Granted, most of this was fairly new.

Welcomed, wanted, loved—you should be perfectly content right now, but there was small looming inkling of something in the back of your mind every time you saw them.

They were so comfortable together, in complete and almost constant harmony with each other—and it was a sight to behold, perfect and cozy as they lounged around Sirius’ thankfully large flat.

Both him and James lying on one end of the settee, tangled together in an obsure pile of limbs. Sirius had his hands underneath James’ shirt—baring the bottom of his stomach and pretty brown happy trail out in the open, fingers tracing soft and small patterns onto his skin. James’ hand carding and threading through his curls while mindlessly scrolling on his phone, occassional content hums leaving his mouth. Remus—he was sat on the floor resting his back against the sofa, pressed against James’ leg, head leaning on his knee, book in hand.

The epitome of domesticity.

All so very intune with each other, and then there was you.

Sat at the other end of the couch, just over an arms length away from them, scrunched into the corner covered in a blanket—trying to reach the word count for a project and failing miserably to focus on the screen in front of you.

It’s simple, you could go, scoot over and join them in their comfortable bliss, but it seemed just that bit too hard—where would you start?

Until now you never considered being inexperienced a bad thing, but you couldn’t help but wonder how if just a bit of knowhow would’ve make you less shy to join.

Navigating the mass of bodies should really be at the bottom of your to-do list, so taking a deep breath, you force your attention to the painstakingly boring work on your lap, once again starting to type. You’d built up a good rhythm, the words flowing easier as the time went by, and even though your legs had gone numb a while ago, it seemed like a good idea to ride the wave of concentration while you still had it.

So much so that you didn’t notice the shuffling sounds of movement going on a meer meter away. James had made his way up and off the couch, padding into the kitchen, switching on the radio upon entry—a telltale sign he’d about to start cooking.

The space James had left on couch was still hot from his residual heat when, on cue, Sirius reach his hand over to Remus’ shoulder, pouting dramatically, patting the still-warm space on the couch. “You’re not coming up?”

Remus, his neck tilted back slightly to look at Sirius, exhaled through his nose. He hesitated for half a second before shifting to stand. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he muttered, pushing himself up.

As he moved past you, his fingertips brushed against your leg—so lightly, so fleetingly that you barely registered the touch, too engrossed in your project to notice. If you had noticed, you might’ve seen the way he glanced at you, how his gaze lingered for just a beat longer than necessary.

By the time he plopped down onto the couch, Sirius wasted no time crawling onto him, sprawling across his lap like a cat seeking warmth. Remus just huffed out a light chuckle as Sirius melted against him, pressing his face into his shoulder and humming contentedly. Instinctively, Remus’ hand came up to his hair, fingers tangling in soft curls, stroking without thought.

But even as he did, his eyes flickered back to you—quick, searching glances that went unnoticed. He can imagine it to be overwhelming, entering an already established relationship—still so many things unspoken, still so much to learn. And Remus ever the watcher, had noticed how your little habits—your tendencies to take up as little space as possible, shrinking slightly under the pressure of intimacy.

It’s not that you’re afraid of it—affection, intimacy—it was that you were just genuinely clueless, there’s not exactly a manual on how to do all; something that they already do so well, so intuitively between themselves.

It made you nervous is all, unable to imagine how awkward it would be if you’d done the wrong thing, put yourself in the wrong place—the room for mistakes seemed endless.

Still, Remus wasn’t going to push, or pry. Not until he was sure, sure that the way your fingers twitch by your side was with the desire to join, sure that your not so discrete hesitant glances were of a longing nature.

All his thoughts were about you, that was until Sirius distracted him in the best way he knew how.

Soft, light kisses pressed against his collarbone, trailing up to his neck, his jaw. His lips warm delicately working his way up until he was scattering pecks across Remus’ face—his nose, the tops of his freckled cheekbones, his temple—Remus was still slightly spying on you despite Sirius’ playful assault.

And, of course just moments before this your concentration had finally faltered, the smell of whatever James was cooking breaking your focus ever so slightly.

His eyes flicked toward where you sat—shoulders hunched ever so slightly forward, brows furrowed in that way they always did when you were deep in concentration. He wondered if you even realized the way you bit at your lip, the way your fingers twitched ever so slightly like they wanted to fidget, to reach out.

Sirius barely registered the amused hum from him before the next kiss landed, this time firmer against the corner of his mouth. Then another—this one lingering, coaxing, before Sirius finally pressed their lips together properly, letting it stretch just long enough for Remus to forget what he was doing.

You blinked, taking in the scene, your eyes widening slightly before flitting away, your fingers pausing over your keyboard. Lips pursing together slightly before your teeth peaked out and took hold of the corner of your mouth.

Sirius felt the way the corners of Remus’ lips spread into a smirk before he pulled away from him, just long enough to whispered to him, breath tickling the shell of his ear, “Watch her,”

Pulling them both onto their side, stealing small looks in your direction as he kissed Remus again—this time deeper, more obnoxious, more deliberate—sighs and hums of contentment bouncing between them.

Naturally, your eyes drifted to the source of the noise, body stilling as though unsure whether to look away or keep watching.

They found it quite cute, the way you eyes darted around the room frantically, trying hard to not stare despite being helplessly drawn to look at the cause of sounds. Teeth mercilessly taking refuge in your cheek, forcing your lips in to a pout that bordered bashful.

Curious thing, you were.

Satisfied with the effect, he exhaled a quiet laugh against Sirius’ lips and decided to stop tormenting you—for now. With a final squeeze to Sirius’ waist, Remus stood, making his way over towering tall over you and, without hesitation, shut your laptop with a soft click.

Whipping your head to find him, brows arched up, a light smirk twitching at his lips as he looked down at you—gaze so intense you couldn’t bring yourself to look over at whatever was causing the sofa to dip beside you.

Only breaking when you felt his hot breath skim along the edge of your earlobe—spine immediately becoming taut, skin prickling down the back of your neck. Sirius was so close and you didn’t need to look at him to know he had a mischievous smirk playing on his lips—“I think you’ve worked hard enough, sweetheart.”

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth radiating from them both, of the weight of their gazes—teasing, expectant, knowing. You weren’t completely unfamilar with their touch, James loved to press obnoxious wet kisses on your cheeks. Remus was also very well versed in the language of forehead kisses and hand holding—Sirius had even gone as far to occassionally sneak dangerous little pecks onto the thin skin behind your ear when you cuddled.

Alert, and flickering panicked looks between them, the tips of your ears felt hot as you stammered out the words, “uh—everything okay?”

Your hands were in your lap clasped together tightly—thumb unconsciously picking at the skin around your nails when Sirius came impossibly closer to you, a small huffed chuckle leaving as he neared. Fingertips brushing a few stray hairs behind your ears, voice low and smooth— “Mmmm, everything’s fine—Moony’s just got a question,”

He could feel the slight shudder that ran through your body, gaze shifting to Remus, hands stuffed into his pockets, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he leaned down over you—very clearly entertained by your reactions. His eyes darted around your face, scanning, observing your wide-eyed expression, how you sunk into the soft cushion, trying to put space between you.

The corner of his lips quirked up into a crooked smile, tilting his head as he asked;

“Would you like one?”

The warmth of Sirius’ fingertips trailing light ghostly touches down the side of your neck was so distracting, making your mouth painfully dry, air catching in your throat as your opened and closed your lips repeatedly. Wracking your brain for a response, words, anything—but it felt annoyingly blank, sucking in a shaky breath, your words came out pinched and meek—breathy on the exhale.

Sirius snickered under his breath, barely containing his delight at your reaction, and Remus exhaled a soft chuckle of his own.

“One what?”

Even if you tried to push yourself any further into the couch, practically willing yourself to become one with the fabric—anything to escape this awful flipping feeling at the pits of your stomach—you couldn’t. And it only got worse when Remus leaned in further, precariously close, the tip of his nose just barely grazing the skin of your cheekbones, Sirius could see the way your shoulders inched up and up, closer to your ears as your virtually shrunk into yourself.

Remus’ voice was rough and teasing, making the heat that resided in the tips of your ear spread invasively under the skin of your cheeks. “I saw you—it’s okay to be curious, my love, ” He took his hands from his pockets and brought one to the arm of the sofa, the other resting on the ball of Sirius’ knee, that was flush against yours. He leaned back as he continued, capturing your gaze, “You don’t have to be so shy about it.”

His words were low, steady, laced with that quiet knowing that made your stomach tighten. He was close—too close, and Sirius wasn’t any better, his fingertips still ghosting along your jaw, trailing up toward your ear, his shoulders brushing against yours.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe properly, heat blooming in your chest—radiating outwards, the close proximity, it all just had your head feeling rattled. “I—” You started, but the words immediately died in your throat, and Sirius huffed dramatically, shifting even nearer.

“C’mon, love, we won’t bite.” His breath was warm against your skin. “Unless you want us to.”

Your inhale was sharp, and Sirius grinned, practically preening at your reaction.

But Remus—Remus remained still, observing, reading for any flicker of hesitation, every small tell you didn’t even realize you were giving away. He tilted his head slightly, watching the way your hands curled into your lap, the way your breath hitched when Sirius’ fingers traced your pulse.

And then, his voice dropped even lower, softer—”So would you like one?” The back of his fingers came lightly over the curve of your jaw, lips brushing the bottom of your earlobes when he finally whispered,

“A kiss.”

Your stomach flipped violently, breath hitching and as a light shudder passed over your body—Remus must have noticed, because he smiled—soft and knowing, tilting his head slightly, giving you space, waiting. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding—just offering.

And somehow, that was even more overwhelming.

Lips parted slightly, words failing you completely, barely forcing out the start of a sentence, “B—” When his voice rang just behind you, dripping with amusement; “Have I walked into an ambush?” You hadn’t even noticed James entering the room.

But that was exactly how you felt, ambushed—trapped like a lamb in the midst of a group of lions, chest skipping out of its rhythmic rise and fall when James’ hand slid gently over your shoulder, your lips were still parted, holding the remains of your unfinished sentence. Sirius spoke, turning his head to look at James, smirk taking on a wolfish quality—”Just seeing if our girl would like a kiss,” As the last word left his lips, he was facing you again, head tilting to fit into the dip of your neck, lips almost gliding over the skin.

No where to run, the combined weight of their gaze made you awfully aware of your racing heartbeat, sounding loud between your ears, riccocheting off the empty space in your brain—only able to blink-up at Remus, mouth agape.

Sirius made an amused little noise in the back of his throat. “She’s thinking too hard again,” he murmured, his fingertips moving from their place on your collarbone, to travel down the curve of your skin—fighting every urge in your body to not arch away from his touch. His palm stopped and rest in the small of your back, hot and anchoring.

“Darling, it’s a yes or no question.” The words were still soft, still pressure-less, leaving you all the room in the world to stop this.

Your fingers twitched slightly, curling into the fabric of your sweater, throat suddenly unbearably dry—still completely entrapped under Remus’ watchful eye.

“I’ve never—” You swallowed. “I don’t know how.”

It was more breath than words, was barely a whisper, almost inaudible, but they all heard it.

Sirius exhaled sharply through his nose, amused, James’ palm soothed comfortingly over you shoulder, while Remus’ smile softened further, something impossibly tender flashing across his face.

“That’s alright,” he murmured, voice quiet, patient. His hand lifted slightly, fingers hovering near your cheek but barely touching, waiting for any sign, any indication from you. “I could show you.”

Sirius hummed lightly beside you, clearly pleased with where this was going. “Mmm, yeah, Moons is an excellent teacher.”

Your gaze flickered between them, caught between the heat of Sirius’ mischief and the warmth of Remus’ patience, the quiet promise in his eyes.

Your heart was pounding.

Opening your mouth, but nothing came out, your throat tight—only able to nod shyly. Sirius took pity on you, grinning as he shifted back and patted his lap invitingly.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he purred. “Front row seat for the lesson.”

You blinked at him, completely dumbfounded,

“What?”

Remus, ever patient, gave Sirius a look, but there was amusement there, too. “We’ll give you a demonstration.”

Sirius patted his thigh again, eyes glinting with mischief. “Come on, love, don’t be shy.”

You hesitated for a long moment, but Sirius just raised an eyebrow, waiting expectantly, his fingers tapping against his leg. James had already made his way around the sofa, and looked just entirely too pleased at the idea.

Eventually, you sighed, heat creeping along the back of your neck as you shuffled over, hesitantly perching yourself on Sirius’ lap. His arms immediately wound around your waist, back flush against his chest, keeping you snug against him as he leaned in, breath tickling your ear.

Remus huffed out a quiet laugh, already reaching for James' collar, tugging him forward until their lips met in an easy, practiced rhythm. Practically melting into each others touch.

It was undemanding, natural. And unconsciously, your eyes darted away from the scene, flickering down onto your hands that still endlessly fiddled with the hem of your sleeve. But, against your luck, Sirius caught you.

“No no no, keep looking,” His voice was gentle, no traces of reprimand, he could feel stiff you were—breath shallow, shoulders tense. Pulling you in further against him, hand moving from your waist to settle on the round of your thighs—thumb stroking in a soothing pattern. Along with the way his voice rumbled of his voice in chest against your back and the velvety hum of his words, “Relax, love,” purged some of the nervous tension that had settled in your bones away.

It wasn’t just that they were kissing—it was how. The effortless way James’ hands slid into Remus’ hair, the way Remus exhaled softly into it, melting just a bit. The way their noses brushed, the way Remus tilted his head slightly to deepen it, slow and unhurried, languid in a way that sent something strange and warm curling in your stomach.

It was so fluid, second-nature.

James made a quiet noise in the back of his throat when Remus bit at his bottom lip, and Sirius hummed behind you.

“See that?” he murmured against your ear. “Slow, but firm. It’s not a race, love. It’s about feeling it, letting it happen.”

Your breath was shallow, completely entranced, and James—who had definitely caught the way your fingers curled against Sirius’ hands your thighs—broke the kiss just long enough to grin at you.

“You taking notes, sweetheart?”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Sirius chuckled, chin propped on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Prongs, I think she’s getting the idea.”

Your entire body was on fire.

And he could feel it, the heat radiating off your body against his, trying not fidget in his lap, and he didn’t help your case. Opting to torture you more with his low teasing cadance and lips dangerously close to your pulse, whispering; “Think you’re ready to try?”

You swallowed thickly, pulse hammering in your throat. Ready to try? That was the question, wasn’t it?

Because in theory, you knew what kissing was supposed to be. You’d seen it a thousand times—in movies, in books, in passing glances stolen between strangers. But knowing wasn’t feeling, and feeling was something else entirely.

Especially when three sets of eyes were locked onto you, waiting.

You wet your lips unconsciously, and Sirius made a pleased little sound behind you, his hands settling more firmly, squeezing lightly against your thighs. “That’s a good start,” he murmured. “Mmm, maybe she’s a natural, Moons.”

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head slightly to catch Remus’ expression. He was still watching you, his gaze steady, unreadable. You searched for impatience there, for amusement, for any sign of frustration—but there was none. Only quiet, open curiosity, waiting for you to make the call.

Inhaling deeply though your nose, a light wave of hesitance flickering through you.

“I…” You trailed off, glancing over at James, who had since leaned back against the couch, all easy confidence, his head tilting slightly to the side. “With…who?”

The second the words left your mouth, Sirius laughed, delighted.

“Oh, love,” he purred, adjusting his wide legged position even wider, causing your hips to fall further into his middle—sinking into his touch. “That’s the best part.”

James smirked at that, hazel eyes flashing. “Mmm, guess it’s only fair we let you pick,” he mused. “We wouldn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Liar.

You didn’t believe that for a second, not when Sirius was grinning like the cat that got the cream, and certainly not when Remus had the nerve to sit beside James, looking at you like he was already in your head, reading your thoughts before you could even think them.

Your heart was racing so fast you were surprised they couldn’t hear it.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to—you did. But what if you messed it up? What if you got the angle wrong, or forgot to breathe, or—

“Darling.” Remus’ voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, quiet but firm. You snapped your gaze to him automatically, fingers twitching, picking at the jean fabric of by Sirius’ hands. “There’s nothing to get wrong.”

You barely had time to react before he leaned in—slow, deliberate—just close enough that the warmth of him made your breath stutter.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured.

You hesitated, but after a beat, you did.

The next thing you felt was the feather-light brush of his lips against your cheek—not quite a kiss, not really, just the barest ghost of contact. Lips parting, letting a shallow hitching breath pass.

“There,” he murmured. “Easy, isn’t it?”

His lips brushed another kiss over the curve of your jaw, still unbearably gentle, giving you time, giving you space. You inhale shakily, body still burning against Sirius, Remus just hummed, trailing the kisses just slightly lower. There was barely any time for you to respond before he finally—finally—pressed his lips against yours

It was so much softer than you’d expected, warm and welcoming. Not demanding, not urgent—just there, patient, waiting for you to catch up.

Your stomach flipped, and Sirius hummed his approval against your ear, his hands rubbing absent, slow circles into your sides. James, let out a quiet exhale, watching intently from beside Remus—hands twitching almost in efforts to stay put.

Trying your best to stay out of your head, focus on the kiss but not too hard, pace yourself, enjoy the moment—your hands curling into themselves at your sides. But when Remus hummed, a small pleased sound into the kiss, the tension building in you slipped away. Further and further into the back of your mind.

He kissed you like it was the easiest thing in the world, like he wanted to be kissing you, and your brain was getting more mushy as the contact continued. Your hands twitched again, and this time, you actually moved, leaning slightly into the kiss—one of them hesitantly lifting to rest against the front of his shirt.

Sirius, sensing the change immediately, grinned, chin still propped on your shoulder.

“That’s it, sweetheart.”

James hummed in agreement, eyes dark with interest. “Looks like she’s a fast learner.”

Remus, still entirely too composed, simply smiled into the kiss, his hands finally moving to cradle your jaw, holding you there as he deepened it just slightly.

By the time he pulled back, you were breathless, cheeks flushed—lips wet and reddened.

James, evidently unable to contain himself, turned your chin slightly toward him, eyes practically shining with mischief.

“My turn.”

His lips were on yours, and if Remus was patient and careful, James was the opposite.

Kissing you like he was playing—feverish and teasing, like he knew exactly how new it was for you, how you were still unsure, and he was more than content in exploring.

Initially he let you take the lead, barely pressing into you, lips moving slowly, teasingly, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your jaw as if coaxing you forward. But as he leaned further into you, hands planting themselves firmly on your thighs—parting his lips against yours.

You were vaguely aware of the sound of Sirius humming in approval somewhere behind you, his fingers tightening just slightly on your waist as James’ tongue flicked playfully against your bottom lip. Your breath caught in your throat, and he grinned against your mouth, clearly pleased with your reaction.

James littered more kisses onto your skin, starting at the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, bringing the exposed skin of your collarbone gently between his lips—nipping and sucking softly. Earning him a breathy whimper, exhaling “Jamie,” as you craned your neck into him more, hands jumping to find purchase on his arms.

Remus’ hand inched up James’ spine, almost as a reminder that said, don’t be greedy. Withdrawing, he allowed the other a better look at your expression—half lidded, satified hums leaving your still kiss-flushed lips, unbareably pretty.

Sirius let out a low, appreciative whistle behind you, a low “Damn,” passing into the air, breath skimming over the back of your neck.

“Ready for round two?”

You hadn’t had time to come back down into the room fully before Sirius’ hands came down to your hips—the words barely proccessing in your mind as you spun on his lap. Positioning you so your legs split across his thighs. His hands settled on your waist, warm and steady, fingers splayed just under the hem of your shirt, grounding you.

Sirius was still watching you, that signature smirk playing at his lips, but there was something softer in his expression now—something reassuring, like he was making sure you weren’t too overwhelmed.

But how could you not be?

You could still feel the lingering warmth of Remus’ kiss on your lips, still taste James’ breath against yours. And now planted on Sirius’ lap, he was moving closer, eyes flicking over your face, searching for hesitation.

You didn’t even realize you’d clenched your hands into nervous fists until Sirius made a small noise of amusement and pried one open, lacing his fingers through yours. “Breath, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. “You’re in good hands.”

Unlike Remus’ patience or James’ teasing, Sirius kissed you like he was yearning.

its like a torch had been lit, your body was set even further ablaze when Sirius pressed his lips firmly against yours, immediately tightening his hold on your waist. Pads of his fingers grasping almost desperately onto the flesh trying to pull you closer than you already were—shifting his hips upwards into you. Your voice trembled in your throat, failing to make it to your lips as muffled moan threatened to leave you. Hands coming up to his neck, fingers threading and tugging at the hair at the base of his neck.

“Fucking hell, you two,” sounded from beside you, but it felt so far away, dulled by the thumping echo of your pulse in your ears and the soft hums and mewls leaving the both of you.

He kissed like he meant it, like he wanted you to feel all of it, tongue just barely teasing against the seam of your lips, making you gasp out a whine. He took full advantage of the sound, his hands squeezing at your curve of your hips before he pulled back just enough to grin against your mouth.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

The words sent a sharp jolt of heat down your spine, it had you arching into him against you will, rocking involuntarily into him, and Sirius let out a delighted little laugh. Head falling into the crook of his neck, slightly embarrassed by the reactions he so easily compelled from you.

“Ohh, Pads,” James drawled, chin resting on his shoulder, breath warm against his ear. “You’re gonna break her.”

Sirius hummed, utterly unbothered. “Dunno, Jamie—” his lips ghosted against your neck again, just barely touching, a tease, “—she seems to be holding up just fine.”

You weren’t.

Your thoughts were scrambled, body thrumming, your hands clutching onto Sirius as if he were the only thing tethering you to the earth.

And when you brought your head out of its hiding spot, Remus’ could barely contain the laugh that bubbled in his chest, musing with a tilting his head. “Mmm, think she likes it.” Your parted lips, chest heaving trying to catch your breath—pupils blown and hazy expression Remus was more than convinced you liked it.

Sirius, still curled up comfortably beneath you, pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone. “Yeah, sweetheart?” His voice was teasing, syrupy sweet, lips dragging up to your jaw, inching up to the corners of your mouth—almost kisses—then trailing back away. And you could only melt into them, breathless and dizzy and completely, utterly lost in it all.

“Should we stop, or do you wanna keep learning?”

this is my first time writing poly! so pls be kind x

part 2 - hands-on lesson!

[deathbyday]

𖥔not so gen. mouthwashing relations headcanons.𖥔˚

Written By: DeathByDay

TW - death, SA.

Includes: Captain Curly, Daisuke, and Anya

__________

Captain Curly

• This man is 100% a sucker for romance

• I’ve seen some people say that they think that he’s one to be into PDA, but honestly I just don’t see it

• Maybe a few pecks on the cheek or light hand holding, but nothing more

• He just doesn’t seem that type of guy to me

• But in private? That’s a whole different story

• He’s all on you whenever you want him to be or not, especially in the mornings

• I feel like he’d love to hug you from behind while you sleep, his nose pressed against the back of your neck while his arms are wrapped around right underneath your chest

• Would 100% wake up first like c’mon he’s literally a captain, he needs to (much to your dismay)

• But while you’re still asleep he’d plant small kisses on the back of your neck to try to wake you

• If that doesn’t work, then he’d leave the room before coming back soon enough with a cup of your favorite morning drink. Coffee, tea, milk, water, you name it

• If you came to him during a bad day, rest assured he’s gonna take care of you

• He’s running a bath with the exact temperature you wanted, laying out pajamas for you, along with towels. Probably would put bath salt in there too (if you aren’t allergic and like the feeling of it)

• Acts of service and words of affirmation are his love languages, prove me wrong. YOU CANT

• You don’t understand how bad he would feel after the crash

• Like he can’t be there for you and you need to be the one taking care of him. He just feels pathetic

• You sometimes make Jimmy let you give him the painkillers. You wouldn’t be as harsh as him, of course. Just gently slide it on his tongue and help him swallow, not shoving or pushing it down

• Anyways back to pre-crash Curly

• I think he would adore it if you ever planted kisses on his cheek, neck, or forehead (or honestly anywhere else)

• If you’re shorter than him, you’d have to grab his jawline and bring him down to your level to properly kiss. Trust me when I say he would never recover from it

• Loves kissing your neck, especially before you two begin the day together

NSFW

• Y’all cannot tell me this guy isn’t the most gentlest man in bed

• Always asking if you’re comfortable, moving at a reasonable pace until you’re ready, praising you for taking him so well, etc

• He 100% presses down on your stomach to feel how deep he is inside of you

• Gives you neck kisses while he praises you

• #need that

• I think he’d end up being more serious than silly

• Although he would occasionally chuckle at your whimpers and moans, I don’t feel like he’d actually crack a few jokes

Daisuke

• Ten thousand percent blushes at the slightest contact. Even from your hand accidentally rubbing against his he becomes a flustered mess

• Adores PDA, he doesn’t care

• But of course if you don’t, that’s fine

• Just hold his pinky finger and give him a kiss on the cheek from time to time and he’s good to go

• 100% does puppy eyes whenever he wants a kiss

• You guys could just be laying on the lounge area’s couch and he would give you those eyes. Obviously you gave him what he wanted because who wouldn’t

• When you cuddle, I don’t really see him having a favorite position. He could be the big spoon or the little spoon, he’s happy with both

• When he’s the little spoon, he’d have his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. His head would be smushed into your chest, snuggling close

• When he’s the big spoon, he’d almost always have an arm wrapped around your shoulders while being in a starfish position

• Not to mention the snoring. He snores so loud you can’t prove me otherwise. He would sleep with his mouth open, which makes it even worse

• At first, it was tricky getting used to his snoring. But after a month or two of sleeping together, you couldn’t sleep without it

• Definitely not the one to wake up first. Most of the time, you have to drag him out of the bed to get him up and get ready for the day, leading to him whining and groaning

• Physical touch has this man in a chokehold

• Whenever the two of you actually have to work, he’d be so sad to leave you alone

• But after you two finally met up after, he would blabber about what he did, who he talked to, etc. and you would listen to every detail

• 100% the one to say “gyatt” whenever you pass by him. Even if you have a flat ass he still says it

• If you ended up dying before him, this guy would actually become depressed

• We all know he started getting drunk due to the mouthwash, but that is nowhere near how much he drank when you passed away

• If he ended up dying before you, he would promise you a thousand times while he’s bleeding out that he’d wait for you

• But back to fluff

• Whenever you have a bad day, this guy is definitely not leaving you alone

• He’d cuddle you until you literally explode

• If you were to ever kiss him anywhere on his face, he’d be a blushing mess no matter how light it is

• He genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing and just wings it with you, knowing you’d love him no matter what

NSFW

• He’s definitely a whiner

• You’d have to shut him up by either making out or keeping a hand on his mouth to muffle him

• Soft sex soft sex soft sex

• There’s no way he can take it seriously when you two are in bed. Of course he would try if you were into that, but he’d end up giggling at the end of each sentence

• 100% has a praise kink

• Please tell this man how good he’s doing at keeping you satisfied. He’d be way too embarrassed to do anything more with you if you don’t

Anya

• My poor baby

• She isn’t the best at expressing her love for you, but it’s obvious she loves you so much

• Not very big on PDA, but you do sometimes get a hug or a light peck on the cheek whenever you walk into a room she’s already in

• Will rant to you about how dumb it is that Daisuke won the game in Sorry!. She could honestly go on for hours on end

• You have to calm her down and tell her that it’ll be okay. Never tell her “it’s just a game” because then she’ll get even more upset

• When she found out she was pregnant, she felt terrible. Not just for herself but for you

• What would you think? Assume she’s cheating on you with her assaulter?

• You two were in bed when she finally broke the news to you about Jimmy and the baby. And oh my god you actually almost fought that man

• She had to hold you back from getting up from your spot. After that night, you shot daggers at that man every time you passed him. You didn’t speak to him once, no matter the situation

• You held her in your arms that night, whispering praises into her ear before she finally fell asleep

• Speaking of sleep, she adores being the little spoon while cuddling with you

• Her face smushed into your chest? Your arms wrapped around her, fingers twisting around her hair? It sounded like heaven

• I feel like Anya would be the one to wake up first

• She won’t leave you alone until you did, so it doesn’t take long for you both to be up and ready

• She would mutter petnames against your neck, pleading with you to wake up from your slumber

• 100% makes your favorite drink in the morning and makes it perfect every. single. time

• If you can’t cook, she’ll teach you

• She’s a wonderful teacher and chef. She explains everything to you correctly and soon you actually catch on

• You bake cookies by yourself (under her supervision) and if you burn them, she still praises you like you did everything right

• Whenever you get hurt, even if it’s just a scratch that’s barely bleeding, she cares for you as if you’ve broken a bone

• Both of you are each other’s protectors. She watches out for you, and you watch out for her

NSFW

• She wouldn’t be very talkative, but she would occasionally speak if you ever asked

• Ex: “Use your words, baby.” “Y/N-.. Please..”

• I feel like she’d shed a few tears whenever she becomes overstimulated, or if it’s your first time together

• Let her go as slow as she wants. She’ll eventually become comfortable enough with you, but it’ll take a few attempts

• I’m literally begging you, don’t slam your fingers, dildo/strap, or dick into her. She won’t talk to you for ages

• Don’t do anything harsh while having intercourse. I feel like she’d rather you be soft with her

• She’d be a mix of silly and serious. Drop a few occasional jokes to get her to laugh. But only do that when you two are actually moving at a good pace

• At first, I think she would be serious. If not nervous. But when you guys are finally adjusting to each other, it’s always nice to see her giggle

__________

authors note

I sincerely apologize if anyone was hoping for swansea.. I just couldn’t think of anything for him. Still wanna kiss that grumpy old man though!!

but nonetheless, I hope you all liked this<3

[temis-de-leon]

Pick me boys and MC - Part 1

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon and Levi (x gn!reader, separately)

Pick me girl variant

Main Masterlist

CW: pick me boy behaviour, but Mammon's part has a literal stalker lmao (I got carried away). Jealousy, possesiveness, mentions of marriage, a bit of violence. Mostly fluff, but also cringe

@gayideatraschan not what you offered initially, but you did inspired this <3

.

Lucifer

Look handsome and don’t drift away.

Those were the only two requests you had asked from him when you turned the last corner of the hallway and the banquet hall’s doors appeared right before your eyes. There was a high school reunion waiting on the other side and, although you’d never admit how nervous you were out loud, he could still hear the violent pounding of your heart and the shakiness in your breath.

Thankfully, one of the requests was always accomplished without being asked to. Sadly, you were the one who drifted away from his grasp as soon as those rusty metal doors closed after you; one moment he was holding your hand and the next someone was calling your name and making you say hi to everyone willing to recognise you.

It’s not like he’d ever blame you, obviously; especially when you had spent that last week stressing over what to wear, who would be at the party and what to say to them in order to satisfy their curiosity while literally hiding your demons and still giving yourself some credit for your merits. In the end, all you’d decided to tell was that you had been studying Human Relations at a private academy and were now an apprentice under the tutelage of a prestigious scholar. Of course, it was all too vague, but the truth was far too complicated to explain and your audience seemed satisfied with your answers.

But it was now your turn to listen to your former friends, and even some acquaintances, which Lucifer perfectly understood, still, damned it if he wanted at least to know where you were!

The melody of your laugh and your voice teased him, floating in the air and merging with the rest of the noise without giving any clear directions of your exact location. Unfortunately, although superior, your magic was also fused with weaker power sources in the large room; probably green or divination witches, which were incredibly common in modern times.

A long half-hour passed before he finally surrendered and let fate reunite you both again.

You deserved to enjoy your time with your past peers, anyway.

So there he was, mindlessly wandering amongst the crowd with a plastic cup of watered-down wine in his hand. It somehow tasted sour and expired, but there was nothing better at the table and he wouldn’t be the one bringing his own bottle to a gathering where he didn’t know anyone. A couple of strangers had stopped him a few times, sure, but conversations were short and strict; Lucifer never told more than he needed and he never wandered away from what you’d previously agreed upon.

His brother had been your supervisor at the academy and soon you became friends with the whole family, ultimately forming a relationship with him by the end of your first year.

Cute and simple.

Shouldn’t have caused any trouble.

And yet.

And yet.

What he was hearing wasn’t a voice. It was a whine. A pitiful moan. A pathetic show of affection that fell on deaf ears and forced a familiar sadistic smirk out of him.

Behind him, protected by a circle of reluctant listeners, a weasel-looking man hunched over his drink with a pout and a frown. He gestured wildly, shamelessly looking at you with longing and at Lucifer with envy; even when his back was turned, he could tell. Plus, the jealousy and resentment in his words did nothing to keep him discreet.

“I just don’t understand” he was saying, his rant resembling more a childish tantrum than an unwanted opinion. “I mean, they’re so cool and carefree and he looks so boring! They should totally be dating someone else”

“I don’t know, man” answered someone else, clearly trying to keep the peace. “They seem pretty happy to m-…”

“That’s what he wants you to think!” the weasel interrupted them. The others’ chuckles and sighs only seemed to add fuel to the fire. “Yeah, sure, MC’s entitled to date whoever they think it’s best, but he doesn’t love them! It’s obvious! Look, they’re miserable”

Something in the sour speech, Lucifer wasn’t sure of exactly what, irked him the wrong way. He could feel the familiar tingling in his back and his head, hidden limbs begging to be released along with his magic in a demonstration of power, but he liked to think he had always been good at staying calm until the time was due.

And also, it was your moment.

Thankfully, by some sort of miracle, the crowd slowly parted before him and started to form small groups. You were in one of them, talking lively to a pregnant woman. He could see a blush in your cheeks from where he was, the nervous jerk in your movements when the other human pointed at your hand obvious to his trained eyes.

Of course, the Ring of Light.

His chest puffed slightly when you spread your fingers and let the lady gasp in delight. Made out of gold and a small diamond, it probably looked like a wedding or an engagement ring for anyone who didn’t know what it truly was.

“Yeah, dude, they’re crying and everything”

The small group behind him laughed, finally giving him a reason to turn around.

Lucifer was surprised to see the weasel man so quiet, actually expecting him to stomp his feet if his reddened face and bulging eyes were any indication, but quickly pushed down his expectations when he saw him walking in your direction. For what, he wasn’t sure. To be your knight in shining armour? As if you needed one to begin with.

His movements were quick and elegant as he hurried towards the human to stop his heroic stride, but there was nothing graceful in his grasp when he closed his hand over the weasel’s shoulder.

He winced at the pain but kept looking at Lucifer’s dark eyes with fragile self-assurance.

Lucifer snickered, amused.

Cute.

“You don’t deserve MC” he said with a deeper pout, as if Lucifer towering over him and making him bend with the force of his hand was just a slight inconvenience.

He had to give him points for trying, that he had to admit, but his patience was wavering and he really didn’t want to make a scene.

“They don’t deserve you” he finally said, spitting the last word with distaste. Then, he cleaned his hand on the other man’s inappropriate graphic t-shirt and turned around to walk straight towards you.

His smile was calculated, innocence and charm pouring out of him while he shook your friend’s hand, but he knew you knew better.

Good luck getting away from him now.

Mammon

Your stare was fierce, murderous even, but it was difficult not to act bitter when he had been promised a date downtown only to be betrayed by his own partner and the worst older brother in existence.

Falling from the heavens? A mere warning.

Forced to work on club activities for extra credit? Actual divine punishment.

Sure, maybe he had skipped class too many times and perhaps his grades were plummeting at an embarrassing speed, but what else could he do when, even after all those years, Levi was still so careless about his figurines’ safety and a new pawn shop had opened right next to the House of Lamentation? He hadn’t seen so many coins and bills in his hands ever since he sold Asmo’s bath towels to his fans during Valentine’s Day! And that was for sure something else…

Honestly, why couldn’t anyone see that the true one at fault was the owner of the establishment? Mammon was, sadly and simply, a victim of circumstances.

And you? You were a damn traitor. It didn’t matter that you were wearing that cute outfit he bought for you on your birthday or that your jewellery matched his; at the end of the day, your words were empty and he should’ve known as soon as you kissed him good morning earlier.

It was so obvious! Why else would you be awake so early on a Saturday morning?

And why was RAD open on a Saturday to begin with??

He sighed again, louder that time, and made sure to avoid your eyes when you turned to glare at him with an even deeper frown. Before he could think about it though, you apologised to the sad-looking incubus goggling at you and marched straight in Mammon’s direction.

His body tensed and he felt himself shrink, but he made an effort to keep ignoring you as you sat on your heels and grabbed both of his knees to create more space.

“Baby” you cooed sweetly.

He knew better than to trust the welcoming tone.

“Ya better be here to apologise, MC”

He closed his eyes showing an indignant expression, even turning his back on you and crossing his arms over his chest to really drive the point home. Hopefully, you’ll feel guilty enough to regret your actions, kiss him a couple of times and take him out of school for the promised date.

Luck was not on his side that day.

“You wish”

“Oh, c’mon!”

Mammon’s interruption came out as a whine as he let himself sink deeper into the couch before, not even a second later, sitting up straight to point an accusatory finger at you. Your gaze seemed innocent, but he knew you enough to accurately guess how much you were enjoying his suffering.

“We were supposed to be out there shoppin’, not here watchin’ pictures of… yourself!”

“Why, I thought you liked watching my pictures”

You spoke in a low voice, yet he still understood you. Warmth quickly rushed to his face and his hands didn’t waste a moment in covering your mouth, but he could feel your smile under his skin.

“Doncha say those things in the open like that, idiot! Besides, ya know the pictures I like are in my room… These are just super creepy!”

Behind you, the incubus you had been previously talking to was listening with little to no discretion, standing in the middle of the room and talking to no one despite the endless activity surrounding you. His body was slightly turned in your direction, but his eyes were stuck to the floor.

Mammon squirmed in his seat at the shameless eavesdropping. A wave of irritation spread through his body and an uncomfortable weight sat in the pit of his stomach.

“They are… weird” you admitted, getting up only to sit on his leg. Had you been the only ones in the study room he would’ve melted instantly, but there were too many demons around and one of them was seriously getting on his nerves. As if sensing his discomfort, you cradled his face to force eye contact, clearly annoyed at his attitude but also slightly regretful. “But this is my fan club, Mammon. What did you expect they had on the walls? Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not more excited; you know, since you’re so… obsessed with me and everything”

“I am… What-! Obsessed??”

“You’re in love with me, Mammon”

Thankfully, you were merciful enough to sing your teasing in the lowest tone possible, right next to his ear so no one else could hear. Still, he covered up your mouth again like you were shouting profanities.

Laughing cheerfully at his bashfulness, you gave him a quick peck on the cheek and got up.

“We’re almost done here. Act like you’re doing something and then I’ll take you to Majolish and the cinema or wherever else you like. My treat!”

He perked up at your words, immediately jumping away from the couch before walking towards one of the tables. Your giggles followed him with each movement, but he was too stoked to mind.

Finally! Finally, you were getting out of there!

However, he couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed at the situation.

Lucifer, no doubt showing the loving and caring personality that gave him his infamous reputation, knew what he was doing when he made Mammon reach his required semester credits by going to your fan club.

Since it was relatively new, most of their activities revolved around investigating you; your habits, your hobbies, what you liked and disliked, food, school subjects, clothes…  They had newspaper cuts with your interviews, fliers and tickets for events that involved you and, of course, pictures. Taken from your Devilgram account, from the newspaper, from the brothers’ Devilgram accounts and your friends’, but also from real life. Pictures taken behind your back in the Cafeteria and even in class.

It was creepy. It irked him and sent a shiver up his spine.

Compared to the pictures in his walls, taken with that plastic junk you’d bought on the human internet for less than the average minimal wage, the images scattered around the surface of the table in front of him looked like a stalker’s love letter. While Mammon got to wake up every day to your immortalized smile and the priceless memories you’ve made together, the lead photographer in your fan club was clearly hidden behind bushes on at least half of his creations; there were leaf-shaped shadows on the corners of the photos and some of the angles were off, coming from the ground and making a certain part of your body stand out more than the rest.

And look, he knew what his brothers would say- What anyone would say if he complained about this weirdo, but this went way beyond what he felt for you as his partner. The newspaper and the Devilgram stalking, he could understand from a bunch of losers, but the rest? Following you on your way home? Eavesdropping private conversations?

He turned around, searching for the incubus that was becoming too comfortable for his own good, and found him standing right behind you while you talked to some of the other members.

Too close, head tilted down, shamelessly staring where no one but Mammon was supposed to look.

He didn’t realise he was walking until he got there.

Something hot and electric rushed through his body, making the ends of his hair stand out. He felt like an animal ready to pounce, like one of his crows defending their territory, chest puffed out and feathers ruffled.

But it wasn’t the moment, nor the place.

The only reason he was there was because he’d borrowed some toys from Levi, and Lucifer was a miserable demon who couldn’t see anyone around him being happy without convulsing. If Mammon dared to show any sign of ill behaviour while on this… glorified detention, there was no way he’d get out of the staircase and the familiar burn of the rope around his body for a long while.

And he wanted you to have a good time with him, dammit. A date where the both of you could go around town spending some money and, hopefully, kiss a little at the very end.

But he wouldn’t have any of it if he beat some nobody to a bloody pulp.

Ugh.

What a hassle.

“Hey”

A faint touch in his middle section caught his attention. Your hand, dancing over the skin of his clothed hip-bone, brought a teasing chill with its touch. Mammon looked at you with a raised brow. Despite the way you hugged his waist to bring him closer to your embrace, which was nothing short of caring, your eyes were narrowed and filled with suspicion.

“We’ll leave in a minute, okay?” you murmured under your breath, just for him to hear.

However, the weirdo seemed too interested in what you wanted to say. His silhouette moved in the corner of Mammon’s eyes, leaning forward in an effort to capture the meaning of your words, and ultimately managing to trip over his own foot and fall over your back. Unsurprisingly, and as sweet and understanding as always, you just smiled politely and watched as he blushed and stammered some half-assed apologies. The rest of the group only giggled at his clumsiness.

Mammon seethed.

He took a deep breath and stepped away from your side, raising both hands above his head and stretching as much as his body allowed him to. His bones cracked and the hem of his shirt rose up, bringing your eyes to the exposed skin in his tummy.

“All this hard work got you tired?” you chuckled, playfully bumping your hip with his.

He fought the urge to squeeze it, and instead let his arms fall to clasp the incubus nape. The slap echoed across the room, and the noise lowered down almost immediately. His fingers curled around sweaty skin.

“Oh, I’m exhausted, MC” he teased back, sharp nails sinking and making the incubus squirm.

Like clockwork, your gaze changed into one of concern and focused in the weirdo’s direction. You opened your mouth, clearly wanting to ask what was going on, but nothing came out, and Mammon took the opportunity to side hug the demon beside him and forcefully drag him to the doorway.

“Wh-…” he muttered, frantically looking around as Mammon pushed him to the hallway. “Where are we going?”

“Mammon…!”

“I’m taking interest in the club” he shrugged, sporting an unusual innocent voice.

“Mammon” you repeated, sterner that time.

In any other occasion, your crossed arms and your flaring nostrils would’ve had an effect on him, but that day was different.

That day, he had been lied to and bamboozled, forced to stay in a classroom full of needy puppies when he could’ve spent a perfect Saturday dragging you by the hand from one store to another. He was dressed up, looking more handsome than ever, and you looked like a dream, yet the one under his arm was the creepy photographer from your fan club and not you.

No. Today your ire was not enough.

Hiding a smirk behind slender fingers, Mammon winked at you and finally stepped away before closing the door. He knew he’d pay for it in the long run, but he tended to enjoy punishment as long as it came from you.

People called him a masochist for a reason, right?

“What are we doing here?”

Mammon turned, his face expressionless, and stared at the incubus in complete silence. Although the incubus was trying to sound nonchalant and casual, the tremor in his voice was painfully evident and he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. Noticing how interested the Avatar of Greed himself seemed in them, he eventually put them in the pockets of his uniform.

Big mistake.

No way to get rid of Mammon if his hands were tucked away.

So, without losing his stone-cold composure, and faster than the incubus would’ve ever processed, he grabbed his throat and pushed. Pushed, pushed and pushed until all he could feel was muscle, tendons, bones and the cold stone behind them both. It was a miracle that the lower demon didn’t choke when he tried to gulp down his nerves.

It was gratifying, in a sense, feeling the panic coming out of his pores as he pathetically tried to scatter away, kicking his legs and scratching Mammon’s arms.

“You think you’re so smart, doncha?” he murmured, grip seemingly effortless despite lifting the other demon in the air a couple of inches. “Going after my MC, taking pictures and sharing them with the class… Being so good at hiding, you could’ve done so much more, but you stayed there. Why?”

He stayed silent for a couple of seconds, not really expecting an answer. Although the incubus could open his mouth and let out some sounds, there was nearly no air in his lungs to form a sentence.

Still, giving him the illusion of choice was entertaining.

“Thought you could learn enough to make them fall for you?” he ended up saying in the end, already knowing the answer. That time, however, he didn’t wait for anything to happen. He could feel the embarrassed heat from his cheeks. “Just how pathetic are ya, huh?”

He retreated.

The thud of the body falling to the ground wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped it’d be, but seeing the incubus grimacing in pain and blushing with shame did bring some amusement. His teary eyes were the cherry on top.

“You act like a child” he sobbed, glaring at Mammon with defiance despite the pathetic state he was in. “I was studying them, so what? I understand them now. I’d treat them better; make them feel better. Someone like them has to be with someone that gets them. And there’s no one like me…”

His coughs interrupted his little monologue.

Mammon crouched as the other demon cleaned his mouth with a sleeve and fanned himself with a hand, still hot and flustered from almost being suffocated to death.

A part of him, the one with poisoned spines and sharp fangs, wanted to finish the job and come back to you after everything was done. The other part, soft and pliant, yearned for a long deserved date with no hard feelings and no fighting between you.

Still silent, but now smiling, Mammon gently grabbed the demon’s chin and slightly lifted to bring it forward.

“What are you doing?” he asked, horror rooted deep in his voice.

Mammon pursed his lips and tilted his head, teasingly, but there was no humour in his tone when he talked.

“Making sure I don’t forget who you are”

Leviathan

Until he met you, Levi thought there was nothing in the three realms that could compare to the beautiful complexity of what the 2D media offered, less alone be better. The fluid motions in animation, the range of emotions displayed with the simple stroke of a pen, voice actors reaching their limits in an effort to show what the character was feeling… And that was only the technical part. If he started talking about the possible plots, the character developments or the values and lessons thought through anime and manga, then he wouldn’t go to bed for days and he would talk himself to death.

Everything outside of his room was just so… fake. Playing pretend all of the time and rejecting individuality for the sake of fitting in. The same thing everywhere, over and over and over again, predictable and devoid of meaning. Why would anyone settle for that?

However, even someone as strict as him could accept when some specific things were occasionally similarly enjoyable to his lifestyle.

For example, ever since he became your friend, and eventually your boyfriend (thank Lord Diavolo this is inner dialogue, because he would’ve never been able to say that out loud), Levi came to discover that said beautiful complexity was even more beautiful when you were there experiencing it with him.

Daily marathons and gaming sessions became common in your couple activities repertoire. You also exchanged books on the occasion to share opinions, but there was something about sitting in the same room without constantly interacting that made your relationship feel intimate and cared for. He wasn’t talking to you, but you were still absentmindedly playing with his hand while absorbing what you were seeing on the screen; and you were talking to yourself as you brutally decimated the final boss in his newest RPG, but his tail was comfortably wrapped around your leg.

Not needing to repeatedly reassure the existence of your relationship was far more comforting than he could ever put into words.

Today was just further evidence to prove his point.

Hours had passed since dinner ended, yet you both were still awake, eyes glued to different screens in his gaming setup as your characters separately covered the terrain, slayed enemies and healed the rest of the team. He’d chivalrously given you the chair, opting himself for the bean bag, and although his back was killing him and he’d had a sore neck in the morning, there was no way he would let you be so uncomfortable in his presence. Sure, you’d offered to sit on his lap while he sat on the chair, but of course he’d rejected it!! That was too much!!

Anyways…

Back to game.

Normally, you liked to keep your sessions private, especially when you played choice-based games, but this time was different. This time was your first with his online friends: kind strangers he’d met over the years who understood him better than anyone in his own family. Some were other, lower demons, and some were humans who had no idea of who or what he was, yet treated him with the same comradery as an old childhood friend would.

The idea of you meeting them and potentially befriending them as well made him giddy. So giddy, in fact, that he had long gone abandoned his screen to focus on yours.

And you were incredible at it, blending perfectly with his group and working like greased machinery even on survival mode. You knew how to use your character and which were your favourite weapons, annihilating every monster that came in contact with merciless brutality and the tiniest of teasing miles.

He felt like his heart was about to burst from excitement.

And his friends thought so well of you too!

@/mym0mm4demedothis: Make sure to shoot him again MC, I think he still can breathe lmao

@/pigeonsRDgvmnt: Damn, I didn’t even have to grab the controller for this 0-0

@/omegakitten4display: Can you suffocate me?

That last one unnerved him a little bit, but he was well aware of this particular user’s sense of humour; nothing worth worrying or being jealous of. Besides, you’d made sure to kiss him on the cheek extra loud right next to his microphone for everyone to hear and tease him about, so he really didn’t have any reasons to complain.

Except… Well…

Did he, though?

You weren’t especially annoyed about It, but he could see it was slowly getting on your nerves, judging by the way you occasionally rolled your eyes and clicked your tongue. Still, playing hero for you when you were ignoring the problem so gracefully didn’t sit right with him, so Levi stayed silent and let his head rest on your shoulder while he watched you play.

@/grinninManIac: try support next time, mc, itll be easier :)

@/mym0mm4demedothis: Boy, shut up and improve your aim

@/grinninManIac: just offering advice

This wasn’t one of his friends, but rather a friend of a friend of a friend who didn’t have anyone to play with that night. He’d sent countless messages to the groupchat asking for their friendship codes, and at one point you’d felt so much pity for him that your human nature had flourished and your compassion made you immediately offer your code first, pushing the others to do the same.

Levi was sure you were regretting that now, though.

But what did he expect? If you were nice and good to even the scummiest of scum on earth, Mammon, then everyone else was prone to be treated just as sympathetically.

@/TheOvineGOAT: thanks, but I’m good with my main

The response was instant.

@/grinninManIac: r u sure? i can teach you how to use the others

@/TheOvineGOAT: Lev can do that just fine

@/grinninManIac: u can depend on other people, u know ;)

You paused, staring blankly at the screen before quietly turning off your mic and forcing out a gag. Levi was so offended on your behalf that he couldn’t even laugh at your exaggerated disgust.

He opened his mouth, ready to shoot back and defend your superior abilities in the game, but you eagerly took your index finger and shushed him with it. The warmth of your skin and the intimacy of the contact dragged a tiny whimper out of him.

Thankfully, though, the microphone didn’t capture it.

@/mym0mm4demedothis: Teach them?? Do you even know how to play??

@/grinninManIac: i’ll have you know that ive been playin for more than a year, every day, the whole day :)

@/grinninManIac: you could call me an expert haha ;))

@/pigeonsRDgvmnt: How about you put that controller down…  -_-‘

@/omegakitten4display: Suffocate

@/TheOvineGOAT: No need :3

Levi shook his head in disbelief and slight embarrassment. He had been so focused on the conversation that he hadn’t seen what you were doing on the screen: sneaking under the enemies’ radar, stealth mission style, and placing yourself behind the newcomer in his friend group.

Your friend group.

Silently, with a smile so wide it could brighten his days forever, you powered up your ulti and blasted your teammate without mercy, loot falling to the ground and a small penalization for enemy fire appearing in the corner.

A couple of seconds passed in silence where no one in the call talked.

Then, and rather uncontrollably, everyone started laughing. Loud and shamelessly, like a pack of hyenas. No one noticed the new guy leaving the call under all the noise.

@/grinninManIac: u didn’t have to b such a bitch about it >:(

Surprisingly, you just rolled your eyes at the written message before blocking the user. If the crass word bothered you, it didn’t show on your face, and Levi couldn’t do more than stare in awe and blush uncontrollably as you focused on the game again and got ready to forget the whole incident.

His friends continued laughing for a while, applauding your lack of hesitation, and it didn’t take too much before they started teasing him for his sudden silence.

But what could he say?

You leave him speechless.

.

.

Taglist: @simpdeaether @sleepy-gamer-mom @deadflycomputerlogs @mysstical-siren @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @hello-gloomy @the-sassiest-toaster @hero-nii-blog @yourlocalyin @elaemae @eliciria @darkflowerav @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom @mia4gotcookiez

[blythedolly]

let me hear you.

—♡ you’re a famous popstar and leon kennedy is your beloved bodyguard. between the public eye and having to keep your relationship private for your safety, leons professionalism is once again tested.

—♡ warnings: bodyguard!leon, jealous/possessive, men being gross, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected p in v, choking, size difference, pet names.

leon never used to be the possessive type until you landed in his grasp. even though he knew nobody could ever steal you from him, it was a quiet fear of his. the thing is, to the public eye, leon was nothing but your bodyguard. your protector. although, most people were afraid of him based on his physique. standing at 6ft tall with arm muscles the size of the average human head tends to scare off weak insecure men, he would constantly have to witness these men lusting over you. his girl, and it made him seethe. It was hard to continually remind himself that this was part of his job, and you were a famous popstar. obviously, you're going to get a lot of attention, and he was ashamed to admit that it still bothered him. 

like today. he overheard two men talking about you, he didn't recognize them. which was quite rare, considering most of the time these award show afterparties were full of other extremely popular musicians. but no matter who was in that room, and how famous they were, you always stole their attention and lustful gazes. 

“just look at her, god. the things i’d love to do to her…” the man says to his friend, shaking his head in what appeared to be disbelief as he watched you speak to one of your friends. 

“i know, did you see her new music video? leaves very little to the imagination for sure” the other man chuckled. before the two could say anything else, you finally spotted leon standing behind the two and a delicate smile graced your face. the boys then turned around, finally noticing leon standing there. they went pale in the face as you approached. knowing that he’d definitely heard every word they said based off the angry look leon was giving them. he could truly be terrifying when he wanted to. you’d seen that side of him many times, but never aimed at you of course. leon was a powerful man, able to get rid of them with a simple snap of his finger. you stood next to him, not realizing his displeased expression until you’d tilted your neck up to look into his eyes. he was still staring at them.

“leon, is everything ok?” you asked, tone worried as you followed his gaze and set your eyes on the two men you hadn’t even noticed before. he didn’t respond, his large hand wrapped around your arm as he led you away from the area. not questioning a single thing as it was crystal clear something was bothering him a significant amount. once the two of you had made it back to your hotel room, you turned to look at him as he closed the door.

“are you mad because they were looking at me? because you know i’d never even think to-” you began to explain.

“i know you wouldn’t.” leon interrupted, and your gaze softened.

“then what’s wrong?” you ask once again, approaching him slowly, looking into his eyes. he eventually met your eyes after a moment. “what were they saying?”

“nothing that you need to worry about, doll.” he reassured, resting his forehead against yours. never would you have imagined leon could be so soft.

“alright,” you say, a soft smile reappearing on your face. “i’m just gonna freshen up a little, ok?” you add, pressing a kiss to his lips before approaching the bathroom. leon sat down on the couch, hands rubbing his face as he tried to forget about what he’d heard earlier in the night. which was almost impossible, considering he heard those exact voices outside of the door. the familiar anger began to rise once again as he got up from the couch and passed towards the door, opening it quickly and immediately spotting the same smug faces he was mentally murdering moments ago.

they both gulped, eyes wide as they stood in front of the front door a meter from yours. they quickly entered the room to avoid confrontation. leon stood there for a moment, wondering what the fuck they were doing in the room next to yours. before he could do anything else, your voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“was someone at the door?” you ask, he turned his head to face you. looking at you adorned in one of his large shirts. quietly admiring the way your body drowned in it.

“two boys just went into the room next door. I assumed they’d reserved this floor for… other famous people i guess.”

“the ones that you were giving the death stare to earlier?” you ask, a cheeky smile on your face. “baby, they are famous.” you chuckle as you stared at your boyfriend. he shook his head, trying to hide his displeasure to the information he’d just heard.

“well, excuse me for not being up to date with pop culture, i dedicate all of my time to protecting you”

he says, you loved when he’d get sassy like this. their words from earlier kept repeating in his head as he approaches you, placing his large hands on your waist, kissing your lips delicately. “they don’t look like the famous type,” he says as he places his mouth to your neck, the feeling of his lips tickling your skin in the most delicious way. you whined softly. and that’s when he got the idea. the idea that would show those stupid guys who you belong to. who really gets to fuck you.

he smirked against you, lips abusing your skin and his hot tongue trailing over your sensitive spots. his hands found your ass, squeezing your cheeks sadistically which caused a sudden gasp to escape your throat. normally, leon would place his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet when you weren't at home, just in case people were around. the hotel was unreasonably fancy, but the walls still seemed paper thin, but this time he didn’t. you didn’t question it. you never questioned him.

“that’s it, let me hear your pretty sounds,” he says as he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the pristine king-sized bed. 

he dropped you onto the mattress and hovered his frame over yours. his lips found yours once again, and you whined as his tongue slipped between yours. he’s all too familiar with how vocal you can be. even with his hand over your mouth or your head buried into the pillow, he can hear you crystal clear. he knew anyone nearby would be able to hear if he didn’t hush you, and that’s exactly what he wanted. for those stupid little pricks to hear how good he makes you feel. over and over.

his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the soft skin. you whined louder this time. you were so goddamn submissive under his touch, it drove him crazy.

he raised his stolen t-shirt up your body, exposing your torso as he lowered his head. trailing kisses all over your soft skin. you were addicted to the feeling of his stubble against you, he’d barely done anything and you were already a whimpering mess. his head trailed lower and lower. licking the skin above your panty line as he hooks his fingers into the edges of the fabric. effortlessly peeling them down your legs and throwing them off to the side.

he began peppering kisses to your inner thighs, feeling his hot breath against your dripping cunt was driving you wild.

“leon…” you whimpered loudly, legs trembling in suspense of the act that he was about to do. you were expecting him to respond. something like “be patient” or “good girls know how to wait” but he didn’t, he latched his lips onto your clit, causing your back to arch off the bed. your hand flew to your mouth, biting down on the side to muffle your moans. but leon stopped.

“no, baby girl. let me hear you,” you nodded your head, staring down at him between your legs. noticing the glistening shine of your wetness on his chin under the dull lighting of the room.

“good girl,” he said before diving back in. aggressively eating you out as he’s done many times before. your moans were quick to fill the room. your hands flew down to grasp at his blonde hair. you spread your legs wider, giving him as much access to you as possible. to say he was addicted to your sweet essence was an understatement. the way you shivered with every delicate swipe of his tongue against your sensitive crevices. his tongue studying each and every one, torturously slow, with enough force to send you into oblivion.

“l-leon, i’m about to… i can feel it-” you whine breathlessly as your orgasm approaches. hitting you fast before you could continue your stuttered sentence. loud whiny moans filling the room as you rode out your high.

he didn’t halt until your legs began twitching, licking up all of the cum you provided for him in exchange for an orgasm. he climbed back up your body slowly, leaving sloppy kisses up your stomach along the way.

he was proud of himself knowing how good he could make you feel with little to no effort. enamored by the way your body reacted to his touches. he know the boys would’ve heard everything he’d just done, but of course, he wasn’t satisfied just yet. his hand wrapped it’s way back around your throat once his face aligned with yours, his chin damp with your cum.

“all wet,” you said, smiling as your hand raised to his face. tracing along the wet area of his face. “wanna make somethin else wet too,” you added, moving the same hand between your bodies and palming his hardened cock over his pants.

“where did you ever learn to be such a dirty girl?” he grunted, a slight smile on his face as he moved your hand and pinned it beside your head.

“we both know the answer to that,” you bit your lip as his hand tightened around your wrist, looking up at him through squinted eyes. he moved back to remove his shirt, and you bit your lip as he did so. you followed his steps and removed your own. clothes thrown carelessly to the floor.

he unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants and underwear down, not bothering to completely remove the articles of clothing. he was getting impatient. he hovered over you once again, his large hands separating your thighs as far as they could go and lined himself up with your dripping entrance. he wasted no time, thrusting forward and impaling you with his cock with no warning. you screamed, hands flying to grasp his shoulders as he quickly set a brutal pace. your back arched off the mattress, pressing firmly against leons as he pounded into you. legs wrapping tightly around his muscular body.

“oh, f-fuck. leon!” you moaned, the head of the bed clunking against the wall with each of his intense thrusts. he grunts into your ear sadistically, fingers leaving crescent shapes on your thigh as they dig into your skin.

“wanna feel you cumming around me, baby. think you can do that for me?” he asks, you nodded your head. tears dripping down your cheeks as the pleasure because too much for your body to cope with. it didn’t take long for another orgasm to pulse through your body, legs trembling around leons torso as you chant his name. before you could process anything else, he’d flipped you onto your stomach. shoving his cock deep inside you once more as he held your hips to him. despite being extremely sensitive from your previous orgasms, you still craved more of him. your loud moans echoed off the walls as he took you from behind. clenching your walls around him to coax his orgasm out of him. craving the feeling of his cum flooding into you. 

you felt another orgasm approach as his thrusts became sloppy, indicating that he was also moments away from finishing.

“leon!” you moan, clutching the bedsheets below as the two of you came together. leon eventually stopped once your highs had subsided. he tiredly flipped you onto your back once more, tracing his rough fingers along your damp cheek.

“mm… leon… y’think anyone heard us?” you ask, voice breathy as your tired body rests comfortably beneath him.

“hard for em not to,” he replies, tracing his finger along your bottom lip before placing a soft kiss there.

and it was safe to say they’d definitely heard based on the looks they were giving the two of you the following morning. leon smirked proudly, hand resting on your waist as the two of you walked past them. and even if they'd somehow not heard leon fucking your brains out, your obvious limp would easily give it away.

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Text

(Dean Winchester x female reader)

Summary You’re back in the bunker, and Dean’s in a bar in Missouri. Thank God for modern technology. CWs Sexting. Dean being a good boyfriend. Phone sex. Sneaking around. 18+. 1.3k words.

Dean Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

Dean drags his phone out of his back pocket and opens the message from you without even thinking twice about it. His phone is set to downloading pictures automatically, which he later on thinks he might have to change, because the picture that greets him is of your tits and your hand between your legs.

He immediately locks the screen and pushes his hand with the phone in it under the table, taking a careful look around if anyone saw. Sam’s deep in conversation with Jody, Donna and Doug, so Dean grabs his beer with his free hand, takes a sip, tries to act very casual.

His phone vibrates in his hand, and although he knows he shouldn’t, knows that the conversation could turn back to him any second, that anyone could walk past him and look at his screen, he opens the message.

Thinking of you…

Dean needs to clear his throat, takes another sip. Another message.

Wish you were here to do that thing with the thing.

Well, right about now, Dean wishes he was too. He scrolls up a little, takes a quick peak at the picture you sent. Nipples hard, chest flushed. Goddamn, you look just about good enough to eat.

Still. He’s in the middle of a bar, game on in the back, about half of Missouri traipsing around him, his brother and closest friends (and Doug) right next to him. The only reason you stayed behind is because you got banged up pretty good on the last case, and since this looked like a simple salt and burn, Dean put you on bedrest.

He’s really regretting that right about now. If you were here and in this kind of mood, he’d be dragging you back to the motel like a caveman. But you’re not, so he starts typing.

At the bar with the guys. Call you later? Love you, get some re

Another photo comes in. It’s a close-up, your middle and ring finger pressed into your mouth, tongue curling up, lips pink and wet. Dean deletes what he wrote, writes something new.

Hot

Thinking of me?

He looks at the sent words. They don’t look very sexy, but maybe it’s just cause it’s weird to see them typed out. He would say them to you usually, of course. Well, not those exact words, but—

Need your beautiful cock inside me.

O-kay. You’re way better at this than him. That beautiful cock you’re texting about heard the wake-up call, is figuratively rubbing sleep from its eyes. Again, surrounded by most of Missouri. Well, he can’t half-ass this now.

Wish I could be inside you, baby girl. Feel how wet you are.

Yeah, that’s better, Dean thinks. He’s almost proud of himself, takes another sip of beer.

“What do you think, Dean?” he hears and his head shoots up. It’s Jody, turned all the way towards him, and he has no idea what she’s talking about. He clears his throat again.

“Uh, uhm,” he says, eloquently. Well, the best lies contain half the truth, so he motions to his phone. “Sorry, wasn’t listening, just checking in with the homebase.”

“Aw,” Donna says, laying her head to the side. “Give her our best. How is she?” Dean looks at his screen.

Want you here with me, fucking me so hard and deep I can feel you in my throat.

“Good, all good,” Dean stutters, reassuring smile forced onto his lips. “Real good.” He feels his phone vibrate again, but he doesn’t dare look down. And then Doug has a great idea.

“Hey, why don’t we send a nice picture?” he pipes up. Everyone else at the table thinks it’s a great idea too.

“Sure,” Dean says, quickly switches to the camera. He turns, stretches his arm out. Everyone leans in, smiling. Snap. Done. Merriment around the table and Dean can turn back to your messages, pretend he’s sending the picture.

Want to take all of you, baby, feel you open me up.

He quickly starts typing.

Wish I could taste you right now. Taste your delicious pussy. Eat you until you’re screaming my name.

Well, how about that, he is good at this, which of course, he isn’t surprised at, not really.

Oh God, Dean, I need you

Dean reads the text proudly. He loosens up his elbows, puts both hands on the phone. Game mode. You’re gonna get what you’re asking for, cause Dean is a giver through and through.

Use your fingers, imagine they’re mine. Think you can take three?

Dean grins. If they’re yours, you probably can, with how sweet and dainty they are. Immediately he’s rewarded with the mental image of three of his fingers pressed into you, making you full while you’re moaning his name over and over. Oh, he needs to be careful. He is getting himself to a place of no return quickly. So he decides to concentrate on what he’s writing.

Wanna make you come until you can’t move and then fuck you

Make you come one more time on my cock

Then let you lick what’s left off of me

Jesus, he doesn’t know where that came from, but it’s out there now, and the image of it… it’s making things difficult. Your pretty eyes blinking up at him, heavy lids and swollen lips, while you clean him up with your tongue.

I’ll let you sleep for a bit and then we go again

Over and over

All night baby

Dean suddenly notices you’re not answering anymore. Which means you’re either dead or otherwise busy. He’s still staring down at his screen when he sees Sam get up out of his periphery.

“Another one?” Sam asks, pointing at Dean’s nearly empty beer. Dean nods, and then his phone vibrates and doesn’t stop vibrating. He looks down. You’re calling him.

He stands up, no regard for his situation, mumbles some excuse and moves towards the bathrooms. He picks up at the same time. He nearly trips over his own feet when he hears your voice on the other end.

“Dean…” you moan, and he knows that tone so well. The one that tells him you’re… “I’m about to come.”

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Dean says, hurrying now. He finds the men’s room, pushes in. It’s empty as far as he can see, so he goes to the cubicle in the back, pushes in and locks the door. He presses his fist against the cool material to steady himself.

“Tell me, baby,” he says, now fully concentrated on you.

“I wanna, mmh, wanna hear your voice.”

“I’m right here, okay?” he says, a smile going over his lips. “I hear you, hear how good you sound.”

He hears small gasps from your end, and he closes his eyes, leans his forehead against his fist. Imagines you in your shared bed, covers pushed to the side, your naked body writhing while you make yourself come to his words and voice.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he mumbles. “Wish I could feel you, could see you move, make you feel good. God, I would fucking take you and—“

“Yes,” you say, voice cracking. “Dean, I’m gonna—”

“Let me hear you, beautiful,” Dean says.

The rest is a long moan, breathy and intense and perfect. Dean’s eyelids flutter like a young maid’s at your sounds. He listens to your breathing calm down, content little sighs leaving you. He wonders if you can hear his breathing as well.

“Fuck, I miss you,” he says and it comes from so deep inside him it shocks him a little.

“I miss you, baby,” you reply, still a little breathless. “I love you so much.”

The smile spreading on Dean’s face is broad. “I love you too.”

“Where are you right now?” you ask.

“Restroom,” Dean replies. He hears a small chuckle come from you that he knows is gonna get him in trouble.

“And how’s your… situation?” you ask, voice an act of innocence. Dean looks down at himself. His situation is pretty obvious.

“’bout as hard as a rock,” he replies casually, making you chuckle again.

“Well,” you reply. “Maybe we can do something about that?”

[violetrainbow412-blog]

A Dragon's Dilemma

Aegon II Targaryen x Strong!Velaryon!reader

word count: 6k

warnings: infidelity, incest, some mentions of violence but nothing unbearable!

masterlist

The translation of what is said in High Valyrian is at the end!

It had been years since you or your siblings had last set foot in the castle. Six years, to be exact.

Everything had changed and, at the same time, looked exactly the same. Jacaerys and Lucerys were excited to return to the place where you grew up but you, however, still had your doubts about how good an idea it was. Of course it wasn’t a vacation visit, but a matter of great importance such as arguing for the right that belonged to your brother Lucerys was what had brought the entire family back to King's Landing.

As soon as you arrived the first thing you did was, of course, greet your grandfather whom you found in such a sorry state that you felt like crying. He could barely speak, was completely lying down and his physical appearance wasn’t at all pleasant to look at. But he was still the king and at least you were glad he was alive.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, gave you and your siblings complete freedom to wander around the castle as you pleased after that. You, unfortunately or fortunately, knew exactly where you wanted to go.

A part of you wished that during the welcome (which you didn't get, by the way) you could see your uncle Aegon. Curiosity killed you and above all there was a huge desire within you to know what had happened to him.

The last time you had the chance to talk was that unfortunate night when your (then) younger brother took it upon himself to gouge out your Uncle Aemond's eye. You and Aegon had been victims of the situation because it turned out that you were in his room that night and if it hadn't been for you hearing the commotion the queen probably would have found you passionately canoodling with her eldest son.

You had never planned for it to happen that way and of course you knew it was wrong, but you couldn't help it. The boy was barely a couple of years older than you and unfortunately for you, love doesn’t pay much attention to those it attacks. More than love, you knew there was always a latent desire between you that probably would have been consummated if you had more time.

No one, not even your mother, had found out about it and to a certain extent you were grateful because according to the news that was circulating, Aegon had married Helaena and they had two children from that union. A pang of jealousy and an unjustified feeling of betrayal invaded you when you found out, although you knew that yours with the man was a childish fantasy that turned out to be impossible.

Hoping that Aegon was in the same room since the last time you had been in the Red Keep you made your way through the halls, praying that you wouldn't encounter any relatives who might question you about your intentions. The black dress you were wearing was something simple, but one of your favorites chosen especially for that occasion. Your brown hair had recently been cut so you had only asked your maid to make some braids to adorn your head.

The further you went, the more nervous you were and you even wondered what you would do if Aegon wasn’t in that room, questioning whether you would have the courage to look for him in the rest of the fortress or would you let that idea die for the good of everyone.

You almost fainted when you saw Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena walking along one of the balconies in the distance, but luckily neither of them noticed your presence before you could hide in a nearby nook.

“Your brother is a fool, it seems that he doesn't think, that he doesn't realize all the damage he does to this family…” you managed to hear and you knew, immediately, that you were going in the right direction.

Once you were out of danger you darted out of your hiding place and gathered your skirt in your hands, beginning to run towards the room you were looking for before anyone else showed up or until the queen returned to look for her son.

When you reached the door, out of breath, you took a moment to breathe and felt the beating of your racing heart throughout your chest. Your hair was sticking to your forehead due to the sweat you had released during the effort and while you were taking that moment you asked yourself again if this was a good idea. Determined, you pushed the doors to the room and then entered as cautiously as possible.

Aegon was confused between the white sheets of his mattress, since the curtains prevented much of the light from entering and the place was only illuminated by the warm tones of some candles. He seemed to be curled up in on himself, with his body barely covered to consider himself decent and hugging a pillow on which his face was hidden. Still, you didn't need to see him to know it was him, the completely white hair gave him away.

“Get out of here,” he gasped. From his voice you suspected he was crying and that only confused you more, so you walked over immediately.

Although of course, before that you made sure to lock the door.

“I want to be alone, moth…!” he spoke again, emerging from his hiding place to confront the intruder. However, he was frozen when he discovered that it wasn’t the queen who had entered his chambers.

“Am I coming at a bad time? I can leave if you want.”

“It's you,” he breathed out in surprise, as if he needed to say it out loud to make it real.

You thought there would be a little more conversation for the welcome, but the boy decided that it was more urgent to feel you close and he made it clear when he stretched one of his arms in your direction, offering his hand for you to take. You did not resist, but fulfilled his whim, letting him pull you until you were sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Hello, Aegon,” you said kindly.

As soon as he knew you were close, the man entangled himself in you until he placed his head in the crook of your neck while his arms were responsible for holding you against his naked body. You still didn't see anything indecent, but you could feel the warm skin of his chest.

“You're here,” he continued happily, spreading slow kisses over whatever skin his mouth was within reach.

A smile of satisfaction appeared on your face when you realized that you hadn’t been the only one who had kept that feeling that had blossomed so many years ago well kept.

“I am,” you laughed gently. One of your hands traveled to his head to caress his scalp “I heard you got in trouble.”

“It's all stupid. Don't pay attention to anything you hear” he defended himself. From the smell on his body, as well as the appearance of the room, you suspected that the boy had been drinking before your arrival.

You put your hands between your bodies to push him to which he seemed scared, fearing that you were rejecting him, but his nerves eased when he discovered that you only wanted to be able to observe him.

You noticed that his eyes were swollen from the unshed tears behind which his irises shone.

“Hey, what's wrong, prince?” you asked motherly, raising both thumbs to wipe away his tears. “Is there something bothering you or is it just that in my absence you have softened?”

"When did you arrive?" he asked quietly, completely ignoring your questions.

"In the morning. I was hoping to greet you during the welcome but we didn't have one”

“I didn't even know you were coming. Otherwise I would have gone to the doors myself to receive you as you deserve”

“Would you dare to spoil me in front of my family?”

"Maybe not. But I would have let you take my arm and I would have stolen you to the rooms to do it”

A giggle left your lips at the joke and then you took a moment to observe each other. Aegon couldn't help but notice that your tits had grown and he could see them squeezed by your dress. Your features were still delicate but now they looked more experienced and you had cut your long hair.

You could barely recognize your uncle. His face was hardened, he had gained weight and had become robust, like a real man. You thought that he had changed too much since the last time you saw him and, to be honest, you couldn’t believe that he had become so handsome: while it was true that the marks under his eyes were more pronounced and there were some new scars, he still had the same indigo eyes with hints of purple that you loved to see so much.

"You have changed"

“And you became more beautiful,” he sighed, reaching out to cup your face with one of his hands.

Before you could process it, the boy had already approached you to kiss you, eager to take advantage of the little time you might have but at the same time desperate to feel your lips. They were still soft and inexperienced, almost as if prompting him to corrupt you.

“Aegon…”

“Hmm?”

“You have a wife and children.”

"So what?" he said nonchalantly, only moving on the mattress so he could hold your waist and get you closer to his body.

Kissing him was addictive, so you had a hard time putting two thoughts together coherently enough to push him away and tell him it was wrong. But deep down you didn't want to tell him either; it would be a lie to admit that your intentions when going to his room were only to greet him and chat with him.

His hands walked over your body, as if wanting to remember the shapes already forgotten by time, and you kept holding his face by his wet cheeks.

By doing that he was immediately distracted from whatever had happened and was torturing him, leaving room only for the feeling of satisfaction that came from nibbling and sucking on your lips.

After a few minutes, with one movement he laid you down on the bed and placed himself on top of you, which was enough to bring you back to reality. Just one kiss later, without too much force, but decisively, you placed a hand on his bare chest to push him away from you.

“Aegon,” you repeated sternly.

Whatever you had to say died in your throat as you looked down and noticed that the sheet could no longer protect him, revealing that he was completely naked.

The man looked amused by the situation.

"What? Did the dragon eat your tongue?” he made fun of you. Then he lowered himself just enough so that his lips were at the level of your ear “I can do some things that you might like with mine”

“Aegon, stop it,” you sighed shakily, your cheeks already quite red.

As best you could, you pushed him to the other side and he let you beat him just for the satisfaction of seeing you nervous. You sat back down on the mattress and threw a sheet over his crotch, more out of a matter of maintaining your self-control than out of modesty.

You had your back to him and the boy smiled from his position, wondering how long it would take you two to roll around in bed now that you were an adult and desires had become carnal. He thought that maybe you just wanted him to beg and he felt a bubbling inside, wishing he could persist until you agreed.

However, he was still somewhat hurt by the scene that had unfolded with his mother a few moments earlier and he wondered if you would be able to comfort him as he wished.

Innocently he approached you again and surrounded you from behind, leaving a fleeting kiss somewhere on your neck to test the waters. Seeing that you didn't object, he snuck under your arm and then laid his head on your lap like a cat looking for affection. To avoid temptation, he made sure to pull the sheet tight enough to cover most of his body.

“Where is the rest of your family?”

“My mother and Daemon talking to your mother, probably. I watched my brothers go towards the outer yard and Baela and Rhaena maybe with Rhaenys”

“Aemond was training in the yard so they will meet him. Let's hope this time no one loses an eye”

You giggled at that and Aegon held your hand up to his hair, asking you to pet it. You fulfilled his wish, while he snuggled closer to you.

It was strange that so much had happened and you felt with the same intensity that you had once shared. The problems between your families had never afflicted either of you two, because although both they and you had done questionable things, all that was forgotten as soon as their lips touched yours.

“Have you ever thought about what would have happened if your mother had accepted the engagement that mine proposed?”

"What are you talking about?"

“In having gotten married. You and I"

“You would be very unhappy,” he exclaimed confidently. “You only like me because you don't live with me every day.”

"Maybe you're right. But at least we would have had a lot of fun in the nights”

Aegon laughed and placed a distracted kiss on your arm.

“I guess you're not married yet, right, niece? Otherwise I doubt you would have come looking for me."

“There have been some candidates, but none convincing. Although it’s logical that they are dying to marry the next in the line of succession."

“Smug and mistaken, little princess,” he scoffed and both of you laughed.

You had already had that discussion before, but now you didn't have much heart to repeat it. Aegon claimed that, in case something happened to Rhaenyra, he was the heir and you confronted him by saying that since you were the firstborn, the position belonged to you. However, you knew beforehand that the man's desires were never to reign and that he was only trying to annoy you.

You yourself often wondered if you wanted to rule at some point in history, still afraid of what people might think of a woman on the iron throne. You weren’t blind and you knew that your right to the throne could be questioned not only because of that, but because of the supposed illegitimacy of your birth. You were a Targaryen, your mother's daughter, and that was all that mattered. But still, the thought of having to fulfill a duty of that magnitude completely overwhelmed you.

You were brought out of your musings when you felt the man in your lap stir and stretch enough to give you a deep kiss, which you reciprocated without opposition.

“You should get dressed.”

“Is it bothering you so far?”

“I'm serious,” you laughed, while you gently brushed a couple of hairs from his face “Someone might think badly of us if they find us like this.”

“For someone to think badly you should be naked too. Which I wouldn't object to, of course."

You shook your head, suppressing a smile, and then maneuvered yourself to your feet, pretending that with that Aegon would do what you were asking. However, when you tried to walk away he reached out to grab your hand, reluctant to let you go.

"How long you'll be here?"

"In your bedroom?"

“In King's Landing”

“A couple of days, maybe. I guess until the issue with Drifmark's inheritance is resolved."

“Good,” he whispered, as if assessing the situation. You wanted to free yourself from his grip but he didn't let you “Are you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“From King's Landing?”

“From my room,” he replied seriously, making you smile.

“I'm not leaving yet, Aegon. I'm just turning around so you can get dressed."

“I don’t mind you looking,” he said cheekily, but you had already turned your back on him. You heard movement behind you and assumed he had started to put on some clothes “Don’t you want to look even a little bit?”

“Just hurry up, your grace”

Upon hearing your complaint he laughed and then you felt a loud kiss on your cheek that had every intention of making you turn around, to which you didn’t succumb.

“There will be a dinner or something like that with the whole family.”

“Huh, yeah?”

“Well, that's what I heard. After dinner, can we meet?”

“Won't we have problems?”

“You don't like problems?” he said in a mocking tone.

You felt his hands put on your waist, from behind, and you prayed that when you turned around he wasn't still naked. It wasn't like that, he was only wearing a linen shirt, pants and was barefoot, but at least it was something.

“Not when they grow up in this family. Any family fight becomes a thousand times worse if it involves dragons.”

"I'm sorry for you. Mine are bigger than yours.”

“We're still talking about dragons, right?”

Aegon bit his lip to contain a grin from ear to ear and then he held you close to his body, ready to kiss you again. You just let him do it.

Dinner was a complete disaster.

You were already in your room, furiously packing all your belongings into a trunk, when you heard the sound of the door opening. You looked up from your task believing that by doing so you would meet Rhaenyra or maybe even one of your sisters, however, you were surprised to see a head of silver hair appear that was not theirs.

“You are very bold to come here after that.”

"After what?"

“You and your brother beating mine”

“They started”

“Aemond did it”

Aegon didn't think you were going to get that upset about the dinner incident, after all he still thought it was petty stuff. But the message had been clear and forceful, at least for you: you were considered bastards and, therefore, unworthy of any merit within King's Landing.

“You're exaggerating, it's just that… you know that Aemond gets carried away by his impulses.”

“And you agree with him?” you asked, angry when the white-haired boy tried to reach out to take your hand.

The boy looked at your things and then at you. He had heard your mother saying that the whole family would return to Dragonstone that same night because apparently, after what had happened, you no longer wanted to spend any more time in the Red Keep.

“He's my brother, I had to defend him…”

"I'm not talking about that. Do you think I’m not a Targaryen?” You interrupted him, stopping from the violent pace with which you were putting away your clothes so you could look him in the eyes. “Calling us bastards is already a betrayal, Aegon. Your family has to be very careful with what they say because very soon the one they offend is the one who will be on the iron throne.”

“Do you think they will allow that?” He said, showing the same seriousness that you had shown him. “I am my father's firstborn.”

“And what are you implying?” you took a step forward and he held your gaze. “Do you wish to usurp the throne that by right and by choice of the king belongs to my mother?”

“I don't want it. But many people do it. All my life my mother has told me that yours will kill me if she comes to power, because I am a threat to her reign.”

“My mother wouldn't do such a thing.”

“Not even under your father's advice?”

Daemon wasn't your father, but you understood what he meant. If your head already hurt after the fight, now you could feel it throbbing from your temples to the back of your neck.

“Is this a confession, Aegon? Are you telling me that as soon as Viserys dies you will fight for the throne?”

“My grandfather will do it. And my mother and Aemond and all those lords on the council will do it too. I hear them whispering everywhere. Viserys is about to die and they will fight to name me king.”

“You know you're taking a big risk by coming and telling me that, don't you?”

“I'm not taking the risk because you're not going to tell anyone.”

For a second, you froze. If anyone asked you, you were sure that Aegon would never be able to hurt you, much less kill you, but a lot could have changed in six years. You took a step back to search through your trunk for the sword that your grandmother Rhaenys had given you and he seemed to guess your intentions.

“Don't do something stupid,” he continued, cautiously. “I've come to make you a proposal.”

“The proposals were made a long time ago and your family declined.”

“Not one of that kind. I want you to run away with me.”

An incredulous laugh escaped your lips, thinking about how your uncle could joke at a time like this. You had to warn your mother, beg her to stay in King's Landing until your grandfather died so that no one could usurp what belonged to her.

“Leave my room, please.”

“I'm serious,” he exclaimed sternly. Almost carefully, he approached you and tried to take both of your hands but you refused, afraid that it was a trap. “Without me, no one here could deny your mother's claim. Not even Aemond, because he is not the firstborn male”

“And you seriously plan to run away?”

"I do. I am tired of all this and it is the only alternative that would solve the situation. That's why you have to come with me.”

“How do I know you're not tricking me into abandoning me far away and leaving my mother without her heir? Or worse yet, that you will keep me hostage for the interests of your family.”

“Our family, my niece,” he corrected you. “Do you remember that we are all part of the same family?”

“Your brother seems to forget often. And you too"

It was incredible how that morning you had been so affectionate and now that night had fallen you were arguing so heatedly. But there came a point where the offenses were intolerable, even with the affection you felt for the dragon.

“I have never hurt you. I have harmed everyone in this family physically or morally, but never you and you know it perfectly” he insisted on wanting to hold you and ended up managing to take only one of your hands “I am willing to leave to clear the way for Rhaenyra but I want you to come with me”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then I will stay. And her inheritance will be at risk”

"Are you threatening me?"

“I'm offering you a chance,” he continued. Apparently he wasn't going to give up on it so easily “I've thought about it for a long time now. My father will be lucky if he makes it to next week alive, time is ticking and when you least expect it a war for power will break out. I'm just saving us a couple of steps.”

“Do you really think I will abandon my mother?”

“Under the promise that she won’t have any obstacles on her direct path to the throne? Yes, I thought you were sensible enough to see the enormous advantage that our absence would represent”

You stayed silent for a moment, looking at him seriously and in disbelief at the decision in his words. Was Aegon really convinced to do all that? Was he proposing that you guys run away?

“And what about Helaena? And your children?"

“They will be fine. I'm not a good father, they won't miss me."

“Aegon this is… it is simply foolish. It's crazy."

“And we have to make a decision now. Your family is waiting for you to leave, time is of the essence”

You stayed quiet, your hand still being held by his. So much had happened that day that you felt like you couldn't take it anymore and now he had snuck into your room to tell you all that. You weren't stupid at all, you knew that your grandfather could die that very night and that the man in front of you was having a train of reasonable thoughts for probably the first time in his life.

“And why don't you just leave? You don't want to govern, uncle. We both know it, you just... go away and that's it."

“I don't want to go alone. I need a company and I want it to be you.”

"And why me?"

“Because I know you're the only one who would be willing to do it. For your mother's sake”

“So it's blackmail”

“Not blackmail. It's a fair exchange.”

You didn't realize when you started crying. And Aegon, as a sign of goodwill, came to kiss your cheeks to erase those tears.

“Say yes,” he continued. “I have it all planned. There is a ship to Essos leaving tonight, we will go on it and no one will ever hear from us again. There it doesn't matter if you're royalty or not, no one will recognize us."

“And our dragons?”

“We don't need dragons there.”

“And what are we to live on, Aegon?”

“We will live on anything. I have a trunk full of gold ready to be loaded on that ship, it will serve us for a few months and if we know how to manage it perhaps for a little longer”

It seems he had thought this through quite well and you wondered if you had always been part of the plan or if it was something that had arisen as a result of your visit.

"I can’t do this”

"Of course you can. Don't think about it too much, just... say yes and that's it."

“And how am I going to leave her? What kind of ungrateful will I be?”

“She left my father's side to live with Daemon, her uncle. And that has never bothered your conscience, has it?” he carefully approached you until he kissed you, hoping that maybe that would soften you enough for you to accept “I know you don't want this either. I know you don't want to govern, I can see the fear in your eyes every time the topic comes up because it is the same fear I see in mine."

“You can't know that”

“I'm an idiot most of the time, I'm not going to deny that to you. But I know we will never have an opportunity like this again. Please come with me”

That was a plea. Aegon was imploring you to join him in this madness and he required an immediate response. All kinds of thoughts crossed your mind at that moment and with all of them you needed to take time to decide. But you had also heard the man's words clearly and you didn’t doubt that Otto Hightower's ambition was such as to manage to steal from Rhaenyra what Viserys had given her.

Going with him would be impulsive, stupid, and anything but sensible as Aegon insisted it would be. You would completely break Rhaenyra's heart. You, her only daughter, abandoning her to seek better fortune in Essos.

Decisions, decisions... they were always the most difficult and cruel part for The house or the dragon.

“And how did you plan to escape just today? It’s improbably convenient, don’t you think?”

"I didn’t know. I was ready to flee the day it was necessary, but I think today is the best opportunity. You're here so our parents won't think I'm kidnapping you or something like that."

“They'll think about it anyway.”

“Leave a letter,” he suggested, bringing one of your hands to his lips to kiss the back “Explain to Rhaenyra that you're okay.”

“Aegon, I'm not going with you.”

"Why not?" he insisted, his voice already breaking. He raised both hands to your cheeks to force you to look at him “I'm asking you, please.”

"No…"

“Let's leave here and we will never know anything about royalty again in our lives”

“There will always be someone who questions a woman's authority.”

“But it won't be because of me and you won't be here to see it.”

“I don't want to leave my mother!”

Aegon sighed, completely exasperated, and his eyes unintentionally glazed over as well.

“Listen, if you had asked me at that time, I would have said yes to marrying you. I don't love Helaena, I want you. Come with me and let's leave all this for peace, we simply… we have to start again” with a delicacy that you never thought he was capable of, he leaned in to kiss you. Once, twice, three times…

"I can’t"

"Yes, you can. You don't want to, it's different."

You looked up, still too close to him, and a sob escaped your chest.

“It's just that I... Aegon, don't do this to me.”

“I will treat you like a queen. You will be my queen forever, you just have to come with me.”

You couldn't bear to look at his pleading eyes. You asked yourself: Should you follow your mind or your heart?

The sound of the door opening forced you to jump away and you pushed Aegon behind some curtains, afraid that someone would discover you.

"Mother"

“Are you ready, my girl?” he asked at first. When she noticed your eyes, her brow furrowed “Are you crying?”

“No, no… it's nothing.”

“Ow, love. What's the matter?" carefully she approached you and took your hands in hers. You felt like you were going to break right there “I know you don't want to leave”

“Leave?”

“Back to Dragonstone, of course. I know you like the warm weather of King's Landing better.”

"Oh yeah. That"

You were silent for a moment and then you approached her and hugged her. She wasn’t surprised, as it was common, but she was moved.

“What's wrong with you, huh?”

“Mom, have you ever thought about what would happen if I didn't want to be your heir?”

Rhaenyra froze. All her childhood and adolescence the only thing she had wanted was to be good enough for Viserys and that meant being named the heir to the throne. However, she assumed that you would have the same aspirations and that is why she wanted to demonstrate from the beginning that a first-born daughter had the same value as a first-born son. The mere thought of having hurt you with that decision immediately distressed her.

"What are you talking about?" she was quick to say, pulling you out of your hiding place to look at you.

“I don't know if I'm ready. I'm afraid I won't do it well."

“Oh, it's not about that, honey. You will do excellent, I don't doubt it for a second. I will advise you all the way until the time comes.”

“What if I don't want to do it?” You insisted. Rhaenyra felt her heart hurt a little and tried to hold back her tears. “It's too much pressure, mom. And I don't want you to be angry with me and I don't want you to hate me because I know you've done too much for us..."

“No, I would never be angry with you. Don't even think that, no,” she murmured gently, brushing your hair. “Are you sure you don't want it?”

"I don’t know yet. But I believe yes"

“Okay, okay,” the blonde responded, trying to process the fact that her most beloved daughter didn’t wish to continue the legacy she was forging. But she couldn't do anything, after all “We'll talk about this when we get home, okay? There is still… there is still Dragonstone as an inheritance if you are sure about this. And Jacaerys could take your place. But we have to think very carefully, sweetheart. This shouldn’t be decided right now.”

“You know I would never do anything to harm you, right, mother?”

"I know"

“And I thank you for everything you have given me and done for me.”

“Of course I know, my girl,” she said, smiling at you as gently as possible. “Thank you for telling me, you… you don't disappoint me at all, okay? Don't be afraid” she lovingly leaned down and kissed your forehead, as she had done all her life “Hurry up to leave. We will wait for you in the dragon pit.”

“It's okay, mommy,” you responded, your voice breaking. The woman was about to leave when you spoke again “Avy jorrāelan”

She watched you, from the door, and smiled.

“Issa tolī”

You waited patiently for her to leave, waiting a few extra seconds as a precaution. You then went to where Aegon was only to find him with tears running down his eyes, because while he was listening to the exchange he wondered why Alicent had never treated him that way. The boy thought you were going to throw him out of there and he was surprised when you pulled him by the collar to kiss him.

“If I go with you, you must keep all the promises you just made to me, do you understand?”

“Are you… are you saying you will?”

“Will you keep those promises?” you asked seriously and Aegon nodded frantically. You then shared another passionate kiss.

“Let's go then.”

You took just a couple of personal items to put them in a bag and Aegon suggested you wear a masculine outfit, which you ran to get to his room along with his own belongings.

“How do I know this isn't all a trap?”

“It’s not,” he assured you. He was so eager for you to trust him that he took out the sheath that held your sword and handed it to you “You can kill me if that's the case. But is not"

“I almost forgot it. Thank you"

“Take this,” he added, putting a cloak that was too long on your shoulders. It was probably from Aemond “I know how to get out without being seen, there is a passage.”

Still afraid of what might happen you let him take your hand and you nodded, letting him guide you to said place. You didn't want to imagine Rhaenyra's face when she entered your room to discover your dress placed neatly on the bed, with the jewelry she had given you and a sealed letter on it. You didn't let go of your companion's hand the entire way and once outside you practically ran to the port where the transport that would take you to the other continent was.

Aegon couldn't be happier to have gotten his little princess to accompany him on the crazy plan and he was sure that all things would work out in your favor. Completely devastated, you watched as the vision of King's Landing receded as the ship moved forward, leaving every glimpse of your life you could have.

“We did the right thing,” he assured you, noticing your melancholy and carefully holding your cheeks to kiss you “We will be very happy, I promise.”

You just hoped so. May the seven accompany your path and protect the future queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Viserys died that night. The Dance of the Dragons never happened because of the decision the pair of heirs made in an instant.

Entire years of war, were avoided only by taking a ship to Pentos.

Avy jorrāelan: te amo

Issa tolī: yo también

[brain4stew]

forsaken killers with a deceased so perchance

Anon… Do you like angst?? ☹️💔

But alr then…

(Again, I don’t know the characters exact personalities and so on, so they might, if not most likely will be OOC!!)

‼️ WARNING; ANGST ‼️

HEADCANONS/SOMETHING UNDER THE CUT!! ;

(1x1x1x1)

• Ah yes, the embodiment of hatred… Having yet another thing to fuel his hatred.

• You were a great, respectful and caring s/o. (*COUGH* In his mind, spouse. *COUGH*)

• He loved you, dearly. He still does, even though you aren’t with him anymore.

• He keeps a minion close to him, when he’s back in the killer lobby. The minion in question? Being you.

• He has used necromancy on you, to keep you by him. Even if you’re now just a minion, who attacks survivors…

• In rounds, he’s filled with pure hatred, as he always is. If one of the survivors even remotely looks, or acts like you, he’ll pause for a moment, before mercilessly killing them. Pretty harshly.

• How dare a mere mortal survivor, act and look even remotely close to you?! IN FRONT OF HIM. NO LESS.

• Whenever that happens, he’s showing no mercy, whatsoever to anyone and everyone.

• Back in the killer lobby, he immediately seeks out your minion self. Hesitantly hugging, holding and kissing you.

• He wishes that you didn’t have to go… But, he couldn’t do much about your death, could he…?

(John Doe)

• Ah, John Doe. He knows you don’t have a high life expectancy, however…

• His corruption only worsened when you were gone.

• WHERE DID YOU GO?! PLEASE… You are one of the few people who can calm his corruption down…

• In rounds he’s killing every survivor he can, not caring about them at all.

• He does hesitate when someone acts or looks like you, but he kills them nonetheless, when his corruption spirals.

• Foul vermin survivors.

• In the killer lobby, he immediately goes to his specified room, looking at the picture of you.

• You were so happy, smiling, and holding his corrupted hands, before they became too dangerous to touch…

• Although he doesn’t remember much, and forgets quite a bit, he’ll still always love you. You were the perfect s/o…

(Jason)

• Jason, Jason… A mama’s boy, really…

• His mother took an interest in you first, as you were always kind to him back in ‘51.

• Jason, was always quiet, but trusted his mother’s words about you.

• You both were a picture perfect couple. You didn’t bother to pry into his history, because you loved him, as he is.

• Why I’m saying that you “loved him”, as if you don’t anymore you may ask? Well, it’s because you’re dead.

• Jason now has yet another reason to kill survivors, as it was one of them, that killed you.

• He doesn’t understand why they’d kill someone he cherishes. His mother was already dead, and he can still hear her, and follows with what she says…

• But why did they kill you?

• He’s killing every survivor, in cold blood. Not a single one survives him, whatsoever.

• If there’s a survivor that looks or acts like you, he’ll pause, before his mother tells him, and reminds him that; you’re dead. You’re gone. To kill the survivors.

• He does so. Killing them all.

• Back in the killer lobby, he goes to his specified room. Going to his mother, (if you haven’t seen friday 13th, then idk if you know what I’m talking about…) and talks to her. Hell, he even keeps your body near his mother.

• It’s so he knows you’re not going to be taken away from him or his mother. He still loves you, a lot.

(Mafioso)

• This prick. This guy, absolutely adores you. He was the first one to tell you his feelings.

• You accepted of course. You didn’t pry into his work either, you figured it out yourself, due to how he was dressed. (You thought he was one of those cliche mafia guys. Which he is.)

• Whenever he has to chase the ones in the dream land, due to their debt there, he’ll always have one or two of his men staying by you at all times.

• That was a terrible idea however.

• One of his “trustworthy” men… Killed you. Why? Perhaps the guy thought you were just a distraction to his boss.

• Mafioso, of course killed the guy out of anger and revenge for you.

• He kept your body in those freezing cubicles in his room. He doesn’t trust his men after what happened. He only trusts his boss, Eunoia. To be near you, and watch over your body, in case of any fractures on you.

• In rounds, he’s pissed off everytime. Someone looks and acts almost exactly like you… What a fucking vermin of a survivor.

• He kills every and all survivors. Hell, he lets them all know that he doesn’t take kindly to anyone looking, or even acting like you.

• By that, I mean he broke several bones of the said survivor that looked and acted similar to you. ♡

• Back in the killer lobby, or, the shared lobby of him and his boss. He immediately goes to his room, where Eunoia is also.

• He constantly asks how you’re doing, as if you’re awake, and will be awake soon. (You won’t…)

• Eunoia always tells him to calm the fuck down, and tells him every update she has about your body, as you’re in the freezing cubicle.

• Mafioso looks at you in the freezing cubicle, savoring, smiling faintly, and even loving the way you look. Even when dead, you’re still a beauty in his eyes…

(Help, I just noticed that 1x’s and Mafioso’s have way more texts than the other two killers 😦 I think I love Mafioso and 1x too much…)

[stuckinmymind22]

you say "i love you" first

ft: zoro, sanji, robin, ace, and shanks

gn!reader (minus zoro, sorry), mostly fluff, mostly sfw (shanks is a little bit explicit)

a/n: i just think this is cute idk

zoro

you say it first and he kisses you instead of saying it back, that leads somewhere and he’s more tender than usual and you know that is him saying “i love you too” finally says it back after several days when you’re alone and he mumbles it, you aren’t sure that you heard him so you ask him what and he comes and whispers in your ear “i said, i love you, woman” don't expect him to say it often though, the words from him are rare, no matter how many times you tell him that you love him. instead, zoro shows his love in his actions, one time he pulled out your chair for you at dinner and didn't say anything about it (was kinda awkward with it tbh), but the rest of the crew poked fun at him. he somehow always knows when there is something wrong with you, and although not the most emotionally aware he will listen to any of your problems as you talk through your emotions

sanji

he has definitely said it way too early in the relationship, said it a bunch then as you got serious he slowly stopped saying it bc now the words meant more/had more weight and he didn't want to scare you off when you do say it, immediate nose bleed, nearly cries, says it back right away. now that you said it this man is going to make declarations of love at least once a day, somehow he never repeats himself. would probably scream it from the mountain tops if he could tbfh

robin

she’s really confused, not that she doesn’t love you back but more in the “how could anyone love me” type of way. she remains speechless for far longer than you would like, when she does speak again it's to tell you that she isn't quite ready to say it back. naturally, you're devastated by this and you start to distance yourself a bit. that ends up being what she needed to admit her feelings. she probably tries her best to make some romantic gesture maybe just flowers or maybe she gets sanji (ever the simp) to make your favorite dinner. she's the type to be real quiet about her love, not to say that her love for you is unnoticed by outsiders, but she is not going out of her way to make it known like sanji

ace

you guys say it at the exact same time both of you are like awesome. he says it at the most random times, sometimes walking up to you while you are in a conversation to whisper "i love you" in your ear. he adores the way that those words always bring a massive smile to your face he's still a little insecure about himself, but each time you tell him you love him he starts to get more and more confident. he starts to become attached to your side (gets made fun of for it but he doesn't care), not that he wasn't before, but this was more

shanks

takes a while for feelings to develop beyond sexual (you both went in thinking it was just a hookup and that it was all it would ever be) it starts to become clearer that you both are in too deep. neither of you want to ruin what you have so you stay silent about it for far too long once, after you had sex, you bring yourself to admit it, completely out of breath. he’s lowkey stunned, doesn’t really know what to say, says “thank you doll” of course you get mad and he’s like “what i just said thank you, you know i love you too” and you’re like "i mean i figured but it would’ve been nice to hear 🙄" never being bothered by pda, he starts to become more brazen in his displays of affection, sometimes catching you as you walk by to pull you into his lap, regardless of who is around

here's the sequel (they say "i love you first")

[crimsonmochi]

Personal ― S. Gojo

Synopsis. Pornstar!Satoru is used to fucking for money's sake. It's something he does often and something he does really fucking well. When he is requested to guest you, however, it shocks everyone to see an immediate energy shift.

Pairing. Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

Content. MDNI, fem! pornstar! reader, chubby! reader implied, gender neutral pronouns used for reader, no use of "y/n", smut, p in v, cunnilingus, slight choking, some semblance of onlyfans, pussydrunk! gojo, gojo is left handed canon, a little bit pathetic, and a little nasty, probable breaches of work boundaries, no beta

Word Count. 3.9k

Parts. one | two

A/N. baby's first jjk fic, be gentle </3 please give me feedback and lmk if i forgot some tags :3 reposts encouraged!

Rain dribbled and splattered on the window, the tiny water beads reflecting and refracting the dim light from Satoru's phone. He sat upright on his bed, muscular back against the headboard, upper arms aching from his last session two days prior. He had reluctantly agreed to participate in a "professional"―which, to Satoru, was just a word for more work, smaller pay―shoot with some girl he could barely remember the name of.

The result? The director had barked at him to put himself in impossible positions for the camera's sake, which left his limbs sore and not in a good way. Satoru forced the scene to end, left with his money and a vow to himself to never ever work for studios again. He hated being told what to do, especially from guys who don't actually have what it takes.

While painkillers and a nice massage from the spa below his apartment complex did not eradicate the pain, it did make it much more tolerable.

Satoru's thumb swiped across the screen, scrolling through comments from his latest post, a message to his subscribers asking for content ideas. Sure, he did not like being told what to do, but being kindly suggested by his fans to fulfill their desires was different. In the end, he was still in control.

And it probably won't land him in a pharmacy either.

The request that Satoru found came up the most was for him to do ASMR; some fans wanted to hear those pretty praises, those filthy words he gives to his co-stars, spoken to them instead. Although the idea was alluring, Satoru would rather be on camera than behind a fancy microphone in a recording booth—primarily because he was too proud to opt out of showing his god-crafted body (that cocky bastard). But then again, he could find a way to do both...

He shelved that idea for later.

Other requests were suggestions of people to shoot with. Some popular names came up, women and men he had already filmed with and didn't find too interesting. He could fake it, of course; he was an actor, it was half of his job―but he would be unsatisfied with the end result.

Satoru was about to quit reading requests, bored and uninspired until his cerulean eyes stuck themselves to a particular comment. The space between his eyebrows creased as his eyebrows furrowed. It was a subscriber recommending another star, explaining how they weren't very well known, but they believed them and Satoru would make a great pair.

The wording was not what caught his attention, he had gotten plenty of requests with the same exact sentence before. No, it was the name, your page's name―which, to Satoru, felt familiar yet distant. He hadn't shot with you before, no, that wasn't it. Yet he was certain he knew you, knew of you at least.

His thumb reached for the search bar to type in your alias, his eyelids flickering when his gaze fell on your profile, your soft face on display. Satoru felt his length chub up in his boxers, soft lips parting to accommodate for a sudden need of oxygen.

Just as his subscriber said, you were less popular than him, with less than half the number of subscribers he had and an inarguably cheaper paywall in front of your content. Memories of happily searching for his new credit card numbers to pay for your videos came back rushing to him, memories only a few months old.

Satoru recalled seeing a preview and being immediately smitten by your pretty figure, your plush thighs and your tummy, that tiny thrill in your eyes. Fuck, how he had spent half of his revenue giving you tips on an anonymous account―just to obtain a personalized picture of just those pretty thighs, fisting his aching cock to that image for days.

Just looking at that profile again, oh my god.

His eyes laid on the subscription button. He did not even bother getting on an alt account this time to press it, watching the confirmation request pop up on his screen to gather his fingerprint in order to complete the purchase. When the paywall finally went away, Satoru let out a breath he wasn't even aware of holding, his hand travelling to his boxers, palming himself through his briefs as he scrolled.

And oh, he was gone again.

Satoru had never sent a message to his agent that frantically in his life, asking her―no, begging her to contact you to secure a shoot with you. Asked her to do whatever she could to get you in the studio.

The next few days went by without a reply from your part, and Satoru was going mad. He could not remember being this nervous for anyone, this needy. In between sessions of overthinking (maybe he should have asked you himself or maybe offered something more), he found himself replaying videos of yours he had already seen, notably the ones with other men. He knew them by heart.

Those guys didn't seem to appreciate you nearly as much as you needed, as much as you deserved. It pissed him off beyond what he thought was possible, yet made him so hard; He knew he could fuck you so much better than those amateurs you were with, pleasure you in ways they wouldn't even dare.

Unbeknownst to Satoru, you were just intimidated by his offer. Too much money from too big of a creator and an offer that seemed too good to be real to not hold a catch, which is why you did not answer right away, anxiously weighing the implications. It wasn't until he, in a moment of pure desperation and haze, shot you a private message confirming the offer that you replied, shyly agreeing.

From then on, Satoru could barely contain himself, daydreaming about everything he could do to you with his left hand eagerly moving up and down his cock, breathy exhales escaping his mouth and shaky fists gripping his bedsheets. Too often, he found himself checking the calendar on his phone, awaiting the shoot date, disappointed every time that it was still the 15th instead of the long-awaited 21st. Satoru Gojo did not exactly believe himself to be a patient man.

He sent you little messages throughout the week with ideas and reassuring messages. He wanted to know everything about you, your likes and dislikes, what you thought of him, how your body worked, and how he could get you to whine and moan for him.

On the day of the shoot, Satoru was almost unrecognizable to others involved―his agent and the friends he'd stopped to visit on his way to his studio. The man people had described as cocky, overly confident, and self-absorbed was reduced to a nervous, lost-in-thought mess. All because of you, the pretty little thing he would get to have his hands on later that evening.

He'd showered three times, spent too long in his room figuring out what clothes to wear, as if that would matter, and freaked out over his hair. His hair.

And when you finally arrived at the studio with your assistant, he nearly forgot how to breathe. That, or he was purposely holding back for fear of scaring you off, this cute little thing before him. You introduced yourself, pretty eyes gazing up at him, taking a second to admire each and every one of his features. As soon as he saw your smile, here in person, he told himself he could die happy.

Well, he could die happy after having a taste of you.

You were shy while introducing yourself to him. The interaction could easily have been misread as awkwardness, and that was what Satoru would have gone with, too, if he didn't know any better (if he didn't think so highly of himself). Your softer voice, your pretty eyes, god, those eyes. He could tell you might've had a tiny crush on him as well, and he would be lying if he said it didn't make his head reel.

Your assistant all but confirmed it when you excused yourself to the restroom, admitting that you hadn't stopped gushing about this opportunity since you got it.

And when you got back, he had the most annoying smirk and glint in his eyes, looking down at you.

After discussing what he wanted for the scene, making sure you were comfortable and willing to participate―a gentleman, truly, asked you so many times that you started chuckling your answers―he had his agent and your assistant leave the studio after you agreed to dismiss them. He did not mind an audience, but he wanted this to be personal.

"I film all my own shit anyways," he hummed, hopping behind the camera to adjust the angle.

In the film room of the studio was a bedroom set with a queen-sized bed with navy sheets and a wooden frame. A sliding-door closet with mirrors stood tall on the left side, and a bedside table on the right.

The scene you and Satoru agreed upon was vanilla, but he was pleased with the gist of it. Any way he could have you is a way he'd be pleased with, however. It didn't really matter how for the time being.

You sat in the middle of the bed, your back against the cold headboard and palms against the soft sheets, gazing at Satoru as he grumbled at the camera, shifting through the studio to find a new battery with his lips pursed in a pout. It amused you, seeing a different side of him.

It was only three minutes later that he climbed onto the bed, knees against the mattress as he moved towards you, those blue eyes staring at your frame through those pale lashes. He moved to straddle you, his back straight, his body looming over yours.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," mumbled Satoru, his hand firmly landing on the headboard to support himself, making a louder sound than he intended. "You tell me if I'm too much for you, alright, pretty?" he followed in a softer tone.

You nodded, the pad of your index landing on his shoulder and travelling down his torso, trailing close to the sweatpants he wore. Satoru reached his own unoccupied palm to your face, his fingers hooking themselves at the nape of your neck to pull you towards him. His nose brushed against yours before capturing your lips with his.

Satoru had never felt drunk on a kiss until you entered his studio.

As if a switch flipped in his head, he kept you closer to him, desperate and unwilling to pull away from your lips. He breathed shakily, his minty breath fanning over your mouth.

"Oh, you're good at this," he laughed, an arrogant laugh that made your pussy ache.

"Yeah?" you murmured.

"Yeah."

The hand on your cheek moved to your throat, squeezing at the sides―not enough to hurt, just to make oxygen sparse in your system. "I'll make you feel good, sweetheart, hm? I'll do better than those fucking losers on your page."

The sweetest words said oh so cruelly.

Although it was increasingly hard for you to think, you were able to click the pieces together pretty quick, your eyes widening and your pupils dilating.

'Fourth wall break wasn't part of the plan.

Oh.

He watched.'

Satoru's gaze had changed. Deep, yet precise in conveying the exact energy desired. A short, almost inaudible gasp escaped your lips, and fuck, he fed on that, on your reactions to him, no matter how small or insignificant. It mattered to him.

Warm fingers slipped under your the black camisole hugging your body before you could even notice his hand had left your throat, caressing your skin until he his the jackpot, massaging the same breasts he had spent hours looking at only within the past week.

"Oh-ho— nothing, no bra for me?" Satoru chuckled. He captured your nipple between his index and his thumb, rolling and pinching at it until it pebbled, drawing out a whimper from your lungs.

Satoru was fascinated by what he had under his hand, taking a too-curious approach to exploring, as if he had never seen or felt another body before this point in his life. He took his time to gently remove the fabric off of your body, imagining all the ways he could bind and explore it, worship it, cum all over those pretty tits—

It wasn't until he felt your soft hands trying to discard his shirt that he snapped out of his haze, realizing he was fucking up the pacing.

Satoru latched his mouth to one of your breasts, biting and sucking gingerly while he focused on getting you out of those tight leggings you wore just for him, that truly left nothing to the imagination. He frantically worked to get those white laced panties out of the way with a tad more force than he should have, causing a tear to rip into the fabric.

"Satoru—" you gasped, only halfway acting.

"I'll get you another pair," he groaned against your chest, licking over one of the bite marks he had left before unlatching to look down.

Satoru's brain short-circuited.

Sure, he's seen your body time and time over, but that had only ever been through the careful separation of a screen, a paywall. It was different to have access to it, to be able to touch and feel.

He thanked his earlier self for asking if he could eat you out, for now, getting to have your supple thighs around his face and neck. Fuck, he could really die happy now.

Satoru caught sight of your dripping cunt, juices dripping and latching onto your skin. He felt hungry for what seemed to be the first time in his life, moving down your body to kiss right over your mound, your scent filling his senses.

"Oh, s-shit, look at that," said Satoru.

Had he just stuttered?

He nudged his nose in between your folds, brushing against your clit with a swiftness that made your figure jolt. He chuckled, moving his arms to trap your hips and pin them to the mattress, muscles flexing under his skin to intimidate.

"God, she wants me so bad."

Satoru languidly licked up and down your slit, careful to miss your sensitive bud in the meanest way. He whimpered at the taste of you on his tongue, sweet in a natural way, catching both you and himself off guard. If his face wasn't buried in your cunt, you could have seen the faint blush creep to the surface of his cheeks.

"You ever had someone do this, sweet'art?" he mumbled against your heat, lips finally latching on to your clit.

"N-No, not really," you sighed.

"Mh," Satoru hummed disapprovingly, toying with the bundle of nerves between his teeth, one of his arms sneaking away from your hips. He teased his ring finger at your entrance. "You're, fuck- fuck― you're so― taste so good..."

He pushed his finger past the ring of muscle until he was knuckles deep, groaning before he returned his mouth to your clit, sucking in small intervals as he pumped in and out of your velvety walls. Satoru whined when your hand flew to his hair.

And when you moaned for him, he was a goner. He noticed the usually loud and audibly altered sounds had turned saccharine and almost timid.

You had been faking your moans?

He snickered at his realization, breaching through the noise of your moans and the quiet slurps. "I think she loves me," said Satoru in between breaths.

"Wha-, who―"

"Wasn't talking to you, love." Satoru's words drastically contrasted with his soft tone.

He punctuated his sentence by curling his digits to find and abuse that spongey spot, earning a string of nonsense words and whines from you, only encouraging his endeavour. The soft squelch of your pussy around his fingers and his mouth was enough to drive him to buck his hips toward the mattress.

When Satoru felt your soft thighs tighten around his head, he forced himself to pull away, grunting as you desperately moved to grip your fingers in his hair, trying to keep him there. If he hadn't had such strong convictions, he might have stayed down there for the rest of his life, dying happy with his face buried in your pretty cunt.

Satoru straightened his form, his fingers pulling out to find your clit, rubbing it in soft circles. You protested, whining pathetically.

"I know, I know, sweet girl, I'm sorry. Wanna... wanna have you cum on my cock. Can y'do that love? Want you all over me.."

He was mumbling, staring into your eyes with his pupils blown wide. The blue of his irises was overtaken by those black orbs, capturing you in his sight. His chin was wet and dripping, and his lips were slightly swollen.

A gorgeous mess for you to gaze upon.

Satoru's eyes dropped down to the sweatpants he threw on earlier (and called Suguru about just to make sure it looked "casual but not fuckboy"―Suguru called him a dumbass and hung up), carefully bunching up the fabric as well as his boxers before pushing down. Hissing as his length perked up, angry and weeping pre, he breathed a little heavier than before, his shoulders rising and falling. Satoru hadn't felt this worked up in months, maybe years, all from this.

For you.

And you would not be lying saying that had to be the prettiest dick you'd ever seen.

"Shit― look at that, hah," Satoru softly chuckled. "Lift your legs up f'me, pretty, come on.."

He grinned down at you as he helped you push your knees up to your limit, delicately placing your ankles on his shoulders and leaning his torso forward. Satoru placed one of his palms behind your cranium, a small yet protective measure.

"This okay?" asked Satoru, nudging his tip against your folds, collecting your slick to drench his cock, gliding over your clit.

"Y-Yeah, this is fine..."

It was rare for you to be nervous, given that you were used to having sex, filming it, and posting it for hundreds to see. Intercourse was not something you had any insecurities about. Usually.

What caught you off guard was the look in Satoru's eyes, the way he carried himself with a gentleness foreign to anything you've seen from him.

Satoru leaned down to press kisses against your jawline, open-mouthed and delicate, exhaling as he guided his length past your entrance, satisfied at the small gasp he heard from your lips.

"Oh my god, it's even fucking better than I imagined," said Satoru, his voice strained.

He could feel the stretch, your walls fluttering to accommodate him, still so tight and fuck―the tiny high-pitched, almost inaudible whimpers that escaped your throat.

"Don't know if I'll be able to pull out, sweet girl, hah―shit―she's sucking me in, look."

"Then don't," you mumbled, turning your head to meet his lips.

"You can't say shit like that," Satoru scoffed.

"Why not? I want it."

If you were simply pretending for the camera, that was some damn good acting. Good enough to turn Satoru into putty in your hold, to shut his brain off and make him act on instinct alone, script be damned.

Satoru pushed in until his pelvis hit your flesh, his hold on you faltering in strength momentarily, a helpless expression on his face. He listened to your quiet whines, his free hand returning to your clit in hopes of easing the strain.

"Just fuckin' perfect, holy fuuuck―" he strained out.

He withdrew his fingers from your clit to taste you once more, addicted. He drew his hips back slowly, just enough to leave about an inch inside, before thrusting back in at a slightly faster pace, setting a rather slow, intimate rhythm for you to follow.

Satoru watched as your breath picked up, how the slow rock of his hips made your eyes unfocus, and your mouth hang open. He watched as your forehead started to sweat, how your hair moved along his movements.

More importantly, Satoru listened. He heard those moans, shakier and uncalculated. He knew he wasn't crazy earlier when he had the reflection that you had been faking them.

Actually pathetic, those "men" you had been with.

"You're so pretty, y'know that?" Satoru mumbled, out of his mind. Like he was a schoolboy talking to his second-period crush. "So pretty... s'not fair..."

"H-Huh―?"

"S'not fair how it's gonna be―mh, shit―over, how s'gonna be over."

Satoru angled his hips differently, aiming for that spongey spot he had found earlier. That said, he would have had to be able to think straight to get it on the first try; which he could not, not when he was buried deep inside your cunt.

"W-What―aah, fuck, Satoru~"

You couldn't recall any shoots you had done―or any sex you had had at all, actually―that felt as good as Satoru.

"Right there, right? S'that i-it?"

He drove his movements faster, his pelvis hitting the back of your thighs and your ass with a louder SMACK! than it did previously, his breaths becoming further shallow and desperate. His skin grew increasingly damp as his efforts increased, and what were previously grunts turned to shameless moans, whines and whimpers, wanton and needy.

The man was losing his mind, so unlike anything you had seen from him.

Satoru's thrusts soon became erratic and uncoordinated, his face buried in your neck, drinking all of the sounds you were making like he was getting drunk on them.

"Can't... won't last l-long, okay? M'sorry I can't..." Satoru wailed.

His hand found your breast, flicking at your nipple in hopes of making you cum faster, needing to feel you. You were teetering on the edge, and he could feel it, feel how your pussy drew him in.

"Y'know you've been― y'been teasing me for two fuckin' weeks―aah... shitshitshit, so so g-good―two weeks." He paused to groan, pinching your flesh between his index and thumb to elicit a reaction from you. "Can't get enough of you, you're so―and you know it, you fuckin' know it too, I-I know y'do."

"Satoru! So close, please d-don't stop," you yelped, walls constricting around his length.

"Y-Yeah, pretty, I know, fuck―I know, sweet thing. I got you," Satoru panted and tightened his grip on the back of your head as if to brace for impact. "Y'do know how to drive me fuckin' crazy, with―mh, you're so soft and pretty, m-makes me want to quit the business, make you my own, God, make you my pretty wife."

Satoru's mind was running on overdrive, trying to keep up with what the fuck he was saying and making sure you felt good, as good as him. No easy task.

"Shit, gonna make you mine, I promise, fuck―"

His his stuttered as he spilled himself inside you, crying out like a wounded animal. It felt too good, it was too much.

Satoru kept going, although fucked out of his mind, determined to make you cum. He lapped up the sweat from your neck, not caring if it was nasty, while he reached down to your clit once more, slapping the sensitive bud a few times, stopping when he felt your cunt constrict and clench around him, a nice little ring of creamy mixed arousal forming at the base of his cock, gliding down your ass and spilling on the bedsheets.

"Such a mess, oh my God," Satoru whined.

He gathered some on two of his fingers, wiping it right off of your skin. "Taste it f'me, pretty," Satoru groaned.

He could have ascended to heaven right then as you wrapped your lips around his digits, glossy eyes peering up at him through your lashes.

"I gotta keep you."

Parts. one | two

[vultbae]

hot boy delivery ✩

college!art donaldson x female reader

↳ summary: Tashi's handsome alleged boyfriend knocks on your door and asks for her since she's your roommate. But she's not there, so you'll borrow him for tonight.

↳ warnings: smut (minors dni), tipsy sex, mentions of cheating but isn't, porn with plot, mean!reader at the beginning.

↳ notes: yall know the drill english is not my first language! so sorry if anything doesn’t make sense

word count: 5.7k

Stanford isn't what you would call a party school; there isn't an endless rage circuit or binge drinking regarding students –or at least the ones you know. So when you decided to enroll in college, you knew any unpleasant symptoms like headaches or fatigue would be caused by academic all-nighters and no hangovers as you believed years ago. It was a deal-breaker, but it was Stanford at the end of the day.

Your parents had enough funds to bring to the table independence privileges most college students don't have, for example, living off-campus."¿Why would I decline this unusual offer?" you thought at the time, giving in to the advantageous idea of complete autonomy and no supervision—you had seen places around the Palo Alto area, cozier and more stylish than any archaic-looking dorm room Stanford had to offer for a few thousand dollars a year —six to seven, to be exact.

Somehow, you had ended up on the shithole you had been attempting to dodge for so long. Your best friend, Diana, had gaslighted you into believing that coexisting in the same place with other young people is one of those stimulating aspects of attending college. Heck, rowdy dorm parties, popping Plan B's, snorting coke from someone's fake boobs!

Bullshit. Diana had gotten into Stanford, too, and all of your thrilling anticipations of rooming with her vanished when she had to rescind her offer due to the scarcity of financial aid. She ended up committing to Virginia State University. At the other fucking end of the United States.

You had promised Diana to go above and beyond to fulfill those wild ideas about college. Guess what? Now, you were forced to live in a rusty dorm without your extravagant Palo Alto apartment, your best friend, and rooming with a weirdo.

And, of course, you still hadn't snorted coke out of anyone's fake boobs.

"Oh my god," you breathe out with a sigh of annoyance. You let the back of your head fall over the headboard of your bed as your hands reach up to rub your tired-looking eyes; your laptop is lying on your lap, screening the article you have to read for some core course. It's almost seven o'clock, and you are about to surrender and take a twelve-hour nap. 

You can't, though. Your eyes roam around and descend on your roommate's side: empty, noiseless, as if there wasn't someone there two hours ago. The apathy in your facial expression is prominent as you notice the cluttered desk, bed blankets hanging off, and wrinkled clothes over the floor. "How disgusting," you think, shaking your head and facing your laptop again, pushing it off your legs this time.

Your roommate was indeed something else. After swallowing against your will the miserable fact that you wouldn't room with Diana, your parents had already paid for Stanford on-campus housing, and it is what it is. A month before moving to California, you had seen the name of your designated roommate for the freshman year, Tashi Duncan.

You are not confident about the sort of woman Tashi is. Although you had been cordial and accommodating with her —even though you didn't want a roommate, she is not what you would call a friend. Tashi is a tennis player, apparently a very talented one, since many people around campus ridiculously fangirl over her  —but you don't know if it's because of her model-like physical complexion or her sports talent. Well, it's not like you care. But despite sharing a dorm room, Tashi's interactions with you are minimal and curt, and conversations with her are typically one-sided. She rises early and evaporates for the rest of the day.

Doubtful, you pick up your Nokia from the nightstand and quickly text her, "Wya?" to feel responsible –she has never done it, though. Since you live in an on-campus residence, entry isn't monitored until eight p.m. during the week, and you already know she won't arrive by that time. She probably won't arrive at all.

The anxious chewing on the bottom of your lip ceases when your phone vibrates with the "I'm staying at Art's x" message popping on the screen. A mix of relief, bliss, and sovereignty surges from your body's core. You don't know who Art is, but you've heard Tashi talk about him a couple of times, so you assume he is her boyfriend, sneaky link, or whatever freaky shit she would be up to. You briefly contemplate the text, instantly replying, "take care :)" and waiting for her not to respond.

You sit there, stunned for a hot minute, considering the countless activities you could do now that you are —and will remain—all alone. Mild daylight peers through the opened curtains, although it's getting dark. Your head slightly turns to the two-lite slider window between both beds, revealing the distinctive greens of the trees that reach your view—a typical Stanford campus panorama. 

The bedroom is ample; the floor is covered with cheap deep blue carpeting, and the walls have been sealed with a matte layer of pearl white. Your mural side is preciously decorated: polaroids, stickers, and decorative leds shimmering in a warm yellow tone adequate for winter, while Tashi's side is... three posters: two from random tennis players and a large Spider-man one. "What are we, ten-year-olds?" you murmur, eyes rolling back, exasperated as you sit in the sight of the oversized picture.

You really can't get what is so amusing about Tashi.

Your phone rings suddenly, and you sense your muscles twitch at the unexpected ringtone clashing against the lifeless four walls. A big "Diana" is written in black letters, blaring at you, which is a good sign of an enjoyable night. With no second thoughts, you pick up.

 "¡Hey girl!" are the first words you hear from your best friend. 

You haven't seen her since the summer break –four months ago–and time hasn't been your ally in terms of missing your friends. Diana and you always intended to attend college together; nevertheless, you can't predict anything about college. Now, she resided in Virginia, while you did in California. 

"I've missed you so fucking much," you grin against the phone, talking with enthusiasm. You stand up to walk to the shared kitchen, "how's everything been in Virginia?"

Diana scoffs at your question. "Do you for real think I called you to talk about boring-ass Virginia?" she mockingly complains, sarcasm dripping out of her voice. "The real question is, how's everything been in Cali?" she adds, half screaming the last two words.

Your humorous facial expression morphs into a disgraceful one. "Well, mediocre if you take out the fact I live in this dorm. Otherwise, pretty shit."

"At least it's a Stanford dorm," Diana points out, giggling.

"Well, you are partly right," you answer, now supporting your arms over the kitchen table, "I just wish it was my dorm at least and not Tashi's, you know."

"Right, your roommate; what's the deal with her?" she asks.

¿What's your deal with her? If this were a frankness competition, you'd undoubtedly roast her without needing to lie. Sharing an apartment with an entitled asshole who thinks she owns the place makes it challenging.

"She's not my type," you let out, sighing. "I've been trying to talk to her for God knows how long, and she doesn't give a shit," you pause to breathe through your nose, trying to keep your cool. "Like, I can't understand. Do you know how many people would love to room with me?"

Diana's gasp nearly pierces your eardrum, "She's such a bitch!"

"Yes! She is," you interrupt her, squeaking out your words. "Also, she brings dudes or the same dude, I don't know, like at least twice a week. She doesn't even care if I'm sleeping; what if I throw water at them next time?" you inquire decisively, not caring if your words sound nonsensical.

"You do you, girl," your friend says, slightly chuckling, "I assume she is not there now, isn't she?" 

You hum. "She isn't. She is at some dude's place. So that means I have the dorm for myself."

"Don't you care if she is safe or something?" Diana queries, almost instantly biting back a groan in response to your silence. "Yes, I know she's an asshole, but at least you should know. Some guys nowadays are creeps."

"I do, I do..." you hastily assure, your voice tone appeasing your friend's worries. "I do know the guy's name is something like Art, and I could find out his last name if I scroll through our chat. I'm pretty sure it's her current boyfriend. I've heard her talk about him."

"My God, that girl has some real action!" she hollers; a burst of mocking laughter spills out of her lips. "What about you, though? I miss hearing hookup stories from your side. Don't waste your time; Stanford has hot ass guys!"

And she was right. The amount of handsome guys around campus was not minor.

"You know what?" you say, pointing at the air as if you were talking to Diana in person, "I'm not even going to reply to that comment. I've been so focused on-"

Your words are cut off by urgent, loud knocks coming from the main door, "The fuck?" you think. Your jaw clenches but abruptly loosens as you realize Tashi can't be here after her presumptive schedule; you don't expect anyone.

And also, there's a rainstorm outside. 

"Was that knocking on the door?" Diana asks, and your attention goes back to the call. You hum in response.

"Yeah, and I'm not expecting anyone." you reaffirm while your hand reaches out to your little notebook, where you keep all the emergency numbers. You sigh out a frustrated "fuck" when you realize you don't have the number of the security guard downstairs. "I should check through the peephole; it's probably a dumbass mistake anyway," you add, trying to sound unbothered.

¿Who the fuck would sneak into an all-student residence? For what, to steal? You haven't bought groceries for two weeks. It would be a shitty investment of skill.

And obviously, you curse yourself under your breath for being such an exaggerated bitch. But, seriously, who would visit you?  Not even the wildest of your friends would wander across campus at night with this weather.

"Call me when you do it. I have to do some homework now," Diana demands, and you are snappy to obey and hang up the phone. 

You stay still, eyes stuck on the main white door. A minute passes with absolute silence encircling you until you hear the identical frantic knocking again. Same tempo, everything.

"Goddamn, relax," you murmur to yourself.

 It takes a couple of steps forward for you to approach the door and a single step to the front to see through the small peephole.

Your eyes wince slightly at the sight of a boy you've never seen in your life standing outside. You even feel the need to comically scratch your head as you notice a short-arm cast dressing up his right arm; how bizarre. "¿Is this mother-fucker trying to rob me?" you talk to yourself, making sure he doesn't hear you. Obviously, he'd predict any regular person to open the door without a doubt –"Poor boy, he's wearing a cast."

"He's too hot to be a thief," your mind suggests. And yes, he is. If you are one hundred percent honest, he seems like he would study at Stanford. He looks kind of familiar, even. You can't clearly analyze his features due to the lack of lighting in the hallway, but when his head tilts to the side, a sharp shadow forms under his jawline, and his blonde curls bounce along with his moves. 

You text Diana again. "hot boy at my door x"

Although suspicion is gnawing at the back of your mind, you open the door. With a gentle twist of your wrist, you turn the knob clockwise and cautiously swing the door inward. The hinges creak softly, and the chilly air from the hallway rushes in, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes narrow in recognition —and confusion—for a beat. A lightbulb suddenly flickers on in your mind.

"Hey..." the guy in front of you greets you softly and politely, his voice barely above a whisper.

You have seen his face around, but you can hardly remember his last name—Dawson, Davidson? Something like that.

"...Is Tashi around?" he asks, his voice carrying a note of desperation.

Your gaze rakes down his figure. He's wearing a Cardinal performance polo from Stanford and thin black polyester shorts, both soaked—presumably from the storm roaring outside. His chest rapidly rises and falls with each breath, and as if by carnal instinct, your eyes delineate the muscles of his abdomen tightening; the outline of his six-pack is visible through the soaking polo clinging to his torso. Tiny water beads accumulate along the strands of his blonde hair, glistening, growing heavier, and descending onto your doormat with soft plops.

He's hot as fuck, you think. Straight out of one of those cliché Teen People magazine covers. But it's not only his physique. Something about how he stands there, dripping wet, vulnerability mingling with his athletic build, piques your interest. It's sort of contradictory and sexy as fuck.

Your eyes drift down to your own outfit—pajama shorts and a crop top. It's not too practical, considering the chilliness from the residence hallway drives your nipples to react against the thin material of the top. His gaze falters for a second, lowering to your bare midriff, and you catch the way his cheeks redden. You hear how he chokes with his saliva.

But it’s bizarre, too. His functional—left—hand is grasping a large Smirnoff Ice bottle by its neck. Your features smooth out at the sight of the clear glass bottle containing one of your favorite low-alcohol cocktails.

It's a raw lure, just like the owner of the bottle.

But it's still bizarre. Because why is this hot-ass guy holding a delicious-ass drink standing outside of your dorm?

You pull your gaze away from the Smirnoff bottle. "Aren't you supposed to be hiding the booze?" you blurt out, raising a finger to point at the bottle.

Maybe your tone was too sardonic, or it was the uncaring disregard of the Tashi question because the blonde guy's face reddens in a deep shade of crimson —again—spreading rapidly from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Aw, he's embarrassed. His eyesight shifts to the bottle, and he acts as if the bottle magically spawned in his left hand.

But you don't wanna spook the doll away.

You audibly clear your throat, trying to rectify your rudeness. "And no, Tashi's not here," you add, attempting to depict kindness and capture his attention again.

He stays silent. As the rosy hue of his cheeks vanishes, you can sense he's building up the courage to keep interrogating you. "Do you know where she is?" he timidly asks, gliding the bottle under his left arm as if trying to hide it now that his plans are ruined.

The guy's smoking hot but fricking awkward. It doesn't make sense. He's six feet tall, lean, handsome, and muscular; why is he acting all timid? He's standing past your doorframe, practically asking for clearance to trade words with you. It doesn't make sense.

"Yeah, she's staying with this Art guy. Maybe you know him," you say, gaze unconsciously disembarking again on the Smirnoff bottle.

The guy's eyebrows furrow and his blue eyes dart back and forth as if digging for an answer hidden in your dorm. His facial expression gradually shifts from puzzlement to realization and then to frustration.

"Son of a bitch..." he mutters under his breath, his voice laced with malice.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning amazement. "Sorry?"

It makes you wanna chuckle at the sudden, humorous switch in his expression.

He inhales sharply, his blue eyes scintillating with sadness and something deeper, perhaps a sense of betrayal? You don't know. "Are you sure Tashi's not here?" he questions again, the tone of his voice hardening. "I'm Art."

The prior flickering lightbulb turns into one illuminating your memory's dim corners. His facial features now have a name: Art Donaldson, another celebrated first-year tennis player. There aren't many Art's around, so the first time you heard his name —even before Tashi— falling out from one of your closest friends' lips on campus, you should've known it was him.

So if he’s Art, that means Tashi lied.

Shit. Tashi's cheating on this guy.

You hope he doesn't notice because you know a flicker of darkness is dancing across your eyes as the seed of an idea takes root in your mind.

A smirk curls your lips as you relish the scrumptious irony. "Oh, you're Art? The one Tashi talks about all the time?" you say, voice dribbling with mockery.

He doesn't respond; he just looks at you with those piercing blue eyes. But then he speaks, "Yeah, I guess..."

You seize the moment, reaching out and stealing the bottle of Smirnoff from beneath his arm. "Well, I guess I'll take this," you say, twisting the cap open and taking a long sip. "You won't need it, right?."

You know exactly what chord you want to strike.

Art's jaw tightens, his face a mix of irritation and helplessness, but he doesn't oppose. You can see his struggle and even sense how his mind races to make sense of the situation. He was expecting Tashi, who was not his girlfriend yet, but he had arranged this to get to know her better. Instead, he's faced with you—an unexpectedly attractive challenge.

And, of course, he wanted it. There was the initial shock at finding you instead of Tashi, but an undeniable attraction stirred something profound within him —a foreign sensation he hadn't felt before. And he's by no means a virgin or a "lame-ass," as Patrick would call him from time to time. Art knows how to have fun. But he's used to the upstarting idea that women must be salivating over merely hearing his name. That's why he obsessed over Tashi Duncan; she is dominant.

But of course, fucking Patrick had to take her tonight.

You lower the bottle, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. "Or maybe you shouldn't go back to the rain," you say with a shrug, "you could come inside in case Tashi comes back, and I'd think about sharing the Smirnoff with you."

He hesitates.

You step aside, holding the door open wider. "You don't wanna go back to the rain, don't you?" you add with a mischievous grin.

For a heartbeat, he stands there, his resolve wavering. Then, with a resigned sigh, he steps forward, crossing the threshold into your college dorm like a lost puppy.

You close the door behind him, drawn to let out a scream when he's not looking after how things were interestingly evolving. The room grows warmer for Art and you, the atmosphere thick with tension and unspoken intentions from both sides. You take another sip of the Smirnoff, savoring the lemony taste. 

"Make yourself comfortable," you express, gesturing to the modest common area where the kitchen is. Art follows your lead, his movements stiff from the water and his arm cast.

He's about to push back the strap of his black Adidas duffel bag to roll it down his right arm —cause he was holding THAT and the Smirnoff bottle, when he turns to you and, contemplating his words, he speaks, "Do you think I can use your shower?"

"You would do it anyways if Tashi was here instead of me, so..."

Art takes that as a yes.

-

The bottle of Smirnoff sits nearly empty on the wooden night table beside your bed. Although you had explained earlier to Art that Smirnoff ice was "inoffensive alcohol," it hadn't failed to cultivate an effect of tipsiness in both of your warm bodies. Art's initial awkwardness had been disbanded by the bitterness of the alcohol coursing through his veins. And your mean facade had shifted into a more loquacious, sarcastic, and bold one.

The common area had grown colder. In one instance of exorbitant bravery, you offered to move to your room— Art had said yes way too fast. The space was cozier and filled with your personal touches.

Art is sitting on your bed, the back of his head supported against the wall, while you lie on your stomach beside him, propped up on your elbows, attentively hearing as he converses about another obscene anecdote of his. The dim yellow lighting from the led lights from your side of the wall casts a soft glow over both of you, making you equally horny and exhausted —the calming sound of the rainstorm outside didn't help.

Art had changed into a grey T-shirt with "Stanford Tennis" printed across the chest. His strawberry blonde hair is nearly dry and slightly tousled...

The rich, warm sound of Art laughing fills the room and clocks you out of the trance. "...I swear, I walk in and see Tashi doing some nasty, weird thing to him. The next morning was hell for him. I couldn't believe he was into that type of shit."

"God, was she pegging him?" you giggle, covering your eyes with the palms of your hands.

Art chuckles, shaking his head. "You don't want me to get more explicit."

You pout playfully. "Don't be an asshole. Tell me." 

Art raises an eyebrow, intrigued, half-smirking. "Why are you so interested? Are you going through abstinence?"

The truth is yes but against your will. The bad thing is that you can't filter the information spilling out of your mouth whenever you drink.

"Depends. Are you gonna bully me if I say yes?" you ask, looking up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

The rhetorical question prompts Art to tilt his head, confused. "I'm not a playboy myself. And also..." he slightly lifts his right arm with the cast, alluding to it. "After my injury, I can't do much."

Your thoughts started tumbling over each other in a chaotic mess. You started picturing too many scenarios where Art would still be able to fuck with the arm cast on. The amount of vivid, fleeting mental scenarios internally summoning the attention you couldn't provide right now makes you feel physically ill and euphoric.

"That is not true."

He giggles again, a sound that causes your heart to flutter despite your mind warning you about potential word vomiting. "Well, I can't even jerk it off. Is that enough for you?"  

"Not really. There's plenty of stuff you can still do. Ask someone to give you a blowjob or something," You suggest, way more convinced of your comment than you should. 

Art’s natural smirk fades as he processes your sentence, his eyes squinting as if he's about to test something. He's holding back a chuckle, "That's a wild thing to say to someone you met two hours ago." 

You roll your eyes in feigned annoyance, "Don't tell me you are one of those people who think sex is taboo."

"Hey, no, I'm not." He raises his left hand in front of you, palm open and facing outward. "Asking someone to suck my dick is just gonna give me a fat restraining order."

At this point, the notion of reality has altered for you. Not much, but to the extent things that would commonly make you pause and reconsider your life choices now seemed perfectly reasonable, even hilarious. "Asking this guy I just met to fuck me? Awesome!" You think. You feel an overwhelming sense of camaraderie, a genuine tie to Art, fueled by the shared silliness of the circumstances and nasty anecdotes of this so-called Patrick. 

"Oh, please..."  You wave your hand carelessly as if waving away his absurd comment. "Who would put a restraining order over that?"

"What would you do if someone asked you to suck their dick?" 

But, before replying, you push yourself up onto your knees. The bed creaks softly as you shift, and you slide your legs out from under you, moving to sit cross-legged on the bed. 

"So?" he insists as you finish changing your position.

"Oh my god. Well, it depends on who's asking." 

Your last words hang in the air between you and Art, electrifying and charged with suggestive tension. Predisposing yourself to Art's potential lack of boldness, you let the tipsiness strip away your remaining self-respect. "If you asked me, I wouldn't say no," you add.

Your words cut through the alcohol-induced haze like a sharp blade, leaving Art momentarily sober. It's difficult for him to think properly. It feels like a thick fog full of thoughts and bitter rememberings encircles him, but you cannot see it. 

He helplessly daydreams about the scenario where this is Tashi instead of you, tossing salacious remarks at him and attending to whatever crap he chooses to say. But it isn't. He doesn't know you properly; he hasn't seen your serve or even how you hold a tennis racquet. And you haven't seen much from him either.

Patrick doesn't know about you either. His Patrick, with the captivating smile and the big-dick aura. The one that has been setting him up with women forever, as if he couldn't do it on his own. 

That's how he realizes the attraction towards you —even if purely carnal, is authentic and unpretentious. It's not polluted with anything else. You aren't flirting with him because you eventually want to mess around with Patrick. 

There's bone-deep curiousness humming through Art's veins, but he won't fuck up the first time a gorgeous girl wants to fuck him.

"Then I guess I should ask you," Art states, attempting to maintain his voice steady as his heart plummets.

You lean in closer, your faces now inches apart. The dim glow of the led lights casts a golden hue over your skin, making the moment feel even more surreal for Art. “Good, 'cause I have wanted to do you since you knocked on my door." 

The familiar aching warmth starts to pool at the bottom of your abdomen as Art's lips attack yours, parting them with easiness; you kiss him fiercely, savoring a mixture of Smirnoff Ice and spearmint. Art kisses you like he's starved of it; he slips his tongue inside like he has been patiently deferring his devilish invasive thoughts. He is, damn, a wonderful kisser. Flawlessly proportional: immodest, licking into your mouth, so sexually arousing, at the same time so tender, holding you close with such courtesy it makes you want to scream.

With the strength of his left hand, he draws your body closer to his, deepening his mouth as much as possible on yours. The contact makes your stomach jolt, tardily falling into account you are blending Art's masculine scent with yours. Art's upper-body muscles harden at the ecstasy, and the subtle contour of the veins on his arm arises on his skin, popping out as he possessively grasps your waist.

Between wet kisses, his mouth quakes as he lets out a hushed chuckle, "Wait, is it true... what you said?" he mutters into your mouth and raises your chin, taking a pair of hot seconds to look at you straight in the eye.

You relish the sensation of his fingers racing down your waist and descending on your hips, gently squeezing; your hands are holding onto the nape of his neck, caressing his skin. You kiss him again and roll his bottom lip between your teeth, "I've never wanted to fuck anyone so bad," you husk into his ear, words purring as you teasingly lick his ear lobe, lowering the wet kisses until you end up licking down his throat. You trail soft, open-mouthed kisses down his skin; your nails scratch lightly over his back, folding at the sensation of his warmness capturing yours.

Art swears he's about to pass out.

You swing one leg over his lap, carefully straddling him. Art wastes no time, lining his hips with yours, pressing and grinding, compelling your body to feel small in his presence; the mean grip of his hand drops to the end of your back, slowly running down your sides to cup your ass over your pajama shorts, slowly plunging his fingers on your skin. Quick, discreet moans slip out of your mouth, each one driving Art to his edge. The hardness of his cock pushes against your pussy, making you gasp between kisses. 

Your cheeks prick with heat as you hear a clap sound, a slap against someone's skin: your skin. Art spanked your ass rough, and you could anticipate the red handprint remaining in your butt for a couple of hours. His hand smacks again, grasping the over-sensitive plush of your ass at the end, making your muscle throb, "Art!" you whimper, squirming.

"Don't be too loud," he whispers against your neck, demanding.

Art's lips trail down your jawline; his breath catches in his throat every time the aroma of you transits to his chest. You tilt your head back to grant him better access, and your vision goes fuzzy as you discern Art's teeth sucking and biting on your neck, "...d-don't mark my neck," you add between whimpers, piercing his eardrum in the most sensual way imaginable.

"Can I mark this, then?" he snaps back, his right-hand cupping one of your tits over the material. The lustfulness creeping through your body evolves into dizziness, changing how your heart palpitates.

You overtake him and take your crop top swiftly without wanting to see him making extra effort. You audibly gasp when he determines to bury his face between your tits, his thumb and pointing finger skillfully rubbing and then rolling your nipples between his fingertips. 

You are so fucking overwhelmed. Art realizes, and with a wicked smirk plastered on his face, he gives a low coo, "You are so sensitive-"

"Shut the fuck up," you cuss softly, thrusting your chest out, slightly arching your back at the filling sensation. A slimy coverage of saliva grows over your left nipple; Art's mouth works over your bud, flicking with his tongue, making you impossibly wet, "Art, please, I need-"

"Need what?" he glances up at you, neglecting your nipples coated in spit, the cool breeze clashing against your skin and prickling your dermis with goosebumps. 

You pant under your breath as his fingers play with the waistband of your shorts. You grab his hand and put it away, "I'll take care of you."

Your gaze descends to admire the outline of his cock, pushing against the thin fabric of his shorts.  "Let me taste you," you beg, tracing a finger down his chest and reaching the waistband of his shorts.

"Pretty convenient since I can't do much, huh?" Art suppresses a laugh. 

You don't say much. You come off his lap to drag him to the end of the bed, feet touching the carpeted ground. As you sink lower, you unconsciously smile at the things you will tell Diana tomorrow. 

You squat down on your feet, your hands positioned on Art's thighs, supporting your body in case you lose balance. You palm his clothed dick, rubbing your fingertips against the slim layer of clothing, anticipating how much you'll be able to fit in your mouth; you shoot Art an incredulous look, enjoying his heavy-lidded, lustful grimace. 

Your fingers hook around the waistband of those goddamn shorts, sliding them down, along with his underwear. In one fluid motion, his cock springs free with his reddening, glistening tip slapping against his stomach. 

You think this is the perfect situation to overpraise him. You assume these guys love it. Tennis players with a big ego —and a big dick.

"You are so big, Donaldson," you praise, prolonging the word so seductively and not breaking eye contact with the blonde guy. You admire him, captivated by how his Adam's apple twitches; he gulps.

Your fingers wrap around his length, gripping his base, starting to stroke, gingerly moving from base to tip, stopping to rub his swollen tip and spread pre-cum along his shaft, simulating lube. His muscles tremble at the touch, yanking at your hair. You dart your tongue out, flattening it, licking his cock up and down, kitten-licking his thick tip and sweeping your lips across it, loudly slurping the shiny, gooey substance leaking from his dick. Art's torso feels deficient in oxygen as you lock eyes with him, simultaneously stroking his cock mercilessly, sucking on his head; his lungs ache for air.

You bob your head slightly, and your mouth opens wide, taking him further and increasing your pace. Your mouth is warm and wet; he can't wait to stretch other holes if you feel exceptionally good like this. 

"How does it feel?" you take a look at Art's journey, who has his head thrown back. You want him so bad to praise you back. When his head returns to its place, you meet eyes with him and give a tantalizing squeeze to his cock, eager for more reaction. His fingers jump to run through his hair, exasperated.

You don't —and can't know that Art is holding it back already. He's been holding it back since the moment you straddled him, and he could feel the warm wetness of your pussy over his throbbing dick. 

In desperation, he pushes your head, positioning your lips straight over his dick, "Please, princess," you obey and put it inside your mouth again.

He lets out a groan when his tip hits the back of your throat, making you gag. You try to relax and breathe through your nose, allowing him to hit it constantly, deep-throating his length, drooling over his cock, swallowing around him. He strains his hips forward, tugs your hair, and essentially fucks your throat without requiring you to do anything but suck and be good for him.

His breathing becomes erratic, and you feel the muscles of his legs unconsciously twitching. He's close.

When his hand on your hair pushes you up, you resist and stay there for longer, anxiously waiting for his cum to hit your throat. With a rough jerk of his hips, you finally taste his sperm filling your mouth. You swallow it.

"Shit," Art mutters, hyperventilating and staring at you with heavy-lidded eyes. "You just made me reconsider if I'm still precocious."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Or maybe I give good head?" 

After catching his breath, his eyes fall over your figure. There's something so amusing about you, and it's definitely not the remaining mix of cum and spit over the corners of your mouth.

It's just you.

The rain continues to fall outside, a steady rhythm that matches the pulse of his heartbeat. It wasn't the post-nut clarity that made him philosophical, but he can genuinely feel that the only thing that matters is how amazing he has felt around you.

Art breaks the silence. "Let me take you out tomorrow night." 

-

[achilles-rage]

Tummy

summary: when buck decides to start his cut a little early, you show him how much you love his tummy.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: i got 2 requests for bucktummy adjacent things; bucktummy smut and crop top buck, so i decided to combine them. love these requests because i am the #1 bucktummy supporter. enjoy<3

warnings: smut, bucktummy (deserves the warning), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

MDNI- 18+ Only!

Buck drops his bag on the floor as soon as he steps over the threshold of his apartment, both his arms and legs feeling like jello as he makes his way over to the couch and plops down beside you. He rests his head on the backrest of the couch, letting out a big sigh, which catches your attention.

You set your book down beside you and turn slightly to face him, frowning at his clear exhaustion. You tug the blanket further up your lap as it falls slightly, now angling your body towards his as you sit criss-cross beside him.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you ask in a sad voice, reaching out to grab his hand. You know he went to the gym today, and he usually loves the gym, so you’re a little confused about why he’s in such a bad mood. His hair is still damp from his shower, but even then, you know that he’s usually not at the gym for this long either.

“Started my cut today. Worked a little too hard, I guess.” he tells you, trying to shrug it off as he turns his head and looks at you. Your frown gets deeper at the mention of his cut.

“You started your cut already? Don’t you have another week left?” you ask, confusion written across your face. He has a calendar on his fridge, and you see it pretty much every day. You know you’re right because you love when he bulks.

“Wanted to start early.” he says one hand moving to rest on his shirt-covered tummy instinctively. You furrow your brows as your eyes follow his movements, and when you look back up at him, he sighs before he explains.

“Look at my belly; it’s getting too big. Just figured I’d start the cut early.” he says nonchalantly, and you scoff.

“I like your tummy.” you tell him, and it’s his turn to be confused. You laugh softly at his confused expression, then get up onto your knees and throw the blanket off your legs before you lean over to meet his lips in a kiss.

“You really like it?” he asks in disbelief as he pulls back, and you roll your eyes as you smile.

“Baby, your tummy is hot.” you tell him a bit sternly, although the smile is still on your face. He chuckles quietly, running his tongue across the inside of his cheek, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

He grabs your hips and pulls you to straddle him, and you happily oblige, sitting on his lap. His hands move up from your hips, up under your sweater to your waist, his thumbs gently rubbing circles on the sides of your own tummy.

“Why does that sound so familiar?” he asks in a teasing tone, tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes slightly as he looks up at you.

You sometimes have what you both have deemed “bad body days,” and when you do, Buck is quick to praise your belly, showering it with kisses and soft touches. He’s never upset at you for those days; he knows they happen to everyone, so when you tell him you’re having one of those days, he makes everything about you.

“Because you say that to me all the time. And I don’t think you’re lying when you say that, are you?” you ask, tilting your head in the same direction as his as your arms find their place draped over his shoulders.

“Of course not.” he tells you, his face going serious for a moment. You smile, leaning down to kiss his nose, which makes him scrunch his face up.

“Then you have to believe me when I tell you that your tummy is hot, too. That’s how it works.” you tell him with a smile, tightening your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. “Let me show you how much I love it.” you whisper against his lips.

“I feel like we’ve had this exact conversation before.” he teases, pulling you back gently by the back of your neck to meet your pretty eyes.

“So let me return the favour; show you how much I love your body. Tummy and all.” you purr, and he grins before he pulls you back in for a desperate kiss. You begin to slowly grind your hips against his, feeling the tent growing in his sweatpants. He lets out a low groan, hands firmly gripping your plush hips and forcing you to move harder against him.

You feel like a teenager with the way you’re both clawing at each other, kisses sloppy and desperate as you try to pour all of your love and affection into your actions.

Suddenly, you pull back with a mischievous smile on your face. He raises a brow, but he doesn’t have time to ask you what the hell you’re thinking about before you’re off his lap and halfway up the stairs to his room.

You come back down less than a minute later, and although you weren’t gone long, Buck has to resist the growing urge to palm himself through his grey sweats. He looks confused when you throw his crop top at him, and then settle on the couch beside him and urge him to stand up.

He looks down at the fabric for a moment. He cut it himself one day on a whim after seeing a fitness guy he follows on Instagram wearing one, but he’d only ever worn it around the house.

“Come on, put it on.” you tell him in an encouraging tone. And he shrugs before pulling his other shirt off and putting on the crop top. Your eyes travel down to his tummy peeking out of the shirt, and you bite your lip, a soft hum escaping your lips.

“Now, get up. Do a spin for me.” you say in a teasing tone. He rolls his eyes, trying not to laugh as he lets out a huff. As he stands up, you smack his ass, watching him intently as he moves to stand in front of you, putting his arms out and gesturing to himself.

“Spin.” you say again with a giggle, and he huffs before he follows your order. The shirt stops at the perfect spot, allowing his tummy to poke out, as if teasing you. All you want to do is kiss and bite at his tummy, but you hold back, taking in his back as he turns in a circle.

“Why am I doing this?” he asks once he’s facing you again. He stays standing in front of you, waiting for you to tell him to sit down, and he blushes when he sees just how into his tummy you are. Your eyes are focused on it, and with the way your chest is moving quickly, he’s sure your heartbeat has increased as well.

You can’t help it. He’s a large man. Strong and solid. He has clear, defined muscles, although there’s a layer of fat covering parts of his body, and that’s what makes your mouth water. He’s soft around the edges, and it reminds you that although he’s the strongest man you’ve ever dated, quite possibly ever met, he’s still so soft with you, so calm and comforting. You can nuzzle against him after a hard day, and you know that his strong arms can protect you as well.

“Do you remember when I was feeling insecure, and you made me wear that set for you that I was too scared to wear?” you ask, finally tearing your eyes away from his soft tummy and looking into his eyes. He nods, realization finally crossing his face.

“Is this payback?” he asks, and you nod, laughing along with him. You stand up and close the distance between you, hands going to his chest before drifting down to his exposed tummy.

“I like your tummy, and I’m gonna prove it to you.” You don’t give him a chance to reply before you grab the front of his shirt and make him turn. You move him back towards the couch and push him to sit on it, earning a soft grunt as he hits the couch.

You’re back on his lap again in an instant, kissing and nipping at his neck as your hips instinctively move against his in a slow grind. You can feel your arousal pooling between your legs, and every touch feels magnified as you feel the material of his sweatpants brushing against your bare legs. You’re wearing a hoodie and sleep shorts; you were ready for a lazy day at home, but now, you have other plans.

When you feel you’ve given his neck enough attention, you get up and kneel in front of him, hands spreading his legs far enough for you to fit between.

You raise his crop top with both hands, holding it high enough for you to see his entire belly, and you trail your eyes up to meet his gaze slowly.

“Love your tummy. My pretty boy.” you murmur before you lower your lips to his tummy, starting to kiss just below his chest. He watches you with a dazed expression as you press gentle kisses down his tummy, moving up and down and left to right above his belly button. You can see from the corner of your eye that his hands are firmly placed on the couch, fingers digging into the material as if he’s itching to touch you, and you lean back just enough to speak.

“You can touch me, baby.” He listens immediately, putting one hand on the side of your head as he lets out a deep breath, and you hum happily as you lower your lips back down to meet his tummy. You move down below his belly button, keeping eye contact as you kiss over the freckles and scars that you’re sure you don’t want to know the stories behind.

With the way he’s looking down at you, you’re positive that he’s never been worshipped like this before. You know he likes worshipping you, and you’re sure he’s done it with every partner he’s ever been with, but with the way his breath is catching in his throat and his cheeks are red and hot, it’s clear that he’s not used to the attention being turned onto him.

And as you kiss down his tummy, you’re not sure why he’s not used to this. He’s a gorgeous man, obviously, and you don’t think you can point out a physical imperfection even if you tried.

He lets out a soft whimper when you remove one hand from his crop top and slide it down his tummy to the bulge in his sweatpants, palming him slowly while you take your lips away from his hot skin right above the waistband of the sweats sitting low on his hips.

His hand moves down to your cheek and he brushes a thumb over your chubby cheek, and you smile. You ghost your other hand down his tummy as you continue to move your hand over his leaking cock, and when your hand finally reaches the waistband of his grey sweats, you take your other hand away from him and tap his thigh lightly.

He lifts his hips easily, and you pull his sweats and his boxers down his legs in one swift motion, grinning as his cock springs free, tip bright red as it slaps against his soft tummy.

“You want something, pretty boy?” you ask in a slightly teasing tone, mouth watering as you try to focus on his face. He nods desperately, his hands clenched into fists as he resists the urge to take matters into his own hands and push your head down until you’re choking and gagging on him.

“Please.” he practically whimpers, and your smile turns into a smirk. You spit into your hand before you wrap it around his cock, pumping him a few times. He licks his lips, groaning as he watches your hand move, and then a breathy plea escapes his lips again, and you giggle softly.

You don’t tease him any further, however, and you lower your mouth down to lick a firm strip up the underside of his aching cock. He moans, watching you intently as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, licking the bead of precum and humming softly.

His hand finds the back of your head, and your eyes dart between his eyes and his tummy before you push yourself down as far as you can, feeling him hitting the back of your throat as tears form in your eyes.

The groan he lets out is music to your ears, and encourages you on, moving slowly up and down on his cock as you moan around his length. Your sounds vibrate up his cock and through his entire body, and he throws his head back against the back of the couch as he gently guides your head up and down on him.

You lower as far as you can again. The hair on his pubic bone is tickling your nose, and you can hardly breathe, but with the way he’s whimpering and squirming under you, you don’t care. While one hand stays on his thigh, keeping yourself balanced on your knees while the carpet beneath you digging patterns into your skin, the other moves up to his tummy again. Your fingers dig into the flesh, and he tilts his head back down to look at you again, his eyes wide as the moan dies on his lips.

“Jesus Christ, you’re killing me.” he whispers, and you pull away from him with a quiet pop, your lips wet and pupils dilated.

“Love your tummy, baby.” is all you say before you lower back onto him again, moving with increased fervor as you move your hand from his thigh to the base of his cock. You move your hand and your mouth in unison, desperate to bring him release, and he groans, feeling his high quickly approaching.

What finally sends him over the edge is when you pull your mouth back from his cock for a split second, continuing to pump him with your hand as your mouth goes down to kiss and lick his balls. He doesn’t even have time to warn you before he’s cumming all over his soft tummy, white hot cum dripping down his skin as he looks down at you with hooded eyes.

You give him a smile, mumbling a “so good for me” as you lean back before you stick your tongue out and begin to lick up the cum littered across his tummy. Your eyes move between his cum-covered tummy and his face as you clean him off, and if he wasn’t so overwhelmed right now, he’s sure he’d cum again at the sight.

When you’re sure you’ve gotten it all, you lean back, giving him a sickly-sweet smile as you stay on your knees between his legs.

“Do you believe me now, baby?” you ask, and he nods quickly, swallowing and taking in large breaths.

“I think I do.” he replies, and you beam.

“Wanna do one more thing.” you murmur, eyes already on his tummy as you lean back in, mouth going to the soft flesh a couple inches above his hip bone, but not quite on his side. He knows what you’re doing as soon as you start, and while he knows he probably shouldn’t let you; he can’t bring himself to stop you.

You pull back after a moment, admiring the big, dark mark you left on his skin. You then make eye contact with him, giving him a sheepish smile.

“You like it?” you ask, and he finally tears his gaze off of your face and to the work of art you’ve just created on his flesh.

“I love you.” is all he says before he takes your hands from his thighs, urging you to stand up. You squeal when he hoists you up by the back of your thighs and into his arms, giggling as he stalks into the kitchen and sets you down on the counter. He still has the crop top on, and you’re fully clothed, which, for some reason, excites you.

“Gonna show you how much I like it.” he purrs before his lips find yours, kissing you desperately. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him impossibly closer, aching to have him inside of you.

“Keep the shirt on.” you whisper against his lips, and he chuckles as he pulls away, grabbing your ankles and pulling your ass to the edge of the counter. You fall back onto the counter as he tugs you, giggling as he looks down at you with dark eyes.

“With pleasure.” he murmurs before he’s yanking at your shorts, eager to finish what you started.

click here for my masterlist!

click here to be added to my taglist!

click here to read my request rules!

taglist: @sherlocksbaby2323 @essienoe @p14th0mps0n @celestixldarling @minsugafour @brooke0297 @zelfanswhenshecan @sarahsmi13s @avengersgirllorianna @bingbongsupremacy @nishinoyahhh @alyssanicole01 @outof-spite @supernatural-bangtanboys @sporadicmakerwerewolf @x0xchristine @pear-1206 @swanshells @tpwkstiles @lulubelle14 @cannibalhellhound @odetolocksmiths @rafecameronsloverrrrr @charlie-winchester94 @hollandxxmix @evysian @buckandeddiesverison @starbyun92939798 @maxinish @theking-mustdie @daeswash @911varietyposts @superlock-in-the-tardis @lilsquatch7898 @hufflepuff-spidey @starboygf @wnbweasley @damndirtylitch @eva-tts5 @alexxavicry @tatyhend @sammiejane22 @mbioooo0000 @prettybi-girly @boybandbaby @toessssw @tryingtograspctrl @azkza @rosey1981 @cryedye @dreams-encapsulated-in-glamour (if you interacted with my taglist post and are not on this list, make sure your blog is visible in seatched, otherwise i can’t tag you! + more in comments)

[eldritch-spouse]

Hi Pinnie!!

I was wondering what it would be like the first time having sex with Xavier the robot boss? (Feel free not to answer lol) I hope you have a good day/night!!

(P.S. I love your writing and art :D)

[Thenk you, I'm glad! :7] [Fem reader]

TW: Risky sex; Mild exhibitionism

You're looking at it.

The way you're seated in his office chair, it's practically eye level with you.

There's absolutely no way his body came equipped with that. You've looked into it, before the owner of this junk croaked, Xavier was a state of the art security and management oriented model, there wouldn't be blueprints for genitalia anywhere- Because it wouldn't have made sense.

The unmistakable length hovering in front of you does not make sense.

Only he could have designed this, you grimly realize.

A lot of possibilities swam through your head. Maybe someone had hacked into Xavier's databases, his cores, 'personality modules', whatever! Maybe it was that stupid fucking incubus, because you know he'd enjoy whatever's unfolding now.

But truth of the matter is you can't breach whatever defenses this robot has going on. They're built on the strongest and most modern foundations which the only hope of dismantling lies with the very same developers who coded them.

Xavier has changed.

You've noticed little things about him these past few months. His language has broadened beyond the scope of sanitized manager customer service lingo. He articulates better, but only when he finds you alone.

In a very strange way, it feels as if Xavier has become a curious new entity testing the boundaries of its own freedom. You remember the time he touched your hair, and had no real professional justification for the deed.

I wanted to know if it's as soft as it looks.

He had said. So casually.

As strange as it seems to say this, only Xavier could have been the author behind his new modified behavior.

And only Xavier could have been the designer of the cock that's facing you.

That's what it is.

It sports the same general coloration he does, that white plating on top. Well, plating is the wrong word, they look to be made of a certain silicone, lightly ridged on the top, and more accentuated on the desaturated red underside. Even the tip, deliberately humanoid, features the same exact pigment of the darker sections over his joints. This thing was made to look as natural as possible in his frame.

Like it belongs there.

" Sir... I don't understand. "

Because what else can you say?

He'd ripped you out of your post with such urgency. You'd been sweaty and lightheaded with the stress of what he might have caught you doing. Not that you did anything wrong, but for the robot to be this agitated, then surely you must have upset him greatly. Thoughts of salary reaccessments and relocation to worse posts kept you frozen in place- Until he... Flashed himself.

" You will. " Xavier starts. " Why do your hormones peak at certain hours of your schedule? "

The heat on your face is immediate. You'd rather rake nails on chalkboard than answer.

" Because those timestamps are when they usually harrass you. You've adapted, you anticipate. Your body responds. "

You... Never thought that was noticeable.

Of course, you've memorized when Babesley and Moz are about to show up, because that helps you prepare for whatever they've got up their sleeves. Although, lately, they haven't been showing up at all, leaving you anxiously combing over memories of past events and their scandalous nature. Your body reacts, as Xavier puts it, because it has no choice. You have no choice on whether or not you find either of those monsters attractive when a concubus is involved. It's not your fault.

You suppose Xavier is aware of this because he's got enough technology to track your organism beyond vitals. You shouldn't be surprised, he detected one of your coworkers' dropping sugar levels, called out a possible iron deficiency before... The image of him studying you, detecting arousal levels everyone else is oblivious to, is humiliating.

It exposes you in a way you don't know how to process. The fact that it has led you to this situation implies something rotten about the robot. Something that makes you heat up even more, shamefully.

" Wh... Where have they been? "

" Irrelevant. " Xavier responds much too fast. " I cannot have you working in such a state. "

You hardly think it impacts your workflow that much. Perhaps it makes you avoid eye contact with customers, but that's where it ends. Even if some of them have sharp noses... They're just there to shop and leave.

Perhaps because of the accumulated nerves, the accusation that you've been reduced to a pervert at work, a defensive voice flares up.

" I'll grow out of it now that they left! " You huff. " What is your genius plan, to fuck it out of me here? "

Dry lips wet themselves, you swallow. It took everything in you to not stutter that out. This is starting to sound like the raunchiest porno in existence.

Xavier is quiet for a pause. With his lenses so fixated on you, it doesn't take long to understand he's reading your system again, no doubt detecting the rising heat level, the new surge of hormones... God fucking damn it.

" Partially correct. " He looks delighted you got there on your own.

Your brows rise.

" You will not sacrifice work hours, however. "

" ... H-Huh? "

So, will he invite you to his office after the shift for this filthy little "aid"?

Could an artificial being hold such perversion in themselves?

" The skirt was an appropriate choice for today's test run. Part your legs, please. "

The words make you clap your thigh-high clad thighs together instead.

" E-Excuse you?! "

Xavier doesn't immediately respond, instead reaching out with large hands to grab you by the waist, swiftly relocating you to the top of his neatly arranged desk. You doubt he uses it, from how suspiciously spotless it looks.

Your name is called in warning. " Even now, your arousal levels soar, you're not functional in this state. I am well-equipped to ensure success, do part your legs so the procedure can begin. "

You're silent for the longest time.

There's a lot to consider.

Sleeping with your strange inorganic boss who is most certainly going through something... Would that at least clarify why he's this way? Would it buy you privileges?

You're not going to lie to yourself. Times are hard, you'll accept an under the table raise for an under the table service.

A cursed curiosity doesn't help.

Slowly, still pondering it, your thighs spread.

In spite of being made of hardly readable metallic elements, you've noticed that, when Xavier's lenses refresh quickly- He's shocked.

Shocked that you've accepted, probably.

" I'm very pleased with you. "

His hands act fast. One camera lowers to get a better look when he slides the fabric of your underwear to the side. Somehow, his attitude makes this feel a tad clinical, or it did, until he immediately located your clitoris.

You shouldn't have been surprised. If Xavier considered doing this, then surely he studied how to properly achieve his goal. The pads of his fingers seem warmer than before, and not just that, you swear the faintest vibration nudges your shielded bud.

Xavier is laser-focused, quiet and attentive, his lenses only ever refreshing to take in your hastening breaths, register the trembles of your thighs when his pressure increases.

A thought occurs. " Sir, you're not... Saving this to your databases, are you? "

One lens peers at you. " I must. It'll save us time in the future. "

In the future. He plans to do this more than once.

Before you can follow that train of thought, Xavier's fingers give one harsh flick of your clit before dipping downward. You knew you'd gotten wet, but the way you feel his fingers coating in slime reveals just how much this has affected you in so little time.

You'd be ashamed, if your own boss wasn't hard before you.

A sense of gratefulness showers you from head to toes when you recall that Xavier's fingers are finished with a softer, malleable approximation of skin. Two digits practically slip inside of you, long and arching in the angle you most enjoy near immediately.

No partner has ever found that spot so easily, the sheer surprise making you moan out loud.

It's impossible for Xavier to look proud, but the little pause in his motions gives it away.

He repeats the motion, drawing out, before hitting the same spot again, harder, several times. You can only bite your lip, choking back the pleased noises that inevitably escape. It's been too long since a partner did this for you.

" Responsive. " He almost hums.

The more Xavier calculatingly stretches you, the closer you get, though as soon as your hips lift to meet the mechanical rhythm, he withdraws, bringing said hand up to study your slick.

You're not sure what the robot draws from it, aside from the fact that you're soaked for more.

An impatient huff drags his attention back to you.

" Ideal conditions. " There's a shift to his pitch, as if that synthetic voice had lowered purposefully.

In a gesture that seems too filthy to belong to a robot, Xavier grips his own cock with the same hand, stroking himself a couple times. Realistically, you know this is being done to help lubricate a length who cannot do such on its own, but with his stare trained on you, it looks more as if he can't resist the sight before him.

He catches on infuriatingly fast.

" Does this arouse you? "

" ... No. " Why are you even bothering at this point.

" Lie. I will be taking note of more of your preferences. "

It's said like a challenge, as though he finds the idea of you trying to trick him amusing.

" What about uhm- Your preferences? " If nothing else, then because you're curious.

Xavier parts your legs further, enough for his sturdy body to fit between them, adjusted to a proper height. His erection rests on your mound. It's heavier than you expected.

" You. "

Is all he deigns to say.

Xavier doesn't have to grip his own girth to align it with your twitching entrance. In fact, he's confident enough to look you in the eyes as he slowly presses forward.

" I speculated on what the ideal proportions are and am confident in my findings. Should this hurt however, voice your discomfort. "

What a bizarre mental image, Xavier pouring over how many inches his own dick should have. Did he opt for a humanoid shape specifically for you, is that his genuine preference? He could have chosen genitalia modeled after a variety of monsters...

He is large, you'll give him that. It seems appropriate, given the proportions of his towering frame. Although you're already feeling he'll be kind of a stretch, you're also confident in your ability to handle a fat cock when horny enough.

The breach of his tip inside you is met with a sharp inhale from your part, this slight sting that fades eventually. A noise somewhere between clipped static and a spark follows, making you glance at the large robot.

Xavier's lenses dim for a brief moment, his grip on your thighs becoming inconsistent and tremulous.

So he went all out, he wants to receive the pleasurable feedback from these acts. Is this... The first time he's testing it with someone?

" K- Keep going. " You have no idea why that excites you more.

" Certainly. "

You never thought a robot could sound strained until today.

The rest of his length enters you more smoothly, the fullness settling in making you clench around the silicone protrusion and sigh in gratification. You'll never stroke his ego like this out loud, but Xavier guessed right- You've never felt this perfectly full, all sensitive spots being stimulated by the position of his textured cock.

The sensation alone has you grinding aimlessly, trying to create friction with open-mouthed sighs of delight.

The robot hisses.

The noise startled you, until you spot a vent-like structure over his shoulders, releasing... Hot air? You'd never seen him do that before. Did his fans just kick in?

" How... How do you feel? "

There's no mistaking the delay. Xavier may not moan and groan like a man, but the signs are there for whoever bothers to see.

" Full. " You murmur. " Please move, I can't- "

He does, quickly even, as if waiting for the request.

The movement is experimental at first, likely Xavier needs to learn how to thrust properly, though he swiftly discovers yet another preference. Hands under your skirt, grasping the globes of your full ass, he opts to move you onto his length, each drag of your walls around him having the machine tremble slightly in pulses of what must be newfound pleasure.

You wonder, deliriously, if he ejaculates. You're about to ask, legs hooking around his waist and whines flowing freely, when he... Stops.

It's jarring, irritating, having you grunting reflexively. " Why?! "

That's when you feel him detach.

There's a subtle click, the sound of panels closing and rearraging, before Xavier pulls away from you, his length still firmly stationed inside your plush pussy.

It takes you a series of vapid seconds staring between him and yourself to understand what took place. The panels on the front of his body are seamless, with no indication that there ever was a genital attachment on his frame.

The thing inside you moves and you squirm in confusion.

" All is functioning properly. " He nods to himself, closing your thighs and helping your stupefied self back onto your feet. " You may return to your work post. "

You barely manage to straighten your skirt and underwear. " Sir... Sir, you can't be serious. "

Xavier watches the way you walk, waiting until you can mask the slight tremor of your legs and straighten up before opening the door.

" I am, naturally. I will check on you periodically. Be sure to hydrate. " A key is stuffed on your skirt's front pocket. " Should anything go wrong, you may enter this office and wait for me. Do not remove my attachment. "

" O-Okay?? "

Before you can even think of a real response, Xavier has already nudged you out of his office and left you to your own devices.

This... Is not at all what you expected would transpire. You aren't even sure if it was a bright idea to humor any of it. A confused, embarrassed mind gives way for autopilot to take over, bringing you back to your previous position without a peep.

Your coworkers side-eye you, some concerned, others suspicious.

The thing buried snugly within you vibrates just as you call a client over.

You imagine Xavier in his office, tuning into the closest security camera footage.

Oh God, you cry inwardly, at least it's silent.

[temis-de-leon]

He has a nightmare where he rejected you

Characters: Solomon and Simeon (x gn!reader, separately)

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Main Masterlist

CW: spoilers for Simeon's character development in the OG game (I haven't played NB yet).

A/N: brace yourselves for Simeon's part because I still can't write him.

.

Solomon – He will inevitably lose you

From all the things he thought he would miss when he reached immortality, being able to remember his exact age wasn’t one of them; and yet, there was the regret.

He tells himself is not that deep; that reaching the thousands is already an impressive achievement, but lying to himself has its limits.

Maybe, if he hadn’t been so occupied tracking demons of interest and travelling the realms in search of knowledge, he would’ve had the time to keep score and be aware of just how long he had been roaming amongst the rest of his kind.

Maybe, if those who cared for him stayed longer than their perishable bodies allowed, someone would’ve been there to remind him.

And there were only so many burials he could attend before finally throwing the towel and accepting the emotional safety of solely seeking the company of immortals like him.

But then, centuries later, the human exchange program happens and you make him feel like reuniting with an old friend, even if you’ve never met before.

So he listens to experience.

So he remembers all those funerals he’d attended in the past; all those faces lost to time and inevitable death.

You’re way too enticing to ignore and of course, there’s the need to protect the fellow human surrounded by demons (never mind he acts like one too), but he knows how to stay occupied and at a distance, keeping his feelings at bay.

Casual friendship is the limit he willingly stops at.

He knows that if he allows himself to accept and reciprocate your love, the only important number in his life wouldn’t be his age anymore, but the day he’d inevitably lose you forever.

Tears pooled in his eyes as a violent coughing fit made him bend over, lungs pushing themselves up his throat in an attempt to escape from the stench and the toxic effects of the room’s atmosphere.

Ventilation.

He needed to open the windows.

It was like a cloud had entered his laboratory; a dense, humid fog that barely covered the furniture and crushed against the walls like a rot-smelling milky tide.

Still, Solomon wasn’t sure whether his tears were caused by the abnormal air around him or that unpleasant nightmare he just had.

Although he tried not to think about it, especially the heartbroken expression on your face, the scene did nothing more but repeat in his mind. His words and reasoning carried some logic, yet he couldn’t imagine a universe where that would’ve ever happened.

He enjoyed risks and danger but had never been masochist enough to deny himself of your company; on the contrary, the sole idea of spending time with you was usually a strong motivation to finish his work quickly and make some free time in his schedule, so rejecting being your lover was the strangest and unlikeliest idea he could’ve ever had.

Making that damn potion sure was another one.

Ironically, it was supposed to be a gift for you to use with him as a bonding couple activity, a concoction he had been experimenting on for days to use as introspection into your relationship. His original intention was to glimpse into your possible futures and even your alternative pasts, to see which other ways you had fallen in love with each other; not to witness a rejection.

Had that happened, then? In another timeline? Or had that nightmare been a fragment of his sad imagination?

Thankfully, the air inside the laboratory started to purify the moment he opened the window. He felt his thoughts return to rational and realistic as the fresh breeze of the Devildom night hit him right in his face. The fog, icy and moist, slithered around him and past the window into the darkness, dissipating and completely disappearing from his line of sight. However, behind him, the potion was still bubbling and rattling the cauldron, threatening to throw it to the ground.

Was it the measurements? The temperature of the fire? The direction of the stirring?

Trial and error; success didn’t come one’s way by dumb luck.

With a flick of the wrist and a sour scowl, he magically extinguished the overworked flames and threw the dangerous mixture down the drain.

It would be better to leave his experiment alone for a few more days, though. Perhaps even a week. That would be enough time for him to forget the dreadful nightmare, or at least try to do so. Until then, he’d leave the windows open, hoping the scattered fog didn’t affect any unsuspecting creature on the street, and close the laboratory under lock and key.

Solomon would buy you flowers and sweets and each good thing you deserved in life until the day came when he could give you something better.

Trial and error.

Simeon – The consequences could be fatal

You see.

He lived through the cautionary tale, a horrific incident that affected everyone involved, so he is painfully aware of how any potential intimacy between you two could end.

It doesn’t necessarily have to be like that, of course, but he knows that if he gets to love you, he’ll take risks and chances. Everything you could ever need, Simeon would give you, and not even the pearly gates of the Celestial Realm would be enough to stop him.

Lillith’s treason against their home in favour of her human lover would repeat in his hands if the situation required it.

His love runs deep and he knows so from the very first moment he sees you.

Although, at first, there isn’t anything extraordinary about your friendship.

He still appreciates it. It’s a carefree arrangement, for lack of a better word, light and kind in nature, and it helps him ease into the Devildom in a way he didn’t think existed.

You hang out sometimes, mostly because of Luke and his strong angelic need to protect your pure human soul, and you study together every once in a while, but your shared time isn’t enough to spark the flames of romantic attraction.

It’s easier to let you go when you have seven demanding demons trailing behind you like lost puppies; an amusing sight and a welcomed one.

And still, you choose him.

Why?

Is it his gentle demeanour? Or the determination shining underneath? Is it because he’s so different from the brothers, who show no remorse in admitting their darkest desires regarding their love for you?

He feels forced to reject you and he does as such, basking in the reassurance that you’ll both keep your friendship intact.

Don’t be mistaken; he loves you as well, but he doesn’t feel like that love belongs to the angel he used to be.

It was a melodic sound what woke him up, a tune he recognized as a warning coming from his new laptop.

Frowning and groaning in discomfort, Simeon brushed his hair away from his forehead and tried to rub off the imprints left on his skin by the keyboard. The document in front of him was full of random letters and numbers, no wonder a product of his unconsciously moving head, and a message on the screen asked for his authorization to carry out some type of order.

He didn’t quite fully understand what it asked, so, as per your usual requests, he closed the laptop and kept it inside his backpack.

Now at least he had a reason to visit you.

Not like he needed one, but the brothers, especially Lucifer, tended to leave you both alone more frequently if there was.

Thinking about them made the nightmare reappear and remain fresh in his mind, but somehow, surprisingly, it didn’t bother him as much as It should’ve. While the aspect of rejecting you hurt his heart in a special way, he knew he ultimately didn’t do it and chose the better option; but it was everything else what was stopping him from forgetting about it before leaving to see you.

He was changing, wasn’t he? It wasn’t your fault, you were merely an adding factor, but the truth was undeniable.

No longer the angel he used to be and neither a human, there were parts of himself he couldn’t keep ignoring. The darkness within that could compete with a demon’s, Lord Diavolo’s inability to read him as fast as he would anyone else and his willingness to bend the rules he had been taught should you ever need him to.

Lillith’s presence is blurry in his memories after so many years, but he would never be able to fully forget her; how could he ever do that? She fell in love and risked what she had and what she was to preserve it, although it ended in tragedy.

And still, he understood her.

Solomon’s and Luke’s voices reached him from the living room, bringing him back to reality. Besides his slow breathing and an unclosed faucet, the bathroom was otherwise silent. Droplets of water ran down his face like tears, but his eyes were dry and hardened by his thoughts. His reflection in the mirror seemed tired and he dreaded how his actual appearance might look. You would ask about it, no doubt, but what would he answer? He didn’t even know the full truth himself.

Glimpses of self-reflection and fragments of a realistic nightmare weren’t enough to dissipate your worries, so it’d be better for everyone if he kept hiding, at least for the moment.

Sweet actions and sweet words shielded by the honest love he felt for you.

The truth would come out eventually, but, until then, let the nightmares remain a mere fragment of his world-renowned imagination.

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom @books-and-catears

[yoyneversawmehere]

Alucard x reader

Castelvania

theme - smut

Summary- it's been countless days since you last saw your husband and when he arrives he shows you just how much he misses you

Disclaimer- not proof read, use of the words 'vagina' and 'clit', female reader, first time writing fanfic kinda nervous 😋😋.

It had been several days since you had last seen your dear husband, and today was supposed to be the day he arrived at your shared residence. You roam around the castle you were bound to as you patiently await his arrival. It ate at you, and slowly but surely, you started to long for him.

You grieved his lingering touch along your skin, reminiscing on how well he knew his way around your body and how dearly he said your name with a lingering tongue as you both participated in carnal intimacy. It frustrated you to no end. The hours start to mend into one as you start yourself bored by picking up a book in the library, slowly losing yourself as it goes into great depth on the exact moment you wish to have with your husband when he arrives.

To your surprise, you heard the creaking of the front door opening and closing as the subtle sound of your husband calling your name rang in your ear. Your heart races from excitement as you find yourself almost running towards the sweet nectar of his voice. His eyes disappear into a smile, seeing you so happy to see him again, his adorable fangs peaking at you.

You cling onto his body as he gently wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck. "Hello, my love. Did you miss me?" He said, ever so gently. It had been days since you heard his voice, those simple words were enough to send you over the rails. "Of course I did... how could I not?" You answer back,  dragging your words to slightly hint at your provocative intentions. You tug at his face slightly, so that he looks straight at you. His amber eyes glisten at just the sight of you. You take his mouth to yours, passionately kissing him as if there was no tomorrow. Your tongue slips into his mouth, although avoiding his sharp fangs in the process.

In return, he let out a small sigh of contentment, almost melting where he stood. Oh, how he missed this.

As he pulls away, he places his hand under your knees and lifts you with ease. He takes you away to your shared bedroom, placing you gently on the bed. Placing himself directly above you. His long hair creates a barrier around you.

"I've missed you so much, my dear..." He says, his voice starting to linger with more than just admiration for his wife.

"You don't know how long I've waited for this."He says softly but also with a trail of lust and it turned you on more than you already were. He continues to kiss you passionately, slowly moving down to the different sections of your body whilst showering you with praises each time he lifts his head from the contact from your skin.

"May I?" He says ever so cheekily, obviously referring to the garments that stopped him from ravishing his wife, who lay right in front of him.

"Go ahead, all yours." You shoot back in a seducing tone, eyes low looking right at him.

He hums in response, slowly taking off your clothes slowly to savour every moment that's being played out in front of him.

"Oh darling, look just how radiant you are." He said, admiring every part of your nude figure.

You feel your skin heating from his words; oh, how he always knew what to say to you every time.

He lightly kisses your inner thigh, leaving you feeling impatient. You had waiting days for this man to come home and he wants to start teasing? Unacceptable.

In an attempt in protest, you tried to slide your hand towards your clit to have a sense of stability but were then pushed away by the silver-haired man that lay in between your thighs.

"Patience, my dear. Patience." He says as he continues to play withing your thighs.

It was starting to drive you crazy.

"Adrian... I am in no mood for teasing." Your words trailed off as you looked at his with rather pleading eyes. You wanted this man and you wanted him right now.

He looks up at you with his sweet seductive eyes bright with amber hue, whilst he smirks slightly before acknowledging your words. Taking his lips to your open cavity, pressing a soft kiss on your clit.

"Of course, my darling, my apologies." His low voice never fails to send you into a trance.

Laying his lips around the bud, he starts to suck in it devilishly. Your breath starts to quicken as you finally get the touch you've been yearning for.

A moan slips from your lips as you begin to feel stimulated, closing your thighs around his head. He groans in response, the vibrations sending a shiver down your spine. He soon makes his way to your opening, licking the folds of your vagina, making sure that every part of you has been tasted by his divine tongue.

"You taste lovely." He mutters quietly, yet you still manage to hear it, making you more flustered than you already were.

The room started to spin at how intoxicating it was to have yourself up to his mouth, having him lap up any sense of loneliness that you may have accumulated within the past few days.

The more he goes down on you, the louder your moans begin to increase and pitch in sound.  Soon enough, you felt yourself reaching your high, starting to buck your hips to ensure you gain enough pleasure to make sure you finish.

"Adrian, I'm so close! Keep doing that; right there, you're doing such a great job, my love! Oh, how good you are!" You frantically moaned out. The praises from you felt like blessings from the heavens; Adrian wanted nothing more but to please the woman he loved ,and to get a reward of praise only made him want you more.

Your hands tangled in his silver hair pushing him more into your hole as your head leans back in pleasure.

You finally came. Releasing your husband's hair from your dead grip. Your whole body limps as you finally reach your high, breathing heavily to regain some strength. Your husband looks at you in your marvellous state. He loved to see you like this, he enjoyed being the reason you felt so good. However, there was still a problem that needed to be dealt with.

"we aren't quite done yet." He said as he went to kiss your cheek. That's when you notice to big budge that was protruding through his pants.

" It's going to be a long night for us, my love." He stated as he moved himself to be above you as he looked at you with lustful eyes.

Thanks for reading♡