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edenspoem · 7 months ago

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carpenter!ellie 😩😩

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒. ♱

content: ignoring the fact that this request is a tad old, let me indulge in you some headcanons for her! smut, mdni, reader has a child, dork!ellie content, loser!ellie content, general storyline outline, fingering(r!receiving), oral(r!recerving), dom!ellie, rough-handling, mama petname, hint of breeding kink, fluff intertwined. this took a hot minute, sorry for the wait. (2.4k wc)

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆:

She was a shiny object of secular occupation. Glinted skin, tinted lips, pools of sweat in plaid, and hair like mahogany. It was eye-catching the first time. Stepping through the wide workshop door, the screeches of saws drowned everything out: the thoughts, the plans, the mental image of those kitchen cabinets you wanted done, but she drew everything back in.

Unfortunately, she wasn't the one that pulled you aside to chat about your renovation project. It took a rustic couple of days of contracting and working out blueprints before she was introduced first and foremost. Woodcraft of Wyoming makes customer-supplier relationships their top priority—and Joel made sure to put in nothing but good words.

“Hey.” She had specks of sawdust dusted across her cheeks, and a voice fit for an angel. Even held out her hand to you. “New girl on Goldpine?” Fallen straight to your knees, you were. Gorgeous girls in labor-intense jobs are the fucking sweethearts, and sweet-looking. Your opening thought was to chuckle—for no reason; there was a nervous weight on your chest. “Yeah..” It was airy and soft in the pit of your throat. “That would be me.”

And neither one of you knew how to continue threading the seam after; secluding hands in pockets, avoiding eye contact. Back then, you were simple strangers, so you had no clue that she was a virgin to regular conversations—with girls like you, at least. She communed with older folk, more often. Girls within her dating range are so damn confusing!

Not to mention, the unmentionables: Are you single? Are you gay too? Do you even like girls like her, big heart and small tits? Round eyes and long tears? Forest eyes, or ocean ones? Greyhounds, or tabbies? Do you hate coffee? Do you like video games? If you could bring one thing to a stranded, desolate island in the sea, what would it be—and why? Have you ever skipped town? Would you, if shit went south? This shit is the standard procedure for a girl heartbroken twice-over!

But you—you are the least confusing, and most wanting.

God, and she smells only of wood.

Woodlands, and processed bodies of wood. Something you expect from a girl of her plaid-wearing, converse-pairing type.

Oh, and has about every off-hand item linked to a sage carabiner in her belt loops. Rejects the idea of a purse or a backpack; pockets and loops are the way to go, apparently.

When she discarded her gloves in front of you for the first time, it was a pleasant discovery. They covered her tattoos: graceful, rebellious little things you are sure procured a lecture from her dad, Joel, who owns the place.

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄:

So, it came. Day utero, a week later: the day she had to go against the odds in her gut. So, let's say you're the cute girl on the block she wants to buy you a drink in the potential, rather near future? Forget it. You barely know each other and she was there on the clock, not to flirt with the client in her own damn house! She was the one responsible for getting your renovation project off the ground—well, deeper in it. That comes first. She had to accommodate every little need you spoke into the autumn air, every little direction.

Her heart did swing, however. She was in your world, and your voice was there too. She escaped into it, and ended up hours further in eveningtide with multiple cuts on her fingertips from lacking focus; your beauty the edge of a sharp saw. There would be a “Fuck!” or an even stronger “Motherfucker!” from her that pierced through the halls.

Again, and again, and again. The first-aid kit sees her face more than anyone else.

Soft memories of you seeped under the band-aids. Memories you think nobody will remember.

It was tedious work. It wore her and everyone involved thin, so that is exactly where you popped in. Pretty outfits and impossibly prettier artisinal platters in your hands, turning heads over the sounds of sawdust. Sunlight seemed to rain in even harder once you sauntered inside.

On her breaks, a camera would be taken out for recreation. Beyond the surrounding green belt of silence stands the backwoods; a cacophonic mural of birdsongs. Birdwatching opportunites. From the sink window, you could spot her. Each chirp that sounded, she took a polaroid camera to a perfect line of sight and snapped a photo, crinkling up her flecked nostrils. Then, you knew she understood the unspoken language of the woods.

She also never engaged much during them, reading the lips of everyone in the room—lingering on one pair the most. Yeah, yours. All the carpenters aiding you had at least something to start a conversation about: whether it be the area, who lives with you, what job you work. Humdrum things that come without thought or genuine intrigue.

But she watched. When it wasn't birds, it was you. She never meant to lurk on the sides. Sure as hell, she longed to say something—anything, but in the same chorus, not just anything.

She wanted to be the special one out of the bunch.

So, she studied you. Studied herself, next to your existence. Turns out you have more in common—and more chemistry, than a glorified hour of rubbing elbows and licking lips in a bar would provoke or reveal. Thank goodness she chose the route less traveled by.

“You go to museums quite often?” she spoke as she slid up the counter edge, sacrum leaning on the ridge. Convinced your ears were crafting speech from quiet air, you did not notice her. Whatever words she etched into the walls of her throat, practiced in the mirror a ritualistic amount of times, came out too soft. She repeated herself with a nudge, and a satin ribbon on the ends of her last words. Something you notice. “With 'ur son?” It lightened your eyes. “Oh, yeah.” It also lightened the numbed spots in your brain; she is a breath of fresh air. You wore unworn smiles for her. “He loves dinosaurs with his whole damn heart. Well, as he would say—with his whole butt, or whichever weird denominator he uses.” You get her to such an egregious level of delusion, she begins to consider marriage. With anybody, to be clear! Totally isn't limiting her options to you only. She coughs up a laugh. “Tch—he's just got an imaginative word bank. Don't knock'em, mama.” Defending the honor of your capricious son—whose humor is made up entirely of fart jokes—but she slipped in that sly nickname. You assumed she meant no lust, and no love by dropping it, an anxious pause breathing between it, but it sent a shiver right down your spine, and settled in the small of your back. Fucking romanticist.

You already thought she was perfect then.

But somehow, there was a whole lot more packaged perfection sat alone, and unwanted, inside this strange girl with doe eyes. If there was a mountain of boxes to carry in, she wouldn't even let your hands grace the edge of one.

She has an innate sensualism to her. When she did work, and when you did an admissable nothing, she enveloped the eye of your mind. Those little, lustful pit stains drooping from her shirt everytime she lifted her arms, were attractive. The swipes from the backs of her hands across her forehead, or even the covert decisions to unclothe her skin of those sweat-dried graphic shirts and fashioning them into facecloths and raveling back inside them before anyone could glimpse, made you lustful; sweating from the sight. Sunlight was upon her like a heliograph, yet you were the true bitch in heat.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓:

You only ever got together in the late autumn wrap-up of your project. Every prosaic interaction boiled to a point, and for both reaching, yearning hearts, it became too hot to handle. One had bent under the pressure and paltered for courage you couldn't even pry from stone: Ellie, baby-blue plaid and ripped-jeaned on your doorstep—with a bouquet.

Getting you to come to her place was the be-all and end-all to this relationship, and you are fucking glad it is. Learning more about the girl who already ticked all the boxes on being the perfect hitch to your perfect trailer, is exhilarating. Turns out, the endless commodities of nature fit into the palms of her callused hands, are weld into more than only houses. While a handful of you—including some co-workers who freeload on an average—had your fills of old, Texan-style dishes, Joel brought up punctual beats about his daughter, which she cringed at. Wrinkled faces passed around the room.

“C'mon, Ellie. Why don't you run up there and grab yer' guitar you made? Entertain your guest with a song?” Ellie sneered, silverware in her pinch clattering. “Uh—first off Joel, she's not a guest. She's my—” Though complaining, she could barely writhe her words out. The craven, cringing look on her face suggested this was her first time hosting a special guest ever. The words ghost the press of her lips, and only make it out in quiet mumbles. “Date. She is.. my date.”

All the sentient sound in the room died after. Sure made it easier for Ellie to decide that a family gathering was not her style, regardless if you knew everyone, essentially. She was none the wiser, and wiped her plate clean in record time just to gallop her autumn valentine up to her room with sweet and silken things alike crawling in her mind.

Her whispers are lithe on skin. “Think you're like the best fuckin' thing that's ever happened to me.” She had you kneeling into her love; sat in-between her barely-crossed legs, on the bed, close in a huddle and breathing into your neck. Telling you soft devotionals as if you're a bird born in shrouds that she gets to hold; her fingers trying to tangle with yours so that you may never leave. Capturing the memory like she captures a photograph. You spoke even softer. “Yeah?” The confirmation making her smile stupid in your neck. She replaces her teeth with a single, pulse-point kiss, smushing her nose. Everything is a no-brainer now that she has you to herself, for herself.

Of all trees in the forest: you are her one to carve. Ellie—the buried lover, the Ellie she kept swallowing inside, has crawled out at loathing last. This one is all-loving, eating the empty spaces that cling to your body: under the warming ears, in the pearl-shaped dip of your throat, each word that comes out. She creates little shavings of your body with the blades of her tongue, and is humming at the taste. Cleaning you, wetting your untouched skin, creating excuses for your clothes to come off.

Soon, her body is sweating upon yours; two lovers melting into each other. She drags you roughly into her mouth, arousing the bud of your nipple to stand to her lips. It hits her tongue, again and again, and is left with a wet shine. God, that fucking sight alone makes you cross your legs, and hope she does something about the uncomfortable nectar dripping down there.

She palms you about it.

“Fuck.”

In the most heavenless regions is where she shines. Literally, and figuratively. Shoving her face into the drenched secret of your spread thighs gets her soaked more than you predicted, or pictured. So when she opens her legs and pushes against you, it presses a premature moan out.

But it would not be alone. When her fingers snag and puncture in your hips, and her cunt—thick with an auburn bush—is smushing against yours, litanies of sounds spill out.

“Goddamn babe,” she huffs into a grunt, pouring all the attention solely on you. Her pussy is just lathering yours—pornographic, visual filth and more; the sounds are all you hear. “This is just what you needed, huh?” She hunches over your handled sillhouette, panting and wiping the thin hairs stuck to her lips. Her rosy face is afflcited by warmth, and shine, stare sleepy and soft. “Fuck—you look so pretty right now.” She said that, and it sounded like a revelation. With her lips curling, teeth showing, hips stilling and fingers trailing on you like you are a treasure, above and below the sea. You end up sharing the toothy smile with her. Then, her breath cuddles in closer. “Don't wanna hurt you,” She kisses your sensitive neck with a promise, unfolding the love letters in her heart. Quietly devouring your neck with wet mouthings and hot words that vibrate into your pounding one. She sucks in a sibilant breath before she continues. “But it's fucking hard not to go insane when you're so fuckin—” She stifles, and her lips pinch your skin; her intentions to mark you so obvious. She could finish you with this alone. “Mhh, so pretty babe.” How she handles you makes you feel pretty.

Customer relationships being the priority makes your pleasure her priority—in a determined tussle. When she manhandled you into some debased position; face down, ass up, you never expected her subsequent decision to put herself at a low level, too. She sits behind you, and the hand once so delicate in practice upon your face is pushing your thigh to make room for herself.

You could say she was the one being debased on her own accord. Her tongue took long, starving strokes of you, licking your pussy from behind. It drips off her tongue, down her chin, gets inside her nostrils. She whispers how much she loves it after doing it, chanting it.

Spanking is also a no-brainer. Something about the impulse gets her going. She whacks her palm across and immediately sinks her fingers in until it soothes, laughing like a fucked-out, pussydrunk maniac when your muscles shiver—her favorite part.

Will finger you if it means showing off those spire tattoos; she knows how bad you keel for them.

“God, she's just swallowin' em up.” The heads of her fingers push in, ease in and ease out. She slides out, and paints your entrance with the arousal coating her intricate digits in circles, intending to be as unapologetic as possible with it, and the sounds. She proudly chuckles when you whine. “Yeah, hear that?” “Mhm.” She made you infatuated with them, if anything.

She would give you another child, and compose all the needed furniture from scratch—if she could.

#✮─── . aestra's bibliotheca #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #dom!ellie #carpenter!ellie #ellie tlou #lesbian #sapphic #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams imagine

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acexsmhking · 2 months ago

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What is your hc if Toby accidentally got (F) Reader pregnant?

𝐍𝐚𝐳

(𝗻.) 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝗻𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗼

╰┈➤ Tobias x PREG!FEM!Reader

Summary: What would happen if Toby got Reader pregnant?

Warning(s): 18+ content, mentions of sexual actions, pregnancy hormones, pregnancy pains, mentions of mental health

Oh.. oh boy.

Now if Tobias is even having sex with you in the first place you’re a significant other, as Tobias doesn’t just sleep around

But coming home and you tell him you’re pregnant??? Yikes.

Now listen I know in Tobias HC I have mentioned he does THINK about it… but thinking is very different from it being true

First of all, Tobias will generally respect what decision you make… just… either decision warrants different reactions

Abortion:

This becomes a very long discussion between you both. Toby feels both relieved and a tiny itty witty bit sad about it

He does WANT to be a ‘normal’ and ‘healthy’ person and say he could be a good father but he understands with his… issues that is very much so 50/50 and no child should have a maybe maybe

Of course; Tobias is so very supportive of you, at the end of the day YOU are going through the physical effects of it all

He tries to be as present and comforting as he genuinely can muster, making sure you don’t feel any sort of pressure

After the procedure Tobias is actually a little.. sad. He thinks you’d look beautiful pregnant and it’s not like he doesn’t like the actual process….

besides his dumb thoughts he does actually start thinking about it more

Making a crib.. teaching them how to hunt, how to craft things

God forbid if whenever yall are actually out together that he SEES a baby, the baby fever will hit him.. HARD

just give him a week or two it’ll die out on it’s own

Keeping It

Oh boy..

Oh boy oh boy oh boy

He’s wearing a smile with you but when you turn your back he is full on looney toons panicking

Yeah he… has a panic attack a few times

BUT he does start growing excited

DO NOT EVEN THINK OF DOING ANYTHING

yeah you though Tobias was protective before well… he gets mega protective… and possessive

You think your nesting is bad??? HIS NESTING IS HORRIBLE

You start going a little insane

He pampers the hell out of you though

Foot rubs, cravings, full meals everything. You wake up at 1am hungry for something? He was already up watching you sleep

Watches you sleep a lot.

Back hurts? He lifts your bump for HOWEVER long you want, washes you hair, clips your nails fuck he even shaves you if you want

…. He will do some stupid haircut

even does little hearts<3

You gotta bonk him on the head a little to not get distracted

Worried about pregnancy weight? Yeah will you should be with Tobias cause he actually doesn’t give a fuck if you gain.

HE’S THE REASON YOU ARE

he wants the baby to be comfy and fat is the only way to do that!!

The liar, he’s the one that likes it

Scalp messages!!

Will rub and oil your scalp to improve and encourage hair growth and of course washes it himself too

Yeah… he starts becoming rapid over you

You just look so… good and you smell good

He’s gentle though! He actually mostly eats you out because he actually too horrified to put it in you…

… what if the baby can see??

Don’t try talking him out of it.. he’s too irrational

Just let him be

If you have a thing for body worship will Toby always worship your body even more so now that you pregnant

Now lemme say this that Tobias literally hand made every fucking piece of furniture

Sure he bought the screws and hinges, etc etc

But the actual wood carving? He did

The rocking chair, rocking foot stand so you can lay back on the chair, the dresser, the crib, the changing table, the cabinets under the changing table for diapers and etc

Fuck sake he literally decorated it all himself

I mean this baby room is dripped out

Like… everything this baby could need and every baby item ever made in human history is there

YOU NEVER KNOW!!

Tons of toys and blankets and clothes that Tim, Brian, and Jessica got them<3

You both actually agreed not to do a gender reveal, just let it be

So when the baby actually starts coming?? Omg. Omg omg omg omg omg

Lemme say you’re doing a home birth if you actually want Tobias to be there

Remember he kinda is… wanted… kinda.. ya know… kills people..

BUT YOU HAVE THE BEST

he made sure of it

Thankfully Brian is there since he has done nursing school, you have the best midwife Tim could find

Your own family is there (if you want) but everyone else is too!! By everyone else I literally mean Tim, Brian and Jessica since… ya know

Anyways

He is FREAKING OUT

It’s becoming very very very real

Tim is holding yours and his hand trying to calm the both of you

**tired mom sounds**

You break Toby’s hand during the delivery but he doesn’t care. Minor things

He is actually sobbing and crying when the baby arrives

Like snot and everything

He’s holding them kissing your face

So many thank you’s and I love you’s.

Brian is so crying.. so is Tim. They’re grandparents!!… slash uncles…

All in all pregnancy with Toby is a confusing thing but he doesn’t leave your side no matter what!

: ̗̀➛ this was so cute to write!! I NEED MORE DAD!TOBY OMG. Anyways imma tell y’all rn. I would be the one to get Toby pregnant don’t let him alone around me trust — Ace

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta ticci toby #ticci toby #toby rogers #x black fem reader

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nikkento-writes · 9 months ago

Text

Rub You the Right Way - Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

Pairing: Choso x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~3.7k

cw: female reader, 2nd-person POV, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – oral sex (cunnilingus, fellatio, 69 position), mutual masturbation, face-riding, face-fucking, use of sex toys, cum eating, multiple orgasms

Summary: You can’t stop thinking about your adorably sweet and shy next-door neighbor, especially after your very eventful night with him just two days ago. Lucky for you, Choso can’t stop thinking about you either.

Author’s Notes: I initially planned for this to be a one-shot, but I love the dynamic of these two awkward dorks so much that I turned this into a three-part mini series! I hope you enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are not expected but always appreciated. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

Two days following your risqué rendezvous with Choso, you find yourself standing in front of his door once again, a tad nervous to knock. It’s Sunday night, just past dinnertime, and you finally finished all the extra work you had taken home with you for the weekend. With hours spent pouring over documents, straining your eyes at a computer screen, all you want is to relax. And based on Friday night’s festivities, your shy and surprisingly sexy neighbor can help you with that.

You’re not here explicitly expecting sex. Sure, maybe you’re hoping for it to some extent. It was incredibly hot, so much so that you’ve masturbated yourself to sleep every night since, replaying it in over and over in your head. The fucked-out gaze in his eyes as he watched you play with yourself. His mouth pressed deliciously to your cunt, sucking and slurping on your swollen clit. That huge fucking cock deep down your throat. Most of all, you adore that swoon worthy smile of his as he caressed your cheek, thanking you oh-so-sweetly. What you really want is companionship, to be wrapped in his big, strong arms, so warm and comforting around you, completely at peace in the world. His lips soft, kisses careful, hands gentle on your body, like he truly cherishes you. You want that again. You want it all the time.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you knock, holding your breath in anticipation. Yuji is the one to answer, equally as surprised as you. He says your name, staring at you curiously. “Is everything okay?”

Of course he’s reacting this way; you’ve never visited, especially not at an odd hour like this. You didn’t even consider that his little brother would be here, even though he’s here basically all the time. You dumb idiot! Thinking quickly, you spit out the most generic and phony response that comes to mind. “Can I borrow some sugar?” Sugar? Really? That’s the best you can come up with?

He doesn’t seem fazed by the bizarre request, though you sense he doesn’t buy it, given the twitch in his lip, hiding his smirk. Still, Yuji, much like his brother, has a kind heart, so he plays along. “Hey bro,” he calls out, looking to his right.

Choso walks over from the kitchen, his eyes widening upon seeing you. He utters your name quietly, soap dripping from the gloves on his hands, in the middle of washing dishes.

“She wants some sugar.” Yuji has a cheeky grin on his face. “Think you can spare her some?”

Choso swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing apprehensively in his throat. “Sugar?” he repeats, an uncertain tone in his voice.

“Yeah,” you confirm, giving him an innocent smile. “I’m trying to bake some chocolate chip cookies and I have everything except sugar. So silly of me, right?” You’re not baking anything, but you can’t take it back now, not with Choso’s full attention on you.

He nods with a serious expression on his face, holding his arms up like a surgeon who just finished a procedure, suds slowly dripping down his forearms. “How much do you need?”

“Just a cup. That’s all the recipe calls for. It’s a batch of a dozen, so I really don’t need much.” There is no recipe, the lie keeps getting more and more elaborate, your voice getting squeakier and less convincing every second you speak. You really can’t help yourself when you’re put on the spot like this. Why must you be so goddamn awkward?!

He nods once more before disappearing back into the kitchen to retrieve the sugar you actually don’t need. Yuji continues to grin at you. “Choso bakes a lot, so he’s always got ingredients on hand.”

You’re relieved to change the subject in a slightly different direction. “His cookies are always so yummy.” All of the times Yuji has hand-delivered his brother’s wonderful treats to you flash in your head, making you smile.

“He’s a real sorcerer in the kitchen.” Yuji leans in a bit closer, voice softer now for only you to hear. “You know, he’d be more than happy to teach you a few of his recipes, if you want. He’s shy at first, but he is a really great guy.”

You give him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, he is.” It touches your heart how highly Yuji speaks of his older brother. Under the guise of cooking lessons, he’s implying that he wants the two of you to be together, as friends, cordial neighbors, possibly even potential lovers. Maybe he doesn’t want his brother to be so lonely anymore.

Choso returns, two zipped plastic bags in his hands. “If you’re baking chocolate chip cookies, you’ll need brown sugar too. So, I packed you both, just in case,” he explains, dropping them into your open palms.

You accept, too shy to meet his gaze, instead focusing on the newly acquired goods. “Thank you, Choso. I really appreciate it.”

He bows, stiff and formal, while Yuji waves. “You sure you don’t want any more of Choso’s sugar? He’s got plenty to give!” he adds, definitely trying to instigate.

Turning on your heel to retreat into your apartment, you squeak, “I’m good, thank you!” without sparing them another glance. In the safety of your home, you lean against the door, burying your face in your hands. so embarrassed at what just transpired, mentally beating yourself up for being so ridiculous. With all this extra sugar so graciously given by Choso, you end up baking cookies, pretending for your own sake that this was part of the plan all along.

~~~

Choso sits on the couch, hugging his knees, staring blankly at the empty TV in front of him. He’s muttering the word “sugar” over and over to himself, mind racing with all kinds of ridiculous thoughts. Two days after the most amazing night of his life and all you want is sugar. Sugar! And for cookies? Cookies for who?! He’s completely aware that you’ve been busy with work, but he can’t stop his insecurities from rattling him. The two of you didn’t really discuss the status of your relationship. For all he knows, you could have hated the entire experience all together. Though, he has a hard time believing that, not with the way you looked at him, so full of warmth and adoration, even with his cock throbbing inside your mouth…

He physically shakes his head to rid the impure thoughts, the same ones that he’s touched himself to since that night. His vast collection of toys are no match to the real thing, to you. And he may never get to feel that ever again. Because you’re disgusted by him. You hate him. It’s all over between you two before it even began.

Whelp, back to freaking out.

“Choso?” Yuji’s voice finally snaps him out of his trance. His younger brother approaches him carefully, a concerned expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he answers, unconvincingly.

Yuji raises his brow. “You sure? You’ve been sitting here, mumbling ‘sugar’ for the past fifteen minutes.”

Fuck! He heard that? Choso blushes, embarrassed to have been caught in such a sorry state. He stutters, making a poor attempt at explaining himself. “Well, you see…I’ve been…I have a…I think that – ”

Yuji laughs, taking a seat beside him. “If you want to talk to her, just do it! I already put in a good word for you,” he says with a wink, giving him a playful nudge.

Choso gapes at him. “You…what?”

He beams, pleased with himself. “Yeah, I said you could teach her a few things in the kitchen and I think she’s interested! I mean, she did want your sugar, if you know what I mean.” More nudging and ribbing while Choso buries his face into his hands, horrified. “She’s really nice and super easy to talk to. I’m sure the two of you can become really good friends.”

Friends. Sweet baby Yuji doesn’t even know the half of it. Choso sighs, finally straying from the path of an existential crisis. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself,” he says quietly.

Yuji puts his arm around him, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “You won’t, I promise you. Just be yourself.”

He meets his gaze, giving him a half-hearted smile, genuinely feeling a bit better after that little pep talk. They watch a movie together, temporarily taking Choso’s mind off the whole ordeal. He tries not to think about you or the cookies you’re currently baking, or that he’s totally jealous of this new imaginary love rival of his that will be the recipient of said cookies.

Yuji leaves at eleven to catch one of the last busses back to his university. Choso decides that he’s sick of sulking around and tormenting himself with outrageous theories. He puts on his best sweats and fixes his hair so that slightly less strands are sticking out from his poofy buns. Back straight, chest puffed out, and all the confidence he can muster, he marches next door, determined to tell you exactly how he’s feeling.

~~~

You’re sitting at the kitchen table in a bathrobe, having just finished eating one of your freshly baked cookies. You decided during your shower to finally give one of your newer gadgets a try, a sleekly designed vibrating dildo made from the softest silicone material you can imagine. The toy and a bottle of lube are set up on the nightstand beside your bed, ready to use along with the memory of riding Choso’s gorgeous face. While you wish you were actually with him instead, your efforts from earlier didn’t go the way you were hoping. This will have to do for now, at least until you gather the guts to approach him again.

Just as you’re about to retire into the bedroom, there’s a knock on your door. To your surprise, Choso stands before you, stiff and very obviously nervous. “Hi,” he says, giving you an awkward wave that you find absolutely adorable.

You smile, opening the door wider for him to enter. “Hi. Come in.”

He shuffles through, pausing at the kitchen table to observe the plate of cookies you made with the sugar he gave you. “So…cookies,” he mutters.

You bite your lip anxiously. “Yeah, cookies.”

There’s a heavy pause, the both of you trying to find the right words to say to one another. You decide to be honest with him, but it comes out the same time he asks you the question that’s been gnawing on his mind all night.

“I want be with you.”

“Who are they for?”

You stare at each other, confused. Taking a step towards him, you explain, “I came over to see if you wanted to hang out, but I chickened out when I saw your brother. I made up some dumb excuse, hence the request for sugar. I ended up baking cookies anyways to make myself feel better.”

His expression softens, sighing in relief. “I freaked out not being able to see you all weekend. And when you came over asking for sugar, I got jealous that you were baking for somebody else.” He rubs the back of his neck timidly, a small grin on his face. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

Another step and you’re close enough to touch him, but you don’t. “Not at all. I’m the one who came up with the lamest lie ever. Your brother probably thinks I’m a weirdo.”

He chuckles. “He definitely doesn’t.”

You’re only an inch apart now, enough to feel his body heat. “I meant what I said. I want to be with you.”

His eyes wander to your chest, your robe loose and barely clinging to you. He swallows hard and you can tell that he’s losing his composure too. “You do?”

“I do.” You peer up at him with a smile, wanting so badly to hug him, to kiss him.

His voice is quiet, but the surest you’ve ever heard it. “I want to be with you too.”

Your chest swells with happiness, ready to burst and shoot out confetti all over his pretty face. He’s staring at your lips now, licking his own when he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You grin at him, tugging at the collar of his sweater to pull him towards you, pressing your mouth to his. He holds you in a warm embrace, kissing you gently, one hand on your lower back, the other spread across the nape of your neck. “You taste so good,” he whispers, sucking on your bottom lip.

“That’s because I just ate a cookie,” you giggle, nuzzling your nose to his.

“Nah,” he smirks, licking into your mouth. “You taste good everywhere.”

You let out a moan, leading him straight into your bedroom where you untie the knot of your robe, revealing your bare body. He slides the rest off, watching you lie on the bed, legs spread wide, pussy on display for him. His kisses start at your ankles, then slowly up your legs, where he sucks on the plush skin of your inner thighs. You let him ravish you, toes curling in pleasure with his tongue flat on your clit, lapping you up hungrily. “Choso,” you whine his name, gripping onto his hair, bucking against his face to feel him even deeper.

He hums into your skin, his lips puckered tight around you, tongue flicking your sensitive bud. He looks up at you, enjoying your fucked-out expression. Something beside you captures his attention for a moment, distracting him. “What is that?”

You’re too caught up in the pleasure that you don’t register what he’s asking you until he pulls off to investigate, laser focused on the object on your nightstand. You quickly grab it from him, horrified when you realize what he’s so fixated on: the dildo. “It’s just one of my toys. I thought we wouldn’t hang out tonight, so I…” your voice trails off, noticing the intensity in his gaze. Hot, flustered, and not keen on elaborating any further, you comment, “Anyways, I’ll just put this away now – ”

He stops you. “No. Don’t. Don’t put it away.”

“Don’t…?”

A little too Intrigued, he scooches closer to you, studying the device in your hand. “Can you show me how you use it?”

You’ve already demonstrated the vibrator for him. For some reason, you’re shy to show him this. Maybe it’s because of how intimate it feels to have something inside you, to be probed, penetrated, filled. But as he looks at you so sweetly, eyes filled with genuine curiosity, you find yourself giving in. “Okay,” you oblige hesitantly, reaching for the lube bottle, your entire body tingling. You pump a small drop of it on the tip, using your fingers to coat the rest on.

He watches you, mouth hanging open, drool leaking from one side of his lips, mesmerized by the way you rub it up and down your cunt, teasing yourself with it. “What do you think about when you use it?”

You giggle, pressing the toy to your clit. “Do you really have to ask?”

“You think about me?” The surprise in his voice is endearing; he has no clue the effect he has on you, how badly you want him, how incredibly fucking hot he is.

“Of course I do,” you answer, gaining some of your confidence back. You pull him towards you, kissing him fervently, sliding the tip to your entrance, slick with arousal. “Look at what you do to me.”

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, growing erection bulging in his sweatpants, eyes glazed over as he ogles your wet cunt. “Fuck.”

“Like what you see?” you goad him, readjusting your grip on the base so that your thumb is set on the button.

He nods, kissing you along your neck, then up to your ear, his voice a sultry whisper. “I want you to squirt all over it. Want to lick it up and make you come again and again and again on my tongue.”

“Oh fuck, Choso. So nasty,” you moan, easing it inside you, pussy gradually adjusting to the size. You bite your lip at the tight fit; it’s been a while since you’ve used this, and even longer since you've been penetrated by anything, or anyone. “So tight.”

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” His genuine concern is too cute. He’s too cute.

You give him a reassuring smile, shaking your head. “No, it’s just been a while since I…y’know.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He grazes your forehead with his lips, giving you a soft peck. “I don’t want you to be in any pain.”

You grin wider, finding him so adorably sincere and sweet. “I’m sure, Choso.” With the dildo nestled comfortably inside you, you reach for his hand, resting it on the base. “Can you fuck me with it? Please?”

This spurs him on, a guttural groan escaping him, eyes wide and pupils dilated, completely captivated by you. You cup his cheek, tracing his upper lip with your thumb. He opens his mouth, chasing any taste of you on his tongue. “You’ll really let me?”

You gaze down at his lap, a small spot of precum leaking through his grey sweats. “Only if you stroke yourself while you do it.”

Choso is feverishly turned on right now, face flushed, his entire body scorching hot, cock throbbing in his pants. Your fingers brush his navel on your way to his waistband and he nearly combusts just thinking about your fist wrapped around his shaft, stroking him. He shimmies out of his bottoms, shrugging them off from his ankles until he’s naked from the waist down, rock hard erection flopping against his abdomen.

“Big boy,” you tease him, nipping at his ear lobe, drooling at the sight of him. “You’d fill me up so good.”

“God, I want to so bad,” he grunts, stroking himself with his left hand as his right fucks you with the dildo. Even without the vibration on, it feels amazing, the way he flicks his wrist, pumping the toy in and out of you. He times his thrusts to match the pace in which he strokes himself, wishing he was inside you instead. But he resists the temptation, knowing there’s all the time in the world to explore each other. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just the two of you, enjoying one another at whatever pace feels right.

Wanting to check out all of the features this toy offers, he pushes the button, causing it to vibrate inside you. You gasp at the sudden sensation, squirming as he ramps it up two more levels, sliding it even deeper to stimulate your g-spot. It doesn’t take much longer for you to come like this, buzzing inside and out with ecstasy, the toy absolutely soaked down the base with lube and your slick. He pulls it out of you, tossing the dildo aside to marvel at the mess you made. Before he can make his next move, you roll over on top of him, straddling his lap to rub your wet pussy along his shaft. You rock yourself on him, sleek folds gliding up and down his cock so smoothly, just one move and he’d been in heaven.

He’s a stuttering nervous wreck when he asks, “Should we…should we try it, baby?” He knows the two of you shouldn’t; despite all that’s happened in just the past two days, this is a big and monumental step, especially for him, a borderline shut-in with intimacy issues that shouldn’t be resolved from a rash decision. But if you want it, he’s more than willing to give it to you. That’s just the kind of guy Choso is, putting others before himself.

Luckily for him, you see that. You see him. “Not yet,” you say, caressing his face. “We’ll wait until we’re both ready, okay? There’s no need to rush.”

He smiles, releasing the breath he didn’t realize he was holding waiting for your response. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him softly. “I really like you, Choso. I don’t want to mess this up by going too fast.”

“Me too,” he kisses you back, nearly in tears at how perfectly this is going. “I really like you, too.”

He wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing you passionately while you grind yourself on him until the both of you come, out-of-breath, sweaty, and in total bliss. His cum pools on his abdomen, some of it dripping down the side of his stomach onto the sheets below you. You relax on top of him, spent and satiated, but your little rest doesn’t last for long as he lifts you up by the hips, wiggling down the bed so that his face is pressed to your cunt, mouth eagerly lapping at your clit. “Just a little more, sweetie. Just a little more for me,” he urges you, unrelenting and determined to fulfill his promise from earlier. Want to lick it up and make you come again and again and again on my tongue.

So you let him, moaning his name wantonly with his lips puckered around you, drinking every drop of you up until he’s had his fill, which is three more orgasms later. He starts stroking himself on the last one, a big smile on his shiny swollen lips as he kisses your clit. You whimper his name for the umpteenth time tonight, hips stiff from constantly grinding against him. Still, you think you could go longer, you want to, despite how exhausted you are. And while you know there’s more to look forward to with Choso, you don’t want this to end. You pull of him, readjusting yourself so that you’re facing the other way, in the perfect position to suck his cock. He growls beneath you, sloppily eating you out while you deep-throat him, hungry for his cum.

~~~

The two of you finally settle down for the night, cuddled in new blankets and bedsheets to replace the ones soaked with the aftermath of tonight’s lovemaking. Choso spoons you from behind, his face nuzzled to the nape of your neck, inhaling your comforting scent. He rubs your belly soothingly, voice a soft whisper on your skin. “Are you feeling okay?”

You smile, turning around to face him, snuggling into his chest. “I told you, I feel amazing. You don’t have to keep worrying.”

He kisses your forehead. “I just want to make sure you’re not sick of me yet.”

This time, you can’t help but laugh. “That’s impossible.” You listen to his heartbeat carefully, trying to memorize the steady rhythm of it. “I can’t get enough of you.”

#choso kamo #choso x you #choso fluff #choso smut #choso x reader #jjk smut #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x you #choso kamo x reader

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pushingdaisies1 · 9 months ago

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Kinda hate you, kinda love you . . . ♡

(✧ ˚.) PAIRING-> James "Logan" Howlett {A.K.A} Wolverine x Reader >_< (✧ ˚.) SUMMARY -> Being an X-men was a lot for you to sign up for. Well.. you didn't have a chance to deny this safe haven. The school became your home and the people that made up the X-men like a weird little familial unit. You had many reasons for staying as long as you did, but one was more prickly and jaded. The feelings you harbored for a stern and calloused Logan were.. weird for you to feel firsthand. One day, you are stuck overlooking a danger room drill between Gambit and Logan. With the new member of your world-saving team Jubilee by your side, it's too dull to NOT talk with each other. She was a good kid, hyperactive and spirited that's for sure. You talk, and talk a lot you do to the human embodiment of the fourth of July. It makes you think a little bit too hard about yours and Logans... predicament. (✧ ˚.) AUTHORS NOTE -> Hiii!!! This is my first time writing stuff for Logan so - bee tee dubs it may be complete and utter horse shit. I'd like to thank @velvrei for helping me ignite some well-dead thoughts. Genuinely love ur work sm and reading that and a lot more new/old logan content helped TONS. This is linked to the {♡x-men animated series/x-men97♡} series. I do wanna write more for the Deadpool timeline xmen/early 2000s timeline xmen!! But after seeing the masterpiece that is Deadpool and Wolverine, I lowkey just clung to those shows. I love animated Logan!! He is even more emotionally stunted/sassy sad!! (✧ ˚.) CWS (?) -> Logan nd u are sad ppl who don't know how to voice ur feelings!! , pining from afar/one-sided not so one-sided yearning, UHM HURT/KINDA COMFORT??? MAYBE??? I THINK??? , unprompted suggestiveness from logan , mentions of struggling to connect with other ppl/fears of the future (bay bay jubilee my love) , u and Jubilee just kinda bond, off topic idk cajun dialect so..... , and u infodump as a weird suto older sister/mom in her life, this was all very spur of the moment so uhm - not proofread!!! kinda!!!!!!!

The dangeroom was a room a lot of the X-men team spent their time in. To either train for a new threat or for general movement, drills were a common theme. Especially after world-shaking events, which were always somehow a constant, the professor was the equivalent of an alarm clock. Drills this, always having to run down into the war room. You didn't mind the training sessions if it was one-on-one or even with the whole team. Sometimes though, it was almost nagging.

Though there were little things you'd do to pass this time. If you were made to overlook it or otherwise. Most of the time there didn't need to be supervision within the training center itself. Everyone was on high alert, and off days were few and far between. Logan had been hashing it out with Gambit all morning and wanted to do a specific procedure setting. You held your head in your hands as you sighed at the grown men's demands. Gambit was a professional sweet talker, Logan wasn't when needed. Of course, you complied, understanding the sudden want for more extensive training. When Jubilee volunteered you started to not loathe the idea of sitting in on Logan and Gambit - literally butting heads.

Jubilee was a nice kid, you felt bad for her sudden entrance into life within the school. The professor was welcoming as always. With your push and her foster parents wanting her to be safe from threats like the sentinels, she was a bonified member.

Being the "newbie" always had its drawbacks. From day one you made sure to have her back, you could relate to her whole fish-out-of-water point of view. Logan saw the way you attached fast to the kid. He was like a vault of thoughts and feelings. Thoughts and feelings he never wanted to bring up or even let alone talk about. But it made your heart flutter just a tad when he sat his hand on your shoulder, gently rubbing a thumb against it.

He had stopped you before you were about to retire to your room. In the doorway to your personal, pillow escape he made sure to reel you down to earth. "Give the kid some breathing room. I know you want to help but there's no use for you smothering her."

You were almost baffled. What was he going on about? You were just looking out for her? Deep down, you did know what he meant. He might have not been a long-term X-Men member. But he did know you and the fragments of "memories" you held so dearly close to your chest. You two were so different and yet one in the same. Before you could even argue, he gave you a small .. somewhat comforting pat on said shoulder. "Just a friendly word of advice bub, don't take it so close to heart. Oh wait, that's inevitable." He joked at you with his signature toothy grin. You couldn't help but scoff in surprise and laughter as he jabbed at you with his SINGULAR witty remark.

Logan could be many things. Rough around the edges, even a total asshole when he felt like it. But to you, he was your kryptonite. It was pathetic the way you'd always eventually be pulled to bend at that man's every word. He just did that to you, and you had no answer to it.

Making your way up to the upper room with Jubilee, you watched with tired eyes as the door to the observation room slid open. Cold - walls and floor head to toe with this sleek metal texture. There were two chairs, right behind the control panel where the training sequence(s) would be initiated. Your eyes were trained on the window as you watched Gambit and Logan make their entrance inside the training room itself. Gambit of course was rapidly shuffling a deck of cards. They were almost flying in the palms of his hands as he prepared them. Logan was of course blabbing his big mouth, in his signature suit "lumbering up" as he would call it. Finally, as you just now sat your bottom into the smooth-cushioned observation chairs, Jubilee was already starting the conversation. Thank god for you as you were still shaking the morning off of you."So what? , we just watch them throw around with each other, or what?" She cracked with a curious glance at the two men down below. You rested your chin in the palm of your hand as you leaned back. "Pretty much, we're here just in case the system doesn't shut down in time. Sometimes it does that."

She paused before she gave you a pointed look, her chunky pink sunglasses almost falling off of her black head of hair. "We're babysitting them!?" She retorted with a sort of faux annoyance. "I mean it's 'something' to do but - come on...." She groaned as she crossed her arms, heavy in on the air quotations. Cutting in, you directed your hand to the control panel. "No no no, not just that.”

Gathering your thoughts, you pointed out each scenario on the deck. You couldn't help but crack a smile at Jubilee's small "ohs" and "ah's". With the development, you two were brought into a nice steady stream of conversation. Hunched in her seat, yellow boots crinkling in this position, she poked and prodded you about your style and so on. it was nice to be looked at with such idealization. Her eyes were huge with wonder as she jumped to questions and searched for answers. Though it was only so nice until the two of you were interrupted by the impact of a card deck. As it smacked against the window, you pinched the bridge of your nose.

Hitting the intercom, you cleared your throat. "So sorry gentlemen! You two ready or what?" You retorted as you leaned over the panel. Gambit gathered back the cards into his hands. "Me? , 'course cher! Any day I would love to stick it to da fuzz ball over der." He remarked with a scheming smirk. Logan growled as his claws immediately sprouted from his knuckles. "I'll show you fuzz ball you pest." His lip curled up almost like a predator ready to pounce.

Jubilee sat back quiet as a mouse as she watched you talk through to the two. "Alrighty alright! Save the pouncing for later." You barked with a small chuckle at the end. You couldn't help but feel buzzy at the way Logan reared his head up. Gambit was too busy swapping cards from hand to hand. But all of Logan's attention was just on you, it was always just on you.

"Okay, how are we feeling about the ruined city for today?" You asked the two as Gambit started to twirl a card in between his middle and pointer fingers. "Yes yes yes, dat will do just nicely, right Wolvie?" He asserted - training a hard on the hard-headed "foe." Logan's voice was low and gruff as he found his stance. "Don't get so ahead of yourself Gamby." He retorted as he turned back to you in the window. "Start it up doll, before this one here loses all of his spice." He barked with a laugh as Logan jostled his mask on. You rolled your eyes with a faint smile. "If you say so, bee-tee-dubs .. don't kill each other! Please and thank you." You affirmed as the array of buttons were clicked. As the scenery shifted into a torn-down cityscape, foes were already on the two men. The only fun thing about watching over the training sessions was getting to watch fellow X-Men in action. Just not with the risk of losing your life in the process. Leaning back into your chair, you took in a nice breath of air. Peace, for now at least. Jubilee sat up more straight, letting her bright yellow duster-like jacket collect at the sides of her chair. She brought her legs to her chest as both you and she watched Gambit and Logans fighting. You could feel her eyes wander to you in the quiet. You looked directly towards her, a sympathetic smile gracing your face. "How are you feeling?" Your voice was small but warm, comforting almost. This was the first time someone had even really asked her. "I don't know... it's like everything is just changing at once. I feel like a big Rubix cube." She said with a frown as she got more comfortable where she sat. You nodded your head in almost remembrance. "Trust me, becoming an X-men isn't the hardest part. It's living like one." Admitting with a soft sort of comfort, Jubilee was already warmer than before. The training session flew by as you two just talked and talked. She lamented about what life would be like now, what she would and wouldn't miss. How she was stripped of living like a normal teenager. "I mean everyone here has already been so nice to me, but this is just gonna take a lot of getting used to. ", she would lament to you in honesty. You tried to be as insightful as possible. Telling her that living as an X-men will always be tricky. But there will always be the people around here that'll keep you steady. Her ears perked up when you listed off your so-called "anchors." She immediately butted in after you listed off the Wolverine himself, Logan. "That guy? You two seem to be always at each other's throats?" She cracked at you with an inquisitive grin. "Well I mean yeah - he can be .. overly confident a lot of the time." You were almost reminding yourself. You didn't realize how long you spent talking about your scruffy metal-clawed 'friend.' You went on and on about how he combated with you in the best possible ways. How with his time in the X-Men, he opened up your worldview in many instances. He did so much to you and for you. He was almost like your escape in a way, and he maybe shared the same view. You didn't get into the nitty-gritty details of it, 'cause ew. But the moments away from daily life hecticness within the school you and he shared were your favorite. His arms were the sweetest embrace anyone could ask for. But that's what friends do, that's what friends are for.

Though you always wondered if maybe you were wrong. Maybe you were holding on to nothing. Maybe there was an intimate connection between you two hiding under the surface. But you had a track record of getting your hopes up. You dashed those daydreams away as Jubilee yanked you back down into the now of things. Time flew by as the training sequence ended. Logan was immediately gloating his way out of the danger room. You and Jubilee met the two halfway. Gambit sang your high praises as he lamented about kicking Logan's ass in the drill. As the two grown men bickered Jubilee made her exit known. Since the professor was already summoning them all to the war room. Gambit waved you off with a small wink and another grand shuffle of his cards. Which just left you and logan ... fun.

He quirked his brow in your direction as he realized your quiet demeanor. “Can you believe the guy? - come on bub you saw me!” He said in astonishment at Gambit's gambit tendencies. You crinkled your nose in a small giggle. If you were seeing straight, you couldn’t help but notice a small dash of a smile on Logan's face once he saw your mood brighten. His smile always found ways to make your knees weak and arms all jelly. “Yeah yeah, dont get your panties in a twist Lo.” You said with a twinkle in your eye. A grin followed spreading almost ear to ear.

His eyes softened ever so slightly with your jokes. He grumbled out his poorest joke yet. “Oh, I’ll show you.” He retorted before yanking you into him. Your back met his chest plate as you felt his collection of sweat. His muscled arms wrapped around your midsection as he whirled you around like a windmill. You ignited with laughter and “yucks” as you felt his sweat spreading onto you. You fought out his hold with a grimace and a sheepish chuckle, wiping your eye. “Christ man, you got all your .. muck on me!”

By now his claws were already dashed away. So his hands were now placed on his hips. He rolled his eyes as he looked you up and down. “Come on, you’ll live to see another day shrimpy.” He claimed with his eyes slowly wandering. “I look like a wet dog thanks to you.” You frowned jokingly, shaking your arms out. “On and on with you.” He remarked once again with his eyes rolling AGAIN soon after.

Closer and closer the two of you got as you both threw phony insults back and forth. Before your lips were inches away from one another. He drawled his quick mouth up and spat back something that would leave your mind in utter… shock. Was confusion the right word? “Don’t play around with me, dimples. I know you’d like more than just my arms around you.” You quickly gasped out the pocket of air you were holding onto. A long pause was felt throughout the hall before you two darted in separate ways.

“I need to change!” You sheepishly shouted as you headed in the opposite direction of him. He did the same, mumbling whatever under his breath. “Don’t slip and fall!” He coughed out as you rubbed your face in annoyance. “Eat shit, Logan!” , “That’ll be a long time coming!” The both of you remarked to the other in unison. Both of your voices share the same sort of flustered frustration. You raced into the showers as you soon stumbled towards the sinks.

You splashed your face with cold water as your heart was still racing. Your cheeks were burning up let alone from his words. But you were soon able to catch up with your breath. Regaining your composure you looked yourself in the mirror. Gritting your teeth as you looked at the fool Logan made you. The Wolverine could be a hard-headed buffoon. Always on his way to making a snide insult with whichever X-men member was disagreeing with him. But god damn it was he your poison. You hated him and he hated you. That was the thing that kept you steady as you changed into uniform and raced towards the ongoing meeting. You knew that same smile still lingered on your face once you made your entrance into the war room. Able to brush off the team's sudden accusations as you made sure to remind everyone about the issue at hand. The Professor thanked you as he went back to discussing what new threats plagued human life. Your eyes always made their way back to Logans with small lingers. Making eye contact with you, his eye-line was diverted by you as you turned your attention back to the professor. The Wolverine was a fool, and he had already found purchase in your foolish heart.

ꔫ✉ reblogs/interaction is appreciated <3 part two - ⭐️

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luimagines · 9 months ago

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Doggo request 2: Isekai Reader who had brought their BIG boy dog? Like the ones that are almost as big as bears. I forgot the breed name.

Your wish is my command. Let's make it a Tiberian Mastiff. :D

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

"Ok, Hudson. Easy boy." You gently held the leash of the behemoth you called your baby.

The dog was the runt of the litter, but ended up growing into one of the biggest dogs on the planet. That's what you tell yourself anyway. In your heart and in his, he is just a little guy who wants hugs and kisses and for someone to throw the ball.

"it's going to kill us." The one you were told to call 'The Traveler' all but threw himself backwards when you brought your dog close to them.

Granted, most people tend to get a bit nervous when your dog steps onto the scene, but that's generally because he's huge, not because they're actually afraid of him. Still, you suppose you should have seen this coming.

"No, he's not. He's a sweetheart. Come pet him."

"No thank you."

"I'll do it!" The Rancher stepped forward with a bright smile on his face. You admired his instant bravery. It was a nice change of pace. He walked right up to the two of you, seemingly knowing his way around the creature.

Hudson sniffed his hand and his pants, letting the young man scratch his mane and his muzzle. You knew the procedure by now. It was impressive that Hudson hadn't barked yet. Maybe he was sniffing the fur pelt the man was wearing.

"He's a gorgeous creature. What did you say he was again?"

"He's a Tiberian Mastif, bred to hunt and guard against bears." You say proudly. Husdon had proved to be invaluable where you lived. He took his guarding duty very seriously and hadn't let you down since.

"I'm sorry, bears?" The boy with massive facial scarring seemed to light at the idea. "He's that strong?"

"I mean... I don't have bears where I live but he certainly scares off the coyotes and wolves."

"Wolves?" The youngest asks, hesitantly coming closer. He sneaks a pet onto Hudson's side.

"Someone better keep an eye on Wolfie then." The oldest with the scar over his eye, looks out into the distance.

"Wolfie?" You ask in question.

"A local wolf that seems to follow us where ever we go." The boy with pink hair speaks up. You really need to remember their names better. Didn't his start with an L? "Your dog wouldn't attack him, would he?"

"Oh, he might." You frown. "That would be a problem."

"I doubt it." The Rancher shrugs. "The wolf knows his way around. I'm sure he can take care of himself."

"Ok, well I don't want a wolf attacking my dog either." You put your hands on your hips. "That's a fight tot the death. Hudson won't give up easily."

"Wolfie knows better." The shortest- The Blacksmith, you remind yourself- tells you with another shrug of his shoulders. "Besides, you have all of us with you. We'll get between the two of them should anything happen."

You doubt that. This kid is small enough to ride your dog like a horse. "I wouldn't recommend it but I'll keep that in mind."

He seems to read your mind for a split second because he bites his lip as if he's thought of something that could get him trouble. "...Do you think he'll let me ride him?"

"Not a chance."

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #lu x reader #isekai! reader

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cleo-fox · 2 months ago

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Captain's Orders

Summary: You and James Conrad do not get along. You find him arrogant and obnoxious; he thinks you are disrespectful and reckless. You would be glad to be rid of him as soon as the Skull Island mission concludes. Unfortunately for you, there's a mandatory seventy-two hour quarantine that you have to contend with…and you are stuck with James Conrad for the duration.

And in addition to being arrogant and obnoxious, Conrad is also extremely attractive…and your close quarters make it a lot harder to hide the fact that you want him.

Pairing: James Conrad x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, blow jobs, cunnilingus, enemies to lovers, Dom/sub undertones (or overtones, honestly), sir kink, teasing, masturbation, quarantine (but just as a plot device, no one actually gets sick),

A/N: I am not particularly religious, but I do feel like my file has been flagged for horny purgatory based on the contents of this fic. This is what I have sacrificed for my craft.

You were so focused on getting to Skull Island that you didn’t really give much thought to what the return might be like, apart from your general desire to make it back alive and unharmed.

You are fairly certain that no one had mentioned a mandatory seventy-two hour quarantine, though.

“It’s standard procedure,” you’re told by an unsmiling medic in a hazmat suit. “Don’t want you bringing back any novel illnesses.”

Fine. That’s sensible. You can live with that.

Or you could have, had it not been for the fact that there were a limited number of quarantine units available and for whatever godforsaken reason, it had taken them two fucking hours to finish your processing. This would have been fine, except by that point, there’s only one unit left for two people.

And one of those people is James Conrad.

You and Conrad have been butting heads since before you shipped off to Skull Island. You’ll fully admit that he’s very capable…but he just has this way of saying things that sets your teeth on edge. If you’re being charitable, you’d call this quality self-assuredness; most of the time, you call it arrogance. And apparently, there’s something about you that is equally frustrating to him because the entire mission had been a stream of bickering that was only interrupted by an island that seemed to be doing its level best to kill you.

And if that wasn’t complicated enough, there’s also this: your annoyance with James Conrad is almost constantly warring with the fact that you desperately want to fuck him. Not only is he handsome, but he’s fit and insists on wearing a t-shirt that may as well be made of shrink wrap from the way it clings to his muscles. And for every irritating and self righteous thing that comes out of his mouth, there’s also the fact that he’s got that deep, smoother-than-smooth voice that you suspect would sound particularly delectable uttering absolute filth as he fucks you from behind (or from any position, really. You’re not picky).

Sometimes you think he might return your interest, but it’s hard to tell. He’ll be sneering and dismissive one moment and the next, you’ll catch him staring at your mouth in the middle of an argument. You suspect that you have a million tells like that—it’s hard to tear your eyes away from him, especially in that t-shirt. And those jeans. (God, those jeans. You want to peel those jeans off his body with your teeth).

The idea of no longer having to deal with him or navigate those feelings is relief tinged with a lot of disappointment. He’s a pain in the ass…but he’s a pain in the ass who you desperately want to fuck. The possibility of resolving that tension is too tempting to ignore.

So the news that you’re going to be stuck with him for another seventy-two hours in a living space designed for one person is as thrilling as it is profoundly irritating.

Whether you’ll end this quarantine fucking each other or killing each other remains to be seen.

“They never said anything about this,” you grouse to yourself as you throw your bag onto the floor.

“They absolutely did.” Conrad gives you that patronizing, know-it-all look that has been grating on your last nerve for the entirety of your acquaintance.

“I wasn’t actually talking to you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So you were talking to yourself, then? Should I flag that as a symptom or were you like this before?”

You sigh and give him your best scowl. “Fuck off, Conrad.”

The smirk doesn’t go away. “I would if I could, darling.”

You roll your eyes, even as that word—darling—draws goosebumps up your spine. You try and fail not to think of how that word might sound falling from his lips as he fucks you into the mattress.

You take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of your nose. “I don’t know how I’m meant to make it through seventy-two hours of this.”

Conrad manages an expression that’s both neutral and smug, which is somehow more infuriating than if he’d just been smug.

“Would you like the shower first?” he asks with the feigned sort of politeness that you use when you’re trying to change the subject because the other person’s being unreasonable. And it’s the sort of fake politeness that you can’t call him on because you’ll just look crazy, which is even more irritating.

You force a mild, totally unbothered smile. “You can go ahead.”

You did this to prove a point (you’re not sure what point), but you regret it almost as soon as the bathroom door shuts behind him. You’re covered in several days’ worth of dirt, sweat, and probably a little bit of blood and monster goo, which limits you to sitting in the metal folding chair that’s propped in the corner like an afterthought. One of the caps on the legs is missing and it wobbles slightly every time you shift your weight.

The rest of the quarantine unit isn’t much better than that shitty folding chair. It has the sort of blandly institutional aesthetic you’d expect from the military and everything is a rather unpleasant shade of beige or brown—the tile on the floor, the paneled walls, the furniture. There’s a ratty couch that boasts a spring making its way through the middle seat, though an attempt has been made to hide it with a bit of duct tape gone gummy with grime at the edges. They’d left a second stack of blankets and sheets on the couch, but the longer you look at it, the more certain you are that it’s not fit for human use. Between that couch and the jungle floor, you think you’d take the jungle floor.

You turn your gaze to the bed. It’s a double and it looks decently clean and comfortable. It would probably make sense to just share the bed, rather than subjecting either one of you to the couch.

The thought sends goosebumps up your spine. It’s a practical suggestion, certainly. But there are other benefits.

Conrad emerges from the bathroom after twenty minutes, freshly shaved and showered and wearing an undershirt that somehow seems tighter than that stupid t-shirt he’d been wearing on Skull Island.

You hastily avert your eyes and go to retrieve your bag.

“Shall we flip for the bed?” says Conrad, setting his own bag on the couch.

You sigh heavily as you shoulder your bag. “It pains me to say this, but we should share it.”

Conrad looks mildly surprised, but doesn’t immediately counter with something smug. “Share it?”

“We’ve been sleeping on jungle floors for days and that couch looks like it’s breeding a new species of flea. You stay on your side, I’ll stay on mine, no one has to suffer. Okay?”

He thinks for a moment and then nods. “Okay.”

You hurry into the bathroom before you get anymore distracted by how he looks in that damn undershirt.

You shut the door behind you and are immediately confronted with a different challenge. The steam from his shower lingers. Everything smells like his soap and shaving cream. It’s annoying.

And also inconveniently hot.

Your mind wanders to how he looked just moments ago, clean-shaven and hair damp, wearing that stupidly tight undershirt. And from there you can’t help but think of how he looked on the island covered in dirt and sweat, the smug curl of his lips as he said something to put you in your place, the steely flint of his eyes when you talked back, his fucking biceps in those goddamn sleeves. (Is it normal that you want to bite his biceps?)

And now you’re undressing in a room that smells like him and he’s in the other room looking like that…

By the time the water is running and heated up, you are resigned to the fact that this shower is going to end with you silently getting yourself off to the thought of James Conrad.

You’re not so far gone that you trust there’s enough hot water for both tasks, though, and you grudgingly admit that the actual shower part is most important, so you begin with that. You try not to think too much of Conrad—there will be time for that soon—but you become gradually more aroused as your shower progresses. Even the simple pass of your fingers against your skin is heightened, your body gradually growing warm and restless with wanting.

Finally, you finish washing and lean back against the shower wall. The water is starting to cool slightly, but not enough to worry you. You turn the tap further to the left and there’s a wave of warmer water. Perfect.

You slide your fingers between your legs. It’s going to be quick, you can tell that already. Conrad appears in your mind as you roll your fingers over your slick clit. You wonder if he’s as pent up as you are, if he got himself off in the same shower. Or god, what if he somehow worked out what you’re doing right now? What if he came into the bathroom and yanked the shower curtain aside and told you off for touching yourself without him? You could imagine his stern look as he stripped down, maybe he’d say something sexy like, “if you’re going to act like a slut, you should have the decency to invite me to join in—”

The water abruptly goes cold. You gasp and slam the tap off.

Fuck. It fucking figures.

You briefly consider staying in the shower and simply finishing the job, but your skin is quickly chilling as the steam leaves the shower and it’s enough to kind of kill the mood, even though your cunt is still pulsing. So you dry off and pull on your pajamas, still pent up and aching.

Conrad is in bed and under the blankets when you return, his impossibly broad back already facing your side of the bed. You turn down the covers on your side, trying not to let on to the fact that your pussy is throbbing or that the man lying next to you in bed is prompting some of the filthiest thoughts you’ve had in a while.

You situate yourself on your side, facing your back towards him. You’re not touching, but you can still feel the heat radiating off him, which also doesn’t do any favors for the ache between your legs.

“I’m turning off the light.”

“All right.”

You switch off the lamp on the bedside table, plunging the room into darkness.

You settle back down against your pillow. The combination of a comfortable bed after days of sleeping on the ground should be enough to knock you out fairly quickly.

Instead, you find yourself unable to think of anything other than the warm, pulsing ache between your thighs and what it would be like to have Conrad resolve that for you. He’d probably be a good fuck—he’s that particular combination of stern and capable that sets your nerves ablaze. His body is annoyingly perfect and he’d probably feel annoyingly good. Maybe you wouldn’t mind him being chivalrous if chivalrous meant burying his face between your thighs or fucking you so hard you see stars.

You stare at the illuminated hand of the alarm clock, feeling yourself grow wetter and more awake with every passing second. If you could get yourself off, you’d fall right asleep. You should’ve just pushed through the chill of the shower. If you’d done that, you’d be sated and sleeping right now, not staring at the clock and listening to Conrad’s even breathing beside you.

He’d fallen asleep rather quickly, you note sourly. Perhaps he’d been able to take advantage of the full hot water tank and get himself off in the shower. Your mind immediately conjures the scene, Conrad standing in a spray of water, leisurely pumping his cock, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Biting his fist to keep quiet as he comes—

Fuck. None of this is helping you.

You stare at the clock. It’s been just over an hour.

You shift slightly, your cunt aching. Maybe you could just…

You should dismiss the thought automatically: it would be ridiculous to get yourself off here, even if he is asleep.

But is he really going to know?

That should also be a nonstarter—you’re not some kind of creeping pervert, after all. But you just spent days on a deadly jungle mission that included a significant amount of time being sexually frustrated by a man who looks like he strolled in from a Michelangelo painting. You’re really fucking horny and it would be so easy to take care of the ache that’s settled so heavily in your hips. Conrad wouldn’t know. You would be discreet.

You don’t realize you’ve made your decision until you start sliding your hand into your sleep shorts.

You inhale sharply as your fingers graze your clit. It’s ridiculous that such an infuriating man has made you this wet, this sensitive. It’ll probably be quick—maybe five minutes at most.

Your lips part as you fall into a familiar rhythm, your mind drifting back to Conrad. You imagine him watching you, telling you what to do, calling you a good girl, ordering you to come. You’re starting to tense, desire coiling tight in your hips. He’d probably make you come more than once—on his fingers, his tongue, his cock. You’re not sure which one you want most, though you suspect he excels at all methods. Your breath quickens. Just another minute and you’ll come. Your pussy is aching so badly and your fingers feel so good and you’re so close to getting what you need. Just a little bit more and you’ll finally get a little relief—

“I know what you’re doing.” Conrad’s voice comes from the other side of the bed.

Shit.

You freeze, your hand stilling between your legs. You’d thought he was asleep and you’d believed it so completely that you hadn’t even considered trying to come up with a graceful exit strategy. You carefully ease your hand out of your shorts.

“What’s that?” you say, trying to make your voice sound sleepy, like he’d just woken you up and not caught you with your hand down your shorts.

“Don’t lie to me.” His tone is sharp and uncompromising, and it plucks at something deep in your belly.

“Conrad, wait—”

You can tell he’s sitting up, the mattress shifting slightly. You sit up as well, your heart pounding in your chest. It’s dark and you can’t quite get a read on him—not that you’d know how to fix it if you could.

But then his fingers close around your wrist and he brings your slick fingers up to his mouth.

Oh.

His lips close on the tip of your index finger, his tongue tasting the pad of your fingertip as he sucks it deeper into the heat of his mouth. You take in a shaky breath as burning desire rolls through you like molten lava.

“You taste desperate,” he says, releasing your finger. “Do you really need to come that badly? Is that why you’ve been such a brat?”

You didn’t think it was possible to be more turned on, but your cunt is now throbbing with an urgency that you’ve never felt before. It’s like all those days of quiet desperation suddenly caught up with you and now the only thing you can think of is his touch.

“Answer me,” he says, voice growing stern.

You lick your lips. “Yeah…I—I need to come. Badly.”

“I see.” His thumb traces a circle on the palm of your hand and then on the inside of your wrist. “And you’d like me to help you with that, is that it?”

There’s no hesitation. “Yes.”

“Then you should start calling me sir.”

Your capacity for rational thought evaporates instantly. His words and calm control have you weak kneed and aching, beholden to wants that you’ve been denying yourself for days and needs that you’ve ignored for quite a lot longer. Pure desire roars through your body, pooling in your hips, waiting to be properly unleashed.

You lick your lips. “Yes, sir.”

You feel the mattress shift again and the lamp on the bedside table clicks on.

Blinking against the light, you sit up, your eyes locked on him as he walks to your side of the bed.

“You have been insubordinate, impertinent, reckless…utterly infuriating.” His gaze roves over your body and he licks his lips. “If there’s one thing you learn from tonight, it’s going to be how to take a fucking order.”

Reflexively, you open your mouth to snap back at him before you realize what you’re doing and promptly shut it again.

Conrad’s eyes shine like a cat that’s just cornered a mouse. “That mouth is going to get you in trouble if you’re not careful, sweetheart. Are you going to behave or do I need to find something to keep it occupied?”

Truthfully, you wouldn’t mind doing what he’s implying, but the ache between your legs is becoming unbearable enough to make you cooperative. “I’ll be good,” you say, too quickly. “Sir,” you add.

His gaze is unreadable. “Undress.”

You quickly comply, pulling off your t-shirt followed by your sleep shorts and underwear. You resist the urge to squirm under the heavy weight of his gaze as it travels leisurely up the length of your naked body, the pulse between your thighs quickening as desire turns his eyes darker with every moment.

He sits down next to you on the bed. Your palms itch to touch him—to peel the stark white undershirt over his head and rake your hands over his chest, to rub your aching cunt against the steadily growing bulge in his boxers—but the look in his eyes and his stern words from earlier tell you that you need to wait for him to tell you what to do. You press your thighs together, trying to keep your aching need under control.

Almost subconsciously, your gaze drops to his lap and your lips part just slightly. His cock is straining against the fabric of his boxers, desperately hard. He may be acting all tough and stern, but he wants you—maybe even as much as you want him.

You sort of lose yourself in the moment and the sound of his low voice startles you. “You don’t deserve my cock yet.” His tone brooks no arguments, but your cunt aches all the more at the thought of not having him.

Reluctantly, you tear your eyes away from his cock. “Yet?”

“Well,” he says, trailing a hand from your hip to your ribs, “that depends on how good you are, doesn’t it?”

“I can be good,” you say.

There’s a hint of mockery in his laugh that makes you want to talk back. Or fuck him—you’re not quite sure which.

“You think you can be good? You’ve already forgotten your manners and I can tell you’re thinking about talking back.”

You can feel desperation start to claw from the ache in your hips. “I’m sorry, sir, I just—I really need to come.”

“Can’t even think straight,” he says, clicking his tongue. His gaze drops to your breasts and meanders down your body. “Show me your cunt.”

You spread your legs and bare yourself to him. His gaze is cool and impassive as he looks you over, lips parting slightly.

“Oh, you fucking need it,” he says quietly. “Look at your desperate little cunt, all wet and spread out for me like a treat.”

You can’t help it: you whine. Every inch of you is aching, yearning for relief.

Conrad looks unmoved. “You were being very wicked, weren’t you? Playing with your pretty pussy right next to me in bed and not letting me see.”

You nod, your heart racing. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He licks his lips. “Sorry’s not good enough, darling. Not with how fucking hard you’ve made me every goddamn day of this mission.” He finally raises his gaze to meet yours. “Touch yourself for me. Show me how you play with your needy cunt.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Yes, sir.”

You slide your fingers between your legs and hold his gaze until your eyes flutter shut at the first pass of your fingers against your throbbing clit. You didn’t think it was possible but you’re even wetter now than you were before. A moan falls from your lips, unguarded and wanton.

“That feel good?” His voice is a low rasp, eyes hooded.

“Yes, sir,” you gasp.

“Look at how wet you are. It’s fucking obscene.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “I need to come so bad.”

He chuckles, his eyes darkening as he watches you. “I know you do. But only good girls get to come and you’ve been such a fucking brat.”

You moan again, resisting the urge to whine as you change the rhythm of your fingers to press more indirectly on your clit. His words are already amplifying the rolling tension in your hips and if you’re not careful, it’ll send you over the edge too soon.

“I think you want to be a good girl, though,” he says. “You’re putting on such a nice little show for me. Do you like having me watch you?”

“Yes, sir.” Your hips roll with your hand. Your orgasm is starting to take shape, pleasure flickering in your core like a live wire.

“You love this.” His eyes are hooded as his gaze roves openly over your body. “Being so filthy and showing me what you like. Getting that sweet cunt ready to be filled to the brim with my hard cock.”

Another whine falls from your lips.

“And you’re making such pretty little noises, too.” His smile turns sly. “That’s what gave you away, you know. You thought you were being so quiet and clever, but I could hear all those little gasps. And every one made me so. fucking. hard.”

You arch against the mattress, fingers pressing harder, your hips rolling.

“I almost let you finish.” He smirks, licking his lips. “But I got greedy—I wanted to see you come, I wanted to hear you make more of those sweet noises while I made you beg for me.”

You are deliciously, unbearably close.

He is rapt by the sight of you, eyes hooded. “Are you about to come, darling?”

You nod, not quite able to speak.

His eyes darken and for a moment, you think he might let you come.

In hindsight, that was extremely wistful thinking.

“Stop.”

You freeze automatically, though your body is begging you to continue. You bring your gaze to Conrad’s and he stares at you intently, like he’s waiting for you to protest. “Hands above your head,” he says after a moment.

You obey automatically, biting the inside of your lip to stop yourself from saying anything as your cunt pulses with a throbbing ache. God, you had been so close. Conrad licks his lips, a hungry smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Is that all it takes to bring you to heel?” he says, eyes raking over your body. “Rubbing your needy little clit?”

You nod, your breath coming in sharp gasps. “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, that would have saved me a lot of trouble had I known that.” He runs one warm palm along the inside of your thigh. “First time you gave me that bratty attitude, I would’ve bent you over and made you come until you were a whimpering mess.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath, and he gives you a slow, hungry smile.

“You put on a good show of being disobedient, but you fucking love being told what to do. Your pussy’s been dripping from the moment I told you to show me your cunt.”

His hand drifts further up your body, his thumb and index finger gently tracing the bend where your leg meets your hip. You try not to squirm as your cunt throbs harder at the nearness of his hand, but your breath stutters in your throat.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asks, fingers stroking your skin.

You swallow hard, desire burning in your hips. “Please, sir.”

A slight smirk plays at his lips. “You really are a filthy girl, aren’t you? I haven’t even kissed you yet and you’re begging me to play with your pussy.”

His large hand moves to cup your cunt, his fingertips teasing the very edges of your slit, but going no further. His eyes are locked with yours and the anticipation is making you tremble.

“Tell me what you need.” Conrad’s voice is practically a purr, soft and intimate. Filthy. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“I—”

The tip of his middle finger presses gently between your folds, teasing your entrance. Your breath catches.

“Fuck, I—I need to come.”

He tuts, his hand unmoving. “And what am I supposed to do about that?”

“I want…I need you to touch me.” The words come out desperate and whiny, prompting another smirk from him. “Please, sir.”

He hums and presses the heel of his palm against your pubic mound so that it pulls at the hood of your clit—enough to tease, but not enough to provide relief.

“Like this?” he asks innocently. The slight wry tilt of his lips tells you he knows the answer.

“I need more, sir.” You roll your hips up, trying to get more friction.

“More?” He swirls the tip of his finger around your entrance, still so far away from your aching clit. “How could you possibly need more?”

You bite back a whine of frustration. “My clit.”

“What about your clit?”

“I need you to touch my clit, sir.”

He licks his lips and slowly begins dragging his fingers along the length of your cunt. “You want me to touch your clit,” he says, like he’s making casual conversation. His fingertip trails up to your clit and pauses. “Like this?”

You bite back a frustrated whimper. “You need to rub it.”

He traces a slow circle on your clit and you let out a low moan. You know he’s not going to let you come any time soon, but it feels so amazing to finally be touched that you almost don’t care.

“Oh, I see,” he murmurs, his fingers easing into a slow, twisting rhythm,, “you want me to keep rubbing your clit until you come on my fingers.”

“Yes, sir,” you gasp.

“Mmm, I’m afraid it’s not going to be quite that easy, darling.”

“But I need it, sir.”

“I know you do, but you need to convince me that you can be a good girl.” He casts a greedy look down the length of your body. “Your pussy’s so fucking ready and we’ve barely started—you must have been having some very wicked thoughts.”

You nod. There’s no point in lying.

“What were you thinking of, you wicked, filthy girl? What got you so worked up and wet?”

“You.” This truth falls easily—almost too easily—from your lips.

“Yeah?” He’s already managed to find the perfect movement and pressure for your clit. “Be more specific.”

You take in a shaky breath. “I was—fuck—I was thinking about you touching me like this.”

“Surely that’s not all,” he says. “You’re much too wet for that to be all.”

“I…I tried touching myself in the shower. Before the hot water ran out.”

He laughs, low and hungry. “Oh, you’re even more wicked than I thought.” He rubs your clit firmly. “What were you thinking about in the shower?”

“I…fuck, just like that—I was thinking about what would happen if you walked in and caught me. What you’d do to me. What it’d feel like to take your orders.”

“What else?”

“I thought about you touching yourself. About how maybe you’d jerked off in the shower, too.” You moan and he slows his fingers slightly. “I thought about you ordering me to come, what it’d feel like to come all over your cock.”

“Awfully bold of you.” His eyes are hooded. “Do you think you’ve been good enough for me to let you come on my cock?”

You moan. “No, sir, I’ve been so bad.”

“That’s right.” His voice comes out like a purr, stern but pleased. “You’ve been a very bad, wicked girl. Touching yourself, playing with this wet pussy without sharing. You’re going to need to be very, very good before I even think about filling you up with my come.”

“Yes, sir.”

He smirks again. “I have to say, I’m rather fond of this more agreeable side of you.” His gaze drags over your body again. “Tell me you like being my good girl.”

“I—”

His eyes are dancing like he knows that you’d rather not admit this.

You lick your lips. “I…I like being your good girl, sir.” You lean hard into the word sir and you’d wager that he notices based on the way his gaze intensifies.

“Does it make you wet when I tell you what to do?”

You nod, trying to keep the remainder of your composure from fraying.

Conrad clicks his tongue. “I didn’t hear that.”

“Fuck.” You gasp, whimpering. He’s been slowly increasing his pace this whole time and you are getting dangerously close to coming.

“Say it for me, sweetheart.” The low lilt of his voice runs in sharp contrast to the way he’s touching you.

“It…it makes me so wet—” You gasp, your words cutting off as your orgasm begins to crest. “Oh god.”

“Oh, you’re about to come, aren’t you?” He eases his hand away from you. “What a shame you didn’t do as I asked, you might have earned your release.”

It’s egregiously unfair, but before you can so much utter a whimper of protest, he’s bringing his mouth down on yours, tongue pushing easily past your lips. You moan into his mouth and his tongue delves deeper in response.

The simple pleasure of kissing him is far more intense than you expect and you can’t help shivering a little.

“Come here.” He gently maneuvers you so that you straddle his lap, the thick column of his cock pressing against your sopping cunt. A whimper catches in your throat and there’s a flicker of smugness in his eyes. “That feels good, doesn’t it?” he says, his voice low and a little raspy.

“Yeah.” The word comes out breathy and shaky. You roll your hips against him, but his hands quickly still you.

“Not yet. I want you to sit and just feel how much I want you.” He strokes your thighs and presses his mouth against your neck. “Feel how hard I am against your wet cunt.” His hands skim up your waist to cup your breasts. “Think about how good it’ll feel when I finally fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”

You tilt your head back and sigh as he expertly rolls your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, gently tugging and pinching their sensitive skin until they pebble, hard and aching in his hands. His cock throbs against you.

“Did you feel my cock get harder when I started playing with your tits?” he murmurs against your neck as he starts to kiss a soft trail down your chest.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“It is requiring every ounce of my self-control to do this properly. If my cock was in charge of things, I would’ve fucked you the moment you walked out of the bathroom wearing those little shorts and no bra.”

He ends that confession by taking your right breast into his mouth, sucking hard at your nipple and teasing it with his teeth. You moan, arching your back and curling your hands into his hair, while his hard cock presses deliciously against your sopping cunt. You’re tempted by the knowledge that the friction of the thin fabric of his boxers paired with his hard cock underneath would be more than enough to get you off if he let you rut yourself against him. But there are too many risks with disobeying him right now and you’re far too horny to be able to tolerate the inevitable delay or denial that would likely follow that insubordination. So, instead, you try desperately not to squirm as he toys with your breasts, slowly driving your desire higher and higher.

He chuckles quietly against your breasts, almost as though he’s privy to this line of thought. “Oh sweetheart, you are making such a terrible mess. Look at this.”

He lifts his head from your breasts and shifts you in his lap so you can see the unmistakable wet spot on the front of his boxers, right where your pussy was pressed against his cock.

“That’s so fucking sexy,” he says, running a fingertip along the damp fabric. “You couldn’t help your pussy getting all wet while I played with your tits, could you?”

“No, sir. It felt so good.”

“I know it did. And it made me so hard to feel you soaking my cock like that.” He leans in and kisses you slowly, one hand still squeezing and toying with your breast. He draws back slightly and lets his voice drop down the octave. “I think it’s time for me to get undressed, though, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir,” you say with a promptness that betrays your desperation.

He pulls his undershirt up and over his head and you have to restrain yourself from immediately plastering yourself against his chest. All of his stupidly tight shirts had not been lying: his chest is as beautifully sculpted as you suspected it would be. Your gaze is only torn away when he eases you off his lap to shuck off his boxers, revealing what might be the most beautiful cock you’ve ever seen. It is long and thick with a slight curve that you know is going to blow your mind later.

“Fuck.” The word falls from your lips before you can stop yourself as you stare shamelessly and openly.

“You like my cock?” His smirk is lazy, eyes hooded.

“You’re so big.” You say it almost automatically, without thinking about how it might inflate his already massive ego.

He smirks again, licking his lips. “You gonna be able to take me?”

You nod earnestly. “Yes.”

He raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir,” you amend.

“Good girl.” He pats his thighs. “Sit just like you were before.”

You climb back into his lap, carefully straddling him so that your cunt sits against the length of his cock. You can’t help but whimper as the silky hardness of his cock presses against your aching cunt.

“Mmm, there we go.” His voice is low and soothing as your whole body shudders. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

He looks at you with hooded eyes. “I love feeling your pussy on my cock. So warm and wet—and I bet you’re tight, too. Fucking perfect.”

He puts his hands on your hips and guides you against him. You suck in a sharp breath as your clit rubs against his shaft.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, rocking your hips against his. “You’re so wet you just slide right along my cock.”

“Fuck.”

“You’re making such a mess on my cock and I’m not even inside you.” He guides your hips just a little faster. “What’re you going to do when I fuck you properly, hm? Are you even going to be able to stand it?”

Pressure is quickly starting to build in your hips again—a lot more quickly than you expected. You grind your hips firmly against his cock. “Can I come, please? I’ve been so good and I need it so bad, sir.”

He shakes his head. “You’ll come when I say so.”

You give him your most innocent and demure look. “You could say so now, couldn’t you, sir?”

His gaze becomes stern. “Are you getting pert with me?”

You shake your head. “No, sir. I just want you to fuck me. I’m dripping. I need to come.”

He chuckles. “It makes me so hard to hear you talk like this. I love hearing how desperate and needy you are.” He kisses you fiercely, nipping hard at your bottom lip, his tongue stroking into your mouth as he rocks your hips in the same brisk rhythm.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Sir, please, I wanna come so bad.”

“Mmm, not yet, love.”

“What do I need to do, sir?”

This is the right question to ask, based on the way his eyes light up and then darken with hunger. “You made a terrible mess on my cock, didn’t you?”

You think you know where this is going and it thrills you. “Yes, sir.”

“You were rubbing your soaking cunt all over me like a needy little slut.” His eyes darken even more. “Good girls clean up their messes, don’t they, sweetheart?”

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

He licks his lips. “I want you to get on your knees and clean up the mess you made on my cock, and then maybe I’ll think about letting you come.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath as more heat floods your cunt. “Yes, sir.”

You don’t drop your gaze as you slip off his lap and onto the floor, kneeling at his feet as he spreads his legs wide. You’re tempted to tease him—to press light, fleeting kisses against the tip of his cock or lightly flick your tongue against it before retreating, playing dumb when he calls you on it. But the reality is that your patience is running too thin and your need is too great to invite any further delay, even though you’d likely enjoy the stern rebuke that would follow.

So instead, you wrap your hand around his thick shaft and take him into your mouth.

He exhales deeply through his nose, his head tipping back and eyes fluttering shut as his sigh turns into a groan, as though he’s just sunk into a hot bath after a long day. He leans back on one hand and the other goes to the back of your head.

“You were thinking about being a brat just a moment ago, weren’t you?” he says. “Your eyes always give you away.”

You’re not quite sure if he’s displeased or not. You look up at him, raising your eyebrows in a silent question as you work his cock.

“Your mouth is good enough that I’m going to be a little more forgiving than I would be otherwise.” He gives you a lazy smirk, eyes slightly hazy with pleasure. “But I think you’re finally learning how to be a good girl and take my orders—and you fucking love it.”

You cast your eyes back down—you still don’t like admitting to that—and he chuckles almost fondly. You take him a little deeper in your mouth, lightly squeezing his shaft, letting a little moan escape your throat.

“Can you taste yourself on me?” His voice is a little raspy. You make a noise that approximates a yes. “Yeah? You like that?”

You nod—it’s not a lie either. Something about the way that the salty sweet tang of your arousal pairs with the clean, musky taste of his cock conjures a particular flood of endorphins and serotonin, bringing still more slickness to your cunt.

“Fuck. I’m so tempted to come in your mouth.” He’s still in control, but his eyes are a little unfocused and there’s a slight hitch in his breath. “I’m going to save it for your cunt, but fuck, your mouth feels good.”

You drag your tongue along the slight indentation just below the tip of his cock and he inhales sharply, brows drawing together. You gently massage your tongue against that spot, occasionally alternating with sucking hard on the tip.

“Oh, you are such a fucking tease,” he bites out between groans, his hand firm on the back of your head. But he doesn’t push you off until a minute later, when his control of his composure is truly starting to fray.

“Up.” He tugs you to your feet and pulls you back into his lap, making sure your legs are spread wide across his thighs. He slides his fingers between your folds, his eyes gleaming with raw greed. “You liked sucking me off. You’re even wetter than before—your pussy’s practically drooling.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “I like making you feel good, sir.”

“Yeah?” His thumb glides up to lightly graze your clit while his index finger traces your entrance. “Should I make you feel good, too?”

You nod. “Please, sir.”

He slowly sinks his index finger inside you and you let out a low, wanton moan.

“Oh, you’re tight, love.” His voice is so soft, a sharp contrast to the noise you just made. His finger curls, rubbing against that soft aching spot inside you. “You really think your snug little pussy can take my big cock?”

You shiver, the muscles of your cunt tightening and flexing around his finger. “Please, sir. I fucking need it so bad. I need you to fuck me with your big, thick cock.”

He kisses you, his mouth soft and slow, almost sweet. He draws back, his forehead resting against yours. “Are you ready to come?” he murmurs, the softness of his voice belied by the fire in his eyes.

“Oh god, yes.” Your answer comes before you can even think about it. “Please, sir, I’m so fucking ready.”

“Yeah? You want me to take care of your needy cunt?”

You nod. “Yes, sir. Please. I’ve been so good for you.”

He hums. “You have been a very good girl for me. Taking my orders, sucking my cock.” His gaze is thoughtful, assessing—and still darkly hungry. “This is what I want: I want to make you come and I want you to scream for me. I want everyone to know who’s making you feel so good. I want them all to know who this sweet pussy belongs to, whose cock is ruining you for everyone else.”

You are desperate enough to agree to a lot, but this is exactly what you hoped he’d say. “Yes, sir.”

His eyes darken. “You keep calling me sir for now, but I want you to use my name when you come.”

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

He presses a soft kiss against your lips. “Lie back on the bed.”

You climb on the bed and lie back as he settles himself between your legs, bringing your thighs over his shoulders. His thumbs spread you open, eyes gleaming with raw greed. You take a deep shuddering breath, biting back yet another embarrassing whine.

He leans in, inhaling deeply. “I have been absolutely dying for a taste of this pussy.”

Your legs are shaking. His mouth is so close that you can feel the heat of his breath.

“The moment we met, I knew I wouldn’t be satisfied until I made you come in my mouth.”

The tip of his tongue ghosts against your clit. It’s brief—barely a tap, not anywhere enough to provide anything resembling relief. Before you can do anything, he retreats.

He looks up at you, eyes dark and hungry. “Just as sweet as I thought. Sweeter, even.”

“Please,” you breathe.

The tip of his tongue grazes your clit again and withdraws.

You whimper. “James.”

This seems to move the needle. He sucks in a sharp breath and then the heat of his mouth is enveloping your aching clit.

His strategy before was to tease, to withhold; now, though, it’s as though he’s trying to make up for lost time. His tongue doesn’t leave your clit, tracing brisk circles that leave you gasping. He slides a finger inside you, curling and stroking until your hips lift to meet him, until you’re wet enough to take a second one. His fingers are as clever as his tongue, quickly finding the right pace and curling and stroking in just the right way. If he told you he’d spent the last several years studying the exact way to get you off, you would believe him because that’s how attuned he is to your needs. No movement is wasted, every choice is deliberate, considered. You thought that being ruined for others was something of an exaggeration, but you can feel it starting to become your reality as he unwinds all the tension and teasing to what is sure to be a truly spectacular end.

“James.” His name falls from your lips without thought. He looks up at you, eyes blazing with want. You gasp, the tension in your hips tightening to that final point, your cunt desperately squeezing his fingers as your clit thrums in his mouth. “James, I’m gonna—”

The rest of your sentence is lost to the onslaught of your orgasm. The noise you make is so rough and primal that you would be embarrassed had you not completely abandoned your capacity to feel shame when you started calling him sir and begging for his cock. His tongue on your clit has set off a fountain of fizzing sparks that are only egged on by the way your cunt clenches around his thrusting fingers. Conrad groans into your cunt like this is just as enjoyable for him as it is for you, his pace and attention never faltering for a moment, as though his primary purpose is to devour and worship. Your back arches and you moan, your hands gripping the bedsheets and then his hair as you lose yourself to days of pent up energy.

He doesn’t stop, though, his mouth still massaging your clit and his fingers curling and stroking inside you. A third finger squeezes inside you and you moan at the stretch, feeling like it’s too much and not enough all at the same time. But soon enough, the waves of feeling that you thought had dispersed are gathering again, thrall to the tidal push and pull of his tongue and fingers. You cry out, back arching as you come again, harder than before, body quaking, cunt dripping, hands gripping his hair like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

He lets you come down fully this time, crawling up your body to kiss you once you catch your breath. “You taste so fucking sweet when you come.” His voice is a growl against your lips.

You wrap your legs around his waist, desperately grinding yourself against him. “Need you. Please.”

That cocky smirk is back. “You just came twice and you still want my cock?”

There’s no point in even trying to pretend otherwise. “I need your cock. I need you to fuck me, I want you to claim me.”

“Yeah?” He shifts his weight slightly, reaching between you and rubbing the head of his cock in a slow circle on your clit. “You think you’re ready for my cock?”

“I need it.”

With agonizing slowness, he drags his cock down to your entrance. He presses ever so gently against you, just enough to make you feel how thick he is. “That enough for you, sweetheart?”

You shake your head vehemently. “I want you to fill me up and fuck me.”

“Fill you up and fuck you, hm?” He eases the tip of his cock inside you. “Like that?”

You shiver. “More.”

He inches forward. “Is this enough?” His smile is wicked.

“James, please.”

He chuckles, but he concedes at last. It’s a long, toe curling thrust before he bottoms out inside you, a tight fit that knocks the breath from your lungs in the most delicious way while the muscles of your cunt tighten and tremble around him.

Conrad groans deep and low, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fucking hell, you are tight, love.”

You are close to completely blissed out, but not so much that you miss this opportunity: “I’ll be even tighter if you make me come again.”

He smirks and rolls his hips once, nearly ungluing you as his cock seems to stroke every aching place inside of you. “If I make you come again? Sweetheart, we haven’t even started and you’re a fucking mess—I’m more concerned that you’re not going to be able to stop coming.”

You can’t resist a weak smirk, even as you’re slowly starting to unravel like he claims. “Right. So you should—oh, fuck yes—you should have no trouble meeting that challenge.”

He frowns, his expression going stern again in a way that makes you shiver. “You’re getting awfully mouthy. Am I going to have to fuck that attitude out of you?”

Despite your best efforts, desire floods your cunt and you clench around his cock. A sly, knowing smile pulls at his lips.

“You filthy girl, that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it?” He gives one gentle thrust that makes your toes curl.

You lick your lips. “What if I do?”

He smirks. “Well, that would be awfully convenient because I desperately need a mouthy slut to come on my cock until she learns her fucking lesson.” His hips snap hard against you and you moan. “You think you can do that?”

You’re utterly wrecked for him, but you can’t resist one last bit of snark: “Stop talking about it and find out.”

His smile is sharp and a little dangerous, but you love it. “You are such a fucking brat.”

You bite your lower lip and clench your muscles on his cock. “Fuck it out of me, then.”

“Oh, I’m going to.” He tries a few shallow thrusts, searching until his cock finally finds that spot inside you that makes you keen and draws a hungry smile on his lips. “That’s where you need me, hm? Right here?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, running your nails up along his back.

He works a hand between your legs, his thumb rolling over the hood of your clit, rubbing in time with each thrust of his hips.

“Oh god, James.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” His eyes are dark as he looks down at you, devouring you with his gaze. “I wish you could see how fucking good you look taking my cock like this.”

“You feel so good,” you moan. “I fucking love your cock.”

A low, pleased sound rumbles in his chest. “What do you love about my cock?”

“It’s so big. And thick.” You gasp, clenching as he thrusts into you. “And you know how to fuck me just right.”

“Mmm. This is what you needed, isn’t it? Someone who knows exactly how to take care of your needy little cunt and turn you into a good girl.”

You nod, your lips parting as he keeps hitting that spot inside you.

“You love this, don’t you? You love being my obedient little slut and letting me claim your dripping pussy with my big hard cock.”

You shudder. “Oh fuck.”

His eyes turn steely. “I asked you a question.”

Still more slickness rushes to your cunt. “Yes, I fucking love this, I love being your slut, I love it so much, god, I wanna come so bad.”

You’re close to coming, your cunt already starting to clench on his cock. Conrad’s fingers leave your clit and before you can complain, he’s guiding your hand to replace his. Your fingers automatically fall into a brisk rhythm, as he braces both arms on either side of you, trading his leisurely pace for steadier, firmer thrusts.

“Yeah, that’s what you needed,” he rasps as you moan. “Just a little more, just a little harder.”

“James.” Words are slightly beyond you now, but his name burns bright in your mind and on your lips.

“You gonna come on my cock, gorgeous?”

You nod and work your clit a little faster. You’re so close and he feels so good.

“Do you want to be a good girl for me?”

You nod, a simple yes far beyond you right now.

“Then let me feel you come hard.”

It’s the final push that you need and you cry out as your fingers and his cock tip you headfirst into a toe curling orgasm.

“Good girl,” he purrs as you shake in his arms, your fingernails digging into his shoulders. “Christ, you feel too fucking good when you come. Your tight little pussy gets even tighter.”

“Keep going,” you gasp. “Keep going, please.”

“Oh, I’m not going to stop until I get my fill,” he murmurs. “Though you’re so fucking tight, I don’t even know if there will be room for my come.”

He has one of the filthiest mouths you’ve ever heard and it’s doing things to your body that you’ve never experienced before.

“You love it when I talk to you like this, don’t you?” he drawls with a bit of a smirk. “Every time I say something filthy to you, I feel you clench on my cock.” His eyes get darker and you know he’s about to up the ante. “But I noticed that I tend to get the strongest reactions when I call you my good girl…”

You would like to be able to deny this, but it’s unmistakable: your cunt clamps down hard on his cock.

He grins. “Or when I call you my slut.”

Your cunt clenches again and he smirks.

“So which is it, do you think?” His hips thrust just a little harder. “Do you want to be my good girl or my slut?”

“Both,” you breathe. Your brow furrows and your lips part—he’s hitting that tender spot inside you and you feel yourself starting to tense in a very telling way. “Oh god, James.”

“Oh yes, you’re about to come again, you filthy girl.” He says this confidently and increases his pace just slightly. “You really are a slut, aren’t you? You just can’t get enough of my cock.”

You have rapidly ascended to the point where you can only manage an affirmative whimper and not actual words.

Conrad smiles. “Now be a good girl and make a mess on my cock like a perfect little slut.”

You arch, fingernails digging into his back and a sharp cry falling from your lips as you come for him, your whole body shaking with effort.

“Fucking hell.” He’s slowed his pace slightly, waiting for you to catch your breath before rolling the two of you over so he lies on his back. “Go on,” he says, his gaze dragging appreciatively over your body, “ride my cock and give me a little show.”

“Yes, sir.” You roll your hips, searching out that angle he’d been teasing you with earlier. You begin to ride him as you find it, letting out a low moan as you tilt your head back. You’re in that heady space where it’s easy to keep coming with the right stimulation and Conrad’s cock and filthy mouth are insanely well suited to that purpose.

“Good girl.” His voice is a low rasp. “You gonna come on my cock again?”

You nod and guide his hand to your clit. “Help me out.”

“You’re getting bold.” He smirks, but his fingers start working your clit. You roll your hips and arch your back, running your hands down your thighs all the way up to cup your breasts.

Conrad is rapt as he watches you ride him, his fingers still working your clit. “I wish you could see how fucking beautiful you are right now. Absolutely stunning.”

You whimper, rocking your hips just a little faster. You squeeze your nipples, plucking at the sensitive skin.

“Oh, that’s it, take what you need. Your needy cunt needs relief, doesn’t it? You’ve been such a good girl tonight and good girls get to come on my cock as much as they can.”

You shudder, your cunt clenching hard on his cock.

“I think my cock was made for your pussy. You feel so fucking good.” He groans, his hips rocking up into you. “I’m not gonna be able to hold off when you come this time. The minute I feel you start to come, I’m gonna come inside you.”

“Yes.” You’re shaking now, brow furrowing as you feel your orgasm rise inside you. “Oh, god, yes.”

“Oh, you’re fucking close.” His fingers press more firmly on your clit. “Come for me, gorgeous, come on my cock so I can fill you up.”

With his words, your orgasm blossoms in your belly, your cunt clenching hard on his cock. Conrad groans, his eyes fluttering shut as you ride him.

“Oh fuck, that’s good.” His hips drive up into you a little harder as he starts chasing his own high.

You lean down, pressing your chest against his as you keep riding the pulsing waves of pleasure. He grabs your ass with both hands and presses his feet flat against the mattress, giving him enough leverage to thrust up into you at a wicked fast pace. You moan as his cock hits that sensitive spot inside you once again.

His jaw is tight as he fucks you hard, but his lips start to part the closer he gets.

“Come for me,” you murmur. “I’ve wanted this for days. Let me see you come.” You lower your voice further. “I want you to claim me, James. Fill me up and make me yours.”

“Fuck. Yes—fuck, fuck, fu—” His words give way to a gasp and then a low groan that sounds like pure bliss as he spills inside you.

His hips roll against you for a while as he rides out his orgasm, his whole body shuddering with pleasure. “That’s so fucking good,” he murmurs, his words slurring just slightly as his hips begin to slow. “Fuck, I needed that.”

You intend to sit up, to give him a little space, but instead, he pulls you into a deep and slow kiss, one that surprises you with its tenderness. His cock throbs inside you still, but you don’t mind the closeness. He strokes his hand up your spine and back down and you’re tempted to purr like a cat.

His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw to your ear and then your neck.

It’s like this for a while—soft searching kisses, his large hands caressing your bare skin, your hands tracing the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw. He’s the first to get up, stumbling to the bathroom for a damp washcloth, cleaning the two of you up with a tenderness you don’t quite expect.

He returns to bed a few minutes later and you both lie there, face-to-face. It’s quiet for a few moments as you both consider the weight of what you’ve just done and what it means going forward.

Anxiety settles in the pit of your stomach as you stare at his face. You know what you want; you just don’t know whether it’s in reach.

Conrad is the first to speak.

“In hindsight,” he says, propping his head up with his hand, “we probably should have just done that to begin with.”

A relieved, breathy laugh tumbles from your lips. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

His eyebrows lift and his face falls into an expression of playful surprise. “Did you just voluntarily admit that I’m right?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Oh spare me.”

“No, I mean, I thought my cock was good, but not on the order of performing miracles—”

You swat at him. “You’re making me sound far more unreasonable than I am.”

He grins and loops an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Mmm, I suppose I might have exaggerated slightly.”

“A little more than slightly.”

He shrugs and gives you another easy smile. “If you want to get technical.”

You look up at him, your heart beating fast. His eyes look particularly blue in this light—almost aquamarine. He examines your face carefully, one hand tracing the line of your jaw.

“So is this a truce or do you still hate me?” You don’t plan to ask this question until you find yourself saying it out loud.

Conrad frowns, a flicker of confusion lighting up his eyes. “I never hated you.”

You raise your eyebrows at him.

“I found you extremely frustrating,” he says, still tracing his finger along your cheek. “A bit stubborn and hard-headed. Wildly attractive to an inconvenient and distracting degree. But I never hated you.”

Your stomach flips. “I suppose I should also confess that I didn’t hate you either.”

“Not even a little?” His expression is gently teasing and it warms you in a way that you don’t expect.

“I mean, you could be a little bit of a jerk,” you say. “And you pissed me off a lot. But mostly, I was just thinking about how much I wanted to fuck you.”

“Well,” he says, his fingertips still stroking your cheek, “I’m glad we got that sorted.”

“Me too.”

There’s a comfortable, easy silence. You feel sated and pleasantly sleepy.

“So,” says Conrad, “do you think I might take you out to dinner once this is all over?”

You offer him a slow smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good.” He traces his finger along your neck and down to your shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “I suppose until then we’re just going to have to use this time to work out the remainder of our sexual frustration.”

You smile, even as your stomach flips. “I mean, there’s quite a lot to work out.”

“It may take months,” he says solemnly and you laugh.

There’s another comfortable beat of quiet.

He clears his throat. “I’m, ah, not always quite so stern during sex.” There’s a faint flush to his cheeks and you can’t help but find it endearing.

“I mean…I really liked it,” you say, your cheeks burning just a little. “I’m fine mixing it up a bit from time to time, but I also don’t have any issue with how you were tonight.” You give him a wry smirk. “I might not always be quite as cooperative, though.”

His gaze darkens just slightly. “Then I’ll just have to come up with some appropriate punishments, won’t I?”

You lick your lips. “Yes, sir.”

He smiles and pulls you flush against him. Somehow, you don’t think you’ll be getting much sleep tonight.

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