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is-the-sky-blue · 23 days

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DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS (PT 3): GOJO SATORU & GETO SUGURU

Synopsis: When you have questions about physical intimacy Satoru and Suguru are quick to answer them.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, satosugu x fem!reader, pet names, praise, teasing, fingering, oral (f receiving), finger sucking, penetration, unprotected sex, allusions to first times/ virginity loss, mentions of alcohol (nothing occurs under the influence), cum eating, marking, overstimulation, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, very slight degradation (reader is called slut once, affectionately)

Part 1 Part 2 >Part 3<

It was then, after a few months they spent thoroughly stretching your pussy, before they even dared to answer one of your dirtiest little questions.

"What would it feel like if you fucked me"

But that wasn't only a question you posed but many of the other students on campus. You could hear it in the little slivers of conversations your eavesdropping ears picked up on when you walked over to the two boys as they waited outside your classroom, wanting to all check out a cafe that just opened up, Satoru's sweet tooth itching to try out the abundance of pastries and desserts. Your feet hitting the tiled grounds as you approached them, catching faint whispers of adoration as onlookers marveled their beauty, and at times you couldn't ignore the feeling of pride that you'd get knowing that those pretty lips people murmured about have touched yours, on multiple occasions.

When you were sitting in the lecture room awaiting your professors, you could hear poorly whispered words as girl's squealed, flushed faces speculating just how long both boy's were, trying to correlate it to their height and hand size and while their imaginations were left to run wild you sat there with an exact approximation in your head, knowing that while they talked about solely length width was an overwhelming factor as well, while Suguru would be considered decently long compared to the average size his girth was jaw-breaking while Satoru hit length out of the park with how absurd he was, he'd hit the back of your neck and still not be fully inside your mouth.

It was these piece by piece dirty confessions you picked out upon, and you could find yourself mentally answering almost every question you came across, while people wondered how they talked in the bedroom, you could hear their words in your ears as you recounted the countless filthy things they've spewed, while people pondered if they took aftercare seriously or just walked after they fucked, you were being coddled in bare arms while sitting in a porcelain bathtub knowing full well that if you weren't comfortable after they made you orgasm it only meant they were going to force yet another round out of you.

While you could find yourself knowing the response to every query, there was still one that left you stumped, what would fucking them feel like. Obviously you could speculate, knowing full well the answer would be mind-blowingly good, but your aching cunt could only clench around their fingers so much while you pretended it was actually their cocks.

You had it all, they gave their everything to you and yet you were still greedy for more, hungry for them to scratch this itch deep in your guts, answer one of your few unanswered questions you always barraged them with.

It was a question that hung over your head, flooding your brain even when you didn't call for it.

The night air bit at your exposed skin, coating you in a cloak of frost as your teeth chattered, arms wrapped around your torso to try and preserve your warmth, the sky swathed with darkness as not even stars could shine, the neon signs of the bustling building behind you and the many other buildings with bright lamps creating too much light pollution for the pin pricks to dot through.

The loud thumping bass shook the pavement beneath your heel clad feet as the music barely muffled behind the pulsing plaster walls, lingering scent of alcohol wafting through the opening and closing doors as bodies motioned past you, bright headlights of cars pulling up to the curb as group after group of party goers dressed in skin tight outfits rushed to get inside.

You were no exception, the short baby pink bodycon dress you wore hugging your curves in delicious ways as your slowly blistering feet slightly bounced to the rhythmic beats behind you, the rustling of foliage sending shivers down your spine as a gust of wind tussled through your still somehow immaculate hair, the squishy space of the club's dance floor doing little to disturb the look you curated at the start of the night.

"Hey (L/N), you doing alright," and you turn towards the door, staring at the face of one of your upperclassmen. his short cropped hair hanging to his sweaty forehead as the scent of booze carried with him as he approached/

"Yeah," you nod, trying to plaster on a smile over your tired face, not expecting the night to turn out this way as he stood a couple respectful steps away from you, "just waiting on my ride."

"What!" he gasped, "you leaving already," he exclaimed, "you didn't even get a drink in your system," he said it as though it was a crime, "c'mon we got a student discount, I'll even buy you one if you're short on cash, or even if you are... high on cash, my treat," and he reached for your arm, perspiring palm tugging on your wrist but you take a step away, yanking yourself out of his weak drunken grasp.

"I'm really okay," you politely decline with a shake of your head, and you could feel your phone start to vibrate in the small glittery clutch you held tight to your chest. Quickly you flipped open the clasp and took the device out, bright screen illuminating your face despite the brightness being turned significantly down, the buzzing of a familiar caller ID bringing a smile to your lips as you pressed it to your ear.

"Hello," you start, tapping your finger against your case.

"We're almost there," he said instead.

"It's the nightclub down on 7th right," and you realized that his phone was connected to the cars audio system as a second voice spoke up.

"Mhm," you nod, staring up at the street sign that stood tall, on a metal pole stuck in the sidewalk, a couple meters down, illuminated by a flickering lamppost, assuring the man for the second time that night that he hadn't got your location incorrect, and from your other ear you could hear your peer continue to talk.

"Well alright then," he sighed, "do you want me to walk you home at least, it's getting late," he offered and yet again you shook your head.

"I'm getting a ride, remember," you reiterate, shifting on the balls of your feet as he leaned against the planter pot of the large hedge beside the two of you, trying to keep balance on his drunken feet.

"Who are you talking to love."

"No one important," you reply dismissively.

"Oh yeah," he laughed from beside you, "silly me," he grinned, "do you want my jacket then, you seem pretty cold," and you could suddenly feel his eyes rake over your body, making you squeeze your arms around your torso a little tighter.

"I'm okay," you mumble, averting your gaze before biting at your lip, whispering into the phone "please hurry," you shiver, goosebumps prickling over your skin.

"Only a few blocks away," he reassures and you could hear the accelerator hum even through the phone.

"Are you sure you ain't wearing much," he comments and you shake your head.

"No I'm perfectly fine," you stand your ground, eyes lighting up as you watched a familiar car skid to the curb, pulling to a stop in front of you and the passenger side door flung open even before the vehicle's engine shut off.

White hair puffed against his head, feet stomping as they hit pavement and quickly you were covered in a warm coat, hands draping the fabric over your shoulders and you could hear the click of the car lock from over his shoulders, spotting the bright head lights turn off and another pair of quick paced shoes approach.

"Finally found you pretty girl," Satoru whispered into your ear, hands running up and down your frigid arms, forcing the warmth from the woven fabric into your limbs and couldn't help but ogle at the droop in his shirt as he leaned down to stare into your eyes, the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, revealing the smooth expanse of his chest, tops of his pecs peeking out as he flashed just the right amount of cleavage. "You like what you see," he teased, capturing your wandering gaze and you brought an all too cold finger to trace his collarbone, his warm hand instantly capturing it as he tried to heat up the appendage.

"Mhm," you sigh, letting careful hands take your bag from you and you smile at the sight of his dark hair, inky locks rivaling the sky as it framed his grinning face.

"Oh uhm," you could hear a drunken slur and Satoru is pulling you away by the shoulders, moving you flush to his chest as he shared his body heat, eyes glaring at the boy who gaped at the scene, eying the two men who were quick to coddle you, "I guess I'll be going then," he mumbled, brows furrowed and you didn't meet his gaze as you opted to nuzzle into Satoru's warm skin, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind you ear.

"Yeah you will be," Suguru replies as his loitering feet don't shift to leave, the boys mouth wanting to ask you yet another question but the dark haired man's words keep him quiet as he straightens his posture.

"S-see you later (L/N)," he calls out to you, not sparing a second glance as his alcohol imbued form stumbled back into the building, leaving you hearing Satoru murmur 'like hell he will' into your scalp as Suguru's hands find your waist.

"Thought you were gonna hang out with a bunch of people from your department at the pub, how'd you end up here," he murmured flipping you around so you were facing him, your back to Satoru as he leaned to speak gently into your ear and you couldn't help but relax into his touch. "Did you drink," he asked, your all too pliant form making him worry, hands running up your sides and you shook your head. Not bothering to answer his initial question as you shut your eyes.

"No," you whispered quietly, taking in a breath as you let their body heat warm you before you are blinking up at them. Satoru was dressed in a sultry little top tucked into his dark jeans, as Suguru stood beside him, in a form fitting black tee, that you knew was the one you bought him, his high waisted baggy pants a stark contrast that accentuated his figure perfectly, and you could tell the coat on your shoulders was the last finishing touches to his outfit. "Did you?" you asked, fingers, carefully reaching up to toy with the long hanging earring from Suguru's ear, leaning back to rest your head on Satoru's shoulder, watching as the glass gem glinted beneath the moonlight.

"Nah," Satoru mused as Suguru leaned into your touch, moving downward, and soon you were cupping his face, running your thumb over his cheek, "we were just browsing the night market," he explained and you couldn't help but smile, "got you a couple gifts," he tacked on, relishing in the excited glint in your eye.

"You didn't have to."

"Didn't have to, but we wanted to," he hummed, keeping the coat that threatened to slip off, pinned to your shoulders with his hand. "You look stunning tonight," his tone was low as he murmured into your ear, a compliment only for you to hear.

"Absolutely breathtaking," Suguru mused, slightly wetting his lips as he let himself freely explore your body with his eyes, admiring the art piece that was you, "that dress looks really good on you," he compliments, knowing that you enjoyed being told the outfits you've picked look perfect, but instead of basking in his words you had something else you were focused on.

"It'd look better on your bedroom floor," you teased, running your hands over the bone of his jaw, feeling it clench ever so slightly at your comment as he leans to press a kiss to your cheek.

"Oh really," he mused, "so that's what's happening," he grinned, fingers sliding down to cup your ass as Satoru slid up, thumbs running over the skin just beneath your boobs, "does my baby have a little problem she needs us to deal with," he asks, hands gliding dangerously low as you roll your hips back, staring up at him through your pretty lashes as though you didn't just make Satoru hiss at the sensation.

"Mhm," you sigh, leaning your cheek against his shoulder, "started missin you," you murmured, memories of standing the bathroom beneath the fluorescent lights as you broke away from the sweaty atmosphere, the dance floor full of grinding bodies as the upbeat songs turned more slow and loving. The dance floor no longer being a place for you as the soft murmurs and kisses around you made you only think of them, wishing that they were there with you to sway their bodies to the beat alongside yours, wishing that they were there to plant kisses along your neck beneath the dim lights. Suddenly your lips are pulling in a pout as you tilt your head back, "take me home," you plead, doe eyes big and round.

"Course baby," Suguru's murmuring into your skin, taking one of your manicured hands in his as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles, "want us to take care of you tonight," he asks, catching that oh so familiar needy glint in your eyes.

"Yeah," you are sighing and soon enough they are dragging you into the car, Satoru sliding in the back seat alongside you as Suguru reluctantly took the drivers spot and you purposefully sat in the middle seat, Satoru sitting behind the passengers spot as you both remained in perfect view of his purple eyes. The stark silence a beautiful contrast to the muffled thumping from the club, the quiet cushioning the pent up stress that grew throughout the night.

"Wanna tell me what happened," Satoru hums, the plush leather seats sticking to your bare thighs as your dress began to ride up, and you make no effort to pull it down as the white haired boy leant over your body, chest brushing against yours as you caught whiffs of his expensive cologne, the seatbelt clicking in place as he carefully fastened you in before sitting back in his spot, buckling himself in as you rested your head on his shoulders, the throbbing of your fluttering walls growing unbearable as you felt his hand on your bare skin, the car beginning to reverse, gear shift clacking into place as Suguru pulled out from where he was parked, the steady hum of the wheels against the asphalt a nice lull, "how'd you go from the pub to a nightclub," he chuckled, eyes alight with intrigue as he ran the heat of his hand over your skin.

"Well," you sigh, hand sliding atop of Satoru's hand forcing it palm up as you fiddled with his fingertips, "originally we were going to stay there for the whole night like I told you because they booked a big table," you started, "then they wanted to play drinking games nd stuff, you know like truth or drink, they even played a version of spin the bottle but if you didn't want to kiss them you had to take a shot," you could feel Satoru's hand squeeze yours tightly at the comment.

"Thought you didn't drink," Suguru murmurs from the front, and you could spot the way his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, red illumination from the lights painting his face as he turned ever so slightly to face you.

"I didn't," you huff out a laugh, their steely expressions amusing, "I just went to the bathroom" and you could hear their collective exhale and it made you laugh, "you guys act like I'd wanna kiss anyone besides you two," you snicker as the car moved forward, the metronomic click of the turn signal humming as the vehicle switched lanes.

"Well I dunno, maybe you wanted to explore other options," you could hear the boy beside you grumble and you shook your head in disbelief.

"Why would I when I have the two best options."

"Yeah it'd be stupid to give that up," and soon you are smacking Satoru's shoulder at his remark, grinning at the way he laughed before you continued your little story.

"Well anyways I guess my classmates like to dance when they're drunk because then they kept dragging me to different clubs, that's why I kept texting you," you murmur, referencing the 4 different locations you had ended up sending into your trio's groupchat, keeping them updated to where you were as though you didn't let them track your device 24/7.

"You know that's not safe right," Suguru's tsking from the front seat and you pout, down cast eyes staring at the way you caressed Satoru's fingers, "how'd you guys get to all these different clubs anyways."

"Car," you mumble guiltily.

"You only have one close friend that I know went with you, and she can't drive, and we dropped you off to the pub," Suguru is eying you through the rear view mirror and you tense, "did you get into a stranger's car."

"It wasn't a stranger," you combat, "my friend knew him."

"Him," Satoru bites and you recoil a bit, knowing full well you were in the wrong.

"M'sorry," you murmur, "just didn't want to be the only one in my class not going," you confess, "but that's why I kept texting you where I was."

"I know," Suguru sighs, "but still."

"Next time you should just take us with you," Satoru cocks a grin and you furrow your brows with an incredulous laugh as even Suguru snickers.

"I couldn't do that you clingy freak," you snort, "it was only for members of my department."

"Guess I'm having a career change."

"Satoru," you giggle again, their carefree smiles loosening the tenseness in your chest as he squeezed your linked hands, shutting your eyes.

"But did something happen," Suguru calls your focus, "It's not that I mind, but why'd you call us to pick you up, seems like all your classmates were still ready to party," and his words reminded you of when you sat in the pub.

The dim lights casted long shadows along the worn wooden table strained from years of use, the warm illuminations burning from the wide bar chandelier, painting an orangey glow over the laughing faces of your peers that sat along the ever-stretching booth. The thin cushions of the seating pressed uncomfortably against your butt as it went slightly numb, forcing you to shift every so often as you did your best to appear interested, staring at the wide variety of half empty pints of beer and other liquors as you sat uneasily with your glass of water that most assumed was vodka or something along the sort, it didn't help that you didn't deny their false accusations, sipping lightly on the liquid as though it was an alcoholic beverage.

Loud voices boomed throughout the space, as wait staff paid no mind to your rambunctious group, that was wracking up quite the tab with round after round of drinks and appetizers with no real interest in buying actual meals.

"Say (L/N)," the woman who sat in front of you hummed, her painted nails tapping against the glass of her cup as she eyed you with particular interest and you nodded in acknowledgement, focusing your attention on one of the few people that took the time to spark conversation, your one close friend sitting to your right currently engaged in some other riveting talk, "you are friends with Gojo and Geto right," she mused, the clink of her tapping fingers against her cup calling your attention.

"Oh, yeah," you prove her question correct, "we've been friends since we were kids," you tack on to fill the silence that tried to make things awkward.

"Cool, cool, cool," she nods dismissively, clearly uncaring towards your little anecdote and you felt slightly skeptical about her intentions, "have you ever," she trails off, "been intimate with them," she bites her painted lip.

Huh?

The topic of her speech seeming the catch keen ears as one of the girl's sitting next to her darted her eyes in your direction, alight with curiosity.

"I mean yeah," you tilted your head slightly confused, "we hug and stuff," you weren't going to tell her that they've finger banged you on multiple occasions.

"No that's not what I mean," she shakes her head, "like sexually intimate," okay you sure as hell weren't going to tell her that, not when you barely knew this chick.

"Oh my god," the woman next to her gasps, face flushed as she grew beyond tipsy, liquor loosening her lips, "have you fucked them," she giggled making you recoil at her bluntness, "I mean if I was friends with them I'd at least try and ask," she smiles, eyes wandering off and you didn't dare to wonder what she was thinking, "they are so fucking hot."

"That's what I'm saying," the girl who initiated the conversation nodded along, "like they are super tall too so they've got to have like the whole package down there right," and she's looking back at you and you were staring into your drink, taking an awkward sip of your water.

Yeah they had the whole package, at this point they were the delivery truck full of packages with how absurdly big they are but you wouldn't say that, no chance in hell, you only hummed in a neither yes or no way as the two drunken girls fantasized about your friends.

"I can only imagine how it'd feel to be fucked by one of them," and that had your interest peaked, the question that lingered in the back of your brain forced to the forefront yet again and it hung with you all throughout the night.

"I missed you," you tell the two boys for the second time that night, shaking out from your thoughts, "people started kissin and then I started thinking bout you two, started wishing you were there, wondering what it'd feel like if you were dancing with me, grinding like everyone else," you confess shamelessly before fidgeting with Satoru's thumb as you felt him kiss your temple, reminding your cunt why she was crying in the first place, "when I was at the pub and even when I was at the club people kept bringing you up," you confide, pursing your lips as their eyes sparked with intrigue.

"Were you shit talking us love," Satoru playfully squeezes your hand and you shake your head with a laugh.

"I could never," you muse and you untangle your hands to carefully lift up your earrings to lessen the weight, your lobes slightly beginning to hurt, "only shit talking I do is to your face," and Satoru is reaching to undo the jewelry, "don't do that it makes me pretty," you protest but he shakes his head.

"Gorgeous the earrings only look pretty because you are the on wearing them," he flirts, sliding the gems out on both sides before placing them both in the purse he still held in his lap.

"Don't lose them."

"I wont," and he's pinching your cheek, "but what were your classmates saying then hmm, only good things I hope," the white haired boy continues as you lean into his touch.

"Very good things," you murmur, "kept filling my head with thoughts of you," and you brush the fabric of his white button up open a little wider before staining his peck with your lipstick, the vibrant colour a stark contrast to his pale skin, "that's better," you muse.

"Very good things," Suguru's imploring, "care to elaborate," and you can't help but bite your lip at the question, feeling your pussy pool just at the filthy thought.

"They kept wondering how good it'd feel to be fucked by you," you say almost as a whine, thighs squeezing ever so slightly as Satoru's playful gaze grew a little more hardened, "made me start to wonder too," and your hand is tracing the dip of his collar bone as you could hear Suguru suck on his teeth, the accelerator humming.

"Did my baby's pussy get wet," Satoru cooed teasingly, hands sliding to your legs, tapping your knee and you oblige, spreading your legs wider for him, letting the fabric of your dress slip up higher against your hips as his fingers brushed just beneath the hem, dancing over your thigh.

"Mhm," you nod the tiny circle he rubbed on your skin only making your walls flutter, clenching yet again around air, "I don't want to wonder any more," you murmur, leaning into Satoru's touch, meeting purple eyes in the mirror.

"You want us to answer your question pretty girl," Suguru coos.

"Uhuh," you sigh, Satoru's warm tongue licking up the column of your neck.

"Want us to fuck you," his murmurs against your skin, "show you how good it feels," and you whimper.

"Can you do it now," you whine, his fleeting touches fueling your lust as he refused to dip beneath your dress and feel where you ached for them most, yearning for them to take you right then and there.

"Patience pretty," Suguru hums, "my girl deserves to be fucked comfortably yeah, not in a cramped little car"

"Wanna make love to you," Satoru coos so gently it had you melting, "want you to see all of you while you cry on my cock," he murmuring, his hand holding your head as he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, "it's too dark to see all your pretty little faces."

His lips pampered over your skin, preoccupying your greed with tiny unfulfilling kisses that only drove your hunger higher until you were finally pulling into the parking garage and he pulled away, staring at the painting he left on your neck as he unbuckles you, Suguru opening the side door and he helped tug you out.

It was quiet, your walk to the elevator, the chime of it's arrival never sounding sweeter as the three of you entered and you partially expected them to pounce right then and there but nothing. Suguru's hand was intertwined with yours but they didn't touch you, even when you pushed to your toes to press your lips to his he only gave you a sweet peck, "patience," he cooed yet again and he pressed yet another unfulfilling kiss to your pouting lips, "don't want anyone else to see the pretty faces you make," he's murmuring as he pulls away.

"There's nobody here," you grumble, annoyed as your aching core sobbed. He tugged on your linked hands, pulling you towards your apartment as the doors open and Satoru is punching in the code irritatingly slow as you shifted, impatient, "please," you whimper as the lock flicks open and before your eyes could register it your back is slamming against the door, feet stumbling into your genkan before hungry lips are on yours.

It's hard to process the sheer speed you were manhandled inside so you don't, closing your eyes as you melted into Suguru's lips, the feeling of another lingering set of hands, groping your flesh making you dizzy as he slipped his tongue inside, devouring you. You could hear the coat that once rested haphazardly on your shoulders clatter to the floor as you lifted your arms, snaking them around his neck, pulling him closer.

His lips were warm, soft, plush against yours as you zoned in on every last sensation his lips elicited, lightly sucking on your tongue before caressing it sensually with his own, your back bruising as he pinned you against the wooden door as he fidgeted and you could hear the clack of falling shoes but your strap lined heels prevented you from slipping them off so easily. It felt as though you could feel his heart beat against your chest, breaths moving in tandem as he pulled away, eyes hooded as he stared down at you with unfiltered lust before he's moving aside and you're being kissed again, nose nudging against yours before he angles his head in a way he learned to do after many years of practice, warmth fluttering from your chest to your core as he sang against you while Suguru took the time to suckle the tender flesh of your neck. You couldn't help but sigh at their actions, tongues licking gently as they explored already mapped out territory. Satoru's tongue waltzed in a little pre practiced dance and you nibbled slightly on his lip, knowing how to get that little grunt out of him. It felt surreal, his touches, they were all too familiar but just different enough, lingering with just a little more force, a little more greed. His hand slipped down to cup your thigh, lifting your leg up and resting it upon his hip and you could feel yourself grow dizzy.

Yes, you've kissed them both before but not like this, not once in your entire life had Satoru ever lifted your leg like this while the two of you kissed and they both seem to notice. "You like that baby," Suguru voices for him as Satoru squeezes the supple skin of your leg, teasing between kisses and you could only whine into his mouth, feeling his crotch alarmingly close to your pelvis. It felt hot... there was no other word your slowly muddling brain could conclude other than that, he was against you in a way he's never been before, his fingers pinching up your dress, letting it ride to rest atop your hips, panties exposed and you could feel the tent in his pants begin to grow as he rubbed.

"Aren't you wet sweetheart,"

"Fuck," you whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as he broke from your lips, crusade continuing down to your neck, head on the side Suguru has yet to mark.

"What's wrong love," he says it so innocently, but you feel him brushing over you, brushing right over your clit and your hands are fisting the fabric of his shirt, heart beating erratically and you are hyperaware of every last one of his touches. His touches that are leaving you air bound.

You yelp, surprised as he forces your weight against the door and he's reaching to grab your other thigh, forcing them both onto his hips, your cunt against his torso and you could feel the protrusions of his abs through the thin material of his shirt. You instinctively wrap your arms around his head that lifted to connect your mouths once more, Suguru's hands at your back as he pushed your weight forward, leaning you onto Satoru and you entrusted your entire weight to him that he carried easily, beefy arms snug against the plush of your thighs and up the curve of your ass.

You break off with a pant, brain fuzzying as you feel yourself move, a click and suddenly the dim expanse of your apartment is basked in a glow as his body rocked, carrying you effortlessly. You expect it in your brain to meet the soft mattress of Satoru's bed but you are violently made aware otherwise as you flinch in his hold as your warm skin met cold countertops. "Shh baby" Suguru is kneading your thigh as Satoru settles you down, granite or marble or whatever the hell they decided to line the island with, chilling your flesh.

"S'cold," you murmur as Satoru unravels himself from your arms and you can't help but admire the pink imprint of your lips peeking out on his chest.

"Don't worry we'll warm it up," the white haired boy promises and he tugs at your legs while Suguru presses down on your shoulder, forcing you to lay flat against the counter, lights above your head, that they refused to flick on lest the bulbs blind you, so they settled for the warm glow crossing over from the light they turned on earlier that lit the back lights of the living room that connected to the open concept kitchen.

"What does that mea-" you want to question but your lips screw shut the moment you felt pressure on your desperate clit and you underwear is being lifted, pulled taught, falling against your legs in a thong like manner and he's teasing the fabric between your folds, nudging your bundle of nerves.

"Isn't she glistening," Satoru's breath fans over your bare cunt and your walls are fluttering once again, making you roll your hips in desire.

"You'll get what you want princess," Suguru muses, holding you down by your hips as he leans to stare into your pillowy folds, watching as your slick dripped in your pussy before the fabric of your underwear is snapping down, making you flinch at the sensation, back arching slightly as you whine, hands curling into fists.

"You're leaking through your underwear," Satoru comments and you could feel his thumb run over your now cloth covered cunt, the sensation making trickles of anticipation thrum up your thighs that tried to close. "Keep 'em open," he scolds and you could feel all the fight leave your lower half as he pulls your legs wide, feet planting on the top of the counter as he spread you as open as you could get, and he's smacking your cunt again, relishing in your mewl.

"Dirty girl," Suguru hums, "my pretty little slut likes getting her pussy spanked huh," he muses and you could feel yet another sharp stinging pain slamming against your clit, the strange stimulation making you wince as pleasure dribbled in, the nickname he called you making you squirm, "my baby's getting so wet," and another slap.

You could feel your chest heave, eyes bleary as you propped yourself up on your elbows only to want to throw you head back yet again at the sight of the two hungry eyed men between your legs.

Hot breath fanned over you and you couldn't help the way you whined yet again, little tuts at your impatience as they began to suckle on your thighs, grabbing the flesh between their lips as Suguru took the left while Satoru took the right.

Their mouths were hot, saliva coating your skin as the varying sensations made you writhe, Suguru biting down, teeth marks indenting into your skin before his tongue is soothing over the pain like a healing balm while Satoru burrows, lips sucking hickeys onto your flesh, keen on leaving a little art piece as he sucks, and sucks, and sucks, and sucks, the sounds of his lips making you quiver.

You couldn't help but cry out as they continued their attack, forcing yourself to succumb to underwhelming pleasure as they left your throbbing little cunt untouched and she starved for attention, dribbling as she called for them and you felt ashamed at your body's innate response.

Small pants left your kiss bitten lips as they marred your legs with their little love bites, edging closer to the rim of your pretty pink panties, tiny little bow on the waistband. "I want you," you murmur as they teased, not kissing the one spot you desperately craved.

"You have us baby," Suguru hums slyly, sucking a bruise into your skin as his thumb rubs small circles.

"I want you here though," and you slightly lift up, hands reaching for his as you brought it to your cunt, rolling your hips over his fingertips and he smiled as they grew slightly damp.

"Aren't you needy," he snickers, letting you lightly hump his hand, flattening his palm against your clothed cunt as you squirmed your hips, the heel of his hand ever so slightly nudging your clit.

"Please," you whine, "want more."

"Clearly," Satoru is grinning, straightening his posture to look into your desperate eyes, "such a horny girl," he coos, "been thinking of this all night haven't you," and he can't deny the pride panging in his chest when you nod vehemently.

"Want you," you whine as Suguru swats your hands away, fleeting touches rolling your clit, doing nothing but enticing you more.

"You've already said that," he grins, mouth a babbling broken record as you begged and his fingers are toying with the waistband of your panties, pulling them slightly down, "tell us what you want, hmm, what do you want us to do," and you could feel your face flush, his familiar words reaching your ears as he tugged down your underwear tantalizingly slow.

"Wanna have s-" you squeeze your eyes shut, taking a calming breath as they stared at you, "want you to fuck me," you murmur out instead, somehow feeling less dirty even with the more vulgar word but your hesitance only further fueled their desire for you to say it.

"Fuck you how," Satoru grins, "want my to fuck my fingers into your cunt, hmm, make you cum and then call it a night," and he practically cackles as you mewl pathetically, teary eyes gazing up at him as though the thought of one orgasm alone was heinous.

"No," you sob, feeling the cool air hit your dripping cunt and Suguru is flinging the fabric elsewhere, leaving it to be found in the morning as now, his eyes trained on you, and you alone.

"Then what do you want baby," Suguru murmurs, leaning over you to press a kiss to your collarbone, "use your words and explain clearly or we won't know," he hums, vibrations thrumming down your torso and you couldn't help the heat that pooled just by looking in his dark eyes.

"I want you," you murmur, their brows furrowing in disapproval, squirming at the light pinch on your thigh and so you continue, "want you to have s-sex with me," you fumble over the word, confession falling leadenly off your tongue, "want to make love," you say gently, recalling the sweet way Satoru murmured it to you, "want you to put your cock in my," and you gulp, feeling embarrassment creep as you felt ashamed for not being as ashamed as you should be for uttering such filthy words in front of the two boys, "in my pussy," you mumble.

"I would've just let you have it at sex," Satoru teased and you flush before he licks a stripe up your cunt, groaning at the taste.

"S-Shut up," you mumble in faux protest and his head pops up from between your thighs with a smirk.

"Gladly," and before you can even question him he's diving into your cunt, tongue lapping up your juices and you whine, not used to the sensation you've felt countless times at this point, your head is spinning as he practically makes out with your pussy, tongue delving in, pistoning itself into your cunt and you try to breathe through it, letting out every last moan knowing if you didn't you'd be denied any form of relief for hours. The torturous thought of being thrown over Suguru's thigh as he smacked your ass, until it bruised while Satoru would chime in every once and a while with a wet slap to your cunt, yet again making you squirm.

You could feel the heels on your feet release as Suguru undid the straps quickly, fingers working in ways you struggled to do, often opting having him put your shoes on for you as it took too long for you to pin the strap correctly and he always did so for you without complaint, kissing your upper thigh and now he did the same, shoes dropping with a clatter as he pressed a kiss to the tender flesh of your hickey marred thighs until he leans even further to your dripping slit.

You mewled until you were moaning at the sudden foreign feeling. "S-Sugu," you breathe out, eyes wide as you felt his lips suckle at your clit, making you shudder, both their mouths on you, both sets of eyes on you, one leg thrown over each of their shoulders as they tugged your cunt closer to their greedy mouths.

"You like that, don't you sweetheart," Satoru mocks, "could feel your pussy clench," and you furrowed your brows.

"I said shut up," you whined and before you knew it your hands were acting on their own, reaching for his head, tugging him down by the air and forcing him to your cunt, keeping him snug against your pussy and you writhed as he groaned, pretty blue eyes looking up at you hungrily.

"That was hot," Suguru comments arbitrarily grazing his teeth over your little button, flicking it with his tongue and you squirm before you are removing one hand from Satoru's head to reach for his and he smiles before leaning closer, letting you thread your fingers into his long tresses, before you are forcing him into your clit.

Your legs slightly burned from the stretch, one resting on Suguru's left shoulder while the other rested on Satoru's right, their heads burrowing into your pussy as they drank up every drop, tongues lathering before Suguru is popping off you clit to lick at your folds, cheek pressed cutely against Satoru's as they slurped you up and then.

You couldn't help but tug harshly at their hair, surprise overruling you as you whined, their mouths soon joining, tongues delving into each other's mouths as they shift their focus from you to each other before soon going back to you.

You could feel it, their tongues brush against one another between your velvety walls and you couldn't help but squirm at the thought.

The small little knot began to grow in your stomach as they continued, sloppily kissing your cunt until she was drooling in their mouths, puffy clit whining at the sensation as Suguru's nose nudged ever so slightly against it, grinning at the way you gasped, their mouths melding against your pussy in a way that could only be described as perfect, slotting against one another like two, or rather three pieces to a puzzle.

"Sugu, Toru," you warn, feeling your tummy warm as your thighs spasmed, heels digging in between their shoulder blades as their heads prevented you from closing your legs, toes curling as you grabbed at their hair, Satoru whimpering against your cunt prettily the harsher you tugged, his sounds only further fueling the tightness, "m'cumming," until it was snapping, light orgasm washing over you like waves lapping at the sea but you spilled, essence leaking over their awaiting tongues as they devoured you in earnest, you could feel your chest heave slightly as they lapped up, taking turns suckling at your slowly overwhelming clit as they continued their ministrations.

You are panting, squeezing your eyes shut as you rolled your hips, their mouths helping you ride out the last ripples until you finally are out of the blissful feeling and now watching the two boys kiss, dancing precariously as they grunted, tasting you on their tongues and it only made you gush even more.

"My girl looks so pretty when she cums," Suguru coos, pulling from Satoru's mouth, sheen lining his lips all the way to his chin, hand untangling yours from his now disheveled hair, the style he tied it in now loose as strands fell out and he pulled you to sit.

"M'sorry," you mumble, raising to toy with one of the fallen locks and the laugh he lets out makes your tummy turn as Satoru stands only to lean into Suguru's embrace, arms encircling his waist as he let one warm hand planted against your thigh, "your hair is all messy."

"That's okay," he purred, kissing your temple, "if it didn't come undone now it'd come out later," he grinned, teeth grazing that sensitive spot on your neck he found many moons ago and you are holding his head close, basking in his warmth as you caught your breath and you could hear a metallic zip and suddenly your dress loosens, "but let's take this off now, yeah," he muses pulling away as Satoru finishes the job for him, pulling up the fabric that gathered atop your hips, shimmying it off your head as your boobs fell into place and you redden at Satoru's whistle.

"A set," he chuckles deeply, "did you plan for this," he muses, the pink lacy bra you wore the same colour as the panties now abandoned elsewhere.

"Yeah right," you murmur as the white haired boy pressed a kiss to your lips once more, a chaste little brush before he ogles you so unabashedly it makes you embarrassed, his hand lifting from your thigh to gently grope you, thumb running over the flesh that filled the cup perfectly.

"You feeling okay," Suguru hums, caring gaze locking with your own and you knew what he was truly asking, could you keep going.

"Mhm," you sighed, tugging at the hem of his shirt, "m'not stopping until you've fucked me," you beam up at him, pulling him close so you could rest your head onto his chest, listening to his heart beat before staring up once more, "take this off" you yank yet again at his shirt before pulling at Satoru's as well, "I don't want to be the only one naked," you shift, feeling your slick begin to wet your thighs.

"Then take it off for me," Satoru smirks, tugging you to stand on the floor, your feet falling flat as you stared up at the two men who crowded you, body pinned between their torsos and the counter behind you. Carefully you reach out for Satoru's shirt, untucking the fabric before trying to work on the first button, focusing intently, blatantly unaware on how Suguru suckled Satoru's fingers for him as Satoru's sucked on Suguru's, soaking their digits with spit.

Undoing the very first button you felt a sharp intrusion in your cunt before two fingers were in your pussy, legs widening ever so slightly to accommodate their digits only to realize that each finger belonged to a different hand.

You mind felt blurry for a second at the thought of having both Suguru and Satoru in your cunt at once. "W-what are you doing" you whimper, biting back a gasp as their fingers worked in tandem, ramming deep into your gooey cunt as you fisted the fabric of Satoru's shirt.

"Just having fun," Suguru hums innocently.

"You just focus on what you're doing," Satoru grins and you jolted as he pushed against your g-spot.

"Fucking assholes," you squeak, feet pulling to their toes as you tried to lift off their now relentless attack, but they only followed you, sinking deep inside.

"What was that baby," Suguru coos, heel circling roughly over your puffy clit and you throw your head back with a groan, feeling electric spikes shoot beneath your skin but you try to focus on your own fingers, trying to pry each button open as they quickened their pace, forcing your toes to curl as you squeezed your eyes shut, teeth clenching as you whined in their grasp.

You wished you could just rip open his shirt but you couldn't, not with your mind puddling so quickly but to be honest even if they weren't pounding relentlessly into your cunt you wouldn't be able to regardless.

You tried to ignore the, pap, pap, pap, of your ass smacking against their hands, pace turning your legs to jelly as you tried to hold out strong, Suguru's hand on your waist, the only thing truly keeping you up as you whined out with every thrust.

"C'mon baby, thought you wanted me naked," and you shot a glare to the white haired boy who leered down at you sinisterly, grinning at the pretty little 'o' face you made as he added yet another finger, scissoring you wide. "What," he's laughing, "if you want my cock you'll have to be able to handle this much," his words sang teasingly, keen on messing with you as you struggle to undo his fourth button .

Your fidgeting fingers fumbling as you narrowly forced his shirt open a little more, his toothy grin adding fuel to your determination, even if their brutal digits was melting it quickly, as Suguru decided to join in on having two inside your cunt, as four fingers plunged deep inside your dripping pussy, body shaking in their hold as you grunted, your bra strap going loose as it slipped down your shoulder. You felt like you were melting against their insane speed, the wet, shlick, of your cunt pushing heat to your face as your breaths grew warm.

You squirmed, hips quivering as you tried to break free, but they continued their assault on your g-spot, slowly blurring eyes staring up at them as your head fell back, their conniving little smirks making you pant as Suguru leaned down to shove his tongue into your moaning mouth, suckling lightly on your tongue as he laughed at the feeling of your inability to kiss back.

"What's wrong baby, don't you want this pesky shirt off," Satoru is snickering, picking up his speed even further and you're whimpering pathetically, your cunt throbbing with wet sobs and you could feel yourself dribble down your thighs much to Suguru's amusement.

"Makin a puddle sweet girl," he's rasping so gently, "squeezing my fingers so tight," he murmurs and you try and steel yourself, pushing past your bubbling moans as you fiddled with the last button on Satoru's top, legs slowly burning as tingling ecstasy enveloped your entire form, sheer bliss threatening to consume you as your lower belly fluttered incessantly, the once foreign feeling of an orgasm slamming into you as they pulled you closer to the edge and then the button finally pops off and that overstuffed feeling is leaving you with one final thrust.

Your trembling chest shook with a heavy sob as your dewy eyes stared up at them with disdain, "w-why," and Satoru is shrugging off the sleeves of his shirt, tossing it aside as your doe eyes plead, walls clenching nothing but air as your shoulders shuddered with each cry.

"Good girl," Suguru hums into your scalp, petting your hair as he brings you into a hug, a warm embrace as he ignored the loosening knot in your stomach, the fuzzy feeling going stale and tears are welling in your waterline, falling in small streams.

You glare teary eyed, your anger pathetic as Suguru held you up so you didn't collapse to the floor as Satoru ever so kindly rips off the dark haired mans tank, revealing his rippling muscles, but even the sight of his god like physique doesn't quell the aching in your core, "m-more," you are whining, chin resting on his collar bone as you cried, "w-why'd you stop," you mewl, reaching for Satoru's hand but he wrestled in away, grabbing you by the wrist as he tilted his head oh so innocently.

"What's wrong baby," he coos so condescendingly, wiping your tears with his other hand and you only let out yet another cry.

"I was almost there," you whine, "why'd you stop."

"Stop what," Suguru soothes, murmuring the words in such a way you almost thought you were crazy and he's settling you back onto the countertop, stepping between your legs to steal a kiss, "what's got my baby so sad,"

"You!" you exclaim with a whine, hand weakly swatting at his chest, "I was almost there, was gonna cum," you whimper.

"Oh really," Satoru muses, as though he didn't feel your walls flutter as he drove you to the edge, "m'sorry," he grins so unapologetically, licking off one of your tears before plunging his fingers knuckle deep again, force making you stutter as you gasp, short quick thrusts pounding before pulling out again much to your chagrin and his amusement, "did you cum this time," he teases, saying it as though he doesn't know the exact way your pussy squeezes and your hips rolls every time you bask in your orgasm.

"Y-You're so mean," you whimper, cheek resting against Suguru's peck as he kneads the flesh of your ass, abruptly picking you up, clit rubbing against his abs and you whine.

"Awh my poor baby," he coddles you, cradling you in a close embrace as he pressed a kiss to your scalp, "let us make it up to you yeah," and you writhe with each step he took, your aching pussy running over his hard muscles as your overstimulated clit but still desperate cunt cried out for even more.

He splays you out on a soft mattress, settling you so gently instead of tossing you roughly as he's done many times before, letting the bed squeak beneath you before ravaging you roughly, but today he's much more tender with each of his movements, lips nipping at your neck as he unclasps your bra with practiced ease, tossing the garment aside as both of them dive for your chest, taking one tit in their mouth as they toyed with your nipples.

You hiccup at the sensation, cunt sliding against Suguru's still pant covered thigh as they sucked on your breasts gently, taking it at their own pace and you sigh with every roll over their tongue, fingers in their hair, relishing in the way Satoru bites down with a hiss at every tug, his sensitive scalp fun to tease and you groan as they coat you.

Suguru pulls at your nipple before letting it jiggle back into place, staring up at you, fingers collecting your slick as he pushes them in with languid thrusts, greedy hole taking every ounce of attention he gives, "are you ready," he murmurs tenderly, carefully, the teasing tone he once used as him and Satoru mercilessly attacked you no longer lingering as he held you gently, trying to quell your fears.

"Please" you mewl, rolling against his thigh as you stare at the two of them desperate, "I want to feel you," you whine, eyes pinching shut as he circled your clit, "please just fuck me," you beg pathetically and his adam's apple bobs as he stares at your vulnerable form, naked and sweaty, covered in little marks of adoration as your dripping little pussy pooled over the sheets.

"Are you sure," he mumbles with uncertainty, "we can make you cum again," he offers, eyes swimming in hesitance, careful words greeting your ears, "stretch you out for as long as you need," and he's wiping at your stray tears .

"Don't force yourself if you aren't ready (Y/N)," and Satoru uses your name, the syllables sounding foreign on his tongue as he grew accustomed to using an abundance of praising pet names.

"I want it," you assure, hands cupping both their faces, "I promise I'm ready," and it's you quelling their fears, "just," you pause, "go slow," you plead and Suguru smiles so gently it had you puddling in his hands.

"Of course," he sighs, "if don't like something I'm doing, say green," he starts and your eyes widen slightly, "if you want me to slow down or stop, say yellow, okay," and you nod, he was telling you safe words, laying out the ground rules, "and if you need me to stop completely and remove myself, say red, alright," and his tone is serious, no playfulness as he stares deep into your eyes, making sure you were paying attention, "you got that," and you nod, "words."

"Yes Sugu," you mumble, heart beginning to thump at his tender care.

"Promise to use them if you need to all right."

"Yes."

"We won't be mad," Satoru tacks on, eyes swimming with worry and you find yourself puffing out a laugh.

"You guys are acting like you'll break me, I'm not made of glass," you beam up at them, their toned muscles not scaring you off, "besides I know you won't hurt me," and their affectionate gaze had your heart skipping a beat.

Carefully you watch as Suguru unbuckles his pants, fabric dropping to the floor alongside his boxers, and he's staring at you, your chest rising and falling as you admired his dick, it was long and thick and the thought of it going inside your cunt had you quivering.

Satoru is gently cupping your face, hand grasping one of yours as he soothes you with soft kisses as Suguru's fully erect cock sprung painfully hard, his own member going ignored as he pecked your stress pinched face, "we'll take care of you," he's murmuring into your skin, coaxing out your strangled gasps as Suguru rubs himself over your slit, coating himself with your slick, his pre breading on the tip mixing with your mess as he nudged your clit shaking a whimper that Satoru attempted to calm.

"I'm going to put it in," he tells you, lining his cock up at your entrance and you nod, feeling a strange anxiety that Satoru instantly soothed only for the unease to wash over you, waves of nerves crashing into the shore before he forced them back to the sea.

"Okay," you murmur, eyes trained on his and then you felt it, an undeniable delicious stretch as his tip dips inside. "Oh fuck," you yelp, hand reaching out to intertwine with Suguru's holding both his and Satoru's tightly as they grounded you, tethering your mind as he pushed in, head inserting as you bite your lip, breathy mewls breaking past your parted lips as Suguru halts, letting you take in the feeling.

"Good job baby," Satoru is humming, licking at your chest as it huffed, your fingers tugging at Suguru's and he slowly pushes in further, your pussy squelching as he groaned, brows pinching as your velvety walls were snug around him, enveloping him tightly in your warmth as you clenched.

"Fuck sweetheart," he curses, "squeezin me too tight," he grunts, sweat building on his brow as your greedy walls took him in deeper, accommodating him quickly as he pressed kisses to your cheeks, staring at the way you slowly came undone, your trembling fingers shaking in his grasp as your flushed face whimpered, lips parted as you cried.

"S-sorry," you murmur out and he's shaking his head.

"No baby girl you're doing so good," he grunts as your gummy walls clamp down, "taking me so well, making me feel so fucking good," he groans feeling you flutter, his praises soaking you further.

"Making you feel good," your pouty lips ask as though you were questioning your own abilities and he's pressing a kiss to them

"Amazing," he reiterates, punctuating the syllables as he delved in deeper, strained grunt falling from his lips as he relished in your sinful moan.

"How much more," your stressed, eyes coating with a fresh sheen as you stared at both their faces, his dark hair falling down in a dark waterfall as pink lips sucked on your perky nipples and pressed kisses to your neck, distracting you from any pain as Suguru halted and you could feel every last ridge of his dick inside of you.

"M'not even half way," Suguru confesses and you are mewling.

"Fuck," you curse, "why are you so big," and the comment makes him swell, twitching in your cunt that instinctively squeezed in response, eliciting yet another breathy grasp from his lips

It burned as he stretched you out wider than both their joined fingers ever have, it felt like your cunt was aflame but their touches were cold, soothing your skin. The little circles Satoru rolled over your nipples had you hiccupping as you tried not to writhe, scared of somehow taking in too much all at once.

"Focus on your breathing baby," Satoru's voice is light in your ear as Suguru pushes in further, the air in your lungs struggling to circulate.

"I k-know but," you are whimpering, trying to calm this feverish feeling as all your focus stuck right to where you connected with him, and to think you were scared to masturbate at some point, "fuck, fuck, fuck," you groan, tears spilling from your eyes.

"Do you want me to slow down," he's asking from above you, his arms caging you in, securing you in a little cocoon and all you could feel was them, no other sensation processed in your bleary mind as you shook your head.

"No," you gasp, Satoru's hands running over your waist as Suguru gently strokes your cheek, "J-just keep going please," you choke, your plea forcing him deeper, "if- if," you pant, "if you don't do it now, I don't think I ever will," you whine as he nudges your g-spot, high pitched moan breaking past you lips and your back is arching, forcing your tits into Satoru's mouth as you begin to see stars, "p-please."

You were begging so beautifully for him, his cock inching inside slowly as your hands slipped from his, to fisting the sheets beneath you as you cried, he so badly wanted to snap a picture to never forget this moment, wanted to live in this sensation forever as you weeped, squeezing him tightly while his other lover suckled you so tenderly, showering you with affection. He could feel his heart constrict, the sight making him jump at the painting beneath him, hair blocking his peripherals as all he focused was on you, watching the way your face contorted, pain overpowered by pleasure as you sobbed, taking him deep within you.

"P-Please just, ngh- oh fuck, p-please just give it to me," you whimper, hand reaching up for his head and he leans into your desperate touch, falling onto your swollen lips as you tried to kiss him, forcing your desires into his mouth as he groans, your lips sucking him in just as greedily as your lower lips and he's bottoming out.

It was an easy thrust in, your soaking walls hungrily opening for him and you're moaning, gasping, writhing as you feel his balls rest heavy against your ass, "Suguru" you are mewling his name so prettily, your hips rolling, cunt squeezing, and he's soon realizing a small orgasm is washing over you, a tiny little coil snapping but it was an orgasm nonetheless, your hips grinding against him as you cried out, heavenly chest heaving and they stare at you in awe, watching as you writhe on his dick, feeling you clamp down impossibly tight.

"Did you cum pretty girl," Satoru is grinning, staring deep into you with a lovestruck gaze and your face is burning as you nod bashfully.

"Mhm," you murmur, lip wobbling as you catch your breath and Satoru is unclenching your fists from the sheets, slithering your hands over his shoulders.

"Don't be afraid to scratch his back baby," the white haired boy coos into you ear and Suguru could feel you physically tighten at his words, making him grind his teeth.

"I- don't want to hur-"

"You won't hurt him," Satoru is reassuring you and he could feel Satoru's lithe fingers unclench your white knuckled fists, trailing your nails over the toned muscles in his back, "if any thing it'll make him feel better," he's blowing a gust of air over the warm shell of your ear and you are squirming, clit rubbing against his pubes as his pelvis is snug to your body, legs resting on his hips as he stands fully inside you, letting you feel every last inch of his hardened dick, letting you cockwarm him as you cry, nails raking down his skin in pleasurable little stings.

"S-Suguru," you continue to cry, feeling unbearably full, the curve of his dick rubbing right against your g-spot, every jump of his dick making your breaths stutter. The longer you waited the longer you still felt stuffed, you expected to grow accustomed to it but be was pressed deep inside your cunt, rearranging you to fit him, molding you perfectly to his size as you sweat, feeling droplets slide down the curve of your neck as you stared deep into his hooded, purple, eyes and finally you understood what people meant when they said bedroom eyes, his dark gaze sending pinpricks up your skin.

"Is he deep inside you baby," Satoru is humming, thumb brushing your falling tears, blue catching yours with a deep seated lust.

"Mhm," you whine, biting at your lip as you stare at the lipstick mark staining his chest, watching as it rose and fell with every breath, eyes trailing to the hardened member springing in his pants, he was horny because of you, he was horny by watching the two of you, it had you dripping.

"Where do you feel him love, all the way in here," and his long hand is pressing at your stomach and you're gasping, palm pushing you deeper into Suguru, forcing your walls to contract ever tighter and perspiration is beading off his brow, lips trembling as he grunted from above you, the pressure of Satoru's hand against you both sending the two of you spiraling into overwhelming sensations. "How does she feel, huh Sugu," he's breathing against the shell of his ear, leaning up to tuck dark locks away from his face, "she squeezing you tight, bet she's warm and wet," he's pressing a kiss to Suguru's jaw, making you mewl at their chaste kisses, a devastatingly sensual film portraying in front of you, as Satoru peppered kisses down his neck, hand slipping dangerously low to where you joined and your thighs shook, trembling as you cried out, his long finger circling slowly over your abused clit, toes curling as Suguru's deep growl had you sobbing into the heated air.

"Satoru," you're whining, his languid little rubs turning your tummy as you sat perfectly tight around Suguru's aching cock, the realization feeling surreal.

"Don't you feel so good baby," Satoru continues, "don't you want to feel him move," and his thumb is tugging at your lip, prying it from your teeth, "c'mon put on a show f'me," and you are nodding, gushing at the thought of him enjoying the sight of you two.

"Sugu please," you beg, eyes alight with desire and who was he to deny your calls, gently rolling his hips, watching as you wept , pulling out ever so slightly before filling you to the brink once more, shallow thrusts filling your drooling pussy.

He was slow, lazy little thrusts delving into your cunt but you moaned at each one, gripping onto him tightly, pulling him close as he filled you. "There you go love, taking me so well," he's praising, kissing away a tear, hips slapping against your thighs, flesh reverberating as he took you tenderly, gathering every ounce of self control not to pound into you and make you scream out his name, your gummy walls sucking him back in, crying for him to come back with every inch he takes out. He was mesmerized, his dick coming out wetter with each thrust, sloppy little cries of your dripping cunt shaking around the room as you squelched for him, every little thrust had him grunting, your sucking hole keeping him tight, refusing to let go even if you knew he was just going to stuff you up once more.

"Oh- ngh," you were crying, mixture of moans and sobs as he hit your g-spot with every last thrust, hips angled as he purposefully shifted in such a way, maximizing every spark of pleasure dripping from your cunt. "Suguru," you were whimpering and he twitched as you said his name through those puffy lips of yours.

You felt out of breath, each shove of his hips knocking the air right out of your lungs and while you listened to Satoru's soft words, the overwhelming waves of satisfaction knocked all reason out of your brain each time, he was hitting you soft and slow but made your nerves wrack with pleasure all at once, it was ethereal, your expectation of pain was overshadowed by his soft grunts, sweat beading on his brow as his dark hair swiveled with each overpowering thrust. You could see it in his face, the foreboding lovestruck gaze as he gave all of himself to you, vulnerable and weak, he let you witness him bare with no restraints, the mind muddling words he whispered into your ears, praises upon praises making you gush with no remorse as wandering hands groped and pinched earning whimpers and whines.

Your chest was slick with saliva, white tufts of hair peeking into view as he suckled so intently, murmuring kind sentences as he fueled your never ending lust, his heart thumping erratically as he stared into your unfocused eyes, watching as you succumbed to the pleasure eating away at your nerves, every last reservation flying out the window with they way you erotically moaned and writhed, nails raking down Suguru's back as you tried to grapple onto your sanity, legs curling, feet pressing on his ass to force him back in, ravenous for his touch, to feel remarkably full.

Satoru could only snicker at your faces as he pressed his hand down onto your stomach, admiring the was you hissed, droplets spilling further down your cheeks as they pleasured you to lengths your mind could not comprehend, you had heard about bad sexual experiences but this was far from one of them, their carefully curated words and precise touches making you shudder and with each grip of your cunt Suguru groaned.

"S-Satoru," Suguru choked out, feeling you try and squeeze the life out of him, "you want to have a taste," he's offering, eyes swimming with unfiltered adoration as he fell in love all over again with not only you, but your body, your ability to make him feel such sensations without even trying. "Do you want that baby, huh," he's growling from above you, "want to let Satoru feel yo- oh fuck-" he grunted, words catching in his throat as you grip impossibly tighter, "guess you like that idea," he's grinning and you're panting, one hand coming to stroke at his reddened cheeks, your eyes pinching shut as he slammed into you once more.

"Just a little longer," you whine, "I won't c-cum yet, but f-fuck me a li-little longer," you plead, glassy eyes turning to stare at Satoru as you clung desperately to Suguru, "w-wait please" you whine, not wanting to let go, you wanted them both, wanted to try both their impossibly huge dicks but you knew that if you let Suguru go now you wouldn't feel him for the rest of your night, you knew that whenever your orgasm inevitably crashed upon you, you'd be out of the game so you had to force yourself to hang on, keep yourself from falling off the cliff.

"Love on Suguru as much as you want baby," he's whispering into your ear, deep drum of his voice sending pin pricks up your skin, "I don't mind," and he flashes you a bright toothy grin ,"I'll be here when you're ready", and you are thankful he's so understanding, that even with his greedy tendencies he was so willing and patient with the two of you, so respondent to your needs, so eager to share, happy to sit back and watch while he let his hands roam, touching your plush skin to his hearts content, feeling him already begin to grow love drunk off of merely hearing the symphony of songs his two lover sang into his ears.

You smile at him so tenderly it has him leaning in for a kiss that you struggle to reciprocate but bathe in nonetheless, letting yourself be showered in their abundant affections and as he pulls away he almost loses it on the spot as you begin reeling, eyes rolling back as you moaned loudly, large, smack, reverberating as Suguru pulled his entire length in before driving inside with such force your entire body trembled, body jerking as your back arched and then he's doing it again, forcing you empty before ramming right against your g-spot, hitting it so perfectly that your limbs begin to melt, fingers grabbing and flexing, no longer knowing what to do as shockwaves rippled out through your figure.

"Oh, fuck -god Sugu, Suguru," you are crying, arms snaking around his neck to pull him into a tight embrace, rolling hips never ceasing as he's flush against you, chest to chest as Satoru toys with your hair, kisses touching your forehead as you try to find some form of clarity in the jumbled mess of your vision.

"You like that my pretty girl," and he's doing it again, your entire body quaking as you jolted, "pretty pussy squeezin me every. single. time." and he's punctuating his words with pistons of his hips, thrusts slow but rough as he kisses you so tenderly you were malfunctioning, his touches light but his thrusts monstrous.

"Sugu y-you hafta stop," you're writhing, clawing at him as Satoru started rolling your clit, pleasure attacking you as you whined, "m'gonna cum, gonna," you tearfully admit as Satoru is licking off the salty rivulets.

"Then cum baby," he whispers, "let go for us."

"B-But."

"Let Suguru feel you pussy clench around him as you orgasm, yeah pretty girl," and he's rolling your clit quicker, forcing you to the edge and the, pap, pap, pap, of Suguru's thighs hitting your ass echoed out into the room, the wet shlick and whimpers of your cunt sending your vision fuzzy as hands tweaked and rubbed.

"I-" you whimper as Suguru pushes you to your unbelievable climax, legs shuddering as you begin to fall, knot snapping, waves crashing, lights flickering beneath your skin, bulbs shattering from the growing heat and you are orgasming, cumming harder then you ever had before as he's undoubtedly fucking you through the sensation, hips rolling as he groans and you could barely hear a word, sinful noises falling deaf upon your cotton plugged ears as electric currents swam out from your dripping cunt.

Your toes are curling, fingers pulling into fists, as you shudder, dissolving into your crashing orgasm, white lights clouding your vision as you gasp quietly, lips parted in a silent scream as he rocks you over, and over, and over again, body tingling as you ride it out before suddenly you are, groaning, whining, mewling, pornographically moaning, sound after sound spilling from your lips as your sudden high begins to slow, but his hips are moving, he's moaning above you and you could feel him jump, dick jerking ever so slightly as his thrusting hips are chasing his own high, pace frantic before there's a stutter and he's cumming, your hips rolling against his as you slowly fell while he was at the peak.

It was hot, thick spurts filling your cunt and you could only clench as you milked every lost drop, taking everything he gave you as he filled your ravenous cunt, greedy gummy walls sucking until he had nothing left to give and he's panting, chest heaving and the two of you are left, heavy breaths filling the space as you pant in tandem and you shudder at the wet feeling of Satoru's tongue, lapping up your mixed juices.

"Suguru you're are spilling," he coos against your skin, tongue slurping before he's kissing up you body while Suguru's lips are hot on your own.

"So good baby, so fucking good," and they fill your bleary brain with consistent praise but despite your cunt aching she was still greedy for more, and so your hands are leaning for Satoru, palming the large tent staining the front of his pants wet.

"Mo-More," you are gasping.

"Pretty girl don't push yourself," he's grabbing your fingers and you shake your head at his concerned blue eyes.

"Satoru give it to me, please," you whimper, "please, please, please, fill me up," and Suguru is chuckling from above you, kissing your cheek before he's slowly pulling out, but your legs constrict around his torso, body and mind fighting as your greed wanted to give you Satoru but your cunt refused to fall empty.

"Baby," Suguru's cooing so gently, "let me go yeah, let Satoru have a taste, you want him too don't you, begging so nicely," and his thumb is running over your cheek, one hand coming to untangle your legs and every inch out is eliciting a reluctant whimper, tears welling. "Toru's gonna fill you up so well after baby, just a couple seconds is all," and he's dragging himself out, walls trying to trap him between your thighs but his urge to see Satoru fuck you was far too strong to succumb to your whims, he wanted to know what types of face his companion would make and soon he's fully out, leaving you writhing on the sheets as his eyes watch his cum slowly spill from your lips, fingers parting your folds as he watched white dribble out from your thighs, staining the sheets.

"My baby is so hot," Satoru whimpered, thumb rolling at your cunt, relishing in the way your walls clenched and more of the little gift Suguru left behind for you leaked out.

"Toru," you're whining ,fingers grasping, pulling him closer as your sweaty and jittery legs wrapped around him, sucking him close, trapping him to your body, but he doesn't mind, no not at all, he loves it all, from the way Suguru is pulling of his pants for him, to the way his large hand is stroking his dick, Suguru's chin resting on his shoulder, dark hair tickling his skin as he collects some of your slick before rubbing it over his dick, and Suguru fisting him, coating him in the mixture pooling between your thighs and suddenly you're gasping as Suguru lines him up, teasing his tip between your folds, and Satoru is whining, heavy hands controlling his movements, setting him up, pushing him in and he's moaning, mewling as you grab onto him, velvety walls warm and tight as Suguru is forcing him further, slowly inching his dick inside and he watches as your eyes roll back, bathing in the slow entrance as he filled you, up, and up, and up until you're clawing at his back.

"He's still got more left baby," Suguru is laughing and you are crying, his head already so far into your stomach and yet he still has so much left while Satoru is squeezing his eyes shut, trying not to blow his load immediately into your soaking and squeezing cunt.

You are writhing by the time he's bottoming out and the white ring at the base of his dick made him grow even harder. "That's a good girl," Suguru is praising, thumb rubbing over your hip bone as Satoru struggled to remain composed between your thighs and he's wondering how Suguru had lasted so long, especially with how every clench of your walls made him jump, before you are wrapping around him even tighter, "look at you taking every last inch of our little angel's long cock," Suguru's smiling, pressing a kiss to your cheeks that were dribbling with even more tears, eyes beginning to grow sore as the salty rivulets persisted.

He can't think, not with the way you are hugging him so tightly, the fit so snug it had him seeing stars and you're no better, greedy post-orgasmic cunt weeping but clinging tightly, desperate for more, your brain is no more than a puddle, eyes blurry as you watched in bliss how his blue eyes stared down at you, so pussy drunk even after a mere few minutes of just staying stagnant inside your cunt.

You both gasp, mewling in tandem as Suguru plants his hands on Satoru's hips before lightly pistoning his dick inside you, both of you jerking as Satoru clenched his teeth, whimpering loudly as you whined. "Yellow" you moan and Suguru is forcing his pace to a stop, Satoru's love flooding eyes staring down at you as Suguru gazes at your flushed face, "can't," you choke, "don't move please," you cry out.

"Do you want me to get out," Satoru is asking gently but your legs are quick to wrap around him, weak limbs mustering enough strength to pushing him against you as your hands reach to cup his face.

"No," you whine as though the thought was horrific, "j-just" you sigh, chest heaving and Suguru is tucking hair strands behind your ears, "stay," you murmur, you knew you wouldn't be able to handle more than one overwhelming orgasm, body still feeling the after effects of your rushing climax but despite your brain telling you no, your body still yearned for more, "please."

"For as long as you need love," and he's kissing along your chest, Suguru's lips joining his barrage of pampering kisses and he's falling in love with the way you gasp and jerk when they find those sweet little spots that always had you reacting so prettily.

"m'sorry Toru."

"Don't say that baby," he's shifting his head, taking one of the hands your patted against his cheeks to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your palm as he intertwines your fingers, "should be thanking you for letting me feel you," he's groaning, "squeezin me so tight," he's smiling, brain buzzing.

"wanna make you feel good."

"You are," it was instant, "pretty girl it's taking all my concentration not to cum right now," and he's gritting his teeth, the sweat slipping down his neck evidence of that, and he's moving your hand to his chest and you could feel his erratic heartbeat, and between your fingertips lay your lipstick stain.

"Suguru," you are calling, his head lifting from your neck, "you should fuck Toru too," you offer and you could feel the boy twitch.

"F-Fuck," he's gasping, blue eyes staring at Suguru who licked his lips, and his hand is trailing towards his ass, thick fingers running over the rimmed hole and Satoru is grabbing at your skin, "baby why."

"W-Wanna see you cry too," you confess, "want Sugu to make love to you too," and you're smiling, lovestruck little grin painting over your lips as you pieced together your little fantasy, "wanna watch a show too."

"What d'ya say my love," and Suguru is kissing his shoulder, "you want me in here," and his finger is tapping against his ass and he bites his lip, eyes pinched shut as he nods bashfully.

"Y-yes, oh- yes please," and he's choking on his words as your walls clamp down, cunt still reactive and he can't help the way he's falling pliant to your smile, he rarely ever denies you, and if this is what you want, then this is what you'll get.

He could hear it, the bedside drawer rumble and with practiced ease Suguru finds the little bottle of lube, the click of the lid making him quiver in anticipation as you stare up at him happily, blissed out as you warm his cock.

You knew the two have fucked before, after all they've put on a show for you on more than one occasion, Satoru's mouth usually full of your cunt while Suguru rammed into him but this time instead of leaning over to suck him off with your mouth, your pussy was already full, excited to feel every twitch and jump, ready to watch every pretty little face he made as he stuffed you so deliciously full, dick reaching parts of your body you didn't know existed, and while you couldn't handle him thrusting you desperately wanted this.

It was the way his lips parted into an, 'o,' tears almost instantly forming as Suguru's fingers slipped inside his hole, fingers scissoring him open and your blurry vision slightly focused as you gazed at them intently, listening to the lewd squelch his ass made before a large smack reverberated and he was jerking in your cunt, making you moan in surprise as he nudged your g-spot.

"S-sorry baby," he's looking down at you with worry despite it being Suguru who spanked him so abruptly, the fingers fucking his ass making his legs tremble.

"Don't apologize," you hum, "feels good," and while you couldn't handle full thrusts his shallow little jerks had you reeling in pleasure, cunt stuffed deliciously as you enjoyed the view, pussy drooling as his hips fucked Suguru's cum back up into you.

Part of you expected to fall into a deep slumber, for your brain to blank but even with your mushy mind you found small ounces of focus to gather, desire overruling fatigue as you listened to his perfect little whines, mewling with each shudder of his thighs, balls resting heavy against your ass while Suguru stretched him open.

He's resting on his elbows, caging you in as his hitched breaths shuddered in his chest, your nipples barely grazing each other as his face hovered above yours, drunken gaze peering down at you as you stroked his flushed face, basking in the way his lips met your palm, "oh god," he's groaning, breath fanning across your face as he squirms, light twitches making you cry out in tandem.

"There you go," Suguru is humming, "you think you can take me pretty boy," and he's leaning down, chest over his back as he whispers into the reddened shell of his ear, finger's fucking quickly into his rimmed hole.

"P-Please," he's whining, head twisting to the side, pressing needy weak kisses to Suguru's lips and you gazed in awe as two undoubtedly beautiful men made out above you, sharing intimacy in the closed confines of this room.

You feel the exact moment when Suguru is forcing his way in, the heavy shudder of the limbs above you as he whines, two thick fingers in his slobbering mouth as the bed jerks, mattress squeaking as instead of the tender little languid thrusts Suguru pampered your pussy with, he was sending the bed quaking , Satoru's body rocking above you as every thrust nearly sent him flying.

"Oh fuck- ngh, Suguru," he's mewling, bleary eyes never leaving your own as he quivered above you, forceful pistons into his ass shaking him in your drooling cunt, the went cries of your pussy coating his length while Suguru went in for yet another round, forcing mind boggling pleasure into both his lovers.

One hand rubs over the apple of his cheek while you slither the other to the nape of his neck, scratching as his undercut before tugging lightly and he's sobbing, head jerking back as shockwaves thunder beneath his skin ."Baby please," he's whimpering, tears dripping down from his blue eyes and onto your skin and his pathetic little face only brought a smile to your lips.

"Ma-Makin me feel so good," you whine, voice high pitched and breathy as the springs creaked beneath you, jolts tremoring throughout his body as every plunge had his ass reverberating against Suguru's toned thighs.

It was the wet sinful sounds as each smack had you reeling, force in turn making Satoru jerk over, and over, and over, rutting against your g-spot so frantically as despite coming wholly undone on Suguru's cock his hips angled perfectly, pleasing you while bathing in his own satisfaction.

"Satoru fucking you good princess," Suguru is cooing and you gush at his words, body folding as he leaned low over Satoru's shoulder, pressing himself snug to his ass before leaning past white hair to find your swollen lips.

Satoru's face was pushed down, burrowing between you tits as Suguru grinded against him, pressing your mouths together, drinking up every last whine you had to give before pulling away, satisfied with your fucked out little face.

You could feel it rising, a small little tidal wave beginning to grow larger as your orgasm quickly approached, overstimulated and abused little cunt accelerating to yet another climax and his whines spoke volumes as he chased his own high.

"M'gonna," he's slurring, tongue lolling out as his dewy eyes sparkled, "gonna," and a hand is yanking at his throat, pulling him up by the neck and suddenly he is forced up, back pressed to Suguru's chest, light fixtures painting the edges of his snowy white hair golden as a halo formed above your overstimulated little angel, dark hair dancing across his shoulders as heavy hands squished his cheeks together, pink lips puckering as Suguru forced his mouth onto his .

They were cinematography at its finest, a lewd little film complete with heartthrob actors sculpted beautifully by the heaven's above. "Look at you," Suguru is growling, forcing his unfocused eyes to stare at the creamy white ring at the base of his cock, "makin such a mess," and your ass is being smacked.

"Suguru," Satoru is crying, "d-don't," he choking out as your gummy walls grip down tightly in surprise.

"Why what's wrong," he's teasing, "is our pretty baby making you feel too good, squeezing your dick just right," and you jump as he circled your puffy clit, imminent knot growing tighter as your greedy walls encircled him.

"B-Baby please, lo-loosen up," and his palms are frantically patting at your thighs, constricted by Suguru's hands as they peered down at your fucked out form. "I can't, gonna," fresh tears spilling down his cheeks, pornographic little sounds breaking past his lips.

"Cum f'me baby," you are whimpering, hands reaching to trace over the contours of his abs, "want you to fill me up," and suddenly he's falling off the cliff, white ropes shooting into the depths of your cunt, painting your walls as he shuddered, body jerking in your touch as he stuttered, twitching but his hips keep rolling, grinding as you listen to Suguru's grunts, hips rutting until his eyes are fogging over, grip tightening as also rode out his high.

"C'mon Satoru," he still finds his words, brain still working unlike the melting puddle in your head, "let our pretty baby climax again yeah," and his hips are shuddering, Satoru frantically pawing at your skin as he slumped forward, chest to yours as his mouths found your neck and his dick pounded against that one spot, Suguru's fingers working at your clit as you lay there and took it, quivering as finally you were climaxing, orgasm wracking your figure until you were blanking.

You don't remember falling asleep, don't recall exactly when your eyes shut but obviously they did because now they were blinking open, fatigue ridden lids fighting as your brain resurfaced to consciousness, there is a gentle splash as you grumbled, throat hoarse, limbs still gooey but even your blurry eyes could register the sight of the steaming water rolling over your body, tender touches spreading soap as you soaked into a heavy embrace.

"Are you awake pretty girl," it's careful, quiet and you turn ever so slightly, aching neck craning to look up at hickey painted skin before blue eyes are staring down at you fondly. "You feeling okay," he's asking and you merely hum, throat too scratchy to speak. Your body was throbbing, water doing little to ebb away the soreness between your legs but you felt unexpectedly clean, stickiness no longer permeating your inner thighs and you can't recall in your hazy memory being washed up, but you must've been by gentle hands.

"Do you want to get out love," it was Suguru, he was standing outside the tub, towel draped around his hips, the ends of his hair damp, "you're all cleaned up," he's cooing, voice gentle, a soothing balm for your aching limbs.

"Mhm," you whine, eyes slowly falling closed and you could feel Satoru haul you up out of the water, body trapped in his embrace before the sloshing stops and wet feet are hitting tile. The bite of the cold air was quickly fought off, fluffy towel patting against your skin and suddenly you are standing but not really, jelly legs pushing all the weight onto Satoru as he held you up as Suguru gathered the droplets from your skin, you barely blink your vision open and you are staring at your figure in the steam filled mirror, all you can see are the abundance of love bites loitering your skin, marring your neck, trailing from your chest to your stomach and ending at your thighs.

You feel them pulse beneath your flesh but it's comfortable, warm and blurry as your bare body made contact with uncovered chests of your lovers as they coddled you, and as Suguru faces you your eyes catch sight of the long red lines trailing along his back before you are settling into your fatigue, letting them care for you as they pampered your tired form, dressing you slowly, pulling up comfortable cotton undies and a large shirt, you're in an embrace, carried to some other plush bed that was probably Suguru's, settled in a lap as a rim is pressed to your lips, cup tilting as cold water filtered down your raw throat, the chilling relief soothing the persisting ache before a heavy duvet is draping over your body, capturing you in warmth as limbs quickly tangled in your own.

You're aching, throbbing but they are quick to try and soothe with kisses and quiet words and before you can fall to a comfortable rest, Satoru's asking, "so what's the answer to your question," and you part your kiss bitten lips, licking at the skin as you nuzzled deeper into their arms.

"You already know," it's a light hearted tease and you can feel his chest vibrate with a chuckle.

"Well let us know if you have any more questions," Suguru's grinning.

The subject of physical intimacy never really felt like a taboo topic for you, especially when you were only discussing it with your two close friends, and they were eager to answer every last one.

#satoru x reader x suguru #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x y/n #gojo x reader x geto #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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intheorangebedroom · 6 months

Text

Tonight you belong to me, chapter 3

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. What happens if you can't make it to the motel on Friday evening?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 @frannyzooey thank you for your help and beta reading, I fucking adore you so much it's downright obscene 🧡

Word count: 12.2k

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Chapter 3: The Man At The Frontier

Make us come, baby. Make us come together.

These words are yours.

Even if you never see him again. Even if you lose him before having had the time to map the freckles on his skin. To sleep in his arms. To hear him repeat them. They’re yours to keep.

He mouthed them against your skin, sunk them into your bloodstream in bright mahogany before coming undone, wrapped around your body.

They’re yours, right?

Even if you don’t get to see him ever again.

—

It starts with the cramps. That’s how it usually goes. A myriad of microscopic pliers nipping at your intercostal muscles.

Your eyes shoot open at the familiar ache. The early morning hues redefine the room in blue shadows. You blink your sleep-heavy eyelids a few times, confused, before your vision adjusts and you recognize the room around you. It’s your bedroom. Your nightstand, your lamp, your books. Your pills. Your tube of scented hand cream. The chair in the corner, that ugly, Louis XV style, transparent polycarbonate monstrosity by that French designer. The large windows. Those damn floor-to-ceiling windows that let in too much light, too much heat, too much open view. Nowhere to hide, in here.

It has to be sometime between 4 and 5 am, you assume, before another cramp seizes you. You curl up into a tight ball on the edge of the bed, pulling the comforter to your chin.

Not today. Please. Not today.

Friday.

Inside your abdomen, nausea streams densely, like liquid lead, from your ribs to your stomach, as cold shivers run up your spine. Sweat breaks on your forehead. You know only too well what’s happening, but it can’t be, there’s been no warning signs. No headache, no stabbing sensation in your lower belly, no spinning head.

Today is Friday.

You reject the obvious.

Were you so engrossed in the memory of him to pay attention? His hand wrapped around your nape, his forearm molded along your spine, pressing you into his chest, making you two as one. Closer.

Nausea is already lapping at your esophagus. The pliers bite harder at your ribcage and you know you have to move now if you want to make it to the bathroom before it happens. Shuddering, you push away the comforter, then get up and run.

Kneeled on all fours on the cool bathroom tiles, you dive headfirst into the toilet’s porcelain bowl as everything inside you collapses on itself, emptying the content of your stomach, mostly liquid. You should have eaten something last night.

You know you’re not pregnant. For an infinity of reasons.

Because you haven’t let Adrian fuck you in weeks. Because, when he does, he always wears protection. That’s your mutual, very tacit agreement. A silent understanding that you’re never the only woman, at any given moment. An unspoken confession on his behalf, implicit permission on yours.

Because your contraceptive pill is the only one you’ll never stop popping.

Because you’ve suffered through more stomach bugs than you care to count.

And of course, because Frankie won’t come inside you.

You stand up on fawn-like legs and flush the toilet.

You splash water on your face and grab your toothbrush with a trembling hand, shaking from head to toe. You know this is only the beginning, but it’s coming in strong. This one is most likely going to be a bad one. At least for now the pain is gone.

Above the sink, the woman in the mirror stares at you with unsettling, disproportionate glassy eyes. Her skin looks waxy, she scares you, and you have to lower your eyes. You brush your teeth as quickly as you can.

You haven’t made it back to the bedroom when the second wave of cramps squeezes your abdomen. The pain folds you in half, and you let out a low whine.

It echoes like distant thunder along the glass walls of the empty corridor.

—

On Fridays, you count. You break down hours and minutes and steps and heartbeats into small, bearable quantities, so that you can live through them without going crazy. Today, however, you’re counting trips to the bathroom, and the time between two attacks from the cramps, like you’re readying yourself to give birth to a terrible monster, feeding off you from the inside of your quivering body.

You’ve managed to spend most of the day hiding in your office, with the window cracked open, and the AC cranked up to the max. The clothes you wear are the same as yesterday. Your expensive formal blouse sticks to your sweaty skin in clammy patches. You’re cold, cold and hot all at once. In fact, you’re burning up, and a chill sweat has you shivering in the non-existent breeze.

You haven’t gotten any work done, to state the obvious. You’re just dozing in and out of consciousness between two crises, head like a rock sinking onto your arms on top of your shiny glass desk. Its surface fogs with every one of your short breaths. You’re running out of toothpaste.

Being the boss’ daughter has never granted you any particular privilege over your coworkers, except on days like this. At the first signs of sickness, you go home, or call in sick. Stay in bed for a couple of days, sleep it off, sip water tentatively every time you throw up until you can finally keep it down. No one has ever thought to comment on the frequency or duration of your sick leaves. Not even your father.

Kaytee has probably noticed something’s wrong with you. Her office is right by the bathroom, and you've run there seven times since you’ve arrived this morning, an hour late, which is uncommon, to boot. You look like a walking corpse, your eyes eating up half of your face and your lips pinched in a tight line. And surely, she will find a way to use this against you in the near or distant future. She’s been dying to take your place ever since she was recruited nearly two years ago, champing at the bit, waiting for you to slip so she can bury you.

If she only knew. How you are dying to let her have it all. That you are convinced she’d be so much better at the job than you’ll ever try to be.

With your last shred of energy, you push down the thought, like you push down the nausea and the shivers. On Fridays, everything that’s not him is irrelevant. At 6pm sharp, you’ll count your steps down to the parking garage and hop in your car. You’ll sit in traffic until you reach the 589 and you can finally cruise towards the motel in the protective semi-darkness of the Tampa suburbia.

You haven’t yet considered what will happen beyond this point. When he steps into the room and finds you sitting there, looking like an undead version of yourself, reeking of stale bile, rancid sweat and toothpaste.

All you have to do is make it there. You won’t give up, simple as that. You’ll suck it down.

Demonstrating resolve you never knew you possessed, you make it to sundown. You hold out through the pain, through the cramps, through the soreness on your knees and the abrasion in your throat and the stabbing sensation behind your eyes and the pulling of your gums.

At 6pm, you turn off the alarm of your phone and put it away in your purse. The room swirls around you the first time you try to get up. You wince, falling heavy on the simile leather chair you sweated on all day. You wipe your damp forehead and neck with a tissue, and you stand up again.

All the blood in your body rushes to your feet. There’s not a drop of it left in your brain. You swallow hard against the bitter taste clinging to your tongue and palate and start counting your steps toward the elevator, only to lose track somewhere after 18.

Dark, green circles flash in rapid succession across your pupils, narrowing your vision. You grip the strap of your purse harder, and register you can’t feel your fingers. Something is wrong with your balance, your whole body slants to the left. You try to correct its trajectory but you can’t feel anything below your calves either. What you can feel is your forehead and your nape, defined by pain, burning hot and somehow also freezing where beads of sweat run down your skin.

You’ve made it to the lobby when everything fades to black.

—

In your early 20s, you had genuinely tried to shake off the melancholia. An honest, hopeful attempt. You were away at college, and even though you didn’t get to choose your major, different and various paths seemed possible, within reach. A couple of years after graduation, when you had met Adrian, you had tried again, with renewed vigor and motivation.

You did want to get better.

You cut back considerably on hard liquor. You smiled broadly, at everyone. You said “please,” and “sorry.” Applied lipstick daily, polished your nails weekly. You went out to dinners and parties, wore high heels and interacted with strangers, drank wine in stem glasses and in reasonable quantities.

On your mother’s advice, you went to “see someone.” As your father prescribed, you read the news and followed sports results.

But the sadness kept settling down inside you, like the white particles inside a snowball. The vomiting spells became more frequent. Despite your willingness and earnest efforts, you kept falling short, and each fall hit you with increased brutality.

For your mother, you were too much. For your father, never enough. For Adrian, you would soon come to realize, you were a commodity.

Trying to please them in turn, learning your cues, anticipating their needs and wills and whims, torn up between their contradicting desires and expectations, smiling pretty and meek, you completely lost track of what you liked and who you were.

Anxious, confused, perpetually dissatisfied and unsatisfying, you withdrew within yourself. Hid away between the folds, detached and ready to flee, wishing for nothing more than to disappear.

As Ava grew up, her loud and unapologetic personality compelling everyone’s attention, she provided you with a reprieve and, most importantly, a purpose. But a diffuse sense of guilt soon arose, as your little sister’s struggles could hardly be instrumental to your self-fulfillment.

Inside of you, isolation and loneliness grew solid, like a second skeleton, keeping you upright.

Apathy soon took over. You resorted to medication to control it all.

And when it was no longer enough, you found your way to the Hole in the Wall.

—

The smell of rubbing alcohol floats around you in the chilled darkness, its rough acetone accents abrading your nostrils. There’s an undertone to it. Rotting perfume and decaying bodies. A faint beeping sound tugs at your consciousness, and as you begin to come to, pain strikes you in multiple places.

Something sharp stings the thin skin on the back of your right hand. Each one of your intercostal muscles is sore. Your throat is parched, rougher than sandpaper; your tongue too big for your mouth, stuck to your palate. Every single joint in your body is sensitive, but the worst, by far, is the piercing ache in your forehead. It glues your eyes closed.

Panic floods your brain with static when you stir, wincing against the shooting pain, and you don’t recognize the motel’s mattress. The one you’re lying on is too hard, the linen covering you too starchy, the darkness is closing in on you, you need to open your eyes, fence off the pain, find Frankie…

Frankie.

You never made it to the motel. Where the hell are you? When the hell are you?

“Ah. At long last, she wakes. How are you feeling, babe?”

Adrian’s honeyed voice hauls you through the darkness. Your eyelids flutter against the light until you open your eyes to a square room with a single, large window, blazing sun darting through.

Adrian is sitting in the corner by the foot of the bed. A hospital bed, apparently. A narrow, dark blue mattress, unusually high, encased with rails on each side and at your feet. You’ve never been hospitalized before.

He’s looking at you with a Cheshire cat grin stretching his thin lips, like he was just let in on a juicy secret. He’s dressed in his golf apparel.

The violent luminosity intensifies the splitting sensation in your forehead, it vibrates to the back of your skull, from within, from the sides.

Squinting, you turn your head to the side to take in your surroundings. On top of a beige, melamine nightstand are a black phone with a long twisted cord, an oval device with a red and a white buttons and another cord, and a metal kidney dish.

There’s a tray table over your legs, with a jug standing next to a hard glass already filled with water, and some paper napkins. There’s a needle in your hand. A drip. With a cord. You flinch a little at the sight. A white rectangle eats up the tip of your index, a red light flashing from inside it. Another cord. It’s linked to the source of the beeping sound, a square monitor to your right, displaying wobbly lines of green. Another two cords are plugged in, you follow their sinuous lines to your bed, where they disappear under the sheet, and you take in the two round patches taped to your chest.

So many cords. Too many sensors.

“Where’s my phone?” you mumble.

Your tongue feels like a piece of carpet. You’re not sure whether it’s even your voice anymore.

“You scared us this time,” Adrian says. His tone is cold, practiced, policed.

You reach for the plastic glass and bring it to your chapped lips. The liquid flows down your throat like a waterfall; you wince again.

“Can you pull down the blinds, please? The light hurts.”

He lets a moment pass before he gets up, then circles the bed, unhurried, pacing toward the window, but instead of shutting the Venetian blinds, he sits by your side. The mattress dips under his weight. You hold your breath, anticipating a new jolt of pain. Behind him, the daylight forms a halo, blurring the outline of his silhouette. Your eyes water against the brightness.

“What day is it?” you try again.

“One thing we don’t understand is why you didn’t go home. You got us all worried, you know?”

The beeping picks up pace, imperceptibly. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. The one with no cords linked to it. You know this dance, he won’t cooperate until you ask the right questions, the ones he wants you to listen to him answer. Better to give him what he wants, for now.

“What happened?”

“We don’t know exactly, that’s the thing. Well, you were sick, this you know,” he punctuates his words with a knowing grin and a wink, “but instead of coming home, you stayed at work, for some reason. We think you lost consciousness on your way out, and you hit your head on the elevator’s frame in your fall. We couldn’t help you right away because most employees had already left the floor. Jerry found you. He called your dad.”

You close your eyes, blocking the image of Jerry, of all people, finding you sprawled out and unconscious on the floor. And why would he call your father? Why not 911? You resent that collective we. Who the hell is we? Right about now, you could swear it’s the entire world versus you.

Besides, you’re fairly certain Kaytee was still in her office at the time. She never leaves before 8pm at the earliest and makes sure everyone knows about it.

“You split your forehead open. Apparently, you were running a pretty high fever, too. Oh, and you were critically dehydrated, according to the doctor I saw this morning,” he frames the words critically dehydrated in air quotes. “He also said something about a light concussion, I think.”

You lift a heavy hand to your forehead, the tip of your fingers gingerly testing what they find there, a gauze dressing, held in place by medical tape.

Having the clinical explanation behind the multiple aches throbbing inside your body somehow eases some of the pain.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you say, unable to look him in the eyes with the harsh light behind him. “I need my phone. Can you give me my phone, please?”

“What do you need your phone for?” he asks casually, seemingly absorbed by something on his pants.

It’s a dare. You know that tone all too well. Today, however, you find that you don’t feel like playing. You want your goddamn phone.

Frankie cannot possibly have tried to reach you as you never exchanged numbers, but you want to call the motel. Find out if he came. What happened then. You want to know what time it is, what day, how much of him you’ve missed. You’re craving his touch, his skin between your parted lips, your heart pumping on empty, racing madly from the need for him, and of all the sensations making your body known to you, this one by far hurts the most.

The beeping sound accelerates, drawing Adrian’s attention to the monitor, then to you. His cold blue gaze narrows on your face. You try to slow down your breathing, hoping it translates to your heart rate.

“I need to call Ava. She must be worried.”

“Ah yes, your sister, of course,” he exclaims, feigning a bright mood, as if you’d just reminded him you’re traveling to Hawaii together next week.

Getting up, he walks nonchalantly to the foot of the bed, leaning against the wall underneath the TV set, hands in his pockets. The black screen dwarfs his lean proportions. His red polo enhances his pallid complexion. You avert your gaze, lest the monitor picks up your disgust like it does your nervousness.

“Yes, it’s true, she probably got very distressed, when you didn’t show up at all last night,” he agrees with affected concern.

There’s a foul taste in your mouth. Acid, rubbing alcohol, and something else. The glass is empty, but you don’t think you can lift that jug. Each one of your muscles is vibrating, waiting for the axe to fall. If only that fucking monitor could stop beeping.

“Remember back in October, when Kenneth went to New York over the weekend for the symposium at NYU? Well you’ll never guess. He saw your sister there, in some uptown restaurant, making out with her…” his upper lip curls, “with this older woman, her girlfriend.”

So this is it. He knows. All this time, he’s known. Since October, practically since the beginning. And he let you believe you had him fooled, that you had the upper hand on the situation, that this part of your life was yours. He lured you into a false sense of safety, a deluded feeling of freedom. And all the while, he’s known.

It’s really your fault, for forgetting that’s how things are with him. That nothing truly is what it seems. That he likes you scared, anxious. Perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop.

There’s no point in trying to control the beeping, now. In fact, given its cadence, you expect a nurse to barge in any minute.

“Polly’s not old,” is your answer.

“Yeah, whatever, they’re degenerates, both of them.”

“Where’s my goddamn phone, Adrian?”

“What do you want your phone for?” he barks.

The words are spat in your direction, and the sheer volume of his nasal voice startles you. Red blotches erupt on his cheeks and neck, his eyes are blazing with contempt.

“You need to call your fucking dealer? Is that it? You think I haven’t noticed that you’re high half of the time?”

You remain perfectly still, holding your breath.You can feel your skin pulling at the medical tape in your hairline.

He doesn’t know shit. In fact, he’s scared. He’s so, so small.

“Listen, I don’t care what the fuck you do every Friday night, ok? But can you at least be fucking discreet about it?”

The poison in his tone and his words corrodes your confidence.

“They will announce the senior partners in January, I cannot fucking lose your father’s business until it’s done, do you understand me? So whatever you do,” he points his index finger at you and stabs it through the air to accentuate each of his following words, “you be fucking discreet. More fucking discreet than that shitshow you pulled, do you get it? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Should you nod? Is he waiting for you to manifest your understanding of the situation?

You hate yourself for thinking, ever so briefly, that he might have been jealous, that he might have cared. Held down on this bed with all these cords, you feel like a butterfly pinned in a glass case, on display in a cabinet of curiosities, a mere object amidst a multitude of other trophies covered in dust and mold. You’ve always hated butterflies. They gross you out.

You allow yourself to breathe again when his posture relaxes. Looking down at his feet, with his hands on his waist, he shakes his head and huffs. The stance reminds you of Frankie, the difference in their proportions almost comical, like a circus monkey aping the brawny horseman, the one who gets top billing in the show.

Frankie had you pinned on a bed repeatedly, without ever making you feel like a study in entomology.

“Your dad is waiting for me, I’m already late,” Adrian says, coming toward you, “I’d love to stay a little longer, but you know how he is about golfing. Don’t want to keep him waiting!”

He pecks a kiss on the crown of your head. The pain darts through your skull in all directions, all the way down to your spine.

“Where’s my phone, Adrian?” you call one last time as he strides toward the door.

“You don’t need your phone, babe. What you need is to rest. Get those magical hospital electrolytes. Doctor’s orders,” he adds with a wink.

And he’s gone.

Furious tears hang from your lashes. You focus on the plastic box on the tip of your index, and you begin to inhale and exhale, as deeply and slowly as you can. It’s shaky at first, but you’re encouraged by the decreasing cadence of the beeping.

Adrian and your father go golfing at 2pm on Saturday afternoons. Meaning you’ve been out for over fifteen hours. Without your phone, you have no means to assert the time. Your watch is nowhere in sight, neither are your clothes, shoes, jewelry, purse.

The room has a phone, but you have no idea if it’s connected. You don’t know the number to the motel. Hell, you don’t even know its name, only its location.

Frankie’s silhouette invades your thoughts, the size of him, the shape of him. His broad back, his strong shoulders, the line of his neck. The sensation of his hands grasping your waist. Their precision, their roughness. Their intent.

Is this how it ends?

Fresh tears swell under your eyelids. You quickly clench them close.

You did everything wrong. What an appalling idiot. You should have acknowledged you’d never make it there, not in the state you were in. You should have called the motel to leave a message, explain your absence, and promise you’d be there again the following Friday.

Now you have no means to reach him. You probably have lost him forever. The warm touch of his skin. His unique scent. His taste.

The beeping grows frantic. Heavy wet sobs heap up inside your chest. Your hand flies to cover your eyes. You anchor yourself to the throbbing pain in your skull and the prickling needle in your hand. To the faint clasp of the pulse oximeter on your index finger. Pursing your lips, you exhale.

Whether the phone is connected or not is just a detail. You can always signal someone with that little remote on the nightstand and have the option charged to the room. Ava’s phone number is the one you have memorized, she can come and get you, and when you manage to get out of here and get your phone back, you’ll replace Adrian’s contact info with hers as your ICE.

The point is: you’re not trapped. You’re not a dead butterfly in a glass case.

Your heart rate slows down.

Between the cords and the hospital sheets, you look up at the white ceiling, and do what you do best: you check out, slip back between the cracks, disconnect.

—

The pain from your head injury is overwhelming. You’d ask for painkillers, but that collective we still haunts you.

You expect Adrian to come back on Sunday. He doesn’t. Throughout the day, you fall in and out of sleep, a restless, feverish slumber crowded with violent dreams of flesh-eating monsters licking your bones clean.

On Monday morning, the doctor comes in to see you. A man in his early 60s with a thick mane of gray hair and a carefully trimmed beard, he calls you “sweetheart,” and when he raises his eyes from his tablet, he flashes you a perfunctory smile with blinding white veneers. He introduces himself as the head of the gastroenterology department. And a friend of Richard. He makes sure that you understand that his name on your chart is a favor to your father. His demeanor commands your respect, preferably by way of intimidation.

Whatever he tells you, you’ve already learned from the nurses who waltzed in and out of your room in a brisk and constant ballet throughout the weekend, to check with skilled, professional movements the multiple cords and tubes pinning you to your bed.

You suffered bacterial gastroenteritis, with severe dehydration, necessitating an antibiotic treatment, and, from your fainting spell, a minor concussion and a head injury. A thin split, on the right side of your forehead, perpendicular to your hairline.

You got sick. You fainted. You hurt your head.

After the doctor’s gone, you’re finally allowed to get up. Under the fluorescent ceiling light of the adjacent bathroom, you spend several minutes observing the seven stitches adorning your forehead. The thick black thread tied in neat little knots that look like dollhouse barbed wire. The visible indentation in your flesh underneath them. The kaleidoscopic and psychedelic coloration of your skin, spreading from your brow to your scalp.

One of the nurses assures you the scar will quickly fade and disappear. Just like you.

You find your belongings inside the narrow closet by the bathroom door. The slit of your pencil skirt is torn nearly up to the waist, and the blouse is bloodied. Your jewels are tucked inside your purse. You stand in front of the shelves, staring blankly at the black leather rectangle with the two gold C’s entwined on the front. One of the very first gifts you received from Adrian. You can’t remember if it was for Christmas, or your 30th birthday. Every Friday evening for the past three months, you’ve shoved it unceremoniously under your car seat. You hate that thing. It’s soulless, tacky, it begs for attention, it screams money.

Later in the afternoon, your mother comes to visit. She brings you magazines, In Style, Elle, Southern Homes, Vogue … At first, she doesn’t look at your face, and when she does, she crumbles into tears. You comfort her. You watch her pad the corner of her fake lashes with a tissue she pulls out of her Birkin purse, and reapply lipstick.

Adrian comes back on Tuesday, with a large bouquet of roses, a box of imported Belgian chocolates you’re not allowed to eat, and your phone. He doesn’t stay long. Before he leaves, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your lips. You wait until he’s passed the door to spit into the kidney dish.

Your father calls within minutes of his departure, with an apology for not visiting. Work, he says, the magic word that justifies everything, from the clothes on your back to his shitty behavior. You tell him the doctor has advised to rest for the remainder of the week.

In the evening, you finally text Ava. She calls you back immediately, which, beyond her audible concern, puts a lump in your throat. When she asks you how you’re feeling, it’s a minute before you can even speak.

You’re discharged on Wednesday, with a tube of antibiotics, a short list of food to favor and a much longer one to avoid.

Ava comes to pick you up. She brings you a change of clothes, a pair of baggy, distressed jeans and a white t-shirt that spells PRIDE in rainbow letters. You smile at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, and when you come out, she laughs like a child at her own joke. You laugh with her. It hurts a little, but the pain is worth it.

You’re still smiling when you ask her if you can keep the t-shirt, and her face drops. She hugs you, a bone-crushing hug with closed fists compressing your back, her face slotted into the crook of your neck. Her voice quivers when she answers that everything that is hers, is also yours.

You stuff the pockets of your jeans full of your things and leave your purse in the closet. With a little bit of luck, the person who will find it can get a good price for it.

On Friday morning, you drive back to the hospital to honor a 10:30 am appointment to remove your stitches. You’re led through a sprawling maze of corridors into a windowless room with baby blue walls, and instructed to undress to your underwear, which you don’t. Sitting on the examination couch, legs dangling in the air, palms rubbing on your jeans, you wait for the nurse to come in.

She doesn’t remark on your defiance. In fact, she makes a point of soothing your nervousness, introducing herself as Diane, complimenting the color of your sneakers. She promises that you won’t feel a thing, and you believe her. When she smiles, her irises nearly entirely disappear, and a wide-spanning arch of wrinkles appears at the corner of her eyes, like sunbeams drawn by a happy child.

While she prepares her utensils, she engages you in small talk, skillfully stirring the conversation toward the matter of your mental health and physical well-being. You’re well-trained too. You divert without shame or remorse.

True to her word, she makes quick work of it, and when she’s done, she hands you a mirror framed in a blue, rubbery material.

At first, you refuse to look, but she kindly insists. Her voice is gentle, angelical, her hands are warm when she lays them on your shoulders. She never once pronounces the word “scar.” She calls you “a beautiful and brave young woman.”

So you let her guide your hand upward until you’re faced with your image.

“See? Barely visible. Once the ecchymosis has faded, you won’t even be able to notice it. Just something that happened.”

As she stands behind you, her warmth radiates through your cold bones, and she smiles broadly at your reflection. You blink back your tears. You want to commit her words to memory, uncorrupted by emotions. Just something that happened.

Out in the street, a strong wind blows in gusts from the east, in an overcast sky. The damp smell scrunches up your nose. Even without the sun, the air is too warm for the season. When you get into your car, the first thing you do is crank up the AC.

That rotten hospital smell is still clinging to your skin and hair, you keep having these drops in blood sugar that leave you trembling like a willow tree and drenched in cold sweat. The whiplash from this morning’s anxiety does nothing to level your mood.

You glance at your watch. 11:30. You let your head roll back on the headrest. You can’t remember a time in your life when you were not exhausted.

You consider heading straight to the motel. Originally, you intended to go home first, change your clothes and apply some makeup. Cover up the giant bruise on your forehead, and do your best to look alive. It would be smart to put some food in you, too, and of course, to hydrate.

“Fuck it.”

You start the ignition, and merge into the midday traffic.

The drive is excruciatingly long. A week from Christmas, the traffic is terrible. Getting out of Tampa takes over an hour.

It’s the afternoon when you pull into the motel’s parking lot. Your eyesight’s unfocused, your nerves are raw, your shoulders pulled taut.

Of the three other cars parked in the lot, none look like the one you’ve always assumed to be Raul’s, an ancient white Jeep Wagoneer with a rusty back bumper.

As you try to ponder what to do next, the prickling of your healing tissues riles you up, convoking intrusive thoughts of your scarred reflection. The antibiotics drill a hole into your stomach, the discomfort creases your brow into a constant frown. Your right leg bounces continuously on the car floor.

You’re running on empty. Pure, solid stress is what’s holding you up.

Once again trapped, this time inside the carbon fiber box of your car, while the outside world is defined in movements. The course of the overcast sun across the pearly gray sky, and the ever-changing shades of the clouds chased by the eastern winds. The occasional vehicle driving past the motel on the secondary road. The trembling of tree leaves, birds flying over, lonesome or in flocks.

That decaying smell is everywhere in you, around you, but it might be your festering thoughts.

You’re too much, not enough, a disposable commodity.

Is this how it ends?

Sometimes before 7pm, the white Wagoneer pulls into the parking lot, followed a few minutes later by a red sedan. Raul’s short, bespectacled figure is recognizable through the windshield of his Jeep. Then, it’s the familiar sight of his blue overall as he climbs the flight of stairs to the reception. You slide down on your seat, you don’t need him to see you already stationed here.

Shortly after, a curvy young woman with a straight, blonde ponytail that goes down to her waist comes out and jogs to the red sedan. She gets in on the passenger side, and you wait until the car disappears on the horizon to exit yours.

The short walk from your car to the office should be muscle memory. Only today, the gravel feels steady under the flat soles of your Van’s, and your jeans allow you to take actual, proper strides. Carried by the momentum, you march into the room, opening the door so wide it bangs on the door stopper with an ominous sound of shaking glass panes.

Behind the desk, Raul lifts his head. It’s easy to tell by his puzzled expression that he doesn’t place you. And why would he? You look nothing like you usually do on every other Friday evening. Your clothes are casual, your face is bare, your features pulled taut by mental and physical exhaustion and an array of soreness and pains, your forehead shines in Technicolor, set off by a fresh, inch-long scar.

“Good evening,” you start with a tight smile. “I—“

A whole week. Seven days, and you haven’t thought this through. The liability that is your impractical brain appalls you, exasperation heating your temples. In the silence that ensues, the droning of the AC unit seems to grow louder. You smile again.

“I come in every week?”

Jesus.

“Oh yes,” he nods, his boot-button eyes boring into yours, “Friday nights, room number 2.”

“Yes,” you answer with a strained, cringy little chuckle, “room number 2. Is it–”

You wipe your sweaty palms on the sides of your jeans.

“I was wondering if the room was booked last week?”

“Yes, last week room 2 was booked. But you didn’t come, last week.”

“Yes, no, I was held back,” you hear yourself say. You wince before you add, “And, the— the tall man— the tall man who joins me, did he come, last week?”

“Yes. He came. He waited, two, maybe three hours. You didn’t come, so he left. No refund. Reservations paid in advance are not refundable unless canceled at least 48h—“

“Oh no, that’s fine,” you cut in, relieved he might have thought this embarrassing interaction was about money. “And is the room booked for tonight?”

Raul’s boot-button eyes linger on you for a beat before he lowers them to the computer screen on his left. The mouse clicks a few times, loud and suspenseful, as he operates the thing. You try to catch the reflection of something, anything in his round glasses. There are seven rooms, two cars beside his and yours in that parking, what can possibly take him so long?

If the bacteria hasn't killed you, the wait surely will.

“No,” he eventually declares, looking up at you, “it’s not booked for tonight.”

The answer falls on you like a guillotine. It rings out in your ears and you sway on your feet from the violence of the blow. You don’t know how to breathe.

“Do you want to book it?”

You shake your head slowly.

“No. Thank you.”

Back outside, in the muggy semi-darkness, your wobbling legs find the way to your car on autopilot.

He made no plans to come back. This time, he didn’t leave any note. This is how it ends. Between your lungs, the wild creature is bleeding.

You should turn around, ask if they have his full name, bribe Raul into giving you his contact info. You never thought of memorizing his plates, but you could always drive back to the Hole in the Wall, see if he’s been there, if he came looking for you.

You don’t. You won’t. You’re not entitled to any of it. He was never yours. Never yours to want, to long for, to miss, to hold.

All that’s left now is the abyss and the fear. You’re terrified. Of what lies ahead, the choices you’ll have to make, the answers you’ll have to give. The hollowness in your chest. The gap in your existence. The fracture in your years.

The before and the after him.

He has changed you. You changed yourself. You’ll never know if you changed him.

Stunned, you stand still by your car, cloaked in the velvety night, frozen in space and time. Your hand petrified on the door handle. Unable and unwilling to leave. Eyes riveted to the brass number on the door, glinting with a blurry glow in the soft yellow hues of the porch lights. Moths flutter fuzzy and silent into the light beam, oblivious to the drama of your story.

The rectangular window stands guard over your secret life. Behind the yellow curtains, your lonely silhouette awaits to come to life, poised and silent, seated on the edge of the bed.

That woman, young and brave . Want has made her bold and determined. In just a few moments, her trained ears will pick up the sound of an old truck engine drawing near on the empty road. Her existence will come into focus with thrilled anticipation. She will bloom out of her restraints at the sound of tires on the gravel.

“Oh god,” you whisper, whipping your head around, your grip on the handle white-knuckled as the red truck parks behind your sedan.

His massive silhouette comes out, and you clasp your hand to your mouth to muffle a dry sob.

It’s a trick of your overwrought brain. He’s wearing a pair of worn-out jeans and a suede jacket over a dark t-shirt. The brim of his hat casts a long shadow over his face, but he’s moving fast, and in a couple of strides, he’s standing before you, hands on his hips. He’s smiling, a broad and bright smile. You catch a glimpse of a dimple you’ve never seen. A trick of the mind.

Oh but he’s here, in the flesh, your body knows before your brain comprehends his presence. The instant pull, the humming purr of the creature inside you, the blood level instinct.

“Hey!” he calls. He sounds out of breath. Like he’s been running. Running to you.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out through your clenched fingers.

“What?”

His smile drops when you take a step back.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t make it, I thought I could, but I couldn’t make it, and then I couldn’t—“

Your throat closes around the memory and you swallow hard, eyelids weighed by stubborn tears that refuse to fall.

He takes a step forward, tilting down his head. That scowl. That scowl, you know. You’re only too familiar with it.

“Then it was too late and I couldn’t reach you,” you finish.

“What happened to you?”

The low timbre of his voice reverberates inside your chest. His eyes flicker up to your forehead. Before you can think of anything to say, he cups your face with both hands and turns it to the side, towards the light. The whole sequence happens so fast that you trip on your feet and catch yourself on his forearms.

“Who the fuck did that to you?” he grits, leaning so close his breath fans your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a whisper.

“Did he do that to you?”

“What?”

“Your husband. Did he do that to you?” he asks again, louder, this time. Separating each syllable.

“Oh no! No, I fell.” You bring the tip of your fingers to the sensitive mark. “The nurse said it will fade.”

“How did you fall?” he presses.

He doesn’t believe you. Like you could lie to him if you wanted to.

The tension from his frame resonates through yours, where a week’s worth of suppressed emotions and tears are piled up, waiting for a detonator that will bring down the dam. You push away his hands, your frown mirroring his own.

“I fell, ok? I’m here now, so let’s go inside.”

“I’m not– no,” he huffs, hands back on his hips, shaking his head. His boots scuff over the gravel, the grating sound loud in the empty lot, in the stifling night, and despite the dimness you can make out that scowl, ever present, splitting his gaze.

“You can barely stand.”

However relevant, his rejection burns your cheeks. You raise your chin, leaning against the hood of the car for countenance. For balance.

“I’m fine. The room is free. Let’s go.”

“I said no. I’m not fucking you. Look, I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re clearly not well enough–”

“You don’t fucking tell me what I’m well enough to do,” you snarl with your heartbeat in your throat, pushing away from the car, sustained by your last shred of strength. “Don’t assume you know what I’m capable of.”

He stands in front of you, seemingly unmoved, impossibly tall, infuriatingly silent. Stoic, and you’re thrumming with frustration, standing stubborn and brittle in front of him. He gives you none of the myriad of micro-expressions that usually play across his face, that you read instinctually. You feel ugly, exposed, but you withhold his gaze, jaw clenched, breathing heavy through your nose. You might faint again.

The silence drags on. It’s a minute before he moves again, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice is calm, when he speaks next, low and quiet, almost soothing. You don’t want it to be soothing. You don’t want to be soothed, you’re not done with your anger. He didn’t book the room, and now he doesn’t want to go in. You are a swappable vessel, after all.

“I don’t. I don’t assume anything,” he says, “I don’t want to hurt you, that’s all.”

“I told you already, you cannot hurt me,” you snap, impatient.

“Wanna bet?”

You don’t need to. You know he could. Just not in the way he thinks he would. He’s already marked you permanently, deeper than any injury, any wound ever could.

“Listen,” he begins with a sigh.

“No, I get it, I look like shit and you don’t want to fuck me—“

“Alright, that’s enough!” he silences you with his index finger pointed at you. His voice booms in the dim parking lot, and you avert your eyes. Weariness washes over you, you fall back against the hood of your car.

His shoulders sink just a bit, the slightest drop in the tension pulling them taut. He steps closer to you, leans down, seeking your gaze, searching your face in the semi-darkness.

“Hey, why don’t we go for a drive?” he offers. “We can talk. Or not. We can listen to the radio. Or just drive in silence, if you want. Clear our minds. What do you think?”

Our minds.

He’s so close you can smell the clean scent of his t-shirt and the musk of him underneath it; you can feel your skin reaching out for him in feverish little tendrils you cannot control.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Yes, ok.”

He smiles, a cautious, appraising smile. The light catches at the mahogany depth of his eyes. He reaches for you, placing a large hand in the small of your back, and whispers, “Alright, let’s go.”

—

The cab of the truck feels almost sacred. For months, it’s been your favorite daydream. Picturing him alone in the only private space of his you’ve ever seen, driving to you.

What are his thoughts, then? Are they of you? Are they happy? Are they hopeful?

On any other occasion, you’d relish the opportunity to be in here with him. You’d catalog and store up every tiny detail for future use in your fantasies of him. Instead, you’re sitting tight and rigid on the wide bench seat, pressed against the door, face turned toward the window, seeing absolutely nothing.

You hate yourself for that, too.

After a while, you risk a glance at the dashboard.

Judging by the analog dials, the truck has some mileage, but it’s visibly been well maintained. There’s no visible spots, no dust, no dents, only the patina of time. The vinyl bench seat is upholstered with a soft fabric whose colors have fainted after too many years under the Florida sun. There’s a cassette player and a cigarette lighter. The windows are manual.

The one on Frankie’s side is cracked open. The night air carries his scent over to your side of the cab. Leather, laundry, musk. You can’t escape it.

“Hey. You ok there?”

In the moonless night, you can only make out the sharp lines of his profile against the outside darkness of the country road.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

He looks at you, brow pinched, but his expression is soft. Compassionate.

“C’mere.”

The truck slows down to a snail pace, and he unbuckles your seatbelt. You scoot over near him. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reaches to your right and rolls out the middle seat belt across your lap, fastening it between your hip and his.

The truck accelerates to a cruising speed, and he wraps his arm over your shoulders, drawing you closer.

You let him, allow your body to slump against his, embrace his warmth, your cheek pressed against his chest. It’s solid and strong, a match for your skeleton of loneliness. The suede fabric of his jacket is smooth, worn in. You inhale him there. You rest a hand on his thigh, and slide the other under his jacket, to rest on his chest. It rises and falls with his breathing. If you lie real still, you can feel the steady thumping of his heart.

“I’m not married.”

“Ok.”

The word is felt through your cheek as much as you hear it.

“The man I live with. He’s not my husband.”

“Ok.”

The nodding motion of his head nudges you a bit.

“And I really fell.”

He remains silent, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. The leather lining creaks inside his fist.

“I got sick, last Friday. I get these stomach bugs all the time, but this was a mean one. I tried to make it through the workday, but eventually I passed out. Like a corporate rendition of a Victorian damsel, or something.”

You chuckle, diverting the humiliating memory. Just something that happened.

He tightens his embrace.

“That when you hurt your head?”

“Yes. On the edge of the elevator’s frame. At work”

“Fuck. Did it hurt a lot?”

“Actually it didn’t? I was out. It hurt when I woke up later, in the hospital, though. I had this terrible headache. I didn’t know where I was, or when I was.”

You feel him shake his head as he asks, “Were you scared?”

How to put into words, that the only fear you’ve ever had, is to never see him again?

“I survived,” you answer with a shrug and a little, empty laugh.

If you were brave enough, if you had some strength left, you’d ask. How did he feel, when he got to the motel and found the door to the room closed. Why he didn’t book the room again. Why he still came tonight.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks.

“No,” you lie.

“Mmh. And for real?”

You rub your cheek against the smooth suede, imprinting your soft smile into it. And maybe some of your scent for him to keep. In case, just in case he does care.

“A little. I’ll be fine.”

The truck cruises over the black asphalt, between the straight, stretching yellow lines.

Your next words come in quiet, but not hesitant.

“He wouldn’t hit me.”

“Ok.”

“That’s not what he does.”

He exhales slowly through his nose.

“What does he do?”

You bite your cheeks, already regretting this moment of weakness. The treason.

“He makes me doubt.”

“Him?”

“Myself. And him too.”

Your eyes clench shut. His chest flexes under your cheek as he hardens his grip on the wheel.

The truck drives past a gas station, through a small town. Neatly delimited square lawns, white houses with flags hanging on their porches, Christmas lights blinking through square windows, and you tilt up your head to look at him in the streetlights.

His outlined profile, his steady expression, everything about him feels safe and grounding. The beauty that radiates from him, from within him, sinks to your heart. It races madly, awakening the soreness in your bruised ribcage, and perhaps he can feel it, with the way you’re curled up into his side. Leaning down, he brushes a kiss to your forehead. You bunch up his T-shirt in your fist.

Soon, the yellow lines unwinding endlessly in the truck’s headlights weigh down your eyelids. In the safety of Frankie’s hold, your mind and body slowly drift into a peaceful slumber.

“You ok? Want me to close the window?”

His voice is a distant whisper skirting the edges of your consciousness.

“No, ’m good,” you mumble. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

Under your palm, Frankie's heart thumps loud and heavy.

—

When you wake up, the truck is still and silent. Engine cooled off, windows rolled up. The night is pitch dark. Frankie’s scent, heady, familiar, everywhere around you. Your cheek is resting on his lap, and his hand lies heavy on your waist. His breathing comes in even and slow. Both your seatbelts are unbuckled. Your feet are bare.

Aside from your legs, sore from being crammed into the length of the seat bench, you feel better than you have in a week, with your headache finally gone.

You sit up, take in your surroundings and his sleeping form, seated behind the wheel. He stirs, lifting an eyelid and glancing in your direction, the corner of his mouth tugged up into something that resembles a drowsy grin.

At some point while you were asleep, he drove back to the motel. Parked the truck so that the cabin faces away from the only source of light.

You stretch side by side, sleep-heavy limbs, comfortable silence. You watch him lift his hat and comb his fingers through his hair, a tender smile lifting the corner of your lips. You know the curls he hides there.

Of course, it cannot last forever. Nothing ever does. In a couple of hours, it’ll be daybreak. He’s always gone, by then.

You won’t make this uncomfortable or difficult for him. You slip your socks and shoes back on. You’re reaching for the handle when he stops you with a hand on your thigh.

“Wait. I need to talk to you.”

His voice is low and husky from sleep. You realize you have never woken up next to him. Never slept with him through the night. Probably never will.

You hum quietly, pivoting on the seat bench to face him.

“I can’t come, next week,” he says, searching your eyes.

Emotionless. That’s how you have to be. You know how to do this. Not when it comes to him, but you can try. You try your best, your very hardest.

“I understand.”

“I imagine you can’t be here either.”

No, you can’t. Thanksgiving at your parents’, Christmas with Adrian’s family. Always.

“No, I can’t.”

The following week, either. But you don’t share that.

This is when the two of you should discuss a practical means of communication. The awareness hangs between you, loud and unspoken. The consequences it would have on whatever it is that the two of you share. The shockwave, the shift in nature and intention. The names that exist to describe your situation, crass, overused, sordid. Tainted with lies and deception, secret texting, hushed phone calls, disgusting, undeniable guilt.

Frankie moves first, getting out of the truck and going round the hood to open the door for you. You slide out of the high cab into his arms, and when your feet touch the gravel, you wonder if this could be the last time he will ever hold you.

In the feeble porch lights, his face is a landscape of diffuse shadows. The dip in his collarbone draws you in, a beacon in a dark ocean. You nuzzle into it, inhaling his scent, taking in his fragrant warmth. You tuck your face in the crook of his neck, graze your cheek along his pebbled skin. What if you stayed there? Tucked away forever. Disappeared to the rest of the world. Would it matter? Would he let you?

Your fists bunch the sides of his jacket.

“Kiss me, Frankie, please.”

“Yes.”

His first kiss is tentative, the plush cushion of his lips a soft press over yours, but they return immediately, hungry for a taste, for more, the tip of his tongue brushing against your parted lips.

All that you crave, all that you need is here, in his embrace, between his arms and his hands tugging at your waist, beckoning your body closer to his.

Your arms circle his neck, the tips of your fingers seeking his curls. His hand spans your back, finds your nape. He molds you into his chest, and with the way he’s pressing you against him, firm and commanding, you know this will be one of these moments that feed into your hopes. The delusion you’ve been nurturing since the first time you’ve faced him. The dream that he wants you to be his above anyone else.

His third kiss opens you up, tongue swirling around yours, and you keen, rising to your tiptoes, angling your head to take more, more, more and he gives. Hands gripping, tongue licking, crushed lips and guttural moans, he gives you all that you need like he needs it too.

You’re floating above the gravel, there’s no time, there’s no space, his body has no end and there’s no beginning to yours as he kisses away your fears, your doubts, your darkness.

Together, you stand entwined between night and morning, linked by chance, need and hurt, bonded by will and desire.

There’s no urgent hunger in the spanning of his splayed hands across your body, no rage in his kneading of the soft of your hips, or the swell of your breast. His grip is strong, but studious and thorough. He takes you in, your curves, your dips, the slopes and slants of your figure. Like he’s storing up the feelings and memories of you for when there will be no more, when you’re far and gone, away with your husband who is not your husband. There’s despair in his touch, but most of all, there’s foresight, and intent.

He’s untucked your t-shirt, calloused hand skimming up to cup your breast, thumbing the hardening peak of your nipple.

Once again, you find yourself pressed against the hard, cool metal of the truck, and like the first time, you’re frantic in his hold, but he’s in control. His thick thigh parts your legs, offering friction to the coiling need between your hips, that fire pooling liquid down your core. You squirm against the firm muscles.

“Want me to make you come, baby?”

He’s breathing into your mouth, and you whine in frustration.

“No, I want you inside me.”

“Shit, you sure?”

“I’m not made of glass, you’re not going to break me.”

You push away to look at him, a demonstration of strength. All talk, but you’re that desperate. He pulls you back into him for another kiss, chuckling into your mouth.

“You think I don’t know that?”

So many simple things you had never done with him before tonight, after months of lying bare and naked, to his gaze and his touch, inside and out. Driving, falling asleep, walking, his steadying hand nestled in the small of your back.

Behind the reception desk, Raul seems unfazed by this new development. The drawing pad blackened in charcoal is back.

“Room number 2,” Frankie asks, “for the night.”

It’s so wild to consider that the two men have never interacted, when Raul plays such an important part of your Friday ritual. You’d try to get Frankie’s full name, real name, perhaps, but Raul doesn’t ask. This is not that kind of place.

“I can pay,” you whisper into Frankie’s shoulder, tucking your t-shirt back into your jeans.

“I know you can.”

When he flips open his wallet, a small color picture pops out, next to his driver's license. The photo booth format is easily identifiable. In the snapshot, a bare-headed Frankie is holding a very young child. The picture is that of a moment, seized through movement, the kid holding the Standard Heating Oil hat in her chubby hands, likely mere seconds after having snatched it from Frankie’s head, who’s looking down at her, with a bemused grin, tousled hair.

It’s him, his distinctive, sharp features unmistakable, only he hardly looks like the man you know. There’s no trace of the grief he carries like a cloak when he meets with you. No crease splitting his brow like when he looks at you. Instead, his eyes glint with pride, creasing with a smile that dimples his cheeks, large and genuine. And the child’s round, plump face is brightened by the same irresistible dimpled grin, the same head full of wild curls, the same mahogany eyes.

You quickly avert your gaze, but you’ve seen enough. The guilt is physical, visceral, it squeezes your ribcage harder than the pliers. The pain has you wincing and you grip the reception desk for balance, but Frankie’s arm is already wrapped around your waist and he’s leading you outside.

In a trance, you walk beside him to room number 2. Your room. That picture-perfect image of fatherly love dancing before your eyes.

He’ll never be yours. The wild creature shivers between your lungs. The certitude shatters your heart.

Stepping inside, you’re rooted to the floor. Limbs too heavy to lift. Your blood has turned into lead. The fire in your core is a pile of ashes. You can taste it on the back of your tongue.

Frankie flicks up the toggle switch, and the room lights up in amber hues. It feels too big, the satin quilt, the brown carpet, the yellow curtains, everything is foreign and distant.

Behind you, he sets his hat on the desk, drapes his jacket on the back of the chair.

“You ok?”

His voice jolts you up. You turn around to face him, unshed tears hanging round and heavy from your lashes. After a beat, he takes a step towards you, and you feel that absolute pull tugging from behind your midriff.

His gaze drifts up to your fresh scar, where your flesh is tender, swollen and bruised. Yours travel down along the pebbled skin of neck, to the dip between his collarbone. A firework of freckles springs from the V-shaped collar of his faded blue t-shirt.

Carefully, he slides your t-shirt out of your jeans again. You lift your arms like a docile child, let him undress you. He places a hand, warm and calloused, beneath your sternum. His palm heats your skin, warmth seeping into you. It untangles something, there. Something you didn’t know was still bruised. You lean into it.

He stays like that for a while.

Then his hand skates up to the base of your throat. His cold hard stare finds your soft sad eyes.

“Do you get wet, thinking I could hurt you?”

“I trust you,” you answer, a nod contradicting your words. His gaze hardens.

“Why did you think I wouldn’t come tonight, then?”

You shake your head, blinking fast. You never mentioned that. How would he know your thoughts?

“Don’t you know I would fuck you on my deathbed?” he grits.

But you don’t know. Of course you don’t know, and how could you? Nothing in your life has ever prepared you for him, for this, for the strength of that pull, inescapable, for this obsession that has uprooted your life, your body, your instincts. Nothing has prepared you for the magnetism of his skin, the things you’d do to be in his presence, to breathe the same air, what you’d risk for his touch, what you’d give up for his attention, what you’d destroy for his affection . Your comfort, your safety, your future, your health. Your family and his, nothing fucking matters compared to the insatiable hunger of this wild thing inside your chest and its incessant chant of him, him, him.

Your chest heaves, but his grip is firm. He leans down, lowering his lips to your ear, where he whispers, “What’s your name?”

You close your eyes, the wild creature is gnawing at your chest, eating you raw from within.

“I want you.”

His hand lingers, travelling higher, fingers splayed across the width of your throat in a loose grip. You hope he tightens it. Like he does sometimes when he’s inside you. Tune out your mind, toss you into white-hot pleasure. Into oblivion.

He doesn’t.

He’s never truly been gentle with you before. Tonight, his kisses are languid, his touch soft and slow along your ribs. Delicate, when he reaches the swell of your breasts and slides down the cup of your bra, replacing the fabric with the palms of his hands. When he leans down into you, wrapping his plush lips around your nipple, sucking in the peaked bud ever so lightly, flicking the flat of his hot wet tongue around it, lips pursed, suckling.

Against your belly, you feel him harden. You shiver with arousal and anticipation, with exhaustion. With the weight of this week and the burden of your life. With pain, ache and soreness. With your empty body, and your empty cunt. With that creature in your chest that can’t be tamed or satisfied. Can’t even be named.

You shiver in his hold, for fear that this’ll be the last time. For fear that he’ll never be yours, that he’ll never want you the way you want him, with determination, with madness, without a choice.

“I want you inside me, Frankie please," you breathe out, and he backs you into the bed to lay you down on the quilt.

The fabric is cold under your burning skin, you shudder at the contact. He takes off your shoes, rolls off your socks. He slides your jeans down and off your legs, then your panties.

You sit up to watch him undress, his eyes of mahogany brown never once leaving your face.

He stands before you, naked, erect, filling your vision with this breadth, and you want to rip your beating heart out of your aching chest.

The bed dips and he’s crawling over you. Leaning down, he drags the crown of his head up along your belly, along the valley of your breasts, his hair a soft caress on your quivering skin. Your fingers twine in his curls, you get lost in the sensation. For weeks he has barely let you touch it, kept it out of your reach. Now the abundance feels decadent, your head sinks back into the mattress with a faint exhale.

Cautiously, he parts your folds with two knuckles. You bite down a gasp, tensing up. You can’t shake off that chilling dread, the one that trickles inside you, cold and piercing, when you think you’re losing him. But your body knows better, that sticky wet slick pooled between your hips, the coiling heat at the center of you.

“Stop me,” he breathes into the crook of your neck, “don’t let me hurt you.”

He inches the tip of his length inside you with a strained groan, hooking your legs around his waist. He tries to work you open with a few shallow thrusts, panting against your temple.

“Fuck you’re tight.”

“Please, Frankie–”

His frame tenses up under your palms.

“I’m trying, you’re too— fuck, you’re too tight. Let me eat you open.”

“No!”

That’s not what you want, not tonight when you have no strength to spare, no time to lose, no patience left out.

“I can—“ You trip over your words.

“What?”

“I can sit on it.”

Heat creeps up your neck, setting your cheeks ablaze. He gives you a quiet chuckles.

“Yea. Yea you can.”

He grabs your wrists and lifts you with easy strength. A few swift movements and he’s lying on the bed underneath you, your folded knees a straddle across his lap. You feel dizzy, like your blood can’t course along your veins fast enough, like it’s no match for his strength, for your arousal.

“Spit on it,” he says.

You circle his cock, smooth, heavy. It throbs into your hand. You take it all in, with a trance-like gaze, the coarse curls at his base brushing your skin, the round head, an angry shade of red, the ridges and pumped up veins along the length, the tip of your fingers that don’t meet around it.

“Come on, don’t be shy, spit on it.”

Bending down, you lick a broad stripe along the thick ridge of his underside, from his balls to the fat round tip, where the skin is smooth and his taste heady, and he hisses something you can’t make out. It shoots through you, his sound, his burning skin, his taste. The curled tip of your tongue slides inside the small leaking slit, collecting the pearly drops he gives you. Your eyes flutter shut. His hands grip your thighs above the knees as you take him into your mouth, his fingers digging, a bruising furrow, something desperate.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Your lips slide along him, up and down, tongue wrapped around his girth. With hollowed cheeks, you take him deeper with each stroke until your head is spinning and you slip him out, rueful, glassy-eyed.

His breathing comes in almost as heavy as yours.

“Sit on it, now.”

His voice sounds wrecked, like you must look.

“Yes,” you pant.

Hands braced on Frankie’s chest, you’re not that flimsy, empty shell. You’re that fierce creature inside your chest, the one that claws and purrs and spits and demands. You tap into the bottomless pit of its life force, tap into the rumbling of Frankie’s ragged breathing under your palms, and you take.

Eyes strained on the solid breadth of his chest, on the expanse of his amber skin and the darker circles of his nipples, on the constellation of soft brown freckles that turn your insides into a sticky leaking mess, you slide up his lap, part your folds with his hard cock, rub your clit over it.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmurs, not for you, not really. To himself. Like the memory comes back crushing.

The bobbing of his throat, the low rasp of his voice, the wet sound of your slick smearing over his cock, it all builds up hot and prickly right under your navel.

Sweat breaks on your forehead, along your spine, down in the bow shape of your arched back.

You push away from the cradle of his hips, knees sinking into the creaking mattress. Raise yourself from his heat just enough to line him up, with his hands curled around your thighs, a steadying help.

You’re tight, but wanton-wet. He’s a gliding stretch along your walls as you sink down on him with all your weight, your cunt ready to collapse, fluttering frantically.

His thrashes back into the mattress, corded neck, strained muscles. Thick fingers bruising the tender flesh of your legs.

“Fuck wait, don’t move, don’t move. Stop moving, shit!”

You still, not like you can move anyway, the pleasure-pain has you numbed out, limp, blinded. Your head lolls back, your eyes roll shut. Your lower lip twitches with the tension and the stretch. He’s so big you forget how to breathe but this is what you wanted, for him to annihilate all the other pains.

A sound comes out of your parted lips. A grating against your vocal cords, a primitive vibration of the air that’s punched out of your lungs. It’s not you, it’s the creature mewling.

You can feel his cock pulsating hard and angry inside your belly. It’s a tidal ripple that travels up your chest. Your heart skips several beats.

His hands cup roughly around your breasts. You lean forward into his hold, hips swaying, slack mouthed. You keep him inside you, a deep roll, hipbones to hipbones. The coarse black hair at his base a harsh scrape against your swollen clit.

And suddenly, he fucks up into you. A hard shove, filling, merciless, into your cervix. You cry, nearly toppling backward and he sits up with a cinch, arms wrapping around your waist, catching you before you can fall.

“Too much?”

“Oh god yes.”

You’re crying, at last. Big, hot beady tears of salt rolling down your cheeks. Full, fucked out, filled to the brim. Everything that’s not him obliterated. Thoughts, emotions, sensations.

“That’s what you wanted, right? You want too much, baby?”

His voice is quiet and soft like silk, teeth raking along your throat. It’s almost a bite but not quite, tongue tasting your sweat, lips wrapping around your pulse point, barely sucking in. You can’t speak, your nails dig into his arms, forming little pink crescents you’re not allowed to leave behind.

You nod, you breathe out, “Yes, I want too much.”

He straightens up, your breasts are pressed to his chest, sweats mingling. His scent is overwhelming. That musk he exudes, a leathery spice, whenever you’re fucking. The scent of his desire.

His hand tangles in your hair. He makes sure you’re looking at him.

“Take it. Take what you want. Fuck, you’re beautiful, so fucking beautiful, you believe it, right?”

You try to tilt your face down, hide your tears, hide your scar. He doesn’t let you. So you give in. Because, what if you are?

“Say it again, please.”

“Look what you do to me, baby. Can you feel what you do to me?”

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, and he grinds you onto his cock, a slow, thorough grind, splitting you deeper onto him. It’s coiling fast, hot and heavy, right at the center of you.

“I’m gonna come, Frankie.”

“Do it. Come. Use me, make yourself come on my cock. Make yourself feel good. Take everything you need.”

He talks you through your orgasm as you tremble and crumble in his hold. It’s a high that feels like a free-fall, like you’re unraveling, like you’re never landing. Like your skin’s burning and your mind is the horizon.

You’re sobbing quietly when he carefully eases out of you, still hard. He carries you in his arms and you think you’re floating. You’re drained, boneless, falling asleep already.

He lies you down under the covers, tucks you in. Places a glass of water on the nightstand. Folds your clothes on the desk.

You don’t hear him dress up. You don’t hear him leave.

And in a few hours, when room service wakes you up, barging into the room, you won’t remember his forehead kiss.

****

255 notes · View notes

http-tokki · 7 months

Text

~tags/cw: mature content, pregnancy, allusions to abortion, establish relationships, aged up characters (23-25) katsuki is not ready to be a 23 year old teenage parent, domesticity.

a/n: this is a draft dump. it’s not proofread or edited. idk the word count x

“ ‘Suki, I need you to come here” your voice shakes as you stare down into the bathroom sink. “Now, please”

You wait and listen and when there is a lack of footsteps coming your way, you call again. “Bakugou. Bathroom, please”

A groan comes from the living room, then the sound of the couch moving and then footsteps. “Bakugou? Am I in troub-woah, what’s going on?”

Katsuki stops in the doorway, brows furrowing as he takes in the sight of you leaning over the sink, eyes trained on the drain. He had seen you like this before and it was usually before you started heaving your guts up and you called him to hold your hair, but you were so still, he didn’t think you were about to puke.

“Can you look at these and tell me if I’m going crazy?” Your voice is small.

These?

Katsuki steps into the bathroom, fear creeping into his stomach at the unknown and when he peaks over your shoulder, his heart all but stops.

Sitting in the porcelain basin is three positive pregnancy tests. No faint lines or maybe yes’s. Three bright pink plus signs staring at him from what was once his peaceful baby free bathroom sink.

“Ahhh…” he starts, unsure of his ability to form a coherent sentence, and backs away from your shoulder. “You….ummm”

You sigh. “Yep that’s what I thought”

Bakugou watches as you turn to face him, as you sink to the floor and pull your knees to your chest, eyes starting to cloud with tears.

“What…. Do?” His mouth is opening and closing as if he is gasping for air. “Are we?”

“I don’t really know” you answer is unformed questions, shaking your head. “I just need to sit and think for a second”

He nods and joins you on the floor. Your breathing is heavy as you desperately try to stop the room from spinning, the fear rising in your stomach as the weight of reality sinks down on your shoulders. You can feel the weight, the heaviness on the situation pushing down, shoving you to the floor in a harsh jolt but you don’t hit the tiles. You sink through the concrete and down down down into the earth below. You’re not ready to be a mum, to carry a baby for nine months and then be it’s caregiver for the rest of your life. You’re barely an adult, how were you meant to be a parent?!

You hear Katsuki talking next to you but it’s as if you’re underwater. His voice is garbled and unintelligible. Katsuki. What did he want? You can’t ask him to give up his career for a baby. He’s barely a pro and now this. He-

“Hey, you need to breathe!” Hot hands on your shoulders pull you back to reality. “You’re going to pass out so take a breath, please”

You blink away the tears, eyes clearing as you return to the bathroom. Air rushes into your lungs as you open your mouth.

“Okay, and now out” he instructs.

Your body sags as the air leaves. You both repeat the steps of manual breathing until you’re back, chest moving in a natural rhythm and even then, he doesn’t let go of you.

“Katsuki, I don’t know what to do” you admit, defeat lacing your voice.

You know what you want to do but it’s not just you in this situation. It was every much Katsuki’s issues as it was yours.

“What do you want to do?” His voice is uncharacteristically small.

“I don’t- I can’t” You shake your head. “What do you want?”

Katsuki shakes his head. “Nope. It’s your body. You decide. What do you want?”

You take in a deep breath. “I can’t do this. I don’t want this.” you admit.

“Are you sure? You’re not just saying that cause of me?”

“I’m sure. I can’t even feed myself most days I’m not going to be a mother” your voice cracking as your sentence comes to an end.

You watch as Bakugou’s body slumps in relief. “Oh,thank god.” his reprieve is short as he grabs your hands and frantically scrambles to patch up any blows he had made to your ego. “of course i want to have kids with you but one day, i just don’t think i’m, were, ready right now but one day we can have a baby, a million babies if you want but i don’t think that-“

“ ‘suki, you need to breathe” it’s your turn to offer comfort, gripping his hand in yours so hard you worry you might hurt him. “we’re not having this baby but that doesn’t mean that maybe one day, we won’t but right now, it’s not happening.”

Katsuki nods, breathing still frantic but it was slowing, becoming deeper and more even.

“not today.”

“not today. one day, but not today.”

198 notes · View notes

stvolanis · 7 months

Text

summer lovin’

PAIRINGS: JJ Maybank x priests daughter!OC

WARNINGS: foul language, religious imagery, unestablished relationship, JJ being JJ, mentions of marriage

NSFW WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, slight degradation, praise, pet names, biting, marking, overall cutesy sex

The heat was getting to JJ Maybank in more ways than one.

It started when his friend, who’s name he had no interest in remembering at a bonfire he attended with the rest of his friends, bet that he wouldn’t be able to fuck the priests daughter. Poor JJ didn’t even know who in the hell she was.

She was homeschooled, didn’t go to any parties and was rarely seen in town; having had all her food necessities at her little home-grown farm she lived on somewhere on figure eight. The only place people seen the jewel was every Sunday and Wednesday, bright and early, attending the local church’s 8AM service.

Now, jj by no means was a church man, but when this bet was laid upon him, best believe he was there bright and early in his best button up shirt, that just so happened to be his only button up shirt. His pants, perfectly starched to a crisp, and a cross pendant hung off of his necklace. The whole get-up, all for the priests daughter.

He was taken aback when he seen her for the first time. She was so different. Different form any of the other women he had ever met or seen on TV.

She was a small little thing. Dark brown hair braided with small pink ribbons on the end, and wispy bangs framed her porcelain-like face. Her eyes were a bright green, and if you were lucky, you’d be able to see them when they weren’t staring at her feet as if they were the most entertaining things she’d ever seen.

Her skin was pale, yet her face was scattered with disoriented freckles, almost from head to toe. Freckles covered her forehead to her nose, to her cheeks, down her neck and onto her shoulders that were revealed by her flowy sundress.

She followed her father around the busy church like a lost puppy, who had her mother hanging off of his arm like a proud trophy. Laylah, the priests daughter JJ was now so infatuated with, only spoken when she was spoken to, and hid behind her family like the plague was near and out to get her.

He noticed that she played with the flowery rings on her finger when she was nervous, or when she grew bored from her parents talking to random, faceless people for too long. He’d watch Laylah tap her feet on the wood tile beneath her, creating a sense of beat before her father lightheartedly scolded her for being too loud, to which she’d mutter a small apology.

Laylah’s mother, who’s name was Christine, just so happened to be a part of Popes moms’ book club. JJ heard Mrs.Heyward call her christy when they’d laugh over tea, showing a sign of some familiarity. JJ was sure to intervene in Mrs.Heywards book club, much to Popes annoyance as he knew what was going on, with this new found knowledge if it meant getting closer to Laylah.

Laylah, on the other hand, had heard tales of JJ Maybank. All of them filled with vile rumors, yet nothing could have prepared her for the man that stood across the room so confidently.

His skin was tanned, probably from all the surfing he did when the waves were just right. She wondered if every man from the cut was as pretty as him. She shook her head from the thought with a blush coating her cheeks.

His hair was blonde, and messily grown out—yet it suited him. A strand fell onto his forehead, and her hand itched to reach up and fix it, but she knew she couldn’t. She’d never hear the end of it from either of her parents.

“That boy is such trouble, nowadays.” Her mother, Christine, would say at the dinner table. “Yknow, I heard he was caught stealing from the fish-mart, Isn’t that absurd?” She’d gossip to her husband, who nodded his head absent mindedly as he stared at his news paper. Laylah would just roll her green eyes.

JJ wasn’t an idiot. He knew when he was being eye fucked, so it was no surprise when that cocky smirk of his pulled at his lips when he caught her red handed eyeing him from head to toe.

He was aware of the female attention. Used to it, even—as cocky as it sounded. A quick fuck was all they ever were to him, and that’s all they’d ever stay. No one had ever come close to catching his interest, and JJ wanted to keep it that way, but you were making it so unbelievably hard for him.

He knew he’d have to settle down one day, but he had always dreaded the idea. Surprisingly enough, not because he’d have to be loyal, but because of the sheer commitment. He’d make a lousy, controlling, jealousy and possessive boyfriend…imagine how’d he’d be if he became someone’s fucking husband.

Laylah was different from the women who he was used to having one night stands with, and he he could tell this without even having to approach her.

She was sweet, pretty, quiet, innocent and obedient—but obedient in a way where he felt like she bit back her tongue a lot. Like she had a lot on her mind, but her voice was too weak to be heard. She was always expected to listen and do her school work at home, and do the chores her father assigned, but she longed to be a teenager.

She longed to go out and have fun, meet people and actually have friends. JJ knew she’d love the rest of the pogues, and she’d fit in just right. Laylah wanted to party, and maybe even drink. Maybe even meet a boy or a girl who peaked her interest—but she knew she never could. She laughed at the idea in her head. How silly of her to think such things?

This was her life. Being the priests quiet, obedient daughter.

JJ was like a breath of fresh air, as she was to him, too. They lived two completely different lives in two completely different worlds that finally decided to collide on the outskirts of a warn-down church.

When he watched her walk outside, he knew he’d be stupid not to follow suit.

She sat on the steps of walk way leading up to the church, and he watched like a creep as she pulled out a bubble-gun lollipop from her bag and stuff it into her mouth with a sigh. JJ smiled before making himself known by taking a seat next to her.

Her mouth fell agape for a moment, like a fish out of water. She didn’t know what she should say, or what she should do. Maybe she should run back inside, or run for the hills? No, that couldn’t be right. This wasn’t right. But it felt like it was.

“You’re a cute little thing, aren’t ya?” He chuckled out, fishing out one of his joints from his back pocket. She gawked as she watched him light it, bringing it to his mouth and taking an easy puff right outside the steps of Gods house.

“I-I’m not supposed to talk to you.” She admitted, looking down at the lollipop that embarrassing had fallen out of her mouth when she was gawking at him. He smiled, almost knowingly. “Whys that?” He asked, though he already knew the answer.

“You’re a bad man, JJ. That’s what my momma said.” Laylah spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. JJ grabbed his shirt covered chest, feigning pain. “Ouch. Broke my cold heart, baby.” He said, smiling when he saw a ghost of a smile paint her pretty lips.

“You don’t seem bad.” She said after a while of silence, glancing over at him. He shook his head. “I’m the worst.” He admitted, though lightheartedly. She hummed in acknowledgement. “I think I’ll decide that for myself, mister.”

JJ smiled.

From that point on JJ Maybank was completely enraptured with the small girl.

He made sure to come to church every Sunday bright and early just to be able to see her, and when no one was looking, the two of them would sneak out and talk till the service was over and she had to leave with her parents.

She learned that the rumors of JJ being a thief were half-heartedly true. He admitted that he had stolen a few things here and there, but only when he really needed to. He trusted you enough to know about his troubles at home, and how stealing was the only way to make sure he was able to live comfortably.

Of course, it upset her. She hated that he had to go through what he did, and she knew he deserved better than what life had dealt him. She was glad he didn’t try to sugar coat it like everyone else seemed to when they spoke to her. Everyone treated Laylah like she was a child, and she just had to take it.

But JJ—he made her feel like a woman.

He listened to her when no one else cared to, and he comforted her in his own odd way with understanding. She didn’t talk much, but when she did, he listened to ever honey-covered word that slipped past her plump lips like they were law. He clung to every sentence, and every laugh.

He wanted to know how many more laughs she had. Besides her usual giggle, he wanted to count them all. He wanted to know what made her upset, and what kept her up at night. He wanted to scare every bad thing away. Chase away her worries and woes, just to see that smile he grew to adore so much.

What was once a bet was turning into so much more, and JJ didn’t know how to feel about it. He wasn’t used to the feeling of caring for someone ever since his mom. He didn’t want to hurt her, like he seemed to hurt everyone else. She was delicate and sensitive, and like Christine said, he was a bad man. No good for a girl like Laylah Moore.

Fear consumed JJ at one point when he caught himself daydreaming about a life he didn’t know he’d enjoy while in the middle of class.

The thought of coming home to Laylah after a hard day. The house smelling of his favorite food, roasting warm in the oven. She’d turn around with a sweet smile one her face, kissing all over him while letting out little “I missed yous” and “how was work?”. He could picture himself wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder as they swayed together, a slow song playing in the background.

He shook himself from the thought with furrowed brows. it was unfair. All of it. He knew she would never be able to be with a man like him—and it was a thought he’d have to shake out of his head.

But till you realized that, he’d have her in every way he could.

So there the both of them were, sat snug on Laylah’s pink sheets. Her legs were spread and trembling as JJs fingers slipped past the band of her underwear, working at her sensitive bud. His fingers teased at her entrance as her hand gripped on to his upper arm; nails digging into his muscle when he entered her knuckles deep.

Her mouth hung agape as wayward moans fell from her lips that were swollen from JJs relentless attacks on them. “Shh, honey. Know it feels good, but y’gotta be quiet, mama.” He cooed as he curled his finger, making her walls clamp around his fingers.

“Don’t want your daddy to find out that his daughters a whore for pogue dick, hm?” He mocked, his free hand coming up to wrap around the base of your throat tightly. Laylah whimpered, biting down on her lips to suppress her moans.

“Can I stuff this pretty pussy, baby? Hm? Want my cock to fill you up?” He asked, his breath leveled with your ear. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her head way thrown back onto his shoulder as she felt her end near. “S’wrong, JJ! have to wait f’marriage.” She slurred.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Gonna marry you anyway, pretty baby.” He said, not realizing what he said till Laylah’s doe eyes peered up at him. “Really, JJ?” She asked with hopeful eyes.

Fuck. How could he say no now?

“Course, s’long as you let me use this cunt whenever I want.” He replied, kissing the side of her cheek sloppily. Her bottom lip sat snug between her teeth, deep in thought. JJs fingers had long slipped away from her pussy, and his fingers that were still coated in her slick tenderly rubbed at her thighs.

“S’gonna hurt. That’s what my friend told me.” She muttered, doubts creased into a frown. JJ rolled his eyes. “Just gonna hurt for a second. It’ll feel good right after, promise.” He reassured. God he wanted to beat up the stupid friend who told her that. Making his life harder than it needed to be.

“Pinky promise, JJ?” She asked, holding out her manicured pinky. His interlocked with hers, and in a flash, JJs cock was aligned with her entrance—her juices spilling over and acting as a lubricant as he slid his cock between her folds.

His chest swelled with pride as he watched the way her eyes never left his cock, almost frightened. “Too big, JJ. S’not gonna fit.” She said, shaking her head back and forth. “I’ll fuckin’ make it fit.” He huffed out.

His fat tip prodded at Laylah’s entrance, teasingly almost before he plunged his cock inside of her with one harsh thrust. Her eyes widened and tears pricked her eyes as the stinging pain in her lower region began to become too much. It felt like she was being torn in half. “Take it out, JJ! Hurts too bad!” She cried out.

He wiped the tears from her eyes, kissing her trembling lips. “I know, shh, I know. Just give it a second, yeah? It’s okay, baby. I got you.” He whispered, kissing anywhere his lips could reach to distract her from the pain. She clung onto him; her nails digging into his back. A trophy he’d later wear when he goes out surfing with his friends.

His cock sat inside of her, and she could feel the twitch of his cock, and the way he pulsed inside of her. God, it took him everything in him to not start fucking her into oblivion. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that he knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it, and he didn’t want to further hurt her.

So, he waited. And as soon as she breathed out a small whimper that sounded more of pleasure than pain, he slowly began to rock his hips into her. “See? S’not that bad, pretty baby.” He grunted out, throwing her legs over his shoulders and wrapping his arms around her thighs tightly.

Her mind felt fuzzy with bliss as his tip kissed her cervix. Her hand reached to cup the side of JJs cheek, and he froze for just a moment. Her touch was tender, and so fucking full of love. The love he craved but was to afraid to accept. But he’d accept it for her. He’d do anything for her.

He melted into her touch, and his lips crashed down onto hers as he began to pick up his pace again. Their lips molded together perfectly, and nothing could prepare JJ for the words that slipped past her lips next. “I love you.” She said, but it was barely above a whisper.

He didn’t hesitate with his response. “I love you too.” He said, digging his face into the crook of her neck, planting a soft kiss. Laylah’s hands tangled in his hair as her legs wrapped around his waist, securing his position inside of her as she felt her stomach tighten.

“I feel weird, JJ.” She moaned, her head lulled to the side as he smothered her neck with kisses, and laid fresh hickies on her breasts. “Just let it go, baby. Squirt f’me. Know you can, baby, give it to me.” He moaned out against her, his thumb traveling down to play with her clit.

“O-Oh God!” She moaned out, the grip she had on his hair slightly tightening, almost painfully, but JJ didn’t care. He rather enjoyed it. “Not God, sweetheart. Me. Say it. Say my fuckin’ name.” He urged, biting down on her nipple painfully.

“JJ!” She moaned out again and again like it was a prayer, but was muffled by his hand clasping around her mouth to quiet her noises. She was wrapped so tightly around him, and he just barely managed to pull out when he reached his peak.

JJ’s cum painted across Laylah’s lower stomach, almost beautifully against her pale skin. Her chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace as she watched JJ jerk himself off a few more times, his cock releasing a few more drops from his mushroom tip.

He looked so pretty like this. Mouth hung open as he panted, and the small mound of blonde hair that sat atop his cock was drenched in her fluids. His hair matted to his forehead from sweat, and that boyish smile dancing on his face as he moved the hair out of her face.

It felt right now. Laylah was no longer ashamed of her feelings, nor was she afraid of what figure eight would say when she would bring JJ along with her as a personal plus one at an important meeting of her mothers.

Before, she was living, yet she never really felt alive. She drug herself out day by day, like an endless cycle of disparity and orders. She hated getting out of bed, as there was never anything for her to look forward to throughout the day. Nothing to keep her going. She was just there.

And as she laid on top of his chest, tracing stars over the muscle of his arm, she felt content. she felt happy. She felt free. And most of all, she felt alive.

don’t be shy, ask to be a part of the tag list and request things!!

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mudpuddless · 1 year

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Knight Feemor and Padawan Kenobi in the shadow court

AU where qui-gon gives up on/is banned from training Obi-wan after melida-daan and Feemor becomes Obi-wans master.

[picture ID: it's a digital drawing of jedi knight feemor stahl, aged 37, a long haired blonde near-human with tan skin and forest green robes, sitting on the floor with his legs tucked in under him. He is levitating a bright yellow kyber crystal between his hands as a disassembled white-gold lightsaber is floating to his right. padawan obi-wan kenobi, aged 13, a ginger child with grown out hair and a padawan braid wearing white tunics is napping next to him on the floor using a sage green cloak as a blanket and knight stahl's knees as a pillow with his hands tucked under his cheeks. the wall behind them is tiled with diamond shaped star patterned tiles and to their right a large white blue and gold porcelain planter is holding a small gnarly tree with droopy green leaves. above them three identical complex lancet windows which let white gold sunlight into the room. the drawing is done largely in turquoise and yellow tones and the atmosphere is peaceful and serene. end ID]

#digital art #described #star wars fanart #feemor #obi wan kenobi #padawan kenobi #star wars #feemor stahl #art #listen quo-gon looses obi wan on bandomeer and everyone is ok. that was terrible but also jinn wasn't responsible for this child #in particular yet #them melida daan happens and the council just goes. aight. new plan. call knight feemor and tell him we found him a little brother #qui gon is offended and doesnt un-repudiate obi-wan from when he left him on melida daan so feemor and obi-wan can be fine together #dooku repudiates qui-gon and doesn't tell him. he finds out like eight years later #Jocasta nu adopts feemor bc hes a shadow first but an archivist at heart and he brings her artefacts when he stumbles across them #and dooku is like. hm. sifo look what Jocasta dragged in. grandchildren #wonder where /who/ they came from #tag rambles #i want to write this im not kidding

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hwashotcheeto · 8 months

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𝑫𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕

Kim Hongjoong X afab!gn!reader

Summary: You and Hongjoong hated each other. At least, that's what you told yourselves, until you ended up in the same bathroom at a party.

WC: 2.1k

Content: Smut, lots of smut, little bit of fluff, little bit of angst

Smut warnings: Dirty talk, kissing, fingering (reader receiving), oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected PIV sex (this is fairly vanilla)

AN: This is in reference to this post, so those of you who were interested, here you go. ;>

And this was originally written for @malldreamprincess but she gave me permission to edit it and post it. 💜

Tag List (Remember: Please send it through the ask box to be added to any tag lists!): @cherrycel @mxnsxngie

“You’re just a fucking bitch,” you spat, exasperated. Hongjoong laughed as he looked at you through the mirror, still more focused on fixing his stupid lipstick.

“Come on, even I say that. Do better, babydoll.” He puckered his lips and made a pop noise, finally satisfied with his application. He capped the tube and spun around to look at you, leaning back on the basin of the sink. His multitudes of rings clinked against the porcelain, and it was enough to make you want to rip your hair out of your skull.

You clenched your hands into fists as he stared at you. He tilted his head. A taunt.

You really had nothing except elementary level insults. “You’re not even pretty,” “you’re mean.” What could you say that someone hadn’t said already, that he didn’t already know, that Hongjoong wouldn’t have a smart, sexy retort to spit back at you with his bright red painted lips?

“Your ex just fucked you because of your ass” is what came out. You didn’t even think about it, but all of a sudden, the words tumbled out and there they were.

And to your surprise, the color drained from Hongjoong’s face. His smile dropped instantly and his eyes went wide. You felt pride that you’d finally stunned him, and then you were terrified half a second later by his sudden dead eyes that stared through you as you knew he was thinking about how to kill you.

“I dare you to say that again,” he said slowly, his eyes still wide, but devoid of any and all emotion except for one: Rage. Unbridled, fiery rage.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest like a panicked bird, smacking against the sides of your rib cage. For a moment, you really considered staying quiet.

“Your ex-”

He threw you up against the wall and pinned your hands above your head. Your head hit the tiles of the bathroom wall and your vision swam for a second.

When you could see again, all you were met with were Hongjoong’s eyes, staring into your very soul. Your lungs instantly shrunk and your stomach was in your throat. Your mouth was drier than sand in the Sahara.

“You have no fucking right to say anything like that,” Hongjoong spat, pressing you against the wall harder. His body wasn’t touching yours, but fuck, it was so close, you could feel the heat coming off of him.

“And what if I’m right?” You breathed. It was such a cheap line, and you knew there was a high chance he’d slap you for it.

But he didn’t. And deep in his eyes, you saw it. Hestience. Uncertainty.

Insecurity.

I’m right, you thought, but you didn’t dare utter the words.

Hongjoong finally collected himself and blinked. The insecurity disappeared, and the rage was starting to dissipate too.

“Why did you say that?” He asked, still holding your hands above your head.

And it was as if you both had a realization moment: What the fuck were you two doing?

What were you doing here? In this bathroom, at this house party, arguing about a whole bunch of nothing, when you both could’ve ignored each other? It would've been so easy to ignore each other, to ignore Hongjoong, and stay with your friends and talk about everything and anything.

You two didn’t like each other. You wanted nothing to do with each other.

You hated each other.

Right?

“Because I hate you,” you breathed.

And Hongjoong called your bluff.

“No you don’t,” he whispered, and smashed his lips against yours.

And it was a fiery kiss, of passion, rage, hidden and complex feelings neither of you wanted to confront. All tongue and teeth and spit.

Hongjoong moved all over your body, groping at everything, your ass, hips, waist, tits, all of it, moaning into the kisses as he did. You gasped as he kissed down your neck feverishly.

“Feels so good, Hongjoong,” you slurred, clinging onto him.

“Yeah?” Hongjoong asked, running one of his hands down between your thighs, rubbing your clit through your pants. “Keep telling me that.”

And you did, letting out all the whiny, desperate moans trapped inside you that Hongjoong forced out. Fire and desire raced through your body, from your head to your feet, your skin was screaming his name.

Hongjoong groaned seeing your face, your eyes rolled back, feeling your slick all over his fingers, dripping out of you, it was so much. Everything he ever wanted.

He leaned in and kissed you again, with the same intensity as before, pushing his tongue inside and fighting with yours, twisting and dancing, moving all over your mouth.

As he pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your lips, you looked at him with half closed, dazed eyes as you mumbled: “Fuck me.”

“Oh, I'll fuck you.”

Hongjoong helped you get your pants and underwear off before making you hold your own leg up to spread you wide for him.

“Is this good?” You asked as you looked up at him through your lashes. Hongjoong smirked as he ran his fingers over your slit, gathering up some of your arousal.

“Yeah, good doll,” he ground out as he pushed two fingers inside you. You’d hardly adjusted to the feeling of being stretched out before he was fucking you hard and fast.

“Fuck, Hongjoong!” You cried out, clenching down on his fingers, rolling your eyes back into your head.

“That’s it, keep saying my name, gorgeous.” Hongjoong’s forehead was leaned against yours, his nose pressed against yours, his lips a breath away, feeling his heavy breaths on your lips.

You obeyed, whining and whimpering out his name while his fingers were slamming into you, pounding against your spot, fucking you wide open. Hongjoong smashed his lips on yours again, the kissy messy, his free hand in your hair, holding you in place so you couldn’t pull away.

Not that you ever wanted to.

“So perfect,” he mumbled in between kisses. “Feels so fucking good, all of it.”

His words went straight to your cunt and you clenched down again, feeling your orgasm creeping up.

“Hongjoong, I’m gonna come,” you whimpered out.

She immediately pulled back, making you squeal and whine in disappointment. But you rolled your eyes back as he dropped to his knees and pushed back inside you again.

“Come on my face, baby,” he whispered before he dove in, sucking on your clit and fucking up into you. And how could you deny him when he was fucking you like that?

It didn’t take long before your thighs were shaking and your head was going light. One of your hands dropped down to grip onto Hongjoong’s hair, holding him as close as you could. She moaned and smothered his face in, putting his free hand on the small of your back to keep you close.

With one final suck on your clit, you came with a scream of his name, pulling on his hair, trying your hardest to not let your legs buckle underneath you.

Hongjoong moaned as he drank up everything that spilled out of you, fucking you through it, then licking at your still pulsing hole. His eyes were rolled back as he happily took it all.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so hot,” he breathed as he pulled away, leaning back on the floor on his hands. And fuck, he looked irresistible.

The low lighting of the bathroom barely illuminated the shine of your slick on his face and neck, his hair was a mess, his pupils blown out with that little Cheshire smirk on his lips.

You dropped to your knees and crawled over, pinning him on his back and kissing him again, and she let you do it. He let you pin him to the floor and kiss him, and have your way with him.

Your hands went down and struggled with his pants, and he thankfully helped you get them down to give you access to his rock hard cock. You smiled into the kisses as you started stroking him, pulling a gasp out of him.

“Aww, you’re so hard,” you cooed, sitting up on top of him. Hongjoong’s eyes rolled back as he bit his lip, stifling the noises that were beginning to bubble up in his throat. “I thought you hated me, Hongjoong.” You lined his cock up with your cunt and teased the head, making him buck his hips up and groan.

“Shut up and fuck me,” he breathed, his nails digging into your hips. You almost wanted to make him beg for everything he ever did to you, but you stopped yourself, and slowly sunk down onto him.

His mouth dropped open as he gasped, squeezing you tighter, trying to keep his noises quiet. But even as you were struggling to stay composed, you weren’t about to let him stay quiet,oh no.

Thanks to him fucking you open already, you could set a fast pace from the beginning. Hongjoong let out a choked moan and closed his eyes. He bit down on his lip as a whine slipped out, his eyebrows going together. You were so tight on him, so warm, it was almost burning. His head was already going light from the pleasure in his veins.

“Come on, Hongjoong, don’t be quiet,” you breathed, putting your hands on his chest, leaning close to his face. “I wanna hear how good it feels.” And at first, nothing changed, and you expected him to stay quiet. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t change. So you dropped down on his lap harder than before.

And after that, all the noises were tumbling from his lips. Whines and whimpers, little broken gasps, all of it.

“So good,” he whimpered out, his head tilted back against the floor.

“Yeah?” You couldn’t help but smirk, even when your stomach was churning and twisting, and your thighs were quivering in pleasure.

“Yeah, don’t stop, baby, please.”

And you weren’t about to.

You put your hands on either side of his head, staring down at him as you continued. Your eyes trailed down to his exposed neck, and got an idea.

You leaned in and bit down, making him yelp in pain, but you began to suck and lick over it, soothing the pain and making a mark where everyone would see it.

That he was yours now and no one was going to take him from you.

His thighs began to tremble and his back arched. “I’m close, please don’t stop,” he gasped, his hands going up to grab onto your shoulders, holding you tight against his body.

You were close too, and it was making it difficult to keep the pace up. But hearing all Hongjoong’s desperate cries and moans gave you the motivation to keep going.

He could see how you were close, and how you were focusing on him and not yourself. So he took one shaking hand and rubbed your clit to help you along.

And it was almost instantly that you came all over him, screaming his name, bouncing on him frantically to ride it out. He came when you did, fucking up into you, crying out your name as he dug his nails into your skin.

“You marked me,” he panted once it was over. You smirked as you crawled up to him and looked at it. A dark mark, right in the middle of his neck, where everyone would see it.

You looked at him, and he was smiling too. “Good.”

“Good?” You asked, slowly pulling up off of him.

“Yeah.” He pulled his pants back up and got up off the floor, helping you as well. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you, but I have to now.”

You looked at him confused as you began to clean yourself up. He helped you before you got redressed, and he helped you fix your outfit before he continued.

“I never really hated you. I only ‘hated’ you because I wanted you. But when I did, I was dating my ex. I didn’t know what to do, and it came out at that. I’m sorry.”

And all the animosity you ever felt towards Hongjoong disappeared, and you threw your arms around him in a tight hug. He froze, not really believing you were hugging him. It took a few seconds before he hugged you back, squeezing you so tightly.

“You’d really have me?”

“Yes. Now I know it wasn’t genuine. I’d love to have you.”

Hongjoong smiled and held you even closer. It wasn’t how he wanted the conversation to go at all, but it ended better than he could’ve hoped.

No matter what happened now, you'd be with him. Everything would be okay because you were with him.

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thatone-brightstar · 1 year

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The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 4: Bring a fox to a bear fight

Words: 8.7k (wft?!?)

Summary: Tensions with Carmy finally snap.

a/n: In honor of a new poster and release date for season 2, here's chapter 4! Hope you enjoy! xx P.S. There will be some spanish in this but if you're a 'no sabo kid' you can shamelessly use google translate❤️

WARNING: Smut ahead, masturbation, p in v unprotected sex (birth control is mentioned), minors DNI but you'll do what you want so don't say I didn't warn you

You felt it before even opening your eyes. The growing migraine had settled camp between your brows while you slept and his companion, an uneasy stomach, had you crawling out of bed and into the nearest bathroom to dispose of the undigested contents of last night. You ungracefully swatted your hair out of the way with half your head inside the bowl when a shadow stood by the door you had forgotten to close in the rush of the moment.

“Ay, mira que bonito!” You heard your mother’s taunting voice above you. “You had fun last night, mija?” She said in a fake sweetness, one hand rubbing over your heaving back as your stomach spewed itself into the porcelain.

The torture stopped long enough for you to look up at her through narrow slits, then feeling the acid crawl its way back up again.

“Isn’t this punishment enough?” You managed to say through a sore throat, spitting the last bit of red saliva inside and flushing. ‘Fuckin’ daiquiris’

You stood on wobbly knees from the cold tiled floor and rested your face against the wall by the door, your mother staring amused.

“No, those are just consequences, mi amor.” She smirked, reaching to caress your cheek, but stopped midway in distaste when she saw little remains of spit across it. “Maybe when you're clean.”

A soft sneer curled on your lips and you made a kiss motion at her.

“C’mon mami, gimme a kiss” You teased, leaning forward.

She took a step back as you took one towards her, reaching to pull at her hands. Her head shook in laughter as she stepped deeper in your room and tossed the towel hanging on the wall directly to your head. It fell with a ‘thunk’ to the ground and your vision blurred slightly while leaning down to pick it up.

“Take a shower, you smell like shit.” Your mother said on her way out the door. “And grandpa made breakfast!” She yelled from the hallway and the volume had your head pounding with heavy fists at your temples.

With sluggish movements, trying to not upset your already ruined digestion, you moved to your closet for a fresh set of clothes, then to your bed to wake up Syd. You found the space empty and wondered how she had gotten up without waking you, considering you were a light sleeper, but too much thinking made your head hurt so you left it to a mystery.

The bright rays of sunshine filtering through the open bathroom window usually appealed as lovely to your houseplant soul, however as you undressed to shower with a permanent scowl, the soft light burnt a hole through your tired retinas. You dragged yourself inside and as soon as the warm water hit your skin, you sighed in relief. There was nothing a warm shower couldn’t cure.

As you mechanically went through your routine, you assessed the events of the night before and the crater in your chest hollowed all over again. A few salty tears that mixed with the rosemary and lavender shampoo ran down the drain. Despite coming to terms with yourself that you’d solve everything that same day, the small voice in the back of your head nagged that ‘he probably didn’t even wanna see you, anyway’. You took a few calming breaths under the stream and pictured the perfect scenario to counter rest the dark thoughts swarming your unprotected psyche.

You’d show up to work as always, hopefully less hungover than you were feeling, and ask him to talk in his office. You’d tell him you were an asshole for hurting him and that you wanted nothing more than exactly what he was offering. You’d bicker back and forth for a while, but ultimately it would end precisely how it should have the night before, in a sweet sweet overdue kiss. You’d maybe even get to fulfill one of the many fantasies that flooded your head when he caressed your face in the small barely lit room.

Your breath hitched at the sudden change in direction your mind was taking you in. Behind closed lids, your consciousness had painted a promising picture of blown irises and tangled locks moving in a rhythmic tempo against you. His pearly skin was tainted carmine from the effort it took to contain himself as he slammed repeatedly into you; trained fingers digging into the sensitive skin of your upper thighs while he held you in place over the disheveled desk. Only the sound of shaky breaths and whispered praises filled the room while he confessed just how good you felt panting underneath him.

The vision in your head felt so real to your body, that your pulse had started racing and it had your cunt squeezing around nothing in frustration. A delicate hand slid down past your navel and a sigh of relief left your shaky lips at the sudden contact of your cold finger tips. You used the clear image in your head to aid the pulsing in between your folds, massaging at an equal pace to your vision. You pictured the veins in his arms, tensed with force, one hand holding you down while the other wrapped around your fragile throat and pulled you into a heated kiss. You felt the vibration from his groan travel down your trachea and straight into the speed of your fingers. Your knees quivered at the thought of his messy kisses down your neck, followed by shaky breaths of barely contained moans, your hands clawing at the skin of his back trying to press his chest closer to yours. All it took was the image of Carmy pulling your legs around his waist with force and burying his face in your neck, pounding ruthlessly against your skin before a strangled sigh left his mouth as he came, painting your insides white.

The force of a relieving orgasm knocked the strength off your knees and you used your other hand to lean on the chill tile, the stark contrast in temperature running chills along your sensitive skin. You took a couple calming breaths until your thighs recovered their strength and the once persistent headache had finally subsided. You finished showering with newfound energy.

Dressed and feeling surprisingly less shitty than expected, you walked out into the kitchen drying your hair and enticed by the smell of sausages. You rounded the island where your grandpa stood wearing a ‘kiss the chef’ apron and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. He handed you a plate of food with a smile and you thanked him then served yourself from the half empty coffee pot. Syd and your mom were having a lively conversation about where she had learned her great spanish as you silently finished your eggs and sausage, not wanting to add to the already noisy ambiance in the small area. Soft guitar strings played from somewhere in the living room, merging with the soft chirping of birds outside the tall windows that illuminated the room in a golden hue.

As you took a sip of your coffee leaning on the bar, your mother asked Syd if you had already invited the guys from work to your grandpa's 76th birthday next week. Your eyes grew wide in realization, only then did you remember that she had asked you to do it at least two weeks ago and you had not thought about it since. When she said no, your mother turned to you with a glare hidden behind a smile. You swallowed the bitter liquid and lowered your cup.

“I.. was getting around to it.” You confessed turning slowly and taking your empty plate to the sink behind you.

“What did I tell you, eh?” She began scolding you, “I told you ‘do it today before you forget’ and see? You forgot!”

You finished washing your dirty plate with your back to her and rolled your eyes.

“I’ll tell them today, I promise!” You told her, drying your hands on the gingerbread man dishcloth that had been out since last Christmas.

She gave you a long ‘Mhmm’ with crossed arms, eyed you with a scowl then rolled her eyes. “You better! I already told your tia Angie to add an extra ten people for the food, I don’t want anything to go to waste, okay?!” She continued as you rounded up your work bag from the couch and signaled for Sydney to hurry up.

She swallowed the last of her breakfast, slid from the stool and walked to the sink where she was about to wash her plate, but your grandfather took it from her hands and shook his head ‘Guest’ he said and pointed to her. She smiled with a ‘Gracias’ then ran to your room to get her things.

“Yes, I know. I’ll do it today.” You finished, walking over to both of them and giving them a goodbye kiss on the cheek.

Your mother grunted slightly but turned her cheek towards you.

“Oh! And invite that Carmy boy,” She said and your stomach churned. “He seems nice, no?” She whispered and scrunched up her nose at you.

“Syd let’s go!” You yelled ignoring her and walked into the hallway where your jacket hung.

“Thank you for breakfast, bye!” She called out to your family and followed you out the door. “Your mom told me that was your setup in the living room?”

You looked at her confused then remembered the half finished painting surrounded by empty paint tubes and drying brushes. The events from the day before made it seem like it had spent an eternity sitting to dry.

“Yeah, I like painting. Helps with my anxiety” You shrugged.

Sydney answered with a simple nod as you kept walking down the stairs. She reached up to massage her chin at the memory of tripping over the same steps a couple hours ago and a wave of laughter invaded you both as you made the rest of the way down.

You reached The Beef with a building worry. The plan to solve things with Carmy wasn’t as much a plan as it was an idea, and a vague one at that. You figured you had the whole train ride to come up with something, but it was mostly spent controlling your breath and trying not to puke all over the already sticky floors. So as Syd and you walked through the back entrance, unprepared and slightly nauseous, a stabbing sensation pierced your chest at the sight of an unruly head lifting up to meet your eyes.

The knot in your throat obstructed any possible passage of air and you stayed locked in place, grounded by the weight of his gaze.

“I think I’m gonna be sick again.” You whispered to Syd when you were no longer being observed by heavy pools of aquamarine.

He brought his attention back to mixing the dry ingredients for the rub on the beef, but you could tell his back had grown slightly more tense than usual. You passed beside him to the check in clock, muttering a ‘Mornin’ that he answered with a ‘G’Mornin’ chefs’, plural. Sydney shot a sympathetic look at you before moving to her area, lacking motivation. You debated whether to rip the band aid off now or wait until the end of the day, but knowing your impatient nature you knew the shift would be worse if you did nothing now.

“Uhm, Carmy?” Your voice sounded unsure, his fingers twitched slightly at the sound of it.

“Yes, chef.” He answered, mixing all the ingredients thoroughly in a bowl.

“Do you think we can talk?” You cracked your knuckles at your sides, waiting impatiently for his answer.

He looked at you for a millisecond, without bothering to raise his head completely, then moved to the hallway that led to the walk in.

“There’s nothin’ to talk about chef, we're good.” ‘Okay, so not even on a first name basis’ you thought.

You followed close behind and carelessly threw your things into the office floor, then catched the heavy metal door before it slammed shut behind him.

“Yeah you said that, but I feel like we’re not.” The force of the door shutting behind you pushed you fully inside and you were thankful for the cold climate drying your sweaty hands.

He had his back towards you as he rummaged through the stock long enough for it to be obvious that he was trying to avoid you. You fiddled with your fingers in anticipation, waiting for a word or a look, anything that signaled the start of a conversation.

“We are.” He answered, shooting you a brief over the shoulder glance then back to the rack.

You took in a deep breath and began. “Look, I’m sorry for what I said last nig-” He interrupted with a stern call of your name, hands leaning heavily against the shelf.

“-Chef, please,” He corrected, as if the simple syllables of your name physically hurt him to pronounce. His voice was low but authoritative. “If I say we’re good, then we’re good. Alright?”

“Yes.” You muttered, doing your best to swallow your heart back south into your chest.

“Yes, what?” He paused halfway in a turn, pulling a metal escoffier with the day's beef.

“Yes, chef.” You said through gritted teeth, irritated eyes locked into his.

His stare lingered on you for a moment longer, the tendon on the side on his neck tensed, then he lifted the heavy container and walked right past you, out the small room. You stayed a few moments longer inside, letting the chill air from the vents hit your overheated face and regulate your breath. With a final inhale, you pushed your way out to face the long day with an upset stomach and a beaten up chest.

**********

“I already fuckin’ told you how, Richard,” You spat angerly at him, the migraine in your head growing by the minute. “It’s not rocket science!”

It was the third time that day that he asked you for help because the tablet would go all crazy on him, that was two more than any regular day and you would be happy to explain how his grease covered fingers were the fucking problem, if it weren't for the massive headache that had you on a chokehold since the moment Tina opened the front door.

“Alright, geez! No need to throw in the government names!” He yelled back, throwing his arms up in desperation.

You sighed and dropped the empty dishes you were carrying on the lower counter beside him, then took one of the clean napkins and placed it in his hand. You moved his limp arm like you would a little kid and wiped the screen in demonstration.

“Okay, okay I get it, get off!” He said before swatting your hand away and continuing the task himself.

He kept mumbling under his breath how you were ‘insufferable when you’re hungover ’ and how ‘Carmy should’ve done a better job last night’ as you rounded up the dishes again and walked into the kitchen, not before painfully jamming your elbow into his side.

The hangover wasn’t the only problem, you had spent most of the morning throwing up and were sure you had gotten rid of most of the alcohol in your system. Having Carmy ignore you most of the day was the bigger issue. He had managed to avoid you all through morning prep and even hid in his office during family. You had maybe seen him two or three times during lunch service, but not once did he look up at you. Between having him act as if you weren’t even there and the constant guilt for how the conversation had gone, you were still trying to debate whether you wanted to try and talk things again. If there was anything left to solve.

You kept yourself busy during the break, setting the new tablecloths around the dining room, making sure they fell correctly and tried to ignore the pooling memories of his soft touches with every fabric you pulled out. Once they were set up to your liking, you took the empty cloth bag and walked back inside to save it with your remaining stuff. When you turned the corner towards the office, your sneakers squeaked at your sudden stop and your brow furrowed at the closed door. It was normally always open and you were sure you had left it that way twenty minutes ago when you had gone in to retrieve your things. You shrugged and kept walking to it, assuming it could have been a draft.

The last thing you expected to find inside was a tall blonde standing in the middle of the room beside Carmy. They both turned startled at the sudden intrusion while you stopped abruptly half way in. Your eyes danced between them for less than a second, a growing warmth of embarrassment holding your cheeks hostage. Carmy averted his gaze as the women scanned you expectantly.

“Uh… so-sorry.” You managed to blurt out, throw the fabric by the floor with the rest of your things and quickly shut the door behind you.

A dense huff left your chest when the door finally clicked shut. You moved back as if it were to combust instantaneously and still somewhat disoriented, traveled to the back for a breath of fresh air.

The soft crunch of gravel under your shoes grew therapeutic after the long day, as the smoke from a nearby cigarette floated to your nose and seemed appealing in the moment. Richie sat on one of the stacked up crates digging on the little stones by his feet, cig in between his fingers as he typed energetically on his phone. He looked up long enough to see you walk towards him with an extended hand to bum out a drag. He did so doubtful because he had never seen you smoke before, but didn’t care enough to ask and offered it anyway.

The numbing sensation spread to your head after the second drag, the voices in the back asking why you had quit in the first place. You handed the shorter tube back to Richie and leaned against the brick wall, still faintly warm from the early spring sun. You played with your bottom lip in concentration, racking your brain for ways you could ask him about the woman you saw Carmy with, without sounding too intrusive. ‘Fuck it, he already thought you were fucking, might as well ask.’ you thought.

You cleared your throat with a small cough and he turned to you with raised brows.

“Hey Richie,” You began, picking at the loose skin around your nails. “D-do you know who that blonde woman is? The one in the office?”

“Blonde woman.. Who, Sugar?” He asked leaning back to get a better look at you, smoke between his curled lips.

You shrugged trying to seem as nonchalant as it was possible, with your anxious brain throwing thousands of scenarios per second.

He took another drag, blew the smoke then spoke. “Oh, that’s uhm… that’s Carmy’s wife.” Richie spoke flatly, scratching above his bottom lip to hide an upcoming smirk.

Are you fucking kidding me?!

The blood underneath your skin began to boil, you felt hot and cold at the same time and your vision blurred with the threat of unsuspecting tears. Your breaths began to grow shorter but heavier as the acid in your stomach tried to claw its way up for the fifth time. You swallowed hard and snatched the cig from his offering hand, inhaling as much of the toxic fumes as it took to settle your boiling anger back into a simmer.

“Oh. She’s pretty.” Was all you were able to say, though it didn’t reflect the indescribable rage you were feeling.

At who, you weren’t sure. Yourself firstly, for being so foolishly naive to assume that he was different from any other tattooed, apron wearing son of a bitch you had met before. For thinking that he was actually interested in you as a human being and didn’t see you as another gold medal to receive as price for fucking the new girl. You were obviously extremely pissed at Carmen because what the actual fuck?! Who fucking does that?! Of course you knew of one fucking person, but did Carmen really think you were never going to find out? Why had Sydney not told you or did she not know either?

A million questions raced through your mind as you took another long inhale of smoke, eyes fixated on the rocky ground. You were so lost in the whirlpool of rage, you didn’t notice how Richie had pulled another cigarette for himself, leaving you the half finished one.

“Guess you didn’t know then, huh?” He asked, flicking the lighter on and burning the herby tip.

You shook your head slowly, thumbnail in between your teeth, the floating smoke from the ember tip between your fingers reached your eyes and made them water. ‘Yeah, that's what it is’, you thought. You sniffed heavily and regained composure because Richie was the last person who you’d let see you have a breakdown.

The dense metal door opened with a creek and the person you dreaded to see the most stepped out into the empty space. He walked towards you and Richie with his own unlit cig between his lips, brow creased when he eyed yours.

“Didn’t you quit?” He asked, nodding his head towards the short tube between your lips.

Pushing yourself off the brick with a last inhale of smoke, you flicked the end into the nearby garbage and walked past him without a single glance in his direction. You didn’t trust your voice or anything that would come out of it if you decided to answer, so you pushed your way inside and let the broth of your heated emotions simmer in your chest for what was left of the day.

You did what you do best when pissed, suppress everything in a little dark corner in your head and focus on the task at hand, the task now being getting through the dinner rush alive. It seemed like people knew you had a shitty day and could use the distraction because they had not stopped coming in since the doors were reopened at five. Between orders and clearing tables, you had only looked at your watch twice all afternoon, the last being twenty minutes ago when it read 8:30pm.

Carrying the last of the empty dishes into the back, you spotted Angel leaning lazily against the rack holding the clean kitchenware. You placed the plates lightly on the empty space beside the sink and he groaned in response to seeing them.

“I take it ‘adventure’ was fun, then?” You said teasingly then patted him on the back. “Those are my last ones!” You let him know, walking back out to finish cleaning your station.

A few customers lingered around, only two or three sat on the counter while they waited for their to-go orders, but other than that the dining room had grown empty. It was only then that you felt the weight of the day's events fall hefty on your overworked back. You placed your cool fingertips over your tired eyelids, taking a few long breaths as the dam you had kept all your anger behind began to crack. All you could see were flashes of swaying blues and golden brows as the choir in your brain listed all the reasons you were an idiot for putting your trust in someone again.

‘Please don’t ever think for a second that I would do anything to hurt you.’ The once sweet words now ran like bitter sap down your throat, the stickiness gluing it shut and leaving everything inside to brew until it reached a break point. You didn��t know if you were angrier at him or yourself. You tried to search your memories for any indication or mention of a partner, a ring or maybe even a tan line across his finger, but they all hit a dead end.

Frustration and sadness were a dangerous cocktail mixing at the back of your eyes and picking at your tear ducts, you rubbed hard until you saw stars to try to get the sensation out, but it only seemed to make it worse.

‘No, you are not gonna break now’ you reminded yourself, pulling the tears back into your eyes with a loud sniff. ‘You’re going to finish your shift, tell Carmy where he can stick his stupid fuckin’ spoon and never come back again’.

You had made that clear in your head while running orders. Every time you picked a new one from the expo and saw his inked hand push it towards you, the annoyance grew uncomfortable in your chest and you had to bite your tongue to the point of injury. You couldn’t stay like this, not when only a couple hours ago you were ready to break your most personal foundation for him, not when some fucked up part of your brain had made you believe that you could even get to love him, and he you.

It seemed of little value now, to think of this place as your safe haven when now you were afraid to catch him around every corner. Afraid of whether you’d want to slap him or kiss him because that’s how confusing your head was starting to feel. An almost inaudible voice in the back had planted the doubt that ‘Maybe this was Richie’s way of getting back at you for being a bitch all day and none of it is true’ but even if it was right, that didn’t take away the fact that things were never going to go back to how they used to.

If it weren’t true and you stayed, that still left the guilt of rejecting him looming above you both, persistent, dark and never ending. And if it were and you still stayed, knowing that he had consciously tried something with you while having someone waiting for him at home would rip you from the inside out. The last time that happened, you almost didn’t make it out… and nothing promised that this time would be any different.

With the new found heaviness of old wounds, you cleared your throat from the asphyxiating knot and continued to clean the mess left on the table, for what felt like the last time. You thoroughly scanned the room for remaining garbage, then took the last bags out to the back dumpster. One last swipe of the counters and there was nothing more left to do. You wanted to keep looking for things to do, things to clean or rearrange. Anything to delay the inevitable. But as you turned off the light inside the closed space, you knew you had to do it.

The kitchen was empty as you made your way slowly through the hallway, everyone had gone home at least twenty minutes before. Syd had even asked if you wanted company, but you denied it politely, knowing it was something you had to do alone; besides you didn’t know how rude you were gonna get and were in no need of an audience.

A growing anxiety took a hold of your chest as you reached the small office door and you spotted Carmy sitting with his back towards the entrance. Your step faltered when your legs grew weak at the thought of confrontation and as if he could feel your presence, the chair turned in your direction. He swallowed at the sight of you, brows raised in surprise, weighing heavy on your heart. You forced yourself inside and leaned down by the foot of the door that had become a foster home for your bag during the last month and a half.

He cleared his throat with a cough and you looked up at him expectantly.

“You headin’ home?” He asked, playing with the pen in his hand.

Swallowing the knot back down, you nodded and stood straight. “Yeah.. and I won’t be back.” His expression changed to one of worry. “So… thank you and fuck you.”

With the strap held like a lifeline, you turned in place and tried to make your way out of the small space before he had a chance to react.

“Wait, wait, wait-” He said loudly following behind you.

He quickly rounded the station through the other side and reached the hallway that led to the steward area and the backdoor before you, extending a strong arm against the rack and locking you in. You stopped abruptly, almost knocking face first into his bicep, then took two steps back for space.

“Can you please, tell me what the fuck is going on?”

This is exactly what you wanted to avoid, almost as much as you were avoiding his intense stare. He took a step forwards, lightly leaning down to your eye level and that made you glare at him instantly, because was he fucking squaring up at you? You stood your ground and raised your brows in defiance. You could see the muscles in his jaw tense up, eyes swirling with a hurricane.

“I don’t want to work here anymore… with you.” You answered with difficulty. Your voice was betraying your stand.

“Why?” He asked with a blank stare.

“Because I don’t think it’s ethical.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like you.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you’re a son of a bitch.” This began to frustrate you.

“Why?”

“Because how fuckin’ dare you hit on me when you’re fuckin’ married!” You finally exploded.

“Is that all this is about?!” He finally answered clearly.

“What do you mean ‘Is that all’! That “all” is a big fuckin’ deal!”

“Who told you that shit, anyway?!” Carmy asked frustrated, the tint on his skin rising up his neck.

“I saw her in your office, what? You thought I was never gonna find out?!”

“Who, Sugar?!”

“Yes, Sugar!” You shouted exasperated, had he always been this irritating?

He breathed out a humorless laugh, one hand rubbing his mouth, the other on his hip as he stared down at you.

“Sugar… is my fuckin’ sister. Wh-who told you that married shit?!” He asked, waving his hand angrily in the air.

“Doesn’t matter, the fuck was I supposed to know that?!” You shouted back, too deep in now to swallow down the contents of your mistake, scattered all over the floor.

“I don’t know, maybe you could have asked me!”

“Oh, like you would tell me shit.” You responded, rolling your eyes at him and crossing your arms over your chest. It was a lost fight but you were too stubborn to admit you were wrong now.

“Seriously? That’s fuckin’ rich coming from you. You wanted me to believe I scared you into leaving!” He takes another step towards you and this one has you sliding a couple inches back.

“I said I was sorry, okay?” The heavy pounding vibrated inside your ears as adrenaline mixed blood traveled faster into your head.

“Yeah well, you say that a lot lately.” He answered sarcastically, the pain hidden behind thin humor had your arms lose their grip and fall flaccid beside you.

“Look, that’s not the point,okay? The point is I can’t stay here.” You reply defeated, a pang of guilt hitting your stomach.

“Why?! Cause of some made up wife that turned out to be my sister?!”

You turned to the metal table behind you and dropped your bag on top with a loud clang of what you assumed were your keys inside. Sweaty palms rested on top of the cool surface and you let your head hang low while you tried to calm your anger down. Maybe you did go a bit too far by not asking him first, but in your defense, being hot headed was part of your nature.

“No Carmy- because I can’t stand seeing you every second of every day and not being able t-to touch you or-or kiss or do anything about all these stupid feelings inside! ” You finally confessed when you could no longer see his intense stare. The words stumbled out like the alcohol contents of that morning, heavy, fast and unstoppable.

Your heavy breaths and the running motor of the walk in are the only sounds audible in the reduced space. But if you could take a peek in either of your heads, you’d be surprised at the amount of swarming voices trying to decipher a million thoughts per second. Your eyes were fixated on the carefully organized spices resting on the second level of the table.

“So that’s your plan, then? Leavin’ cause you like me too much, but you can’t do anything while you’re here.” He whispered and you heard the light squeak of his kitchen shoes as he moved closer to you.

As the cloud of anger slowly dissipated, giving pathway to clear thoughts, the undertones of his words appeared unobstructed in front of you. You blinked continuously as you played out the idea in your head.

“Yeah… I-I guess.” You mumbled.

A soft breath escaped your lips when you felt a warm touch contrast to the chill surface. You looked down to your left hand, a bigger one placed carefully on top, skilled fingers inching close to the free space between yours, a tickling feeling erupting at the touch. Your fingers rounded softly around his and that was the sign of reassurance he needed to step closer to you, chest pressing fully to the length of your back and caging you to the table.

He held your palm like delicate glass under his rough hand, both of your eyes trained on the curved limbs, afraid the eye contact would strip your souls too bare. Carmy whispered your name like a prayer, voice soft enough only for you to hear in the empty space, a wisp of sultry air hit the base of your neck and erupting chills around the sensitive skin.

“You are amazingly smart, really fuckin’ funny and it would be a lie if I said I wouldn’t miss you… but if having you with me means not seeing you here every day, then I will gladly fire you myself.”

A breathy laugh left your lips, soon replaced by a sharp intake when you felt his fingertips brush gently at the base of your neck, moving your hair out of the way then leaning down to place a tender kiss to the skin. Your vision blurred at the edges from the simple touch and the hand holding his, locked tight around tattooed fingers. He kept planting small kisses to your rising skin, stealing small gasps from your chest, finding it adorable and amusing all at once. You felt a shy smile against your neck as his right digits skimmed over the soft velvet of your other arm.

It was ridiculous how his effortless touch had you almost losing grasp of your self control so easily. You tried to regain your composure, or at least concentrate on what would leave your mouth next, other than shameful gasps. Your mouth fell dry when his right hand curled at your waist and when he pressed himself closer to you, your lips parted open like a fish praying for a drop of water outside the ocean.

“Want me to stop?” He whispered in between pecks. He knew your answer from the way your body was reacting to him, but the never ending voice in the back of his head made him doubtful.

You shook your head no, not trusting the words in your mouth, swallowing dryly, and took the chance to turn around as best you could in the limited space. With heaving breaths and a thumping heart you finally looked up into the cloudless sky trapped in his eyes. Your brows furrowed at the marvelous change they reflected from the tired man you had grown to care for.

Now with a clear head, a different answer manifested in your mind as the one you had given the night before. If it meant you had to lose one thing to gain another even better, then so be it. You weren’t breaking any self imposed rule, only finding a loophole around it. There was no doubt in your mind that you wanted this. No angry voices in your head alarming you of what a terrible idea this was. It was only you, him and the prospect of a future together, however long it may be.

You stood on your toes and at last, closed the little distance left between your lips, He kissed back almost immediately, like he had been waiting for this exact moment, soft hungry lips dancing gracefully against each other. His hands moved to wrap around your waist again, pulling you closer as yours curled hard around the flimsy material of the white shirt on his torso. You bit lightly on his bottom lip and a small groan vibrated from his throat into yours and directly in between your thighs.

Without an inch of hesitation, he parted from your kiss and strong arms lifted you up to sit on the chill metal. Your legs opened for him to step in between and your cheeks would have gone crimson at the way they parted instantly if he would have given you a chance, but immediately after moving into the welcoming space, his hand circled the back of your neck and crashed your lips to his again with new found passion. The view was parallel to your imagination and a soft moan escaped your lips at the sweet memory, one he swallowed gladly. His other hand massaged your upper thigh, thumb brushing tenderly over the inside of your jeans, very close to the pulsing center where you needed him most.

You held on to his shoulder in support and threaded your fingers through his hair, just like you had imagined many times before. His hand squeezed your thigh deliciously at a pull to his roots and the vibration that escaped his throat allowed you to deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue to caress his own. Your lungs burned from the lack of air but you would rather die by asphyxiation than lose the rhythm you had carefully cultivated with him.

The hand on your thigh traveled back slowly, both meeting at the base of your spine. Still in your cloudy haze, you expected him to continue his exploration down, but his fingers stayed spread out at the bottom of your back, unable to move. With hands still knotted in golden strands, you circled your legs around what you could reach of his hips and pulled him closer than before. An involuntary snap of his pelvis against your core ripped a surprised whimper from your mouth and the sound seemed to be enough of a push for his hands to reach down to your ass, pulling you to the edge of the metal and kneading the tender flesh.

You could feel the straining bulge against his jeans as he continued to grind persistently, a strong grasp on your body. Short gasps escaped your lips at the friction, just enough to get you riled up but not to reach the high you were chasing. Peeling your lips from his to take a heavy breath, you pecked down his jaw and up to his ear where you rolled his lobe between your teeth. He shivered under your touch, a shaky laugh leaving his lips as his head fell on your shoulder and his movements faltered.

“Carmy… ” You pleaded into his ear.

It didn’t matter if you sounded pitiful, the only thing you needed at the moment was for him to take you hard on that table. You let go from his hair and dropped your hands to the buttons of his black jeans while you worked his ear between licks and tiny bites. His hands mirrored yours, fluidly popping the buttons open and sliding the thick material down your legs. Your sneakers fell to the ground with an empty noise when you kicked them off as he discarded your jeans somewhere on the kitchen floor, then pushed your hand down the loose waistband of his jeans and boxers to his welcoming hard cock.

His breath got caught in his throat from the sudden touch of your ever-cold hands, a heavy moan leaving his lips and tickling the inside of your neck. You stroked the surprising length with slow movements. You didn’t expect him to be so… gifted, at least he didn’t carry himself like it. It was a nice shock, one that had you grinding against nothing on the cool metal.

He must have sensed your desperation as a struggling whine left your mouth, because he placed a trail of soft kisses back up to your face. One of his hands rubbed your cheek tenderly, softly shushing you while his thumb brushed over your bottom lip.

“Shh, it’s okay” Carmy muttered with a low raspy voice. “I got you… I got you.” He placed soft kisses over your whimpering lips. The change in his tone from what you were used to made the movements of your hand waver inside his jeans and you squeezed lightly around his cock.

With no warning, skilled fingers rubbed at your folds through the fabric of your damp underwear, forcing a guttural moan to escape the deepest part of your being. He repeated the circular motion whilst peppering around your heaving lips with wet kisses. Using your thighs for support, you grind your hips to his palm, looking for release and speeding up your movements carefully on your other hand. He answered your actions by pushing your underwear to the side and massaging the tender area at a torturous pace.

A shock wave traveled up your spine at the contact, your hips chasing after his touch. He teased your entrance with his middle finger, rubbing around it but not quite going all the way.

“Fuck… Carmy, please” You managed to say between gasps, pushing your hips towards him to stimulate the friction.

“Please what?” He asked through gritted teeth, screwed brows betraying the blankness in his voice.

You tried following his movements, but the hand on your cheek quickly snapped down to your soft thighs, pressing you down with strength onto the counter top, a small smack rippling through your skin and vibrating tight down to your core.

“C’om on, chef… use your words for me.” He whispered near your ear and the simple sentence had your cunt gripping around nothing. “D'you want me to fuck you?” He asked, middle finger dipping halfway into you with a torturing pace. “To fill you up here, in the middle of my kitchen?”

Oh. Oh.

This was new. As well as the bubble of excitement growing in the valley between your legs. You had never been a fan of dirty talk, but the way your body was reacting to his words made you believe that no one had done it correctly until now. Gone was the stuttering man who couldn’t hold eye contact with you at the start, now replaced by some smooth motherfucker who could make you come with just his words.

“Yes… please” Short gasps followed your words.

“Yes what?” He pulled his mouth from your neck and stared down at you through hooded eyelids.

You could feel his pulse vibrate through his heavy dick in your hand as short breaths left your kiss swollen lips. The words fell thick in your throat, trapped between a whine and a gasp. Your thoughts streamed rapidly in your head and you knew that no future scenario would ever live up to this moment. You knew it wasn’t just about the sex he was asking approval for, it was about the whole conversation. The fight, the confession, the plated tray with his heart atop it that you had left untouched the night before. He needed the reassurance that this was not a goodbye or a one and done.

“Yes chef” You whispered with no doubts.

You pulled your hand from inside his jeans, then used your legs to pull them further down and finally free his erection from its confined space. And without taking your eyes off his, you reached up to your mouth, stuck out your tongue and swiped a thick coat of saliva to your digits. His lips parted in a daze, dark eyes flickering to your lips then back to your glossy stare.

The moment your hand made contact with his pulsing girth, he knew he was done for.

He pulled your hips to the edge, then carelessly removed your underwear and his shirt. Your eyes caught on dark designs decorating his hard abdomen and rib cage, and your mouth watered at the idea of tracing your tongue on each individual line, but the velvet tip of his cock sliding between your opening knocked all the thoughts inside your head.

“Shit..”He said under a shaky breath “D-do you have one?”

His forehead pressed to yours, both sets of eyes fixed on the view below them.

“No but, uhm.. I got an IUD. I-I’m all set.”

“Yeah, no..uhm, I mean cool, t-that’s great.” He responded with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah..” You answered amused.

You held his cock in your lubricated hand as his tip found your entrance, then slowly disappeared past your folds. A shared groan vibrated in the closeness of your chest when a delicious ache tingled along your cunt at the sudden stretch. Carmy dropped his head to place a kiss against your clothed shoulder and circled his hands under your thighs for a better grip. He stayed immobile for a couple long seconds, basking in the tight hold your pussy had around him, so much better than what he had ever imagined.

You shuttered beside his ear when he unsteadily pulled back almost to the tip and a small smile curled on his lips. Carmy took a calming breath to ease his racing heart, and without warning slammed his hips deep into your own, thick fingers kneading at the underskin of your thighs. The force of his pace pulled the last puffs of air from your lungs, leaving you a panting mess underneath his touch. One of your hands gripped the slick surface behind you for support while the other clawed against Carmy’s back, pressing him impossibly closer to you.

A thread of ‘Fuckfuckfuck’ and ‘Oh god’ spilled from your mouth with each strong thrust assaulting your body. Your senses were overwhelmed by his actions, every individual pound against you was followed by the obscene sound of slapping skin and blurred vision. His hips snapped repeatedly into you, pushing everything out of the way and filling you up with only him. You could feel him so deep in you that the taste of his cock lingered on your tongue.

The force of his movements rattled the legs of the table and a few spice containers fell around you, but that didn’t seem important enough for him to stop his brutal force.

A long fuck shaped groan left his throat, the dirty noise making your grip on his dick tighten.

“Fuck C-Carmy” You breathed out with wavering strength.

He separated from your neck long enough to admire how beautiful you looked under him. Baby hairs stuck to your sweaty forehead and rubies decorated your freckled cheeks. Your eyes were blown wide and brows knit together as you took in every of his firm thrusts. He could see the soft bounce of your breasts under your thin shit and he could only dream of what he would do with them when you had more time.

“W-what” You asked him when you caught him staring longingly at you.

His movements slowed down but didn’t stop fully, only enough to take in the full view of your glowing skin and panting chest.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect.” He sighed and a breathy laugh vibrated softly against your joined bodies.

He pulled you into a soft kiss, savoring the taste of the heated moment and categorizing it under one of the best things he had placed upon his tongue. A sharp gasp ripped from your chest when he snapped his pelvis deep into you, hitting a specific spot that left you a mumbling mess under his tips. He did it again, just to see you fall apart at his touch, head falling back and gasping for air.

Carmy found the whole experience extra corporeal and as if something had gained total control of his body, his hands carried your thighs higher up and pressed them to your chest, each socked foot resting on his broad shoulders. You took your nails from his back and rested both pals behind you, keeping you upright. Then he angled himself to where he felt a soft stop inside you and began to snap his hips against it.

The sensation was so strong you could barely mutter his name. You felt him everywhere, so deep you could feel him up your throat, in your bloodstream and every individual cell in your body. Your skin burned to the touch and nothing other than him pounding ruthlessly against you made sense in your mind. He was fucking you stupid, pulse beating in your navel and eyes covered in blinding stars.

You tried to let him know, warn him even, but nothing other than his name fell like prayer beads from your heaving lips. You squeezed your cunt around him and a small falter in his actions gave you some room to breathe.

“Fuck I-I can’t, Car-Carmy I'm gonn-” You struggled, waiting for the air to reach your lungs, but it was all tainted by the smell of sex and him.

“Let go, baby, let go” He cooed between moans.

And it was all you needed to hear to finally lose yourself completely to his touch. The smacking noise grew louder as he gripped your thighs with one arm around them, then the other traveled between you, placing his thumb above your swollen clit and pushing down in insistent circles.

The pressure in the base of your belly ultimately broke with a snap and an uncontained moan painted the walls of the empty kitchen in a lilac hue. Your vision blurred as tears of bliss gathered under your eyelids and your body floated into nothingness. Your walls pulsed around his dick with two more thrusts and that was enough for him to follow you down the rabbit hole of your joined orgasm. A choked growl vibrated in his chest and streaks of red crawled their way up his neck and buried at his cheeks with his release.

His grip on your legs loosened when he used his hands to steady his weight against the table, and let them fall carefully around his waist as he catched his breath. With his head hanging low, he pecked small kisses to your exposed skin. Your head hanging back with eyes shut, trying to enjoy the last ripples of pleasure turning into shallow waves. One of your hands caressed up his sweaty skin and buried into the tangled mess of his hair lovingly.

A soft pleased smile covered his features, closed eyelashes feathering lightly against yours. His large palm rested beside your still trembling thigh, soft thumb rubbing calming circles and a small chuckle left his lips.

“It was fuckin’ Richie, wasn’t it?” He asked, breaking the pleasant blissful silence you had sat in for however long it took to settle your raging heartbeats.

You nodded in response with your own small laugh and heard him mumble a ‘Fuckin’ Richie’, raising his head and looking lovingly into your glossed over eyes.

“It’s okay, I’ll just tell everyone he’s the reason I quit so they hate him for a little while.” You whispered and a beautiful sound left his lips.

It was a soft relaxed sighed laugh, the kind you don’t have to force and that vibrates directly from your chest out, brightening the space around you. Your chest tightened at the melodious sound and your brows scrunched up in awe when he finally opened his eyes again. The ever present line of worry above his brows was gone, leaving behind only the tint of rich aquamarine and sapphire blues.

Chapter 5.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne and that’s it lmao

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