#any sort of fic that comes from this needs to be either

[faecaribou]

on my knees asking for you to draw your interpretation of this

the whole team gets deaged by twenty years

most of them are a range of late teens to early thirties, but.

Scout and Sniper.

Spy gets a second chance at being Scout's dad + plus a bonus of raising Sniper too

Genuinely I could not get this out of my head. I spent hours on this and now literally every electronic i have is like at 4% battery and its 1 am. This is such a goated idea. Here are the mercs deaged, or what they would look like younger. I totally didnt have to google everyone's ages (visibly lying)

I feel like I did well with Heavy and Medic. They're the oldest in the group. Heavy when he was 26 was probably freshly dealing with escaping the gulag with his family. Visually I just got rid of his beard left him with the stubble though and gave him back his hair, which in the comics appears to be brown. For Medic, I think I spelt lisence wrong. Yeah there's a red line under it. Fuck. Whatever. I stole his muscles and also gave him back his hairline. Also, big glasses.

I'm going by age but I know what you want. Here's Spy. I wanted him to look as close to Scout as possible SO BAD but their noses are different and canonically his hair is much darker but I like to pretend the BLU Spy has that darker hair and RED Spy has more brown hair. Maybe someone's grandparents had blond hair (I swear I read a fic where Spy was like 'jeremy has my papas blond hair >m<') ANYWAY i dont think he's older than heavy and medic but also like. JEEZ. He just wanted to sleep with some MILFs or cougars he didnt expect children. L

The way that I'm actually obsessed with my own drawing for younger Engie. haiiiii. I feel like I would bump into him IRL on a college campus. Lowkey he reminds me of someone but I dont even know who.

I don't have much to say for Soldier and Pyro. I was getting some conflicting reports on Soldier's age so I just put him in the middle of the conflicting reports. He's probably already started his uh. killing rampage in Germany. I just deaged Pyro and left him in the same outfit because I dont actually have a fan design for Pyro outside the suit.

I gave Demoman the kilt and sash that his father's wearing in this one scene in the comics where there was like. A family photo of the DeGroot family. I definitely didnt study every single image of younger Demo in the comics. ha. ha. If I spent a million hours on just this drawing of Tav.

Side note, your ask totally reminded me of this fic https://archiveofourown.org/works/60095656 which is all the mercs deaged by like 25 years and Scout is literally like a year old and its great and I definitely did not leave 8 million comments on this fic (stares off into the distance)

I accidentally drew Sniper looking too young (right-most drawing) but honestly the smile with the missing tooth gave me life. aaaahhhh He really shouldve been drawn with a hat since he's out there in Australia but oops. I gave him his mullet back <3maybe he should be 7

finally, Jeremy. I definitely didn't originally decide he was 5 and then for the sake of my sanity when I think of Spy's agechange it to 4. Yeah

Heavy's too busy helping his mom raise his sisters. Don't give Medic kids. So yeah it's up to Spy to step up and take care of Mick alongside Jeremy.

Okay I think I will eventually reblog this post with more art but for right now I'm done with drawing and just going to type endless paragraphs and over nonsense thoughts

okay so they get de-aged. how??? i could take a page out of that fic i recommended and blame magic/merasmus. I feel like Respawn Machine malfunction is a pretty common trope for de-aging just one guy in fics but imagine it malfunctioned and now they're all de-aged. damnnnnn they lost that battle against BLU hard AND this happened? L

I imagine it's like. Logically they know who they are, they know each other, they know their jobs. But also it kinda feels like yesterday they were off in Russia/Australia/German/Boston doing their own things. The younger 3 are especially having this problem. No one's sure if Pyro understands whats going on.

They're all in their red team merc outfits btw for Pyro's sake. But for the drawings they've taken like. their weapons off and gotten in clothes that either fit better or are more comfortable.

Medic is all like "ooooh! interesting >:3" and definitely wants to open SOMEONE up but he's scaring the hoes (children) so him and Engineer kind of separate to go deal with the Respawn Machine. Engineer may have to call his dad for help at some point. He is going to hate it hahahahahaah >:)

Demoman and Soldier and Pyro are just like. Having the worlds most disjointed conversation. "ARE YOU AMERICAN?" "huddah huddah" "(super thick scottish accent)" no one is understanding anyone. Pyro pulls out paper and coloring pencils and they are just trying to furiously communicate through drawings

Scout is four and since he on some level remembers Spy as a kid when he's an adult, he definitely recognizes Spy as both his dad and as ...Spy. Cue crying.

Mick is kinda scared. He definitely tries to retreat to his camper van but no one's gonna let an 8 year old sleep out there by himself so he's resorted to hiding in his room on base, which he just kinda uses for storage, which is where he finds the slingshot. Anyone who opens the door to talk to him gets a rock to the face I don't make the rules. Okay well except for Scout he's not going to pelt a four year old with rocks. The mercs will use this hesitation to their advantage to get him

Spy takes his mask off. He doesn't want to, he doesn't like them looking at his face, it just makes Jeremy cry more, people are asking him how old he is, someone said he looks a lot like Scout.

He one-hundred percent sees this as like. His chance to actually be Jeremy's dad. He was too much of a coward the first time around and sometimes the guilt eats at him. Something something if Spy and Ma had a second child Spy would completely ignore Scout to fuss over the 2nd kid because it would be a clean slate that he hasn't ruined. WHAT WHO SAID THAT. Anyway the driving force that leads him to take his mask off and pick up that screaming kid is that this is his second chance. I imagine he got some practice in with some of Scout's brothers and with baby Scout so he's not the best dealing with a screaming 4 year old but he's not the worst.

After like. A few hours of getting Scout to calm down, they have now upgraded to Scout is really really quiet and visibly upset but he only screams and cries when Spy goes to grab him. Ultimately Jeremy thinks that they might get put back to normal and once he's older again Spy will abandon him again so he is NOT letting Spy pick him up without trying to bite him at least once. Spy is slowly earning his trust.

This is also the point where Spy realizes that Sniper is hiding in his room with the slingshot. After like 3 different mercs getting pelted with rocks in the face Spy realizes he has to step up and dad this kid too.

Scout sees Spy extend even one iota of patience or kindness toward Sniper and is torn between "oh he's actually trying" and "HES GOING TO CHOOSE SNIPER TO BE HIS SON INSTEAD OF ME"

wait I'm just creating more conflicts rather than resolving anything. fuck its 2 am. look the (he's not crying, YOU ARE!) hug drawing would be when Scout finally lets Spy give him a hug and it would be SO SATISFYING and the crowd stood up and clapped and after Jeremy starts hanging off of Spy like a limpet Spy also successfully gets Sniper to come out of the room. why did I write an entire plot am I going to write a fic. oh no please no I'm busy with the time travel noooooo

[lqveharrington]

Perfect Replacement | R.L.

summary: Remus begins to worry about your well-being after seeing you act much differently than before.

pairing: remus lupin x Black Family!reader

includes: use of Y/N, mentions of abuse (both mental and physical), unfair treatment, bullying, cursing, allusions to receiving the dark mark, burning out, angst, smallest bit of fluff (lmk if i missed any!)

a/n: lowkey, this one was sad and requested by someone a while ago… i’m swamped with my own school work so this was a little vent fic for me :)

From the moment you were born, Orion and Walburga knew what you were meant to be—what you would always be known as. You were the Black Family’s spare. If Sirius or Regulus was injured in a way magic wasn’t enough to heal them, you were the person they tore open to find missing parts. You were nothing but a tool.

Worst of all, they refused to recognize you as even part of their family. What they wanted was a male heir and—being the first born before Sirius by mere minutes—you ruined their lives. Sure, the legacy would’ve still been able to continue with Sirius, but Walburga and Orion were furious when they saw a girl be born into the Black Family.

It was always your fate to be their spare.

When you were old enough to attended Hogwarts, they were quick to dismiss your presence. You were no longer theirs to care for as long as you stayed there. Hell, they even called Sirius—who was sorted in Gryffindor—back for holiday while you—who was sorted into Slytherin—stayed at Hogwarts with the school's staff.

However, they learned that Sirius was no longer fit to be the heir of the Black family. So they did what they did best—throw you into the deep end with no safety. Instead of letting Sirius get away with his stupidity, you were to take over his responsibilities until Regulus was suited to become the heir.

You were constantly watched to ensure perfection. It didn't matter if you were the top of your class or not—you had to maintain the role of the perfect heir. The useless heir. Coming home every summer just to be scolded at was never ideal, but you tried. You pushed through all the extracurriculars until you couldn't feel the weight of pressure on you anymore. You just kept going.

You kept pushing and pushing until the worst thing happened at home.

Sirius left. He left you and Regulus with your wretched parents. He left you with more scars than you could count that you swore he didn't care much for you either. It truly was you against the entire Black family—with little help from Regulus whenever he wasn't being trained to be the Black family heir.

“Letter from mother.” Regulus tossed the cream envelope in your direction, unaware of how closed off and fragile you became since Sirius left.

You peeled the envelope open and did a quick scan of the letter, humming at the usual demands from you. Nothing new. “I need to go study, Reg. I’ll see you later."

“You'll come find me for lunch, right?” He grabbed your wrist like he would when he was younger, alarmed that his whole hand could wrap around the joint with ease.

“I need to study for my NEWTs.” You give him the best smile you could muster, making your steps quick as you left the Great Hall. You loved your younger brother, but your parents would have your head if they found out you were talking to him rather than studying for your final exams.

You swiftly looped around the castle corridors—potions, charms, and transfiguration textbooks in arm as you made your way toward the astronomy tower. No matter how many times you’ve studied in Hogwarts’ library, you found it easier to work in the tower. The library was filled with all kinds of students—even the ones who weren't there to study.

Just as you made a sharp turn to the tower stairs, you slammed into someone more than half your size—all your books and parchment scattering to the floor. Immediately, you apologized and rushed to grab the papers and books, face warm with embarrassment when the person handed you your quill your cousin Narcissa bought you.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” You clutch the books tighter to your chest and move around the figure, unaware that it was one of Sirius’ friends.

The one who watched you were a careful eye since you hopped onto the stool with a worried look in first year.

The Marauders were scattered about their dorm. Peter was munching on some kind of bread, Sirius was hanging upside down in his bed, and James was on his usual session about how Lily was the most perfect girl when Remus walked in with an unreadable expression.

James slowly came to a stop before tilting his head at the lanky boy, tossing a pillow in his direction. 'What happened at the library, Moony? Madam Pince refused to let you check out anymore books?"

Remus ignored James and caught the pillow with a swipe of his hand—his attention only on the curly-haired boy in front of him. "Padfoot, do you know what's going on with your sister? She looks like she might be ill.”

Sirius froze at the mention of you, ultimately falling from his spot on the bed. He rarely saw you back at home that he didn't know anything about you anymore. At least, not as much as he knew about Regulus.

“I… I don’t know.” He admitted and ran his fingers through his hair in guilt.

“You don’t know?” Remus repeated in disbelief. He didn't think that when Sirius left, he would forget all about his twin sister. She looked exactly like him—only now, she looked like she could break with one wrong touch. "She could be seriously sick—"

"Look, I'll get Regulus to ask her what's wrong." Sirius crossed his legs and frowned when Remus still looked unhappy. "What?"

"We both know you won't willingly talk to your brother." He said and stood from his spot, mind running through different scenarios as to why you looked so malnourished—why you were so malnourished.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at his best mate, "Why do you care so much about my sister?"

"Why don't you care more?" Remus scoffed and left the dorm, leaving the rest of the Marauders confused with his sudden interest in the Black's eldest child.

Though Remus cared little for the Black family, he knew you never wronged anyone. In fact, he believed you were Sirius' foil. When Sirius was off pranking someone with James, you were always studying for your next class. When you weren't studying, he found you speaking quietly with Regulus in the Great Hall. You were so quiet and reserved that Remus refused to believe you were Sirius' twin for so long.

He rarely spoke to you, but he knew something was definitely wrong. And he would get to the bottom of the issue.

“Miss Black, you need to take care of yourself. Your brother is concerned for you—“

“He should not be concerned for my wellbeing. Instead, he should be concerned about his grades in Care for Magical Creatures.” You huff and push away Madam Pomfrey’s wand from your arm, tugging your robes over your body in a rushed manner. “I am perfectly fine and need to get back to my studies before the night takes away all the light.”

You leave the hospital wing and glance at your watch, silently cursing yourself for wasting precious time on a silly check up Regulus insisted you get. Although—you had to admit— you were too exhausted to make the trek up the astronomy tower to study. So instead, you made your way toward the library instead, the candles in the corridors lighting your path to the quiet space ahead.

Finding an open table, you get to work as quickly as you can. You flip open you defense against the dark arts textbook and begin your studies, hands shaking and eyes blurring with how exhausted you were. Willing yourself to push on, you started to mutter the words you read, unaware of the brown-haired boy looming beside you.

“You’re not casting a spell, are you?” A voice spoke from your right, causing you to jerk in surprise.

Lifting your head up from the book, you meet warm, brown eyes, the feeling spreading across your chest before you pulled your attention toward the book once more. You couldn’t get distracted, not when you were running out of time before the holidays.

“No.” You answer truthfully before continuing to mutter about the three unforgiving curses, each one worse than the last. You’ve encountered two out of three of them and you prayed you never had to witness the last.

Right as you went to turn the page, the person moved to sit in front of you—your eye twitching in irritation. This was your spot for the rest of the evening and you would like to not be distracted by… whoever this person was.

Huffing, you flip the page in frustration and speak once more. This time with annoyance. “I’m sorry, but I’m trying to study for—“

“I see that.” The mysterious figure pulled out his own book, raising his brows when you nearly looked up from your book to see what he was reading. So close. “I’m here to merely observe. You are the top of our graduating class.”

“Incorrect.” You keep a shaky finger on the last word you left off on, finally taking a proper look at the boy who decided to distract you. “I’m tied with…”

“You don’t want a tie?” Remus rested his head in his palm, hiding a small grin at your shocked expression.

You swallow thickly before going back to your book, refusing to acknowledge his presence for the rest of the time. It wasn’t like you were intimidated or embarrassed by the boy. You were just confused and stunned by him. Why was he suddenly interested in you when he stuck so close to your twin? Perhaps your mother or father sent him as a spy—but he was a half-blood, so you doubted that was the reason.

Remus sighed and began to read Jane Eyre, occasionally glancing in your direction. He noted that you were still here mentally—well, as far as a mere five minute interaction goes—but your physique seemed way off. Though you weren’t as tall as your brothers, you were a hell lot paler and way too ill-fed to even look remotely related to them.

By the time Madam Pince kicked the both of you out, Remus memorized the way you looked and stored it for later data. He thought that you would snap under the weight of all the textbooks and parchment you were carrying. He also swore you memorized each of the textbooks—catching you repeatedly murmur the different facts you learned over your hours of studying.

But as Remus went to turn toward the Great Hall, you continued to go straight down the corridor—worrying him. “Black, you’re not coming to have dinner?”

You stop walking and hesitate before settling on your normal excuse. “I’m not hungry.”

“You studied for over two hours. Surely a snack or even just water—“

“Lupin, I’m fine. I don’t need—“

Before you could even finish your sentence, a familiar voice rang out clearly. A voice you haven’t heard since he left you all alone.

“Moony! There you are! We’ve been looking for you.”Sirius clapped Remus on the back, unaware of your presence. He never truly acknowledged your being—you assumed he learned it from your mother and father. “Where were you?”

Remus’ eyes darted in your direction after the initial surprise from Sirius faded, but you were already fleeting down the hall—Mary Jane’s echoing with each step.

“Just…” He paused and shook his head, directing his attention back to the younger Black sibling and following him into the Great Hall. “Studying.”

Unfortunately for you, it became Remus' habit to constantly be around you when studying. No matter where you went to study—whether it was the damn astronomy tower or back of the library—he found you. It became impossible to hide from him and you knew you were losing valuable time studying if you spoke to him.

So you just stopped.

"I brought chocolate today." Remus spoke, finding you by the edge of the Black Lake. "A piece offering."

Your eyes briefly flickered up to meet his and glanced at the chocolate, but you immediately fell back into reading, making him frown. You were frustrating him just a tad bit. It was the day before holiday break and you decided to spend your time on the freezing grounds studying than inside with a cup of hot tea doing something else—he wasn't even close to figuring anything about you.

You were just a ghost of a person.

“Lupin, I can’t focus.” You whisper as you felt his gaze on you, frustratedly reading the same line over and over again.

Remus muttered a quick apology and went back to War and Peace. But he couldn't focus. All he could focus on was the sound of you shaking underneath all the layers of clothes you had on. He pursed his lips and sighed, removing his own overcoat and draping it over you.

Freezing at the sudden warmth enveloping your figure, you meet his brown eyes and give him a smile that could be noted as a grimace. "Thanks..."

He hummed and took a bite out of his chocolate, letting you read for a couple more minutes before speaking once more. "Do you plan on studying over the holidays as well?"

Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek. Were you going to spend your entire holiday studying? "Depends on mother and father. They might coupe me up in my room and make me study all holiday. Or they may decide to finally let me join in opening gifts with Regulus—not like I'll get anything."

It took you a second to realize what you said to the boy sitting beside you. Honestly, you didn't know what he was doing to you.

Remus' eyes narrowed at your confession the second you covered your mouth with a shaking hand. You were never supposed to talk ill about your parents or you family—especially not to some… to a Gryffindor and half-blood!

“I-I have to go.” You stutter and quickly gather your things, rushing back into the castle without another glace toward Remus.

When you came back from the holidays, you looked even worse than before. Remus took one look at you and knew something went down back at the Black house. Although you did look more fed then most days, the circles underneath your eyes were more prominent and instead of rolling up your sweaters like usual, you wore them normally.

What happened?

But Remus wasn't the only one to notice the changes. For once, Regulus noted the changes in your demeanor. Rather than using your time to study for charms or transfiguration, you began to read books on the dark arts. The textbooks that once belonged to Bellatrix were passed down to you, causing Regulus to do his own digging into your sudden change of studies.

“What're you reading Trimbles' book for?” Regulus asked quietly as you pushed food around your plate, gaze locked on the ink in the book. "Did Bella get through to you about the dark arts?"

You subconsciously touch your left arm and bite your tongue. You could say it was your cousin's fault for she was the one to suggest you become one of them anyway. Yet you would never speak ill about her—you supposed it was her way of showing she cared for you.

"No, it's just interesting."' You clear your throat and stand from your spot. "Finish breakfast, I'll see you later."

"You didn't touch anything on your plate." Regulus frowned and stood up as well, following close behind and grabbing your left arm. "What are you hiding from me?"

You winced and quickly pulled away, "Nothing, Reg, leave me be."

"I can't do that! You're my sister and I care about you—"

Quickly finding your way out of a conversation you didn't want to have, you weaved your way in between the Gryffindor boys that deemed themselves as the Marauders, subconsciously grabbing Remus' hand and dragging him with you.

“Hey—!” Sirius gaped at his best friend being stolen from him, earning a glare from his younger brother.

“Fuck off, Sirius. Something’s wrong.” Regulus quickly spat out and chased after you and the lanky boy.

Sirius' eyebrows knitted together before letting out a loud sigh, following his brother to wherever you were taking Remus. After all the time he spent away, you and Regulus were still important to him—even if he rarely showed it.

"What's happening?" Remus stumbled into an empty classroom and glanced at your heavy breathing figure, face twisting in confusion as you leaned back on the wooden door in exhaustion. "Why were you running?"

"I didn't mean to pull you with me." You rub your face and wander over to a desk, sitting in the chair as your thoughts swallowed your mind. "I just needed an escape from Regulus. He can be nosy."

Still confused, Remus simply nodded and sat at the desk opposite of you, wincing when he heard Sirius' shouting from outside the class. You let out a quiet laugh at your brothers' bickering before those laughs quickly turned into quiet sobs, shoulders shaking from the weight of emotions packed into each one.

"Oh." Remus murmured and patted his pockets down, taking a bar of chocolate and snapping a piece off. “Eat, it’ll make you feel better.”

You wipe your tears and look down at the chocolate, your stomach growling at the lack of food you’ve eaten today. Sniffling, you take the chocolate and nibble on it, unaware of Remus’ smile.

“Better?” He asked softly, biting into the chocolate himself.

There wasn’t an answer from you, but he knew it helped somewhat—your tears subsided and all that could be heard was your occasional sniffling and hiccups.

Remus had so many questions he wanted to ask you yet he knew it wasn’t his place. Though only one really stuck out to him.

“Why did you bring me here?”

You purse your lips and fiddle with the loose strings on your sweater, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I don’t know.” You say truthfully. But before Remus could say anything else, you continued—eyes shut because to you, the confession was quite embarrassing. “Maybe I just got used to you always being there and I…” You drop your head into your hands and sigh loudly, “I trust you more than my whole family.”

He raised his brows but made no effort to say anything else—knowing you had more to say.

“You care for me in a way my siblings will never understand.” You murmur and peek between your fingers to find him slouched over to hear you clearly. “I can’t… I can’t tell you anything about what happened at home.” He opened his mouth to protest but you stopped him. “But I’ll consider keeping the odd friendship you chose to start.”

Remus narrowed his eyes at you and—for a brief moment—he wanted to refuse. He wanted to know what was happening, why you were more conscious about how you dressed. Yet he couldn’t find himself wanting to object your offer. If he could keep a close eye on you like this, so be it.

“You’ll tell me in due time, alright?” Remus gave you the rest of his chocolate bar, noticing the way you tugged your sleeve down once more.

“If it’s fitting by then.” You give him a weak smile. “Besides, I think I can still be the top of the class without you. After all, I am the perfect replacement.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[littlcdarlin]

My Burning Sun Will Someday Rise

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 || read on AO3

summary: Reader goes on a beach vacation with Joel after her father breaks his leg. tags: daddy kink, big age gap (Joel is 49, reader is 23), dbf!Joel, Joel has a lovely belly, Joel is a little mean, praise kink, Joel calls reader "kid", unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, sexual tension, blow jobs, smut with a little bit of plot, no use of Y/N, afab!reader, reader has hair (will add more as I add more parts)

note: The devil works fast but I work faster. New multi chapter smut fic inspired by those damn new Pedro pics in the works…enjoy part 1! I haven't planned all of the smut scenes, so if you have any requests for specific kinks/scenes, do let me know!

He’s dead fucking wrong. You love your father, enough to not immediately say no, but he’s wrong. It’s true you could use a girls’ trip, perhaps even a couple of days out of town with your Dad, and he’s not entirely off about university being the death of you, kiddo – you’ve spent one too many nights inhaling coffee and cramming for your finals. The idea of an all-inclusive trip is tempting, given the fact that all you manage to eat these days is pasta and store-bought pesto, if that.

Nevertheless, you need to keep studying, there’s less than two weeks left until your exams, and although the trip is only a couple of days, you don’t know Joel.

Sure, you’ve been to his barbecues, and he let you use his bike one year when yours was stolen and your Dad refused to buy you a new one, because you should have locked it up in the first place. You know how he patched up your Dad after the divorce – you never worried about your mother, who was heartbroken, but able to talk about it to her family and friends. Your Dad was the one you spent sleepless nights over. The way the beer bottles accumulated in his garage, how distant he seemed on the phone. You know it was Joel who looked after him, made sure he left the house and had anything edible inside it. You’re grateful for it, you are, but you don’t really know him. For most of your life, he has been a friendly smile and wave over a fence, and you’re shy around people you know much better than the occasional hey kid, you back for the summer? or if you see your Dad, tell him I borrowed his screwdriver, I’ll put it back tomorrow.

You do feel slightly guilty your Dad can’t go on his trip. He broke his leg, and although it’s not entirely your fault he slipped, you had been the one to mop the stairs right before the accident. As much as your Dad was looking forward to his vacation, after a week he had to admit a beach holiday would be little fun with a whole leg in plaster.

You sigh, staring at your phone screen, tapping on it every once in a while to keep it from turning black. He’s expecting an answer soon, you know he is. Who the hell books non-refundable trips anyway? When you get the time, you’ll need to tell him about a lovely invention that is insurance.

You glance over at the stack of unfinished coursework on your desk, your laptop taunting you with its quiet – no responses to the millions of job applications you have sent out have come through. At this rate, you’ll be jobless in a couple of months, when you finish your degree. You’ll have to live with either of your parents forever, no money for any sort of vacation whatsoever.

"Oh, screw it,“ you mutter, unlocking your phone, and typing quickly.

I’ll do it. Only because my A+ cleaning is the reason you can’t go. Tell Joel to bring something to read, I need to study.

***

"It’d be a shame if it went to waste, kiddo, I’m glad you’re doing this.“

"Yeah,“ you answer, thinking of the endless powerpoint slides you haven’t even looked at yet. "Maybe studying at the beach works wonders.“

There’s a knock on the door, and you move to open it, your Dad chained to his chair by his broken leg. You’re not particularly excited about the smalltalk you’ll have to make with your Dad’s friend, but if you remember correctly, Joel is as much the quiet type as you are, and might actually appreciate your studying. Great, you think, at least one of us will enjoy it, then.

When you open the door, the first thing that strikes you is how hard you find it to envision Joel at the beach – he’s all mountains and trees to you, with his lumberjack boots and flannel shirt. His smile is friendly, and only gains warmth when he notices the critical look you give his outfit.

"I know,“ he says, voice deep and quiet, "I’m king of dressing for the occasion.“

You grin, and open the door wider.

"Come on in. Dad’s in the living room. What’s with the…uh…“

Your voice trails off, as you gesture towards his distinctly un-vacationy clothes.

"Thought you might bail,“ Joel answers easily, stepping into the house. "Can’t imagine you’re overly thrilled about this.“

You think about denying it, but this is your chance to come clean about how you would much prefer keeping to yourself and preparing for your finals, so you sigh.

"Well, it’s kinda my fault Dad was, like, almost paralyzed from the neck down, so I figured the least I could do was not let his trip go to waste. I’ve got finals in two weeks, so the timing is…suboptimal.“

"Yeah, your Dad said. I brought reading material, so I won’t bother you too much.“

He’s easy, you realize. Easy to talk to, and easy to accept your reluctance to bond with an almost-stranger, quick to make you feel comfortable by hinting at that boundary. You smile back, and are struck by how he holds your eye contact until you break it yourself, nodding towards your suitcase.

"Think this will fit inside the car?“

"Sure,“ he answers, "I’ve got a Bronco.“

You have no idea what that means, but you assume it’s a good thing, so you smile vaguely.

"It’s an SUV,“ Joel explains with a hint of good-natured amusement in his voice.

"Right,“ you say, attempting to overplay your obvious lack in car-knowledge, "SUV. One of the big ones.“

It makes Joel smile again, and you notice the wrinkles around his eyes that make his face look all sunny. 

"Yeah,“ he says. "One of the big ones.“

You lead him into the living room to say good-bye to your Dad, who’s expression is a weird mixture of sombre and excited at the sight of his daughter and best friend getting ready to drive to the airport.

"Take care of her, Joel,“ he says, when you’re getting ready to leave.

"Don’t worry,“ Joel answers with a pat to your father’s arm. "I’ve got her.“

"I’m twenty-three,“ you remind your father, "I’ve done more dangerous things than a trip to the beach.“

"Yeah, but you’re still my little girl,“ he answers with a smile, squeezing your hand. You squeeze back, though his comment irritates you.

"See ya, Dad. Call me if something’s wrong with your leg, alright?“

"Sure, kiddo. Have fun, you two, and bring me a seashell.“

Joel grins at the open envy on your Dad’s face.

"We’ll go on another trip next year,“ he says in an attempt to cheer him up.

"Yeah, yeah,“ your Dad answers, glancing at his watch. "Better get going, or you’ll miss the flight.“

"We’ll be fine, Joel’s got a fast car,“ you argue, "A Bronco. That’s an SUV.“

Joel snorts.

***

Joel lets you take the window seat and plops down next to you, legs slightly spread so as to fit into the little space the two of you have. His leg nudges yours, and he pulls it back immediately, though you can see how uncomfortable it must be with his knees pressing into the seat in front of him. You move your legs towards the window with a glance at Joel, who looks grateful and is able to relax his muscles into a more comfortable position without invading your space.

"Thanks,“ he mutters, "Fucking hate flying.“

So do you, though not because you’re too big to fit into the space, and not because you’re afraid – mostly because it’s boring. Sure, takeoff is exciting, but you get nauseous from watching movies and the plane is much too loud to really enjoy your music the way you would lying on your bed at home. You could study, you suppose, but you tell yourself you wouldn’t be able to concentrate and kick your backpack further under your seat. Joel notices and chuckles.

"Finals, huh? You almost done with your degree?“

You can’t imagine him finding your boring university struggles interesting, but you’re not exactly fantastic at smalltalk, so you take the conversation he’s offering you.

"I’ve got one more year, but I’ve got to do a six month internship, and write my thesis, so yeah, this is, like, the last of my regular classes and exams.“

"You enjoy it?“

The question is strikingly honest, like he really wants to know, like it’s fine if you don’t. You look at him, his eyes already on your face, and for a second you think how handsome he is. You didn’t notice before, when he was just the owner of a bike you could conveniently borrow, when life was all skinned knees and staying up till sun-down. Now, he looks like an equal, like someone who wants to know about your life, someone you want to know about yourself. The change is a little unsettling, but thrilling. You realize you haven’t answered him, so you clear your throat.

"Sure, it’s alright. Not what I would have done if money didn’t matter, but it does, so…I can be content with it.“

Joel considers this, eyes still lingering on your face, as the plane starts speeding up for takeoff.

"What would you do if money didn’t matter?“

You shrug, and smile to yourself.

"Creative writing, maybe. Or English lit.“

"You always were the smart one in your family,“ Joel answers with a chuckle.

You glance at him, and feel a pang of something warm in your stomach as he compliments you. When the plane takes off, you look out of the window, but get the feeling Joel’s eyes keep looking at you. It makes your skin prickle, though not at all unpleasantly.

***

You get to the hotel when the sun is high in the sky, burning the top of your head and making you long for a shower and an ice-cold coke. Joel courteously carries your suitcase and although you don’t want to inconvenience him, you don’t mind the way his muscles bulge under the weight, arms straining against the navy shirt he had underneath his flannel. You wonder how he’s not suffocating in the heat, wearing his thick jeans and boots.

When you get to the front desk, he fishes his phone out of his pocket, searching for his reservation details with furrowed brows. You smile when you notice he uses two hands to scroll. It takes him a couple of minutes, cursing under his breath, and you smile at the lady, who smiles back, patiently waiting for Joel to find the right email.

"Sorry,“ you say to her, and try to catch a glimpse at Joel’s phone, so as to figure out what’s taking him so long. "Need some help?“

He throws you an offended look that makes you grin, and finally shows the lady his phone. She smiles, types something into her computer and gets out two room keys.

"Go easy on your Daddy, it’s easier when you grew up with the internet,“ she says, handing you each a keycard. You feel Joel stiffen beside you, and your stomach flutters.

"Here’s your keycards, you’re on the third floor. Enjoy your stay!“

"Thanks,“ Joel mumbles, taking the cards and handing them to you, before grabbing the two suitcases. He huffs, when you walk around a corner and towards the elevators.

"She was makin’ fun of me,“ he says accusingly when the lady is out of earshot, as if that would be your fault. You snort, all of a sudden feeling giddy at the prospect of being at the beach soon, your holiday only a couple of minutes away.

"I don’t think so, she was trying to help you by blaming your incompetence on your age,“ you say, Joel looking at you like he can’t believe what you said.

"Sorry.“ Your voice is quivering with amusement at how offended he is. "Daddy.“

That makes him clear his throat, and if your eyes aren’t playing a trick on you, his cheeks turn a shade darker. Bingo.

"Don’t say shit like that,“ Joel grumbles, "’M not that old.“

"How old are you, then?“

"Why?“, he asks, eyes meeting yours, and suddenly you’re the one blushing, your stomach swirling with something you definitely should not be feeling for your Dad’s best friend. Joel shakes his head. "Don’t start something neither of us can finish, kid.“

It’s just an offhand-comment about the way you jokingly flirted, but you feel all bashful all of a sudden. His mention of there being something to potentially start, the fact that the possibility even crossed his mind…when you look up at him again and watch him press a button on the elevator, you study the grey patches in his beard, the way his jaw clenches and unclenches as you’re waiting, his thick fingers drumming against the handle of his suitcase. It’s not what you expected to happen, but Joel’s got you intrigued.

***

You both agree to take a shower, get settled in and meet outside the rooms in half an hour – they’re neighboring, so it’s not far. You’re too lazy to properly unpack, so you just grab a bikini and a comfortable white sundress to change into after your shower. The water is welcome on your skin, washing away the grit and sweat of the hours spent on the plane, and you feel like a new person when you step out of the bathroom. You put on sandals and a pair of sunglasses, grab sunscreen, your books and notes for class, and a bottle of water, and throw it all into your beach bag, then head for the door. Joel is already waiting for you, leaning against the wall opposite your door wearing a different shirt, red swimming trunks and dark sunglasses. He’s got a towel thrown over his shoulder and you grin.

"Raw-dogging the beach?“, you ask, which makes him furrow his brows.

"The hell does that mean?“

You snort at his obvious annoyance at your innuendo.

"It means you’re only bringing a towel, nothing to entertain yourself with,“ you explain, gesturing towards your bag. Joel shakes his head, still frowning.

"I’m going to the beach, not the library,“ he answers, and starts walking towards the elevators, his flip-flops making their soft sound on the floor. Your gaze flickers down towards his legs, his swimming trunks revealing tan thighs.

"Comin’?“

You swallow, and catch up with him.

***

He’s fucking gorgeous. It’s a problem, how gorgeous he is, tan torso, swimming trunks low on his hips, bits of dark hair scattered across his chest and soft belly. His shoulders are wide, like they were made for swimming, his hair glistening as he shakes like a wet dog when he comes up for air. You have been staring at the same page for far too long now, but there’s no way Joel is able to notice your staring, not when you’re wearing your sunglasses and he’s busy swimming.

You know it’s a bad idea, that there’s no good that can come from crushing on a man twice your age, more than that, even. You know he must surely see the girl who came over to borrow his bike with tears of anger in her eyes every time he looks at you, and you know how much he respects your father.

Still, you are allowed to have fun. You’re doing this for your Dad more than anything, and you’ve been bending over backwards trying to make him proud with your good grades, so if there’s something you’re able to get out of this trip, you figure you’re at least allowed to look. And anyway, it’s not hurting anyone. It’s just natural, the half-naked bodies and blissful relaxation would affect anyone who has spent the last four months cramped up in a little dorm room.

You watch Joel swim towards the beach again, rising out of the water like some sort of Poseidon sent to personally make this trip unbearable for you. You think of his reaction when you teasingly called him Daddy, and swallow.

"Fuck,“ you mumble to yourself, when he tugs on his swimming trunks so that they don’t slide over his hips, dripping water onto the dry sand all around him. He smiles at you as he makes his way over to your spot – two deckchairs shielded by a parasol.

"Wow,“ Joel says sarcastically, when he looks at your book, still on page two. "Real page turner, huh?“

You blush, and open your mouth to defend yourself, but Joel’s expression softens, all biting humor gone, as he grabs his towel.

"You’re allowed to take a break from studying, you know?“

You watch him dry himself off, big hands rubbing the towel over his chest and stomach, leaving his legs to dry on their own, as he lays down on his deckchair.

"Easy to say, you’re not the one who has to face my Dad if you fail all your exams.“

Joel turns his head towards you, and you’re struck by how gentle his expression is.

"I know he can be a hard ass, but I guarantee you you’re not goin’ to fail all your exams, kid.“

You sigh and shrug.

"He give you a hard time ’cause of your grades?“

"No,“ you answer quickly, all of a sudden feeling defensive of your father. "I just wanna…make him proud.“

Joel smiles.

"I know for a fact you’re doin’ that without even tryin’. And anyway, it’s good to take breaks. Let’s your brain cool off and absorb information much better afterwards.“

Can’t argue with that logic, you think and close your book with a thud. Joel grabs it from you and throws it into your beach bag.

"I grant you two hours of studying each day,“ he says, and you have to laugh. "The rest is for having fun, gettin’ tan and drinkin’ cocktails."

It’s preposterous, that he would order you around like that after you told him you need to study, back before you even made it to the airport. But something is different here, away from your desk, and your Dad’s broken leg (and the rest of him, for that matter). Joel and you have fallen into an easy dynamic, and although it’s unusual, your reservations are gone. You’re actually looking forward to spending time with him, and not just because of the way his belly nudges against the waistband of his swimming trunks, or how his accent seems to thicken in the sun.

"Fine,“ you say, "but you’re paying for my tuition if I do end up failing, Miller.“

He grins at you.

[pedgito]

𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | Joel's pent up, you've got ideas.

author's note | just had the urge to do some free-use/cnc stuff with softer jackson!joel, huddled into my little writing cave and came up with this. also, happy birthday to the man who's brought me so many great friends within this fandom <3

content warning | 18+ MDNI, DEAD DOVE: CNC, FREE-USE, brief aftercare, established relationship, jackson!joel, pre-arranged dynamics, dom/sub elements, mentions of safewords, facefucking & forcefucking, eating out from the back, none of this is good for joel's knees, a short game of chase, claiming kink, degradation, slapping (consensual), unprotected piv, creampies. this fic contains dark elements, if it is not your thing, continue on.

word count — 4.7k

It grows like weeds in your brain.

Joel is notoriously tightly wound and rigid. Only in the comfort of his own home do you see the softer side of him, still subdued and quiet—most of his words transferred through touches and silent facial expressions.

You’ve grown on him, opened him up in a way that most would never be able to.

You weren’t ever on his radar nor was he on yours—there was a sort of stigma around Joel, off-limits completely of his own volition, a natural recluse. You only ever really saw him with Ellie and Tommy, otherwise he was busy with patrol or a complete ghost.

It wasn’t until you’re paired up with him on patrol that something changes.

It wasn’t instantaneous either, but just as persistent with the thought in your brain as you stare at him now, leaned against the bar with a sour expression, you grew on him.

You were well-versed; starting fires, skinning animals, and knowing how to field strip your pistol with your eyes closed.

Joel witnessed it once and he’s not sure he’s ever been more entranced by something in his entire life, the genuine confusion on his face as you finally glance up at him was enough to kickstart the beginning of…whatever this was.

There weren't any explicit labels given—but if Joel wasn’t in your bed at night, you were always in his. Things were just that; happening, existing. You were settled with the fact that labels and titles weren’t of immediate concern in the grim apocalypse.

Joel’s hair is grown out and you feel the constant need to tuck it behind his ear, doing so as he eyes you carefully, jaw tight and set in place, hand gripping tight around the glass in his hand.

“I think you need an outlet,” your voice is quiet, starkly opposite of the room around you.

You’ve got your own language, communicating through silence that is cataloged through expressions and subtle emotion. He’s clearly had a bad day, a bad week, coming back to you reeking of decay and musk, traversing through rain and hoards of infected for weeks just to take out a few groups that wander too close to Jackson, riddled with cuts and bruises that you tried to convince yourself a kiss would heal it quicker.

“Let’s go,” you suggest, finger trailing down his bicep until you can pry the glass from his hands.

Joel is more than willing to be dragged away into silence, never the most chipper individual at the community events that his brother and wife insisted on holding for morale.

–

It’s strange how diplomatic the suggestion becomes, a conversation over a shared cup of coffee—Joel was running low and inherently stingy.

“That side isn’t a mystery to me,” you tell him, watching how he stares at you wearily over the cup, “I’ve seen you kill men with your bare hands. Granted, they deserved it.”

“So, you think me hurtin’ you is a better alternative?”

You sigh, shoulders shrugging. You reach forward and claw your fingers into the front of his shirt and tug, pulling him toward you slightly, face falling flat and serious.

“I’m not so easily broken, Miller,” you retort, “Besides, with this, we can set rules.”

“Rules?” 

Suddenly, he’s an echo. 

You nod—in all seriousness, you wanted him to understand.

“We’ll have a safe word, something non-verbal in case we can’t talk. There’s a mutual understanding, trust—”

“No, I know…I know how this works,” Joel interjects, “Jus’ didn’t suspect this was something you were willin’ to try is all.”

“I like your gentle side,” you assure him with a subtle smile, fingers trailing up his neck and through the stubble of his graying beard, curling around the back of his head and into his soft curls, “but I like it just as much as the rest of you.”

Joel’s silent, pensive as usual, his hand curling around the back of your neck to mimic your own touch, and he nods, “We can try it, f’it is somethin’ we both want.”

“I’m all in,” you grin wider, carefully prying the mug from his grip and placing it on the counter at your hip, “are you?”

“Game on, sweetheart,” He breathes against your mouth before he captures you in a slow kiss; the kind that makes your heart flutter with need, a floating feeling as it grows.

–

He doesn’t give you any warning, but you wanted it that way.

There had always been an understanding that Joel could have you whenever he pleased, the same extended to you—as long as it was when you were both alone.

Espresso is the word you both settle on, a vested interest in the situation.

It was the element of surprise that made it all the more enticing, both of you running on empty most days, and with the usual gentleness that Joel provides on a daily basis, you sense it as you meet his doorstep on this particular night.

He wasn’t back yet, still on his route back with Tommy. But, you knew he’d slip in at some point that night, making yourself at home with the small remnants of your presence throughout his space. 

Shoes at his front door, jacked laid over the back of his couch, the key to your house on his kitchen counter beside his owl mug, a miniscule amount of cold, brown liquid pooling at the bottom.

You leave the lights off, scouring through his cabinets for a clean cup to pour yourself a glass of water, fetching the pitcher from his fridge and vigilant to the gentle creaks of the house, heat expanding and making it snap.

It’s subtle, but something shifts.

You ignore it outright, knowing that Joel wasn’t due home yet.

You replace the pitcher and sip gingerly at the glass of water, obviously to the lingering shadow that seems to move with you, closing your eyes as your head tilts to the side, feeling a pop in your shoulder with the movement, too tense to relax.

It has been like this for the past few days.

Shitty sleeping arrangements, long nights on watch, it was hell on the body.

You hum, eyes closer as your head rolls around and forward. You slide the cup onto the surface of the counter and pull your bottom lip between your teeth and groan softly, allowing everything else to fade away before the pressure comes, sudden and unexpected.

It sends the water in your mouth out, through the hand that’s clamped tight over it.

There’s a soft yelp on your behalf and a grunt of acknowledgement, another strong hand wound tight at your wrist as they were maneuvered so easily behind your back. 

Someone was back early.

“You sure you still want this, sweetheart?”

It was the final moment of grace before you both succumbed to the deep desire of escapism. 

You nod, barely, but Joel feels the movement.

You snap into the subservience naturally.

You fight against his restraint, hearing the soft click of his tongue as he yanks against your movement, “Doors are locked,” his voice is like fire; so hot it burns, “ain’t nowhere for you to run.”

You make a small noise and force the struggle, both desperate to get out of his grip in an effort for the game to begin, but because it did hurt, though the discomfort was nice.

Your breath is uneven, heartbeat hammering in your chest as Joel’s grip tightens. 

His calloused fingers dig into the flesh of your wrists, pinning them behind your back with an ease that makes you shudder, full body.

He’s unrelenting, pressing your body flush against his, the broad plane of his chest a solid, immovable force. He’s always felt intimidating, but you’ve never been on the receiving end like this, caught and cornered.

His breath ghosts over your ear, warm and slow, a sharp contrast to the way he wrenches your hands higher up your spine, dead center on your back while your hips dig into the edge of the counter. 

A low grunt rumbles from his chest as you writhe, the feigned struggle met with nothing but amusement from him. Joel’s always been playful, though often reserved, this was the perfect way to squeeze it out of him.

“Tryin’ awful hard to get away, babygirl,” he muses, voice laced with darkness.

You bite your lip, twisting again, testing. He can feel it under the press of his palm, squeezing tighter against your cheeks. His opposite grip tightens further. A warning. A reminder.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

Your breath catches again as he shifts, pressing you firm and flat against the counter, chest parallel with the surface. The coolness seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt, a sharp contrast to the heat of him behind you, evident arousal against your ass.

 He leans in closer, his nose grazing the shell of your ear before he speaks again, “Say it,” he orders, voice just above a whisper, shirt bunched up in his hands where he has your hands held.

You swallow hard as he removes his palm for a brief moment, your fingers twitching uselessly in his grasp. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His chuckle is low, a rumble of satisfaction. “That’s right.”

His now free hand trails up your stomach, fingertips barely grazing over the fabric of your shirt before he hooks it beneath the hem and yanks it upward, manhandling you with the movement as he pulls it over your head and down your back.

You gasp, the sudden exposure sending a thrill racing through you.

Joel shifts, releasing your wrists only to catch them again a second later as he turns you to face him, this time capturing them at your stomach. He twists them together, holding them in one hand, the fabric of your shirt is ripped apart and knotted around your wrists, keeping you stuck but allowing him full mobility again.

“Color?” he asks, his tone softer, just for a moment.

You exhale shakily, the word coming easily. “Green.”

It was the first time in a few days you’re able to see him and he’s looking particularly wrecked, smelling like mulch and rain, but something so distinctly him.

His fingers tighten around your wrists as he hums in approval and tugs, “Good girl.”

The praise sinks into your skin, setting you alight in a way that has you pulling against him again, an involuntary reaction. 

His grip holds firm, an unspoken reminder of who’s in control.

Your pulse quickens, your body thrumming with anticipation as he steps back just enough to admire his work. Joel’s thumb strokes over the inside of your wrist, a fleeting moment of tenderness before his other hand grips your chin, tilting your head back so you’re forced to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but you know that look—you’ve seen it before, felt it in the quiet moments when he lets himself want.

“You remember the word too?” he asks.

You nod, pulse roaring in your ears. “Espresso.”

His lips curl into something between a smirk and a snarl.

–

The pout you form is instinctual, watching him examine you for a brief moment, admiring his work, the exquisite press of your tits where they’re trapped between your arms, wrists bound tight, the remnants of your sweats hanging low on your hips from the brief struggle.

He’s witnessed a lot of beauty in his life but nothing quite like you.

He takes a step forward which is met with you moving away, eyes wide with adrenaline and playful fear, so genuine that Joel believes it, like you’re finally seeing him for the monster he really is.

“Don’t run,” he warns, “it won’t end well for you.”

Eventually, your back hits the wall adjacent to the kitchen, beside his front door. It was locked and deadbolted—when the fuck had he managed that? You turn your head to glance but you’re met with his fingers gripping your chin, body closing in.

His hand curls around the expanse of your throat and squeezes.

The pressure is deliberate, a reminder of your helplessness as he forces you back against the wall, trapping you between the solid wood and the heat of his body. His other palm skims over your side, down your hip, a featherlight touch that has you sucking in a sharp breath.

“Breathe for me,” Joel murmurs, thumb tracing over the delicate skin just beneath your jaw.

 He watches you intently, eyes darkened from their normal caramel warmth to near black.

You exhale, slow and measured, eyes steady on him.

His hand drags lower, over your collarbone, down to your sternum, your stomach, before slipping beneath the fabric of your sweats. There’s no hesitation. His hand curls, firm and unforgiving over your cunt, fitted to the size of his girthy hand.

“You feel that?” he asks, his voice rough, and you nod jerkily, “That’s all me. You’re mine now.”

You whimper weakly as your lips part in a gasp, the claim stabbing something deep in your chest. 

He tilts his head, eyes flickering over you, taking in the ragged breath you exhale.

“Still think you can run?” he taunts, smirking, his free hand gripping your hip, squeezing hard enough to make you wince—you’re silent, defiant.

You shift, testing his hold—there was nowhere to go, really.

His smirk deepens, wicked and wildly possessive. “Go on, sweetheart. Try.”

There’s a slight pause to your movements, unsure of what was to come.

Joel nods his head to the side, urging the chase.

Without a thought, you bolt.

His footsteps don’t follow, though.

Where he stays, he strips.

Boots first, then his jacket.

He’s slow, methodical in his movements and calculated.

There’s a few rooms upstairs to choose from—the bathroom was small, confined. Naturally, your instincts lead you toward his room, knowing that inevitably he would find you, but it wouldn’t hurt to play his game.

Joel so easily slipped into whatever role you needed—or that he craved; this side of him that craved you for nothing more than your body, an animalistic need that both of you felt. You enjoyed putting up the fight, the resistance you knew he could snap with a look or a word.

“Shouldn’t be here this late,” you hear his voice carry from downstairs, “sneaking into my house at this hour, no clue what you’re walking into,” heavy footsteps despite his lack of boots, one door opening and another closing, “well—that’s just stupid.”

You bend down to your knees and attempt to crawl toward his bed, hands gripping on the underside to pull yourself out of view, but you were already too late.

There’s a rasp to his voice that you’ve never heard before, the faint jingling of his belt before the door whips open and his hands are wrapped tight around your ankles, pulling with a hefty strength he’s acquired through years of survival.

“Caught you,” he growls, dragging you by your ankles against the faded turquoise rug, “hidin’ from me ain’t gonna do you much good, darlin’.” 

You let out a breathy laugh that borders on a whimper, his presence towering over you before you feel the weight of him settle, pressing your body firmly against the hardwood. You writhe beneath him, not to escape but to incite his need further. He’s kneeling over you now, the sight of him mouthwatering but vaguely frightening, nearly unrecognizable.

Your hips shift against him, and he responds with a hand pressing your wrists above your head, pinning you like prey. The other hand roams down, curling around the band of your sweats before he’s tugging them down and out of the way, the lack of panties not even the least bit surprising for him, shaking his head in amusement.

He knows you’ve been eager for his approach, waiting, but the sight of you now and completely bare underneath him as he tossed the last remnants of your clothes away was enough to quiet the buzzing in his brain, focused intently on the heavy breathing racking your chest, hands still tightly bound, lips parted in anticipation as you watched him, still struggling against his hold.

“You can’t untie me,” you barter, “I’ll be good.”

He chuckles darkly, “Nice try—stop talkin’,”

Your mouth snaps shut at the instructions, face going expressionless as Joel hoists you upright, hands pulling at your elbows until you’re on your feet and you’re pressing against the edge of his bed, the cool sheets kissing your back.

He’s not gentle or rough, rather more firm. He flicks at your chin until you get the silent instruction to lean your head back against the edge of the bed, waiting obediently on your knees for his next move.

“If I let you go–you gonna stay put?” He asks, your eyes too focused on the hand that goes for his zipper, fingers curling around the thick denim band of his jeans, mouth pooling with saliva that begs to drip off the tongue that’s resting against your bottom lip.

The slap is sharp, surprising, but not unwelcome.

There’s a silent moment when you lock eyes that Joel fears that might’ve been a bit too much, but then your bottom lip is pulling between your teeth and you’re nodding to his question finally.

“Good—quiet, I like that,” he tells you and you can feel your body vibrating with the anticipation as he shifts his jeans down, hand dipping inside of his boxers to wrap around his cock, settling the fabric underneath balls, tightly drawn from his straining cock, angered and pulsing with a thick drop of precum at the head, chin gravitating to pull you forward almost on instinct.

Joel scowls, though, pushing you back roughly.

“Look at you, squirmin’ around all helpless and cock hungry. I didn’t tell you to fuckin’ move, did I?”

Your eyes flutter with the harsh movement as you shake your head.

“Open your mouth,” he tells you coarsely, “tongue out—yeah….yeah, there you go,” he rubs the head of his cock over your wet tongue and forcefully feeds it into your mouth, slow and mindful until it nudges against the back of your throat, keeping himself in place as your eyes search for his face.

He smirks down at you, teeth gritting with the strain, watching you struggle to take more of him as you gag around his thick girth, tears pooling in your eyes. He’s got that familiar musk of a day's work, somehow more intoxicating than his normal, sweet scent from your shared body wash.

Joel knows it’s too much. He can feel it in the way your mouth is tightening around him, nostrils flaring to hold on for just a few seconds longer, but he doesn’t care—he wants to see you like this, needs it.

When he finally jerks his hips back and pulls out, a string of saliva connects your mouth to his cock, gurgling against the tip with your chin drenched in spit, drooling shamelessly down your neck as you gasp for a breath of air.

Joel groans through clenched teeth before he’s pushing himself back into your mouth, a low and constant moan rumbling from his chest as he fucks his way into your mouth, hand curled around the top of your skull, the other gripping tight into his sheets as he leveraged the surface for tighter thrusts.

It’s dizzying, bordering on too painful as your eyes flutter shut.

“Fu—fuck,” he stutters, his thrusts faltering, “filthy fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?”

Your response is a soft hum and the gentlest shake of your head you can manage.

Defiance, clear as day.

His hand grips into the hair at the base of your scalp and tugs, holding you tight as he suddenly pulls his hips back, “Open your fuckin’ mouth,” he instructs with a raspy tone, hastily prying your mouth open with his fingers as he slides his cock over your tongue, his brow furrowed at he tugged at his cock with a harsh rhythm, white knuckling the way he’s gripped himself before he’s spilling his warm spend over your tongue, opaque liquid filling your mouth and spurting over your lips, his strangled groan caught in his throat as he comes.

“That’s right,” he seethes, his hand pressing under your chin to shut your mouth, cheeks squished together as he kneels to your level, eyes following his movements with measured anticipation, “greedy girl. Swallow it.”

At this angle it was painful, blinking rapidly as you swallowed, his hands unrelenting in their pressure until he’s satisfied, letting you go carelessly as you slump forward, bound hands pressing into the floor to catch yourself. His thumb presses against the skin of your cheek and smoothes the mess he’s left there, dragging his spit-slicked fingers over your jaw, a lazy smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, voice still rough with lust as he leans closer, “you’re a fuckin’ mess.”

You give him a lazy glare from beneath your lashes, dazed but still sharp enough to form a coherent thought, “You’re such an asshole,” Your voice is hoarse and barely audible through the evident strain of your throat, but you manage to get it out in spite of yourself.

A jab, empty with meaning, but it makes Joel smile.

“Well, I ain’t done with ‘ya,” Joel antagonizing, “think you can just make yourself at home when I’m gone, I think that deserves some punishment,”

The element of surprises is what does you in, a sudden tug forward.

There’s a tightness at your wrists as he finally reaches for the knot binding them together, rough and calloused hands skimming over your skin and sending pinpricks up your arms. The fabric loosens with his handiwork, blood rushing back into numb fingers as he bunches the makeshift binding into his hand and uses his freehand to grip your bicep, tugging you until you’re falling against the floor, gasping at the impact.

Joel seems to hesitate at that, his touch suddenly softer. You can’t see his face, but the reassurance you give him is instant.

“Green, green,” you rush out to ground him back in the present.

It does the trick, it seems.

You’re on your stomach and you can feel the press of denim at the back of your thighs as he corrals you in, arms dragging down to your elbows until he can push them up and around the leg of his bed, watching with wide eyes as he binds your wrists again, though looser, around the wood.

“Can’t have you runnin’ away before I get a taste,” Joel says from behind, hearing the faint ruffle of fabric before his shirt hits the bed, his hands curling around your hips to pull you up, ass propped up for him to feast.

And he does, hands squeezing into your cheeks as he spreads you open, moaning out lewdly as his tongue licks greedily between your folds. He works you open this way, laps of his tongue reaching inside of you as he groans against your wet heat. Your fingers dig into your palm, biting at the flesh as you suppress a shaky cry, feeling the curl of desperation low in your belly and already threatening to unravel.

It’s sickening how easily he can bring you to this point of pliancy, even when you were so eagerly trying to resists, “Please,” you cry, “I can’t—please,”

“Say it,” he encourages once, reminding you that there was always control, but without the indication, he wasn’t going to let up.

You shake your head in defiance, “Fuck you,” you spit.

It doesn’t take long, either. 

Joel chuckles because he knows you well enough to read the rhythm of your breathing, the shallow way your stomach shudders when you’re getting close. You feel every inch of him, skin and warmth and breath until it’s building and—

“Fuck!” A choked off cry as your head falls forward, body vibrating against the wood.

“Oh I know you got more than that in ya,” he taunts from between your thighs, the heat of his words sending another shock through you, more ruffling of fabric before his cock is heavy against the back of your thigh, hands kneading into supple flesh as he rubs the head through your folds before spearing inside of you with one sharp movement, and he sighs, “there she is.”

You let out a weak gasp, your body stretching around the thickness of him, searing heat and pressure making your mind go deliciously blank. You can barely catch your breath; he knocks it out of you with every forceful thrust, drowns you in the sound of skin slapping against skin.

The filthy wet noises that fill the space between gasping moans.

It’s relentless, primal. 

He's everywhere, all at once, until there's nothing left but—

Joel. Joel. Joel.

“You’d let me do damn near anything to ‘ya,” he taunts, “helpless little girl without me, ain’t that right? Go on, tell me to stop.”

You whimper as his hand strikes your ass, demanding an answer.

He practically growls with insatiable hunger, the sound rumbling from his chest as he thrusts into you without restraint, “Speak when you’re spoken, too,” he bites, “open that fuckin’ mouth.”

“No—no," you sob, barely coherent.

“See?” he grunts as his hand slides around you to grip the base of your throat, tilting your head up and holding you against him while his cock hits devastating inside of you, silently undoing the bindings as he pulls you back against his chest, “Knew you could do it.”

It’s too much, the striking, brutal pleasure threatening to suffocate you. 

You feel so immeasurably full of him and still—he’s not letting up.

Joel’s breath is ragged in your ear, sweat-slicked chest against your back. He presses against that spot inside of you with his cock and your vision goes white-hot. The sound that rips out of you is undeniable, pure pleasure.

“Shit,” he curses, “this all you needed? Huh? Me fuckin’ you like I own you?”

His fingers are still around your neck, tightening, and you can only sob in agreement as everything unwinds inside of you. His grip drives you against him, faster, harder, each push a little more desperate as he chases you into the crest of your second orgasm with his fingers drifting over your clit, the touch enough to end you on the spot.

“Gonna make me come again,” he warns roughly, unable to hide the strain in his voice.

Your whole body clenches around him at the promise and he lets out a weak grunt.

“Fuck,” he snarls, “come on, babygirl—do it. Do it for me.”

You’re too far gone to do anything but comply.

The pleasure explodes in your core as his thumb works like magic against you. He feels impossibly deep, and you cry out one last time as everything snaps and sends you over the edge.

Inside of you, Joel lets out a vicious growl as your body milks him for all he has to offer, his hips driving into you with punishing force while he spills hot into your cunt.

Eventually, his pace slows.

His grip on your throat gentles and he pulls out before collapsing next to you, breathless and heaving. He doesn't even bother making it to the bad, arm tucking under his head as you slump against his chest.

“Goddamn,” Joel mutters, the facade fading immediately, heaving through ragged gasps, dragging you into him, “c’mere, baby.”

Your smile is obvious, giddy—Joel can’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“I think you enjoyed that a little too much,” Joel tells you, “s’good—we okay?”

“Peachy,” you reply without hesitation, taking note of his insistent touch, much gentler than a few minutes ago, “are you okay?”

“A little worried,” he admits, “didn’t know if I was bein’ too rough with you.”

“I would have told you,” you tell him honestly, pressing a kiss to his stomach from where you rest, before you playfully add, “and if we’re being honest—next time, don’t go so easy on me."

The look Joel gives you is hot—red hot; like a fire.

Joel nods dutifully, beckoning you upwards, “Ain’t nobody gonna touch you but me,” he promises, drawing your face up to his, “and I’m gonna make damn sure you won’t ever want ‘em to.”

As if there was anyone comparable to Joel.

Your soft grin told him all he needed to know.

There wasn’t.

[cake-writes]

Just This Once

Pairing: Kakashi x Female!Reader

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, he gets lost in the sauce frfr, situationship… ish?, this man wants to RUN, disorganised attachment style (primarily avoidant), penis in vagina sex, teasing, edging (accidental), unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Kakashi discovers that he has a breeding kink. It's kind of a spiritual experience.

Inspired by @rookie98writes's fic Leave It On

—

Kakashi isn’t used to the strange sort of domesticity that comes with being in a... whatever this is. It’s not quite a relationship. A situationship, maybe. He’d say it’s something more than friends-with-benefits, but the two of you aren’t really friends, either.  

You come together every now and then. That’s all. Like two passing ships in the night. 

So why is he standing in front of your stove, cooking dinner while you sort through the pile of unopened mail on your kitchen table? Why did he offer to water your plants while you were gone? Why does he want to do anything for you? 

Kakashi knows what it’s like trying to play catch-up after some time away from home—two months, in your case. He’d knocked on your door a few minutes ago with the intention of returning your key, and he must have caught you right after you got back from the store if the two bags of groceries on your kitchen counter were any indication. 

You looked so dead on your feet that Kakashi took over from there, unprompted. But now, as he stirs the pot of flavourful soup simmering away on the stove, his mind sees fit to wander.  

What the hell is he doing?  

He’s getting too attached. That’s what he’s doing.  

It’s that time again—time to cut and run, just as he always does when things start to become complicated. Kakashi makes a habit of ending any potential connection before it can even start, because he can’t afford to lose anyone else. He can’t get hurt if he never lets anyone in. It’s easier that way. 

“I need to schedule my injection,” you mutter to yourself as you read through one particular letter. Then you sigh and toss it back down onto the table, before you lean back in your chair and rub your tired eyes. “We should probably get used to using condoms again until I can book an appointment.” 

Your birth control must be overdue, then.  

“Sure,” Kakashi answers, feigning unbothered. The two of you used condoms in the beginning, but after a particularly gruesome mission that nearly saw him home in a box, Kakashi stopped reaching for the bedside drawer, and you stopped asking him to.  

He should have known then that he was getting too attached. 

Still, it’s your body. Whatever you want. He’ll end things in the morning either way. 

As Kakashi samples a bit of the soup he’s minding on the stove, pausing for a moment to add a bit more salt, it suddenly sinks in – really sinks in – what could happen if the two of you aren’t careful.  

He could get you pregnant. 

A jolt of arousal shoots through him.

Kakashi doesn’t want children, not now, not ever, which is why it doesn’t make a lick of sense that such a thing would turn him on. He likes the idea of his seed taking root inside of you. He might even enjoy it, the imagery his mind conjures—you bent over for him, begging him to give you a baby, your pretty yukata hiked up around your waist…  

His clan crest embroidered on the back of it.  

Kakashi swears.

You startle, looking over at him in alarm. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he lies. Then he proceeds to play it off like he burned himself, but he isn’t fine. No, that single thought, that single fantasy, scares the complete and utter shit out of him—but it turns him on even more, and that’s so much worse.  

He’s already too attached. 

—

Kakashi doesn’t do feelings. He has them, of course, much like any other person, but he doesn’t let them show very often, and he certainly doesn’t talk about them. He won’t say in so many words that he cares; instead, he shows you through his actions alone. 

His knees brush the underside of your thighs as he settles between your legs, bracing himself with one hand beside your head.  

What a vision you make, spread out for him like this.  

Your lamp had blown when you went to turn it on, leaving the streetlights to illuminate your features in a sickly hue of yellow-green. It isn’t romantic in the least, but he can’t help thinking that you’ve never looked more beautiful than in this moment—maybe because it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this.  

The sight of you, so needy and wanting, fills his chest with something bittersweet.  

The tomoe of his sharingan spins lazily as he memorises the curves of your body, the muss of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest as you work to recover from your first orgasm of the night. His fingers are still tacky with your essence, and he smears the residual wetness over the head of his cock.

“You should wear a condom,” comes your breathy whisper, but you make no move to stop him. Your eyes almost seem to glow as you peer up at him in the dark, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. 

“Mm. Do you want me to?” 

His question hangs heavy in the air. The only things Kakashi can hear are your soft breaths and the sound of his own steady heartbeat, which quickens with every silent second that passes.  

You want to say no, he realises.  

He wants you to say no. 

“I like it better without,” you answer quietly, and the implication isn’t lost on him. Not when you look up at him with those big doe eyes, like you don’t know the risk. 

Because there is a risk, and he knows it. Kakashi hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all night—wicked thoughts, terrible thoughts—thoughts of filling your fertile womb with his seed, thoughts of watching your belly grow round with his child, thoughts of seeing his clan sigil stamped between your shoulder blades like a mark of ownership. 

His.  

Against his better judgement, Kakashi does exactly what he shouldn’t do. He agrees.

“Just this once.”  

Just like he says every other time—except every other time, there's never been a risk.

Your coy little smile prompts him to lower down onto an arm and settle more of his weight on you. Kakashi dips his head to kiss you indulgently, savouring the taste of you, the feel of you beneath him. He kisses you like he hopes to convey just how much he missed you while you were gone, like you might be able to taste the unspoken words that linger in his mouth. 

He kisses you like he means it—and he does. That’s why he needs to go. 

As his tongue twines with yours, Kakashi fills you in a slow, beautiful glide that wrenches a whimper from your throat. He knows he should go easy on you, but he relishes in the rapid flutter of your walls as you struggle to adjust to him after so much time apart. A surge of masculine pride washes over him, tinged with a hint of guilt for stretching you open like this. He isn’t exactly small, after all, but you take him so well. 

To ease any potential discomfort, he smooths his hand up the silky skin of your thigh in a soothing caress, before he trails gentle, placating kisses along your jawline. “Is this okay?” Kakashi asks, voice low, only to be rewarded with a particularly strong contraction that makes his toes curl. 

“More than okay,” you sigh. 

As a test, he shifts his hips. When Kakashi hears your breath hitch, he knows that you can handle more.  

He starts slow, rocking into you sensually, but he already knows that he isn’t going to last. It’s been just as long for him, and you’re tighter than you’ve ever been.  

“God, Kakashi, you feel so good.”  

So do you. Kakashi sucks a bruise on your neck in response, if only to muffle the sound of his own pleasure when your perfect cunt clenches around him again.  

He needs to pace himself, or he’ll finish too soon—but then you ask him for more, and what else can he do but oblige you?

He speeds up, not overly so, just enough that both of you can hear the slick, sloppy sounds of your lovemaking. The smell of your arousal permeates the air, and he’s tempted to have another taste. 

Later. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs into your ear. “Did you miss me that much?” 

Maybe he’s reassurance-seeking – just a little – but your answering whine tells him what he already knows. 

He’ll miss this. He’ll miss you. That’s why he needs to go. 

Kakashi doesn't want to think about that. He just wants to enjoy what little time with you he has left.

“Stay with me,” you rasp. You’ve always been good at noticing when he’s stuck in his head, but right now, Kakashi can’t help but wonder if you’ve just read his thoughts. You see through him so easily. It’s one of the things he likes about you. 

“Sorry,” he says with genuine apology, leaning in to capture your lips again. You let out a pleased hum into his mouth and lift your thighs up a little higher—an offering, one he’s more than happy to accept, even if he doesn’t plan to reciprocate your vulnerability.

It’s selfish, he knows. 

The new angle does something to him, or maybe it’s because he's well aware that it would be even easier to fill you up this way. He reaches deeper like this, and the tilt of your hips would perfectly hold his cum in place, increasing the chances that it’ll take. 

He wants it to take. 

Kakashi exhales a long, shaky breath. He shouldn’t want that as much as he does. He shouldn’t want it at all.  

“Close?”  

Yes, but he’s not going to tell you that. Kakashi pulls back to look at you, only to find you gazing up at him like he’s hung the moon. It makes his heart ache.  

He stamps it down. “I could be,” he teases lightly—a non-answer. “Are you?” 

When you open your mouth to respond, however, he snaps his hips forward suddenly to make you trip over your words. “I—shit,” you swear, and his eyes shine with silent laughter. Your own narrow playfully as you add, “I could be too, if you keep that up.”  

“Really?” 

To pick on you a little, Kakashi withdraws from your tight heat more slowly than he has all night, agonisingly slowly, until only the head of him remains inside; and then he lingers there, purposely, until the stirrings of impatience start to take you over.  

It’s cute, the frown you give him, the pout he sees beginning to form. “Don’t be mean,” you tell him sulkily. 

His lips tug up at the corners, revealing a hint of prominent canine. “Maa, I didn’t realise you were in a rush,” Kakashi drawls. “And here I wanted to take my time with you.”  

Before you can read too much into what he’s just said, he slams home. Hard.

Your startled gasp brings on a flicker of self-satisfaction deep within. Kakashi relishes in the knowledge that only he can make you feel like this—especially when he starts to fuck you in earnest, prompting you to fling your arms around his shoulders.  

“F-Fuck, Kakashi, oh my god—” 

“That’s it,” he encourages gently. “Hold onto me.”

He likes the closeness of it, the intimacy.

You cling to him like your life depends on it, which brings about a funny feeling in his chest that he can’t quite shake—something warm and gooey and affectionate.  

Kakashi stamps that down, too, and traces the line of your neck with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin until you shiver. Seeing your throat so littered with love bites unearths something within him, something primal that he’s always refused to name. He likes seeing the marks he’s left on you. He wants them to mean something.

He wants them to mean that you’re his. 

He’s too attached. 

To distract himself from what he intends to do in the morning, Kakashi picks up the pace, flesh smacking against flesh as he drives his hips into yours, fast and rough, exactly how you want it.  

It won't last long. He’s too worked up. 

Kakashi knows he’ll come before you do if he continues like this, but when he tries to slow down, you dig your heels insistently into his ass. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, please—” 

“I’ll have to pull out soon,” he says raggedly, even though the thought of finishing in you already has him ready to blow.

When Kakashi feels you lock your ankles behind him, he nearly does.  

“I want it inside,” you whine, your breath fanning hot over the shell of his ear.  

His thoughts screech to a halt. You want him to come inside you, knock you up— 

“Fuck,” he curses, stopping abruptly, buried all the way to the hilt. His cock throbs wildly, desperate for release, forcing him to tightly grip the the sheets above your head in order to stave it off. 

If he moves right now, he’s done for.  

When you make a quiet, frustrated sound deep in your throat and wiggle your hips, Kakashi barely manages to hang on. He can feel that tell-tale flutter inside of you, the one that indicates exactly how close you are, but he’s closer. His breaths come out in short, sharp pants as he tries to hold himself together.  

You finish first. Always. 

“Don’t be mean,” you say again, but you sound a little more petulant this time.  

Kakashi lets out an exhausted sort of laugh and presses a wet smack of a kiss against your cheek, making you giggle. “You like it when I’m mean.”  

“I like it when you’re nice,” you clap back, voice breathy. 

Kakashi hums knowingly. “All right. I can be nice.”  

Then he pulls back just enough to pepper your face with kisses, and you squeal in delight, though it soon tapers off into a moan when he starts to trail them down your throat, each one more sensual than the last. He palms one of your breasts, gently squeezing, tweaking a nipple— 

“Come on,” you whine, digging your heels into his ass a second time. 

No more teasing. You want him to be nice.

You inhale sharply when Kakashi picks back up where he left off, this time with quick, shallow thrusts that target your g-spot. He smooths his hand down your side, savouring the softness of your skin, then he slides it in between your bodies to rub your clit in just the way you like—the way he remembers you like, because he’s too fucking attached. And sure enough, when your hips buck from the added sensation, he knows that it’s working for you. 

“If you—If you edge me again, I swear to god—” 

Upon hearing the indignation in your voice, Kakashi laughs softly. “I won’t.” 

Then he remembers that he won’t have a chance to edge you again. Not after tonight. 

His jaw tenses at the reminder. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you gasp, holding onto him, needing him, which pulls him right back into the present. “Come with me. Please?” 

Kakashi bites back a groan and slides in deeper, readying to do what his body craves. 

No. He can’t come with you. He’d have to finish inside in order for that to happen. 

And just like that, he’s back to teetering on the edge. The filth his mind conjures nearly proves to be his undoing—a vivid image of your tight, wet cunt wringing out every drop of his cum until it takes, tying you to him, making you need him. Making you his. The threat of it simmers under his skin, but it’s starting to feel more like a guarantee. 

Get her there, then pull out. 

Kakashi repeats those words in his head like a mantra, over and over, like it’ll ensure that he lasts, and it works—at least until you start to move your hips in time with his thrusts. You meet him at the perfect angle, sucking him deep on every stroke, allowing him to slide just beyond your cervix and into that spot that sends your voice into a fever pitch. 

A choked sob escapes you as you rake your nails down his back, leaving red lines in your wake. The sting of it only sends him higher, and he sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder to prevent himself from blowing too soon. 

“Right there, Kakashi, right fucking there—” 

Right there, so deep within you that if he came right now— 

He groans when he imagines what would happen, and it all ends with his baby in your belly and his family crest on your back. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, yet he fucks into you with purpose, now—hard, deep, powerful thrusts that knock your headboard into the wall. 

Kakashi knows exactly what that purpose is. The primal part of his brain won’t let him forget it. 

“Yes, just like that, fuck me, make me fucking yours—” 

He kisses you to shut you up, because if he hears another syllable, he’s sure to fill you to the brim. It’s not a gentle kiss, not now. He holds your head in place with a firm grip on your jaw, shoves his tongue into your mouth, and still, he recites his mantra. 

Get her there, then pull out.  

Get her there, then pull out.  

Get her there, then—  

You jerk your head away to gulp in a breath of fresh air, chest heaving from exertion, and Kakashi’s eyes sweep over your face for any sign of discomfort. What he finds is the opposite, and he drinks in the pleasured scrunch of your brows, the hazy flutter of your eyelids, the kiss-swollen state of your lips. 

Watching your muscles tense and strain as you struggle to keep your eyes on his is one of the most intimate things he’s ever experienced. “Come inside me,” you beg, and he can hear the desperation there, see it written all over your pretty face. “I need it, I fucking need it, Kakashi, give me your cum—” 

“I’ll give it to you,” he chokes out. Anything for you. Anything you want. 

The way your fingers wrench into his hair belies a hunger that matches his own as you drag him down for another kiss, messy and insistent, demanding that he make good on his promise to pump you full. He can feel the ripple of your inner walls as you come undone, feel the painfully tight squeeze of your legs around his waist, holding him there, ensuring that he stays; and never in his life has he felt so overwhelmed.  

He can’t pull out. Not now. Not when you’re so willing to milk him dry. 

Kakashi kisses you with everything that he is as he shoves himself impossibly deep inside of you, acting solely on instinct to drown your cervix in hot, sticky spend. He lets out a sound of pure male satisfaction that you eagerly swallow down, your tongue massaging his in tune with every erratic jerk of his hips as he empties himself inside of you, painting your insides white.

It feels good. It feels right. 

He’s too attached. 

He doesn’t care. 

As he comes down from his high, all Kakashi can think about is how fucking risky it is, what he’s just done, which only ruins him more when the post-orgasm clarity finally hits. 

Why the hell did he do that?  

What the hell did he do?

Your thighs tremble and shake, a sign that he’s done his job well, though he feels no pride in it—just a growing sense of panic.  

He needs to go. He needs to go right now. Not tomorrow. Now. He needs to get the hell out of here and never look back, right fucking now.  

Then he hears your quiet sob, and his heart leaps into his throat. Kakashi jerks his head down to look at you, and when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, he actually does panic.  

“Did I—Shit,” he quickly pulls out to check on you, more attentive than he’s ever been, “Did I hurt you?” 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s accidentally hurt a woman during sex, but he really should have taken it easier on you. He probably went too deep, hit your cervix too hard. 

“No,” you sniffle. “I’m fine. I just... I really missed you.” 

Fuck. Don’t say that. You’ll make him want to stay.  

His eyes soften as they trail over your features – the colour of your irises, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips – and he gently smooths your tears away with the backs of his fingers. “I didn’t hurt you?” 

You shake your head and offer him a watery smile. “I also came really, really hard,” you add matter-of-factly, and he huffs out a relieved laugh. It’s hormonal, then. “They’re happy tears, Kakashi. Calm down.” 

Teasing or not, someone telling him of all people to calm down is an otherworldly experience. The phrase lands strangely, and for the first time since he came to see you tonight, his thoughts quiet down to a dull background murmur. 

They’re happy tears, you said. 

You’re happy with him. 

He’s happy with you, too. He doesn’t want to go. 

You frown, then, and lean up onto your elbows to look at him more closely. “What’s wrong?”  

Kakashi can’t be sure what you see in his expression to warrant that sort of question, but the fight finally leaves him. He sits back on his heels and drags a hand down his face, feeling defeated for a reason he can’t explain.  

“I was just...” Happy, for a moment. Happy to be with you. “Worried,” he finishes lamely. He can’t look at you, not when he feels the heat of a blush creeping up his neck. 

You laugh and gently cup the side of his face, turning him back towards you. “Okay. Well, I’m fine,” you pat his cheek in playful reprimand, “but I am leaking all over my clean sheets, and it’s your fault, so...”  

That draws his attention. When Kakashi sees the creamy mess spilling out of you, his flaccid cock twitches with interest even after he remembers why his stomach is in knots.  

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely, transfixed by the sight. 

He wants to do it again.

He shouldn’t want to do it again. He feels fucking crazy for having done it once already, when the two of you aren’t even in a relationship, let alone in any way prepared for a child. But again? A second time? He’d have to be certifiably insane. 

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, and Kakashi wonders how the hell you can possibly be taking it so in stride. He came a lot. There’s so much of it dripping out onto the sheets that it’s starting to create a small puddle under your ass, and there’s even more inside of you—a lot more, judging by how hard he came. 

It might take. It might seriously take, and you think it’s fine? 

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him, and his eyes snap back up to yours. He’s in his head again, you mean. Then you chew your lip for a moment, hesitation evident, before you ask carefully, “You’ve been acting a little… off tonight. Is everything okay?”  

Every single one of his instincts is telling him to run. That’s where this conversation always leads, but he’s not ready for it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

He swallows the lump in his throat. “I’m fine.” 

When you frown at him, skeptical, Kakashi shifts uncomfortably under your gaze.  

“Okay. I won’t pry. But, um, I’m here. You know. If you ever need to talk.” You say it a little awkwardly, like you aren’t sure if he’d be offended by the suggestion, and the worried crease between your brows only grows at whatever you see in his expression. “Or... Or not.” 

You laugh nervously, then, and shift away from him, only to wrinkle your nose when more of his cum oozes out of you.  

It’s cute. You’re cute. 

“You said it’s fine. Why?” The question leaves him before he even thinks it through, but it’s too late, now.  

“What?” 

This wasn’t the first time he’s come inside of you, not by a long shot, but it’s certainly the riskiest. “I finished inside. Aren’t you upset?” 

“What do you mean? You finish inside me all the—” Then you stop, and your brows shoot straight up onto your forehead. “Wait, is this about my birth control?”  

“Well, it’s overdue, isn’t it?”  

You stare at him for a prolonged moment, and he can almost see the gears turning in your head. Then your nostrils flare. “Are you kidding me? You thought my birth control was overdue, and you still—” Scandalised, you slap him on the arm. “Kakashi!” 

Oh. Well. It must not be overdue yet, then. 

Of course you wouldn’t let him come inside if there was a chance that you might conceive. He’s a fucking idiot. 

“That’s so bad! What if you got me pregnant?” 

A lick of heat shoots up his spine upon hearing you give voice to what’s been on his mind all night. Kakashi stares at you, wide eyed, and blushes all the way to the tips of his ears.  

You study his face for a moment, before you purse your lips, looking a little troubled. Or pissed off. He can’t really tell. “I mean... Did you want to get me pregnant?” 

“No,” he rushes to say, his cheeks burning hot because yes, he did, but not for real.  “No. Not at all. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, and...”  

And how the hell is he supposed to explain himself? Neither of you are exactly vanilla, you’ve explored a number of kinks together, but this is something else entirely. Then again, a breeding kink would make the most sense out of any, considering it stems from a biological urge to procreate. 

But would you even believe him if he said he only gets off to the fantasy of it, and not the reality? Because if a woman ever said that to him, he’d get the hell out of dodge as fast as he could. 

A sly smile tugs at your lips, then, a knowing smile, and Kakashi quickly averts his eyes to the window, embarrassed. 

“You like it, don’t you?” you hum, seductively walking your fingers along his bare shoulders. “You like the idea of knocking me up.” 

Refusing to look at you, Kakashi clears his throat, trying to ignore the arousal that comes on from your suggestive tone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“No?” The sheets rustle as you reposition yourself, and then, when your fingers delicately wrap around his cock, he inhales sharply and bites the inside of his cheek. “Then why are you so hard?”  

And he is, too. He’s already fully erect and ready for another round, and he knows that there’s no way to lie his way out of it anymore. As you start to work your hand over him in slow, sensual strokes, up and down, coaxing the answer out of him, his head drops back. “Because,” he rasps.  

The sheets shift again, and then you crawl into his lap. He welcomes you gladly, splaying his hand over your lower back to steady you, though he still can’t meet your gaze. He’s too embarrassed. 

“Because why?” you hum. Kakashi lets out a pleasured sigh as you kiss and suck your way up the side of his neck, stroking him steadily, before you purr into his ear, “Because you want to give me a baby?” 

A soft sound of approval rips out of his throat, and his cock twitches into your palm. “Don’t—Don’t say that,” he pleads. 

“Hm? Why not?” 

To hell with it. No sense in hiding it anymore. “Because I might actually do it.” 

“Yeah?” Your teeth tug playfully at his earlobe before you pull back to look at him, and Kakashi finally wills himself to meet your sultry gaze, humiliated though he is. “You know,” you muse, “I don’t like condoms for a reason. I wonder why?” 

The breath leaves his lungs with a whoosh.

Oh, he should have known. You’re just as filthy as he is. Of course you’d have a breeding kink, too, though he’s exceedingly grateful that you’d kept it to yourself until now. You’ve never been shy about sharing the things you enjoy, which means you probably figured out how he’d react. That’s the only explanation. 

He likes that you understand him as well as you do. 

He likes you.

“I think I might be able to guess,” Kakashi says knowingly, a smile playing at his lips. When he leans in to kiss you again, all he can think is: maybe it’s not a bad thing to be too attached. 

-

Snippet #1:

“You said it was overdue,” Kakashi tells you pointedly.

“No, I said I needed to make an appointment,” you correct, and he can see that you’re struggling not to laugh. “I still have, like, a week left on it. Ish. It doesn’t hurt to be careful.” 

While you cook breakfast for the two of you, Kakashi wraps his arms around your waist from behind and traces the shell of your ear with his tongue.  “What if I don’t want to be careful?”  

He feels the shiver wrack your body, but then you do laugh at him. “Down, boy. Three rounds wasn’t enough for you?” 

“Oh, I don’t know...” Kakashi pulls you back against him, allowing you to feel the answer for yourself, hard and insistent against your ass. “You tell me.” 

-

Snippet #2:

Kakashi hides his face in your pillow, feeling distinctly vulnerable without his mask. “Don’t tease me,” he groans, muffled. “I have a delicate constitution.” 

You cackle at his discomfort, like the cruel woman you are. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I’m really, really curious.” Then you hum thoughtfully. “Do you want to know one of mine?” 

He lifts his head just enough to reveal one curious eye. 

You squirm a little, then, like you’re finally starting to realise exactly how embarrassing it is to talk about. “I, um...” A pause. “So, you know how...” Another pause, and you take a deep breath. “Okay. I like to imagine that I'm being used to—to repopulate a clan, I guess. Just, over and over. Lots of kids. But not for real.” 

He feels another jolt of arousal at your admission. 

Looks like you’re on the same page, then. 

Then Kakashi leans up onto his elbow to regard you properly, and then he lifts an eyebrow, as if to point out how closely that particular fantasy hits to home. 

That’s when you seem to realise who you’re talking to – the sole remaining member of a clan that could probably stand to be repopulated – and your eyes go wide, before you nearly trip over yourself to add, “It—It has nothing to do with your clan, specifically, Kakashi, it’s just—” 

“A fantasy,” he finishes for you, amused. 

 You worry your lip between your teeth and nod. 

“Well,” Kakashi says, considering his answer for a moment, “I might have imagined that, too. Specifically.” Then he gives you a roguish grin, intending to pay you back in kind for your teasing. “How many children do you think would be enough for my clan to be sufficiently repopulated, hm? I’m thinking eight.” 

Mortified, you bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god! Eight?” 

Payback’s a bitch. “Well, I was originally going to say ten, but—” 

When you squeal in embarrassment and yank the blankets over your head, Kakashi barely manages to stifle a laugh.  

—

A/N: This is the first thing I've posted in a hot minute, so your feedback would mean a lot - please let me know what you think :)

[uvobreakmylegs]

Waiting

part 2 of the Cute Hunter!reader fic but from the perspective of a different troupe member

Part 1 (Chrollo x reader)

Phinks x Cute Hunter!reader

Warnings: captivity, angst, death, body horror, this is a Phinks x reader fic but there's still Chrollo x reader moments

Word Count: 12.8k

Phinks saw Chrollo standing alone, waiting at the top of a short flight of stairs that lead to the entrance of a lone house which stood amid a nearby forest and long open fields. No doubt he had sensed the enhancer coming. There weren't any other structures in sight, and the last time Phinks remembered seeing any sort of home outside of the one he was currently looking at was several miles back along the route he had taken. Being able to tell that someone was approaching would've been easy.

The long car ride Phinks had embarked on came to an end when he stopped in the driveway, and after he collected the plastic bag that had been sitting in the front seat next to him during the entirety of the drive, the blonde stepped out of the car and slammed the door firmly behind him. He then paused for a moment, observing the area that surrounded him.

The multitude of various types of flowers which decorated the area in front of the house caught his attention first. Starting beneath the front porch and heading down the slight incline, rows of flowers stretched across the area, the colors consisting largely of red, orange and yellow. What any of those kinds of flowers were called, he couldn't even begin to guess – he'd never been the type of guy to care about things like that. Chrollo probably didn't care too much about them either. In fact, the entire picture of the home felt weird since it didn't seem to fit with Chrollo's typical aesthetic.

Though it did fit perfectly with yours.

Taking one last glance at the flowers while approaching Chrollo, Phinks noted the section towards one end of the flower bed that was barren as only dirt took up the space.

That seemed a bit odd.

He quickly turned his attention away as he approached the stairs.

“Hello, Phinks,” Chrollo said as the enhancer came closer.

“Hey boss,” Phinks said in turn.

Phinks stopped upon reaching the porch, the plastic bag in his hand swinging slightly as he came to a halt.

“Sorry if this was a bit too last minute,” the blonde said, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head.

“Not at all,” Chrollo said, “it's good to see you again.”

Phinks raised a brow in question.

“It hasn't been that long since we last saw each other.”

“No, but I'm always happy to see you and the others outside of jobs.”

Chrollo leaned against one of the pillars of the porch as he added “and I think this visit from you will be good for them.”

He hadn't needed to specify who he was talking about for Phinks to understand who he meant, and as he was once more reminded of the purpose of this visit, he unconsciously shifted his grip on the plastic bag in his hand.

That action drew Chrollo's gaze downward, noting the object held within with curiosity and slight fascination – it was the entire reason why Phinks had requested this impromptu meeting with you.

“I have to admit, I was surprised when you told me that you managed to get one of those,” he said.

“Same here, honestly. I wasn't expecting to come across one.”

“How did you find it?” Chrollo asked.

“Completely by chance,” Phinks replied, looking down at the bag briefly as he said “some arms dealer had it. Said he'd give me a good price when he caught me staring at it.”

Chrollo looked back up to him as he asked “did you actually pay for it?”

“Of course not. I beat the shit out of him and took it.”

Chrollo chuckled as he said “taking after Uvo again, I see.”

“I'm not that bad,” Phinks huffed, “but the guy pissed me off so I decided not to pay him.”

“But you left him alive?”

“Yeah, but I'm not worried about retaliation. That guy will be too focused on recovering to worry about me.”

“It must have been quite the beat down, then,” Chrollo commented.

“Not really. It was a couple hits at most. Even for a non nen user, that guy was weak,” Phinks answered.

Chrollo chuckled again.

“I'll trust your judgment, then. But if you are hunted down for what you did, I'll expect you to take care of it if there's any interference with troupe business,” Chrollo said, though his tone was more lighthearted than serious.

“If we do have trouble because of that, I'll take care of it,” Phinks answered, “or I'll send Uvo to go do it. It doesn't take much for him to join a fistfight.”

Chrollo hummed in agreement.

Then the boss stepped aside, motioning to the interior of the home with his head as he said “please, come in.”

Phinks nodded.

Chrollo again motioned for Phinks to follow, and then the two men entered the home, cutting through a few different rooms as Chrollo led the way to the back of the structure. The inside matched more with what he knew of Chrollo's tastes, Phinks noted to himself. Lots of art, elegant looking furniture, and several different bookshelves that were filled with what were likely old and very pricey books. There were a few different pieces, both books and art alike, that he recognized had come from previous heists. Pieces that would likely be gone from the home within a matter of months once Chrollo tired of them, though there was a slight chance that some of them might stay permanently if his leader felt strongly enough for them.

But mixed in with all of that were little signs of you.

Often it came in the form of a pop of color that stood out against the deep, rich shades of Chrollo's normal aesthetic, and always in the form of some sort of plant life, sitting among or next to the expanse of a largely stolen collection. The flowers he could see were a mix of the colors you tended to use most often: pink, yellow, purple and white. All different types of flowers, and once again none of which were ones that Phinks knew the name of.

But maybe he should try to learn at some point. For you.

“Where are they?” Phinks asked when he didn't see you.

“Outside, around the back,” Chrollo answered.

Phinks' brows furrowed in question.

“Outside? Alone?”

“It's fine. They know now what's expected of them.”

Chrollo stopped before a pair of sliding glass doors that opened up to the backyard, and beyond a wooden deck attached to the home, Phinks caught sight of a figure that was sitting in the middle of an open field. His grip on the bag tightened a fraction when he looked at you; even with how far away you were, there was a sense of gloom that surrounded you.

“How's it been with them?” Phinks asked.

“I wish I could say that they've been a bit more accepting,” Chrollo answered as he slid open one door, “but even though they don't fight me on everything, there's still too much resistance on their part. They'll listen, but only begrudgingly.”

Phinks' face fell slightly as he asked “should I not go, then?”

“No, you should. You came all this way to see them, after all. And perhaps seeing you will encourage good behavior.”

But before he stepped back, Chrollo glanced over at the enhancer as he said “I'm sure I don't need to tell you not to mention what happened the other week.”

“I figured, boss.”

After hearing that, Chrollo stepped aside, allowing Phinks unhindered access to the outdoors. The blonde obliged, stepping forward and making his way to where you sat.

Having once again returned to the outdoors, Phinks once again found himself looking at the details in the area that surrounded him. Stepping down from the stairway of the backyard deck, he noticed what appeared to be a small vegetable garden to his right. More of your work, he assumed. Being able to grow food from anything was a handy aspect of your ability, he had to admit. With that, you'd never go hungry.

Having something like that would've been nice when you were all growing up in Meteor City, he noted to himself.

It was definitely a better way to use it than your whole thing with the flowers.

Speaking of which, the field that he was walking into was barren of them, as when he glanced about again, all he could see was green grass. That felt odd. In the other places where you'd lived with Chrollo, you made a point to fill up as much of the area as you could with flowers, much like the way you had added greenery to the inside. Much like the way you had decorated the front of the house, actually, though that too had a space that was oddly empty. Clearly you had started on that at one point, so it was strange that you hadn't continued, out front or back here.

Did Chrollo not give your ability back until today?

If that was the case, then it was better not to say anything.

Phinks was able to see more as he came closer to where you were sitting – the way you sat with your legs crossed, the way your fingers grasping at a wild patch of grass that stood next you and the way you stared absentmindedly at the clouds overhead while the breeze ruffled your clothing. It felt slightly picturesque, with you being in the middle of the nature you loved so much, even if it did seem weird that you hadn't yet decorated the field with flowers.

What kind would you choose if you did?

The enhancer found his mind blanking on an answer. The basic flower names that he knew off the top of his head probably weren't ones that you would choose.

Turning his attention back to you, he found that from where he was currently, you looked a bit better than you had the last time he'd seen you.

He frowned to himself.

The last time he'd seen you, you had been blinking back tears and glaring at him when he tried to come close, silently making it clear that you didn't want anything to do with him. While the way in which you pushed him away from you had hurt, he did what you wanted, not wanting to agitate you further.

But maybe now you'd be okay with him coming close.

Phinks continued to walk towards you, his gaze never straying from where you sat in the middle of that field. He saw the moment when you noticed him – though you didn't turn around to look at him, you stiffened slightly as you sensed his presence. While you clearly knew he was there, you didn't acknowledge him, keeping yourself turned away from him while your gaze fell down to your lap.

That wasn't great, but you weren't turning to glare at him like you had last time. So that was something, at least.

When he was nearly upon you, he called out to you.

“Hey,” Phinks greeted.

“….. Hey,” you replied.

“How's it been?” he asked, stopping next to you. You weren't looking up at him and were still keeping your gaze on your lap.

“I don't know,” was your answer.

…. Phinks wasn't sure what to say to that. With Chrollo letting you out and about without any sort of leash to keep you tethered, metaphorical or otherwise, the enhancer had thought maybe you'd be a bit more receptive to him, that you might be in better spirits over the whole situation.

Instead, you seemed rather listless as you sat there, staring down at nothing with a blank expression.

Maybe if he kept talking, he'd break through to you.

“This is a nice place,” Phinks commented as he glanced over the area.

“Is it?” you asked.

“I mean, I thought so? I'm not even that much of a nature lover, but this seems like an ideal spot if you want to get away from everything and go back to your roots. It's the kind of space I usually picture you being in,” Phinks said.

“Hm.”

….. That response of yours wasn't promising.

“You don't agree?” he asked.

“It's hard to enjoy much of anything when you have Chrollo constantly breathing down your neck,” you said.

“Oh.”

Experience told Phinks not to argue with you over your feelings on Chrollo. Doing so was a surefire way for you to become irritated or even outright angry with him. Though he could handle your anger, he didn't like seeing you that way.

But with how listless you were at the moment, he found that he didn't mind the thought of you being upset if just so he could see some sort of emotion on your face.

You didn't give him a chance to say anything, however, as you spoke before he could.

“So,” you began, a sigh in your voice as you asked “did you come here just to have me make you weed again?”

Phinks blinked.

“No,” he answered defensively.

“That's a surprise,” you answered dryly, “did Chrollo tell you not to ask for that anymore?”

“Like he gives a shit about that.”

You hummed. Then finally, you looked over to him, your eyes immediately going to the bag he held.

“It doesn't look like there are beer cans in there. Am I making weed out of something else?” you asked.

“I'm not here for that!” he insisted.

With a huff, Phinks held the bag out as he said “I'm here for you. I brought you something.”

“… Something for me?” you asked, your tone slightly suspicious.

There was a bit more life in your voice when you asked that, and Phinks found himself feeling more hopeful when you turned to look at him. One of your eyebrows was raised in question as you looked between him and the plastic bag. Even though it wasn't necessarily a happy expression, it was a far cry from the listless, dead look in your eyes that had been there moments earlier.

“Take it,” Phinks urged you, holding out the bag further.

Staying seated on the ground, you reached out, gently gripping the handles as you pulled it towards yourself. Your fingers brushed against his for a moment – only for a moment, as he relinquished the bag once it was in your grasp. When you grasped the handles with both hands and pulled it open to peer inside, there was a change in you.

A light sparkled in your eyes that hadn't been there before as you gazed at the contents of the bag.

That sight stirred up memories from your shared childhood.

The pot with bunches of pink flowers amid green leaves instantly caught Phinks' attention when he stepped into the worn-down structure that served as a home for you, Feitan and himself, and he looked at it in question from where it had been placed in the center of the room while you sat close by, your gaze going to the entrance as Phinks stepped in and smiling at him in greeting.

“Hey, Phinks,” you said to him.

“Hey,” he answered before looking back to the flowers, “what's this?”

“Flowers.”

He narrowed his gaze in annoyance at your response.

“I can see that. But why are they here?”

“Why? Um….. I wanted them? And nobody else seemed interested in them, so…..”

Phinks raised an eyebrow as he asked “are you sure that's a good idea? Last time I checked, you didn't know anything about taking care of plants.”

You shifted slightly as you placed a hand on the base of the potted plant, as if you were worried he was going to take them away.

“It can't be that hard, right? I just need to make sure it gets plenty of sunlight and water,” you answered.

“We only have so much clean water to go around. We can't spare any for that,” he countered.

“I'll give it some of my share. You and Feitan won't need to worry about it.”

“I'm not letting you go without water for a plant.”

“I'll be fine.”

“No, you won't.”

“I will. I'm sure I can find a way to make it work.”

“Yeah, by letting yourself go thirsty, which I'm not gonna let happen,” Phinks said.

“I'll be okay.”

You said that as you went as far as to gather the pot into your arms and on your lap, making it even more clear that you feared he would attempt to take it away from you. He was tempted to do just that, but only because the idea of you going without water for the sake of some flowers was astronomically stupid and again, not something that he was going to allow to happen.

But as he stared at you and saw that nervous expression on your face, the one that threatened to turn into full-on sadness if he should take the plant away from you, he found his nerve faltering. He never liked it when you cried.

Phinks sighed as he crossed his arms.

“Why does this matter?” he asked, “they're just flowers. You can see them anywhere.”

You shook your head, saying “not like these ones. I've never seen these in Meteor City before. And they're prettier than the ones that grow here.”

“That's supposed to be a good reason for keeping them?”

“I think so.”

“That's stupid.”

You frowned upon hearing Phinks' statement, but when you looked back at the pink flowers that sat on your lap, he saw a swell of emotion in your eyes as you gazed at them. Of happiness and hope.

“Maybe there's a way I can grow more of them, that way Meteor City can be filled with them. That way everyone can see how pretty they are,” you said.

“I wouldn't get your hopes up. For all you know that thing could be dead by the end of the week,” Phinks told you.

You pouted that time, more annoyed with his lack of confidence in you.

“I can grow more,” you said.

“How?” Phinks asked.

“I just can,” you answered defensively.

At that, he sighed once again.

“You know,” Phinks began, “stuff isn't going to happen just because you really want it to. The world doesn't work like that.”

“But you never know. Maybe it can. Maybe I can figure it out,” you said.

That time, your tone was less defensive and more hopeful.

Despite his reservations, Phinks didn't have the heart to make you throw out the flowers. Neither did Feitan when he returned and saw the mass of pink petals that stood out from the cracked, plastic pot. You again spoke of your wish to grow more of the flower so everyone in Meteor City could see it, again with no explanation with how you were going to achieve that. Both Phinks and Feitan shared a look when you said that, and both were aware that it wasn't good that you honestly believed you could do that, but neither had it in them to say anything further on the subject.

You held onto that potted flower for the rest of the evening, staring at it with no small sense of amazement and wonder. When you went to bed that night, you placed the pot on top of a small step stool and you gazed at it from where you laid in your bed until you eventually fell asleep. Neither Phinks nor Feitan understood what exactly it was about those flowers that had enraptured you like that, but with life in Meteor City being as hard as it was, they mutually decided to let you hold onto that little piece of happiness for as long as it was able to last.

It turned out to only be two weeks, for despite all of your efforts in keeping it watered and placing it in the sun, the flowers slowly wilted and lost their soft pink color. The day that the plant died, Phinks found you staring at it again, and this time your mood was much more somber and that sparkle of happiness within you had vanished completely.

It was expected – no one can have nice things in Meteor City.

But even though this was the exact thing that he had told you would happen, Phinks felt bad for you.

Walking over to where you sat, he caught your attention when he placed his hand on top of your head as he ruffled your hair encouragingly.

“I'll find you more,” he promised.

You stared up at him for a moment.

And then your face broke out into a small but grateful smile, the sight of which sent a surge of warmth lighting up inside of him.

It felt like it was the first time in what felt like a long while that Phinks saw you look at anything with that sort of excitement.

Made sense. Growing up was a surefire way of killing anyone's childlike sense of wonder. But it seemed like you'd caught it again as you held the bag he had brought you.

“Is this real?” you asked.

“Yeah.”

“And you're giving this to me so I can change it?”

“Why else would I give you that thing?”

You glanced up at him before returning your gaze down to the bag, once again looking at the rectangular shaped box that held one of the worst things ever created: the Miniature Rose bomb.

A device that was used to wipe out hundreds of thousands in the initial blast, and was designed to devastate even more lives once the initial blast had gone off, as the smoke that came from the ignited bomb produced a deadly poison that spread to every living thing in its vicinity. With one of those bombs now in your possession, your mouth pressed into a small, determined line as you suddenly stood up, the bag that held the bomb inside swinging once more.

“Do you have a pen?” you asked.

Phinks reached into his pocket and pulled out a plain black pen, which he handed to you with no preamble. You were quick to grab it before you began to walk, heading towards the middle of the field. The enhancer walked with you, matching his pace with yours.

“I've never seen someone be this excited over a weapon of mass destruction,” he commented.

“It's not every day that I find one of these,” you answered, “despite how many still exist, they're stupidly hard to come across.”

“Isn't that a good thing? Less people are being blown up that way.”

“Yeah. But it'd be nice for me if I could find them easier.”

Phinks hummed.

“How many times have you changed a Miniature Rose?” he then asked.

“Today will make eight,” you answered, “I tried to keep an eye out for them when I was doing my job as a Hunter, but like I said, they aren't easy to get ahold of. And when you can find them, they're incredibly expensive, even for a Hunter.”

You turned your head to look at him as you asked “how did you find this?”

“This arms dealer who was talking to me had it.”

Your eyebrow raised again upon hearing that.

“Why would you of all people need to do business with arms dealers?” you asked, “what do you need weapons for when you can use your fists?”

Phinks shrugged.

“I dunno. I just wanted to see what he had. And I'd say it was a good thing I bothered since I found that for you,” he answered.

“That's true, I guess,” you conceded. Then you pursed your lips, seeming to have a hard time getting your next words out. Eventually, you were successful as you let out a soft “thank you.”

“No problem,” he answered.

The smallest of smiles graced your lips after he said that, and seeing that had him feeling good about everything.

This was better, he thought to himself. You weren't upset and you weren't emotionally dead. Instead, you walked forward with a spring in your step and clear purpose in mind as you went towards a particular spot in the field. Like maybe you had temporarily forgotten the situation you were in under Chrollo's care.

Though you wouldn't need to be in a situation like this is if you could just accept what the troupe wanted for you.

But voicing an opinion like that at this point in time would definitely make you upset, so he kept his mouth shut.

No need to ruin things so soon.

You stopped when you reached what was about the field's center. Phinks stopped with you, his hands in his pockets as he watched you place the bag down onto the ground.

“Why did we come over here?” he asked as you summoned your watering can.

“Changing a bomb like this causes there to be a lot more flowers to form than you might expect,” you explained as the seed packet fell into your hand, “if we're too close to the house, part of it could get overtaken.”

“What, the house will get turned into flowers?”

“No, but there'd probably be a good portion of the house that would get covered in them.”

“Can't you just cut them away?”

You gave him a stern look as you said “what's the point of changing the bomb if the flowers are going to be killed immediately after?”

“I thought the point was getting rid of the bomb,” he answered.

You let out a small huff of annoyance, but turned your attention back to the packet as you listed both the Miniature Rose Bomb and the plastic bag on one side before flipping over to write on the back. When he leaned in closer, Phinks was surprised that he actually recognized the name of the flower you were scribbling down.

“Turning the Miniature Rose into actual roses?” he asked.

“It feels appropriate, don't you think? Instead of being something terrible that might look beautiful to some, it can turn into something actually beautiful.”

Phinks hummed as he continued to watch the process for your ability. After handing him back his pen, your movements were hurried as you ripped the seed packet open and dumped the contents into the yellow watering can, as though you were impatient with the conditions you had set for yourself. After throwing the packet into the can and watching as the water swirled within, your finger tapped against the heart shaped handle incessantly.

Having seen your ability in action before, he was aware that the part where the energy required to change the desired object built up within the can would likely take some time.

Though it'd be interesting to see if the Miniature Rose would take a longer time than what Chrollo had used your ability for. It had been a little less than thirty minutes, if he recalled correctly.

Clearly you anticipated this taking some time, as you soon settled down onto your knees in front of the watering can, your hands resting on your thighs as you periodically glanced at the bag that held the bomb. Phinks joined you on the ground, watching the soft purple glow that emitted from the can's interior.

After a few moments, he commented “this feels like it's going to take a while.”

“It's a bit different than turning beer cans into marijuana, Phinks.”

“I mean, I figured, but…..”

His voice trailed off as he leaned in closer to get a look of the interior of the watering can, and he found that the water was still lapping about at the very bottom.

“We're gonna be here a while, aren't we?” he asked.

“Yep,” you answered plainly.

You seemed pretty relaxed about the whole thing. Made sense given that you'd changed seven of those bombs. Regardless of how terrible they were, by this point you knew what you were doing. Plus, if there was even a hint that something could go wrong, Chrollo wouldn't have allowed you to touch the thing.

Thinking back to the boss, Phinks wondered – what had Chrollo's reaction been when you told him of how you used your ability for the Miniature Rose? Phinks remembered he was mostly impressed that you had the nerve to mess with them like that while he overheard Feitan mumbling about how you were an idiot.

How did you figure you would be okay transforming the bomb, anyway?

“When you first changed a Miniature Rose, how did you know it'd be safe?” he asked.

You glanced over at him in question as you asked back “how did I know what would be safe?”

“How did you know the bomb wouldn't go off in the middle of it?”

“Oh, that.”

You stretched out your arms as you continued to wait for the can to fill as you answered “I didn't. I just crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.”

The nonchalant way in which you had said that pissed him off a little.

“That's fucking stupid. And reckless,” he said.

“Like you're one to talk.”

“I'm not the one who chose to dabble in experimental bomb disposal,” Phinks countered.

“Figuring out if I could change the bombs was worth the risk. And since it worked, it's not a big deal,” you said.

“Not a big deal? You could've blown up with the bomb.”

“It was worth it. The less of these things that exist in the world, the better.”

Phinks huffed.

“There's still thousands outside of the ones you've changed, though,” he pointed out.

“I know. But the more of them that I can change, the more lives that can be spared the awful fates that these horrible things bring on their victims,” you said passionately.

There was a fire burning in your eyes when you turned to face him as you continued with “even though that agreement exists to not use the bombs anymore, there way too many people in power that keep them 'just in case'. And because of the refusal to get rid of the bombs entirely, it's a fear at the back of the minds of millions of people every day: that the bomb could go off near them and destroy everything.”

“It might only one, but getting rid of this still makes a big difference. It's one step closer to making the world better for everyone,” you declared.

You then turned your attention back to the watering can, that fire still in your gaze as you stared at it while impatience was thrumming through you again as you once more waited for this part of your hatsu to finish.

Throughout your speech and then after it, Phinks remained silent.

There it was. Your childish idealism – that notion of yours that you could make the world a better place. While Phinks could admit that getting rid of nuclear bombs in the way you did was effective, you failed to understand that getting rid of the weapons that were used to blow away the masses wouldn't change much of anything. People would always hate, fight and kill each other, regardless of if they could get rid of thousands of lives all at once or if they needed to take their time doing it one by one.

Nothing was going to change no matter how many bombs you turned into roses.

But you had changed a lot.

Another thing that was normal. He and the founding members of the troupe had changed significantly since they were all kids in Meteor City. That was part of growing up. Yet you still held onto those things you had clung to as a child, such as your aforementioned idealism and your focus on the things that made you happy, that you firmly believed could lead to the happiness of others. Namely, your love of flowers and your belief that just the sight of them could lead to some sort of positive change.

In that regard, you were still the same as when you were younger.

But still, you had changed.

“No way,” Machi said.

“How come? People love a good princess,” Uvogin countered.

“Then you play her,” she told him, “I don't wanna do this unless I get to be a baddie!”

A discussion among the entire group started after that on who could play the Princess in their performances of the Power Cleaner episodes. Suggestions on who else in the group could play the princess were being shot down just as fast as they were being put forward, and for a moment, it seemed as though everyone was stumped on what to do.

Through it all you were staying quiet, sitting next to Sarasa while you watched Phinks and Feitan practicing for the next show. But Phinks had caught sight of that hopeful look in your eye as you heard the discussion continue, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt in nervous anticipation.

He knew what you wanted – he had seen the way your eyes lit up the instant the word “Princess” had been spoken.

Just ask them, Phinks thought to himself. Just ask if you can play the part, and they'll give it to you.

But no. A full minute passed, the discussion was still ongoing, and you weren't saying anything. Unlike when you were with him and Feitan, you were a bit more closed off with the rest of the group, and now your shy nature was getting the better of you and keeping you from making that request.

They won't know you want it if you don't ask. Were you really going to say nothing and let them give the role to someone else? Already, Phinks could imagine the dejected look you would make when they chose another kid to play the role, and you would have no one but yourself to blame for that.

While it pissed him off a little, Phinks decided to give you the push you needed, to ask you outright if you wanted to do it. Maybe then you'd speak up.

Only someone else beat him to it.

Calling out your name, Chrollo asked “why don't you play the part?”

You blinked in surprise, staring at Chrollo with an awestruck expression as you asked “you mean…. Me, as the Princess?”

Chrollo smiled.

“Yeah. I think you'd be perfect for the role,” he told you. Some of the others in the group seemed surprised, apparently assuming you would be too shy to want to perform in front of the other kids, while the rest echoed his sentiments as they encouraged you to accept. That was enough to get you on board. You smiled shyly, averting your gaze out of bashfulness as you quietly agreed to do it.

Everyone was in good spirits after that; Pakunoda assured you that you wouldn't regret it, Sarasa offered to give you tips on what to do if you felt scared on stage, Feitan smiled to himself on seeing how happy you were to get the role, and Uvogin was now teasing Machi on losing out on the chance to play the Princess while Machi reiterated that she didn't want to participate unless she was a bad guy.

Gathering up a couple of scripts, Chrollo went to where you were sitting and settled down next to you as he handed you one of them.

“The Red Power Cleaner and the Princess share a lot of scenes in this episode, so we should practice together,” he told you.

“Okay,” you answered softly while your body brimmed with barely contained excitement.

Though the others had their attention elsewhere, Phinks was still watching the two of you. And while he watched as you rehearsed your lines with Chrollo and the smiles and laughter shared between the two of you, Phinks suddenly felt a strange feeling of tightness in his chest.

It was only much, much later, when he happened to reminisce on that day, that he realized what he had been feeling was jealousy.

All of a sudden, it felt like there were eyes on the two of you.

A glance back at the house revealed it to be Chrollo, as Phinks could see the dark haired man looking out through one of the windows, keeping an eye on you while your hatsu went to work. It felt a little like having a chaperone. Slightly annoying, Phinks felt, but it was expected. Even though you fought hard against him and even though Chrollo had been harsh with you in the past, he only did it all because he was worried about you. They all were.

You seemed to notice his presence as well, as when Phinks looked back to you, that light of determination had gone out and the air around you was more somber, the corners of your mouth turning downwards in a frown.

As much as Phinks wanted to be annoyed by your change in mood, it was bound to happen eventually. The enhancer just wished that the relatively good moment between the two of you hadn't ended so quickly.

He still didn't like to see you upset.

Phinks stayed where he was, staring up at the sky while he the wait for the watering can to fill seemed to go on indefinitely.

Maybe he should've brought something to help pass the time.

“Do you still see Feitan a lot?” you asked.

Your question was unexpected – not just because a quiet had settled over the two of you, but also because you didn't tend to ask about the others these days. Looking over to you, he found that you still had your gaze on the watering can, and you didn't seem any happier than you had moments ago.

Still, he chose to answer your question as he said “yeah, we're in pretty frequent contact.”

“Just in contact? You don't live with him anymore?”

“Nah. I think we both like having our own spaces. More breathing room that way.”

As soon as he said that, he noted the way your frown deepened while your gaze narrowed to a glare.

Fuck. He'd said that to you when you were basically under house arrest with Chrollo. Hadn't you said something earlier about the boss breathing down your neck constantly? Of course that'd piss you off. He needed something else to talk about, something that would get you in a good mood again.

He thought he had it when he said “I saw Fei the other week, actually. Though we were both pretty miserable; Chrollo made both of us dress in tuxedos. I don't think either of us will get used to those things. Don't know why boss keeps using us for that kind of shit.”

“…. That was last week?” you asked.

“Yeah.”

“With Chrollo?”

“Yeah.”

“And that was during the time he had my hatsu?”

“….. Yeah.”

Fuck

Chrollo's words rang in his skull, reminding him not to mention anything with that last job, and there he was, managing to mention the one thing he'd been told not to. How the fuck had he managed that?

Why was he like this when he was around you?

Now the air around the two of you was uncomfortable, and he didn't know where to go from here.

You apparently did, however, as you were the one who chose to take the reigns of the conversation. Turning your head back to look at him, you asked “Phinks, what happened last week?”

Phinks remained silent as he stared at you.

“Why did he need Revival Gardener? Why didn't he use me?” you asked.

“……”

You remained undeterred as you said “Phinks, you need to tell me.”

The enhancer held your gaze for a moment longer –

And then looked away.

“….. Really, Phinks?”

You almost sounded disappointed in him.

But there wasn't anything he could do. He wasn't going to betray Chrollo's order. Not for you.

Not when it would hurt you.

The boss wouldn't have said much about it, but you weren't stupid; you caught on that it was strange, that he hadn't forced you to go on that particular job and had instead borrowed your ability to use for himself. After all, the entire reason Chrollo brought you along on jobs was to help you get used to the death that the troupe dealt with on a regular basis.

Why then, you must have wondered, would he use your ability and leave you behind?

The only answer that you would have come to would be to assume he had done something that, in your mind, would have been horrific.

And now you knew that Phinks had been present for that.

It felt impossible to say anything now. If he tried to change the subject, you would notice and call him out on it. If he mentioned any small detail on the other week, even if he did it as nonchalantly as possible, you would press him for more. And when he flatly refused to tell you, you would become upset, and it would devolve into a mess.

Phinks couldn't think of anything else to say.

So he chose to stay silent.

You did the same as you returned your attention to the watering can, the water that had continued to swirl within not even coming close to the halfway point. With the two of you now at an impasse and still a long way to go before you could do what you wanted with the bomb, Phinks dreaded just how long the awkward silence would last.

Chrollo's presence vanished not long after, giving the two of you privacy. That seemed to relax you slightly.

When the can was a quarter of the way full, Phinks felt an urge to speak, but as he still didn't know what to say to you, he ultimately chose to remain silent.

He couldn't tell if you had noticed that or not.

When the can was halfway full, you spoke again.

“You don't need to stay here with me,” you told him.“I want to stay,” he answered.

You didn't respond to that.

When the water was beginning to make the last legs towards the top of the can, Phinks glanced up towards the sky, taking note of how the sun had clearly dipped slightly since he had first arrived. It had been noon when he got here originally, hadn't it?

Chrollo could've given him a heads up on how long this was going to take, he thought to himself.

When the water finally, finally reached the top of the can and stilled, it felt like a small eternity had passed. His legs almost didn't want to cooperate with him when he followed your lead and stood up from where he had been sitting, having remained in that position for a bit too long. If you were bothered in the same way, you weren't showing it as you immediately went to pick up the watering can, gripping those heart-shaped handles as you hoisted it off of the ground and moved so you were standing above the bomb.

Without a word, you tilted the can and began to pour the conjured water over it, and the bomb as well as the plastic bag were quickly soaked as the contents of the can rained down on them.

Phinks then sensed Chrollo's presence once again, the boss no doubt noting that there was a development out in the field. As much as he had criticized you for your ability and how he found it to be largely useless, Chrollo was no less fascinated by the process of change that came whenever you used it.

At least this second time around, you didn't react to Chrollo's presence in any way that Phinks could see.

The enhancer found himself wondering how much longer this would take as he watched the purple-tinted water cover every part of the bomb, and part of him dreaded it taking as long as the conjuration process had. Luckily for him, emptying the can was much less time consuming, as not too long after, the water ran out and the last few drops dripping from the sprinkler head before the can disappeared completely, its purpose served.

Your hands dropped to your sides as you took a step back, keeping your eyes on the bomb.

Finally, you were at the last step.

Wanting to gauge your current state, Phinks dared to speak as he asked “there isn't any chance of the roses changing back, right?”

“Changing back into the bomb?” you asked.

The fact that you were quick to answer was a good sign, he felt.

“Yeah.”

“There's no chance,” you murmured, your gaze still on the bomb as you added “once something has been changed with Revival Gardener, it can't change back. That's one of the conditions.”

“Huh. No wonder it can do so much, then.”

You hummed noncommittally at his reply.

Then after a few minutes had passed, you began walking backwards while you kept your eyes on the bomb. That time, you spoke up on your own.

“You won't want to be too close for too long; once it gets to a certain point, the area is going to fill up with rosebushes and you'll need to fight your way out of all the thorns and branches,” you told him.

“Is that something you learned the hard way?” Phinks asked, turning around as he began to walk with you.

“Mm.”

That answer seemed to indicate that he was correct. Though he doubted that you would have been injured much by something like that, whichever one of those frilly outfits that you liked to wear probably didn't survive a trek through thousands of scratching thorns.

Though considering that Chrollo was the one who supplied you with your wardrobe, it surprised him a little that you wouldn't have it destroyed on purpose if just for the sake of being spiteful.

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw you stumble slightly when you walked over a tiny hill of dirt that had acted as an obstruction in the otherwise empty field. Without a second thought, Phinks placed his hand on your shoulder as he continued walking, intending to guide you while you kept your attention on the bag.

You glanced at him briefly, and while your expression was indiscernible, you didn't protest against the physical contact. Your gaze returned to what was in front of you as you continued walking backwards, this time with his assistance, allowing him to guide you while you kept your focus on your ability.

When you came to a halt, he stopped with you and looked back to where the bag had been left.

It wasn't too far away. Only about twenty steps or so, he noted.

“Is this far enough?” he asked.

“No, we'll need to move again. I just can't get too far for now.”

Turning his gaze away from the bag, Phinks brought his attention back to you, hoping to find that you were at least in slightly better spirits. Outside of the work you were doing for the troupe, you always seemed a little bit happy when you were allowed to use your ability. Even though you were angry with all of them for what you had been forced into, using your hatsu for the changes you wanted to see never failed to make you forget what your life had become, even if it was only momentarily. Phinks hoped that would be the case right now. It should've been the case, as you were erasing something that you desperately didn't want to let exist in the world.

But when he looked to you and saw that you were frowning as you stared across the field, it was not only disappointing, but also confusing.

Why weren't you happy?

Just then, you stiffened and began to walk backwards again. Phinks once more moved with you, guiding you again while he glanced over his shoulder.

There was a burst of movement across the field.

Originating from the spot where the bomb had been placed, thin brown branches spread across from that area within the blink of an eye, bursting through the plastic bag before they crawled forward, slowly growing larger as they overtook the grass that sat beneath them. The once empty field was filling up with long brown limbs that dipped and swerved with random patterns as they spread out wide, continually breaking off and forming separate branches, some of which began growing upward and turned green in color. As the stems came closer to the two of you, Phinks caught sight of the multitude of thorns that decorated the newly formed greenery alongside what appeared to be unopened flower buds.

When he looked again to the site where the bag had once laid, he couldn't see any sign of it or the Miniature Rose within. All that could be seen in that area was the writhing thorns that continued to come out like a geyser.

A few seconds later, the area where the both of you had been standing was obscured by the stems and thorns, and still there was no sign of it stopping. The long stems continued to reach out, growing as if they intended to cover the entire field.

“I see what you were saying about it covering the house,” he said.

“Mm.”

It didn't seem like you were really paying attention to him as you kept your eyes on the growing flowers, watching as the rosebuds began to bloom and set a striking red color against the sea of green that occupied the field. Just as the stems seemed to be coming to an end, the red began to overtake everything as more red petals opened up one by one, revealing the result that you wanted: the most deadly weapon in the world, now a mass of harmless flowers – or mostly harmless, as long as you ignored the thorns. He continued to watch with you as the flowers continued to grow, hiding the thorns and dark branches as they continued to bloom, the roses moving about like waves as the sheer amount of energy that had been placed into the Miniature Rose was converted by your hatsu. Phinks was once again impressed as he watched the red fill up the field, spreading far within the blink of an eye.

You were right when you said that it was different from turning beer cans into weed.

Finally, the movement of the plants began to still, slowing down as the branches ceased their bending and writhing, now finding stationary positions within the mass. The roses came to a halt as well, their petals open and soaking up the sunlight that came from above, and after that, the only movement they offered was a result from the breeze that blew by them, rustling the petals softly.

It felt like it was over.

“You weren't kidding about how many of them there were going to be,” Phinks commented as he looked about the once plain field that was now covered in roses as far as he could see.

When you didn't respond, he chose to take it as you still concentrating on your hatsu. Even though it looked like it was finished, maybe you weren't done quite yet.

“They look nice,” he then said after another few moments.

When you didn't respond that time, he felt a sense of unease rise inside of him.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“….. This doesn't feel right,” you answered.

Phinks blinked in surprise as he asked “what do you mean?”

“My hatsu. It feels wrong,” you said. Staring at the field in dismay, you added “ever since I got it back from Chrollo, it doesn't feel the same. Like it's been altered somehow.”

He grimaced, dismayed that the topic was again going back to Chrollo's use of your hatsu.

“I don't think boss changed anything about your ability,” Phinks told you, “maybe it just feels weird because it was taken away temporarily.”

You shook your head.

“It's not that. There's something different about Revival Gardener. Something he did when he used it,” you insisted.

Then you turned to him with a pleading look in your eyes.

“Phinks, you need to tell me what happened when he took it. I need to know what he did with my hatsu,” you said.

The enhancer stared at you for a moment before he shook his head.

“If boss says you don't need to know, then you don't need to know,” he said.

“I do need to know. It's my ability, and he used it for something awful, I just know it,” you insisted.

“Why do you want to know the details of something that you'll think is awful? Aren't you happy that he gave you a break from that?”

“Because it's my ability and I deserve to know.”

“If boss says no, then you don't.”

Phinks turned to leave, sensing that the conversation was going to go around in circles and ultimately end with you being upset. While it frustrated him, he knew by now that no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't going to be able to do much of anything to reassure you or calm you down. The best option he had was to remove himself from the situation.

He didn't even get to take a single step before he was stopped.

You grabbed at him, both of your hands wrapping around his wrist and wrenching it back as you kept him in place with a strength he hadn't been expecting. Unable to free his wrist, he looked back to see a desperate expression on your face. Your lip was wobbling and tears threatened to fall down your cheeks. You looked a lot like you did whenever Chrollo was about to make you change a body.

“Phinks, please,” you begged, “I need to know.”

“Please,” you said again as your grip on him tightened ever so slightly.

Phinks stared at you before looking down where you were touching, and as had been the theme for today, another old memory came rising to the surface.

“Let go of me, brat.”

The words came growling out of him as Phinks stared down at you, his grip tightening on the bat he had borrowed from Feitan in his hand. You were standing in front of him, shuddering, frail, looking like you were ready to cry, and the whole time you stood with both of your hands wrapped around his wrist. No matter what he did, he couldn't shake you off.

“I mean it – let go of me,” he snarled, “I have better things to do than look after some snot-nosed crybaby.”

Phinks pulled on his wrist again, only to be frustrated when he was once again unable to free himself of you.

“I'm not playing around!” he snapped.

He lifted up the bat after, holding it over his head as a threat. You bit your lip as you inhaled in fear, but you still wouldn't let go.

“Last warning,” he said, “let go before I beat the shit out of you.”

Your lip wobbled as tears finally came streaming down your cheeks.

But you still wouldn't let go.

Phinks tsked.

“Fine. You asked for it.”

And then he gritted his teeth as he prepared to bring the bat down on your head. As you sensed the impending violence, you clenched your eyes shut as you braced yourself.

But even then, you refused to let go.

Not far from where the two of you stood, the backdoor of the house slid open, then slid back shut.

Chrollo was out here now.

You froze when you realized that.

When you heard his steps descending the wooden stairs, you averted your gaze down at your feet as you released Phinks' wrist, pulling your hands back to your chest while you hunched up your shoulders with an obvious tension.

You looked like you were waiting for your executioner to reach you.

That wasn't the way you usually acted. Every other time the boss felt a need to interject himself in the middle of your visits, you reacted with defiance, not even bothering to hide the contempt you felt whenever you looked at Chrollo.

Now you couldn't even bring yourself to look at him, seemingly too scared to do that.

The sudden change in your attitude bothered Phinks, and he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to make you react like that.

The enhancer turned his head as Chrollo came closer, the two men's eyes meeting as the raven haired man walked at an even pace.

“It just finished, I take it?” Chrollo called out in question.

“Yeah, I think so,” Phinks answered as he looked back to you. You weren't answering, and you had shifted your body slightly to the side in order to turn away from Chrollo.

All of that spirit from earlier was gone now, replaced by that of pure dread.

Phinks hated seeing you like that.

Chrollo came to a stop when he reached the two of you, humming as he surveyed the newly grown mass of rosebushes that bathed the field in red.

“They look lovely,” he said to you.

“Mm.”

Chrollo smiled at your minimal response, pulling up one of his hands in order to place it on your shoulder and give you a reassuring squeeze. Both men caught the sharp intake of breath you made as a result of that action.

“After all of that, you must be tired,” Chrollo told you, “I think it'd be best for you to come back inside, don't you?”

“Mm.”

The noise you made wasn't really an agreement, but it wasn't necessarily a disagreement, either. You didn't fight with him, either, when Chrollo began to guide you back towards the home.

That didn't stop you from giving Phinks a desperate pleading look as Chrollo wrapped his arm around your shoulder, something that, by now, the enhancer had seen more times than he could count.

Don't look at me like that, Phinks thought to himself.

When you saw that he was doing nothing, the look that served as a cry for help turned into a harsh glare.

Don't look at me like that either, the enhancer again pleaded internally.

You know it's for your own good, so please don't look at me like that.

Despite his wishes, you wouldn't stop, so Phinks was forced to avert his gaze as he once more stared out at your field of roses.

Even though he couldn't see you now, he could feel your disappointment in him when he did that. When, for the second time that day, he turned away in order to make it easier to ignore you. Yet again, it felt childish and stupid for him to do, but he didn't know what else he could do. Not when you made things to needlessly difficult. As he looked over the roses, the sign of the 'good' you had been allowed to do for the day, he sighed to himself.

You were being kept safe with Chrollo, you got frequent visits both from him and other members of the troupe, and you were still allowed use of your ability.

Why couldn't that be enough for you?

After a moment, Phinks followed behind the two of you while Chrollo continued to lead you back into the home. He took note of the way Chrollo handled you, his touch soft as he guided you gently, and much like how he had felt all of those years ago when he saw you and Chrollo practicing your lines together, Phinks couldn't help the pang of jealousy that hit him once again.

He wished he didn't need to leave you behind with Chrollo – he wished he could be the one to look after you, to help fix you so your values were in line with that of the troupe.

But Phinks knew that he wasn't suitable for that sort of thing. It was better to leave it to Chrollo, who knew what he was doing.

So despite the jealousy within him that made itself known, Phinks shoved it down and told himself to get over it. His personal feelings didn't matter right now. All that mattered was fixing you, and Chrollo was the only one who could do that.

No matter what, Phinks needed to believe in the boss.

No matter what he did, it was for the greater good for both you and the troupe.

Even if he found himself doubting that belief from time to time.

What had happened the other week wasn't a job. Not really.

It was an experiment.

The event Phinks found himself at seemed to be nothing more than an overly fancy dinner party at a rented out venue. What exactly the occasion was, Phinks hadn't caught, but it didn't feel as though that fact was important to know; those kinds of parties were always the same. The ones where guests were dressed from head to toe in ridiculously priced suits and dresses that the average person couldn't hope to ever afford while the meagerly paid waitstaff balanced large trays of drinks and food while they catered to the guests on hand and foot.

It looked to be the sort of thing Phinks loathed – trying to fit in with pretentious people always left him feeling pissed off, and despite expressing how much he hated pretending to be a guest at one of these things, he nearly always managed to get put in that kind of a role.

Chrollo had noticed Phinks' look of apprehension and was quick to reassure him that his role in the event would be a brief one and he wouldn't need to deal with the guests long. When Phinks asked what exactly Chrollo wanted him to do, his boss only said one thing:

“Lock the doors.”

So that was what he did.

Despite his misgivings on being made to wear a suit while he was knee deep in snooty assholes, Phinks entered the event and quietly kept to himself as he waited for the signal to leave the room. Feitan had also been present, and had the same role as Phinks, waiting for when the time came to exit the room where everyone had gathered and lock the doors behind him. The only one who wasn't in that room was Shalnark, as his role required him to remain away from the throng of guests.

And then there was Chrollo, sitting in the corner of the room that allowed him on unobstructed view of everyone within the room while he sipped at a glass of wine.

When the signal to move came, both of them had been ready. After what felt like hours of endless drivel coming out of the people who surrounded him that had Phinks feel as though he was slowly loosing his mind, he was quick to notice when the staff that wasn't meant to be in the main room – those of whom were supposed to be in the kitchen – suddenly entered, led by the manager of the establishment who had a pink bat needle stuck in his arm beneath his sleeve. The appearance of the kitchen staff was just as confusing to them as it was to the guests and waitstaff, but Phinks and Feitan both moved upon seeing that, getting up from their seats and heading towards the only other exits in the room. They were almost in sync with one another as they closed and locked the double doors, ensuring that everyone within the room was firmly sealed in with Chrollo as both men secured the handles with heavy chains.

Phinks heard the confusion of those within the room as some noticed the locked doors, and then he heard that confusion turn into surprise and slight panic as the sprinklers within the room went off, dousing everyone in water.

He and Feitan arrived at the security room together, finding Shalnark sitting in front of the screens that showed the scene within the ballroom they had just left. Some people were bordering on frantic, fearful that there was a fire and that they had been locked into the room, as none of the exits would open no matter how hard they banged their fists or kicked at the solid surface of the doors.

Other were annoyed as they seemed to believe that the water had been set off as some sort of prank, and the organizers of the event could be seen yelling at the manager on behalf of their ruined event while that manager, now free of Shalnark's control and thoroughly confused as to how he had ended up in the middle of the chaos, stuttered as he tried to calm down the situation.

All the while the purple-tinted water continued to rain down on all of them, and Chrollo continued to sit calmly beneath it, becoming just as soaked as everyone else within the room as he waited for the water to cease and the next part to begin – and to see if it would work in the way he believed it would.

Eventually the water stopped, the tampered tank at the top having run out. When that happened and there was no sign of any sort of emergency, the atmosphere in the room changed again as many within became angry, now certain that the dinner had been ruined on purpose. Arguments began breaking out amidst the efforts of those who were still trying to get the doors open while others were lamenting the water damage done to their clothing and phones.

In the middle of all of that, one elderly woman suddenly cried out and fell to the floor.

That got the attention of nearly everyone in the room, and most rushed over to where she lay, clutching her stomach as she let out another painful wail. Those around her made efforts to help alleviate her distress while others returned to the doors, determined to get outside.

Then another person, one of the waiters, cried out as he fell to the floor in the same manner as the woman. He wasn't able to get the same attention as the woman before him, however, as almost immediately after another scream of utter pain echoed within the confines of the room.

Then there was chaos.

More and more people began to double over, screaming in pain as they felt that something was wrong within them, something that was spreading through their bodies while they were left to writhe in agony. Those who had been at the doors were still pounding against them, still trying to get them open, but their attempts were much weaker now as they also began to succumb to the effects of the water.

The woman who fell first was also the first to stop moving, one last painful gasp leaving her mouth before she ceased her movements.

But she didn't remain still, as beneath the barrier of her skin, something was moving. And those who were closest and were capable of noticing her while dealing with their own pain cried out in horror as they saw the first signs of the vines and leaves that began to exit through her open mouth.

Phinks and the others watched on in silence as they looked at the scene through the monitors, seeing firsthand the result of Chrollo's experiment:

Revival Gardener could, in fact, transform living material.

The sun was starting to set by the time Phinks left. The drive back from the home would be a long one, after all.

And he knew he'd be thinking about you the entire time.

You had remained quiet for the rest of his visit, refusing to respond to either him or Chrollo with anything more than a soft grunt. You wouldn't look at either of them from that point onward, instead choosing to keep your head down and your gaze on your lap.

The dead look in your eyes Phinks had witnessed when he had first arrived was back, and the second time around, there was nothing he could do to change that

.It was only when he left that you looked at him again.

As Chrollo walked him to the door, Phinks turned his head one last time and met your gaze from where you sat on the couch.

That pleading look was there again as you silently begged him to save you.

Once more, he didn't do anything like that, and this time Phinks didn't hang around long enough to see that look inevitably turned into anger.

At least you weren't angry with him all the time, he thought to himself after saying his goodbyes to Chrollo. He walked down the stairs towards his car with his hands in his pockets as he insisted to himself that it was something to be happy about. You still spoke to him whenever he came around, and sometimes you were able to laugh with him, just like you had when you were both kids.

And while it was depressing that the times where that happened were few, Phinks told himself that it was really your fault, all because of the way you had managed to be so different when compared to the rest of them and your stubborn refusal to listen to what Chrollo told you.

Based on the way you had acted today, it was still going to be a long way off until you were ready to be part of the Phantom Troupe. And Phinks couldn't help but let out a long sigh as he started up the engine and began to drive away.

As he pulled away from the house, it felt as though someone was watching him through one of the windows as he left, and Phinks chose to believe that it was you.

You wouldn't need to be away from him if you would just accept that you needed to change. Accept that your way of thinking was wrong, and then the two of you could be together like you were in the old days.

And then, maybe, things could go beyond that relationship you had once had, to something deeper than that.

But for now that was only a pipe dream. You weren't anywhere close to accepting their way of life, and so, you didn't need to know about that.

Just like you didn't need to know about Chrollo's experiment with your hatsu.

You didn't need to know that the night began with a room full of people and then ended with those people being turned into plants. You didn't need to know that writing down someone's name on the conjured seed packet was all your hatsu needed to change them, and you didn't need to know that the only survivor was a traumatized waitress who had only avoided painful death because she was filling in for someone else that night and therefore her name hadn't been included on the list Chrollo had snatched beforehand. You didn't need to know how much pain and destruction your hatsu had caused.

Because if you found all of that out too early before you were prepared for it, it would break you.

That wasn't what the troupe wanted – they just wanted you to be like them. To be their ally once again. Nothing would ever bring them back to the way things were before Sarasa's murder, but if you could be by their side – by his side – again, that would be good enough.

The thought of Sarasa's death coincided with a glance towards the side of the road, and Phinks caught sight of the dense line of trees that made up the edges of a forest.

An unpleasant memory came to surface. One of a bag that was hanging from a tall tree branch.

Phinks squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memory away before turning his attention to the road. He didn't need to think about that.

So his thoughts returned to you.

The way your hands had felt against his skin.

And that memory of your first meeting that played in his mind once more.

“Fine. You asked for it.”

And then he gritted his teeth as he prepared to bring the bat down on your head. As you sensed the impending violence, you clenched your eyes shut as you braced yourself.

But even then, you refused to let go.

Seconds passed.

Nothing happened.

Then the seconds turned into longer moments of nothing happening, with Phinks' bat still raised overhead and you still awaiting the impact of the wood upon your skull.

Why couldn't he do it?

Phinks' brows furrowed as he stared down at you, the resolve to punish you for grabbing him like you were wavering. Why? If anyone else had been doing this to him, he'd have already beaten them up. Why was he having such a hard time with the thought of hurting you?

It probably wouldn't take that much to make you back down – one well-placed hit to your skull would knock you out cold, and you'd go tumbling down to the ground. Hell, with how frail and starved you looked, he could easily see you dying from the blow.

The thought didn't bother him, Phinks told himself. The weaker ones in Meteor City die all the time; you just weren't meant to survive long in this world.

That was your problem, not his.

But instead of bringing the bat down and putting you out of your misery, he stood there while his arm began to grow tired from the awkward position.

The entire time, your grip didn't relent even once.

You weren't going to let go unless he made you.

The light of the setting sun spurred him to make a decision – it would be dark soon, and it was never a good idea to be out at night in Meteor City.

“….. Fine.”

You opened your eyes when you heard him say that, looking up at him curiously as he continued “but I'll bet that you'll regret it, especially when you get a taste of Feitan's terrible cooking.”

Phinks refused to offer any explanation after that as he turned and began to walk back home. You followed behind with some difficulty, your shorter legs unable to keep up with him without jogging after. Still, you managed, and your grip on him remained strong.

After a few minutes of walking, you spoke to him for the first time.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“Shut up.”

The memory of that first meeting was bittersweet – Phinks hated himself for the way he had treated you, that there had ever been a moment where he seriously considered hurting you. It was something that made him want to yell at his younger self for threatening you like that when you were desperate, alone and scared.

But he thought of the way you had looked at him, silently pleading for help as you held onto him tightly, and how the feeling of being needed somehow felt right. Even though he had agreed with Feitan not to take in anyone who was weak, and yet Phinks had caved for you. Someone who was so fragile and had needed protecting.

Don't you still need protecting?

The thought of the way you had looked at him gave him pause. You looked even more miserable than you had that very first time he met you. Every time he saw you, you only looked more and more depressed, as your will was slowly but surely being chipped away by Chrollo.

How could that be a good thing?

……. Because Chrollo says it is.

The turbulent feelings within Phinks were pushed down yet again as he continued his drive back, the setting sun causing the sky to grow darker and making it harder to see the outline of the tree branches he sped by. Things would be made right by Chrollo's hand, and then they could go back to the way it had been, with you by the side of the troupe where you were supposed to be.

Phinks allowed his mind to drift again as he continued on his journey, but this time his thoughts went to the happier memories in Meteor City. Like the way you would greet him when he came back to that little home, or the late nights spent talking with Feitan, or the way the two of you practiced cooking together as you tried your best to make something that was edible. Things were rough in the early days, but even when things ended in disaster, you still found some reason to smile at him.

He would have that again. He was sure of it.

All Phinks needed to do was wait.

[thatinwardhell]

winner’s spoils | s. crosby

rating: explicit, mdni

wordcount: 3.8k quickie lol. had to get this out after Certain Videos surfaced

warnings: fem!reader, smut, age gap, oral sex (m receiving) (its facefucking!! be advised!!), no reader orgasm, slight?? gender roles just in case. more in a symbiotic sexy way than “go make me a sandwich”

notes: sigh .... after a 3 YR LONG hiatus from any fic writing !!!!!!! it was the four nations that brought me back. pls send in requests !!!!! i'd love to keep writing more lol. vvvv happy 2 be back !!!!

He’s standing above you, legs spread wide, Colossus of Rhodes, but twice as tall and thrice as golden from where you kneel in front of him.

His hand, still wet, still sticky, from the champagne that slid down it, crystalline, only minutes before, is running through your hair, moving it, manipulating it any which way he pleases. He can, of course he can; he’s Sidney Crosby, Sidney Crosby who’s just added yet another trophy to his gratuitous spoils of war, who, even after all these years, still proves his dominance. Aging though he may be, it never fails to knock your knees, to put warm honey between your legs at the sight of him so easily evincing his overwhelming ownership of the young men whose pointed hits and on-ice jeers seem to roll off his back, reminding the world of his complete and total domination. Not that you needed a reminder. 

Your hands fiddle with the drawstring at the waist of Sidney’s hockey pants, pawing relentlessly at them, desperate to unearth the reward you know awaits you beneath them, and the jock you so frequently call disgusting (something about it puts that old, familiar ache in your tummy though: the thing is nearly as old as you are, and you throw a pathetic, watery-eyed glance up at Sidney at the thought that he has been this good at what he does longer than you’ve even been alive. He’s already looking when you do.) 

Sidney seems to take pity on you; precious girl, he usually says in moments like these, but tonight – no, he seems to crave your tongue, your mouth, in more ways than one. You pant, watching with a sense of wonder as he makes a show of pulling the string apart with the sort of practiced effortlessness that only comes with his age. He takes both of your wrists in each of his hands, gently, his calluses scratching the supple skin of your inner wrists, perfumed just for him, only for him, leading them to the waistband of his jock, leaving them there. He wants you to do it, and this is a capitulation that does not go unnoticed. Traitorous pride blooms in your chest; that Sid needs you so badly, so wantonly, that his infamous and over-practiced stoicism seems to slip after his big wins flatters you to no end, and it stokes a different, softer emotion in you at the thought that he needs you at all. You nuzzle the newly-exposed skin of his thighs in appreciation of this small surrender as you draw down his jock, inch by torturous inch, either ignorant or tactless to the party which still rages outside. 

It’s a wonder Sid even found the broom closet at all, a private corner in the midst of a monsoon of alcohol, and spit, and sweat. It’s a wonder they’re not missing him yet, but a man has needs, and though he seems to walk on water like a god, Sidney is just that: a man. You know this better than most, you think, but your one-track mind is thrown off-kilter instantaneously: you have finally found your prize. His cock springs free, and it is just as good as you have imagined. 

Sid blushes from the tips of his elven ears to his long, sloping nose to the thick, muscled cord of his neck at your unabashed appreciation of him, of all of him. You are too enthralled to notice he thinks, but, though you are thrown into a sea of awe at the sight of Sid’s cock no matter how many times you’ve seen it, you know he needs it: he’ll never say it out loud, no, never, but in moments like this, he needs you to tell him he’s good, without the need for words, without touch, by sight alone, in regards to more than his performance. 

You run your nose along the column of it, and your giving to him gives into an act of selfish self-gratification at the heady, virile scent of him. Sid’s all man, and he makes you dizzy with it, mouth dropping open and little pink tongue peeking out to whet both your appetite and your lips, preparing for the Herculean task of taking all of Sid into your mouth. But not now – not just yet. No, now, he is all yours, all yours to stake claim over, completely yours in the tiny broom closet he had dragged you into, the need boiling over in those hazel eyes you love so much. Usually, Sidney insists on showering before he takes you all for himself, but you love this, perhaps more than the musky bergamot soap he always uses postgame. 

Your vinous desire finally blots out your stalwart want to simply appreciate him like this, though – you have never been good at resisting Sid, though he might say the same of you (your pride simmers even higher, at this thought.) You give him as his grip tightens in your hair, reeling briefly in the doglike panting that reverberates through the room, permeated with the desperation only you can bring out in him. 

Your tongue peeks out once again, pressing tiny kitten licks to the very base of his shaft, to the very beginning of the impressive length that you swear inspires the pure and uninhibited supremacy he seems to exert over others. You often tease Sid about his big dick energy, drunk off the blush that rises to his stubbled cheeks at your flattery, but it couldn’t be farther from a mere act of adulation. You’re bad with measurements, and he’s never given you a number, but you know it takes half an hour of prep with his fingers, his sinewy tongue to fit it in, that, after your months, years together, the stretch of him still punches a half-gasp, half-grunt from your lungs that no other man has ever inspired. 

“C’mon,” Sid half-pleads. His accent seems to get stronger like this, though he’d object to you calling his tone a whine. This tugs another sigh from you, your eyes caressing the bright red maple leaf that adorns Sid’s chest. He seems to be Odysseus now, returning home from battle, to you, Penelope, his one and only, or you his Cleopatra and he a bloodied Mark Antony. He fights for his country, his pride, and, drenched in sweat, returns to you for the womanly comfort he can only find in you, for his spoils of war. More fluid drips from the hot, damp seam of you, but you ignore it easily. Sid will take care of you – he always does. Later, he will see the red silk, the cherry lace that covers his prize, but for now, the only thing that interests you is pleasing him. 

You oblige him easily – this is what you can give to Sidney, after so long and so much of him giving to you. All at once, he’s in your mouth, and his head is back against the racks of cleaning supplies that will inevitably be completely vacant, if the sounds of Team Canada’s celebrations outside give any clues. 

You run your tongue experimentally along the thick vein which runs all along his shaft, up to the swollen head of him, now bright pink with anticipation in the back of your throat. Slowly, surely though, you draw back, dragging your slick lips along Sid’s length until you reach the very tip. Just as quickly, you sink down to the base, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at this familiar intrusion, but you only look up at him the way he loves so much. Both of Sid’s hands drop, now, to your cheeks, caressing them, his callused fingertips tracing the shapely, gentle slopes of your face. 

“Beautiful girl.” Sidney sounds wrecked, in the way only you can make him, gentle and tender just for you, even as he dominates you so thoroughly, so completely. He gives you a pointed look, wordless, but so intimate, so intense that you know what it means. Though you try to nod as best you can, he would know, even in the darkness of the cramped broom closet, even from miles and miles away, that you have said yes to him, that you’re enthusiastically giving your mouth to him, the last in a long line of tributes from those the conquered tonight. 

Sidney thrusts those fucking hips with a miniscule fraction of the power you know he’s capable of, the pure, raw energy contained within the corded muscle of his thighs, his hips, and now it’s not just the slight lack of air that’s making you dizzy. He draws back, allowing you a momentary reprieve before his cock once more breaches the damp cavern of you, this time harder, more powerful. 

Eyes half-lidded, you will him to do more – to take from you as much as he pleases. Sid could take from you everything you have, and you’d still offer more on hands and knees, ass in the air, and, though nausea bubbles in his stomach at the thought of taking anything from you, the offer sits implicitly in his hands, a reminder of your complete and utter devotion. To drive this home, you apply the most suction you can manage in your present position to Sidney’s cock, still sitting heavy, impish on your tongue, and this draws a wrecked moan from him – a moan! Your revelry is brief, cut by a slight cough as he buries himself even deeper, the thickets of hair at his base enveloping your nose. 

Sidney doesn’t flinch at the sound – neither do you. He knows your body better than you do, and, even in the throes of his pleasure, he knows you can take more, wills you to do so, already so tender, so brutal. 

He pulls out once more, and you ache for the loss of him, mouth clinging to the scant bit of him that remains in the relentless warmth, the unforgiving smoothness of your mouth. Sidney looks down at you once more, asking for the last time, with the last scraps of his self-control, for what he knows you will give him. 

You offer up your love easily, as easily as breathing comes in sleep, knowing that, even despite his age, his money, his undeniable success, he still needs this, your reassurance, from you – you drag your nails down his thigh, he groans, and begins to thrust the way you know he can. 

The hot, wet drag of Sidney’s cock against your lips, the pleasure-pain of him hitting your gag is intoxicating. He’s outside himself – you’re grateful, foggily, for the volume of the music outside, of they’d hear the desperate grunts, the sound of skin on skin on skin, Sidney’s panting, as the thighs that not thirty minutes ago propelled him across the ice at speeds and velocities unimaginable to you now propel his cock to where he needs it most. 

Time seems to slow, or speed up, drifting into the amorphous, pleasurable fog you float in. You revel, hedonist, in the feeling of his heavy balls against your chin, the force of his thrusting pushing your head back and forth, relentlessly, a tiny buoy bobbing in the unforgiving and complete story that is Sidney Crosby. He holds you fast, though, as he always does, large hands that once rested solely on the plushness of your ruddy cheeks now banded across your face, thick, brawny fingers now digging into the base of your skull, so gentle, so terrible all at once. 

The veins on the underside of him pulse, and you feel them against your lax tongue – you drag it, softly, across the quickened river of blood that sits just underneath the tan skin of him, worshipful. He grunts, appreciative, at this, urges you with the caresses of his calluses against the soft expanse of your skin, your hair, to do it again, and again, and again. You oblige.

Sidney permeates every atom in the tightly-cramped broom closet, too small even for the cleaning supplies contained within it, smaller yet for the heat of two bodies, hardly even flesh, a mess of spit and sweat and sticky, sweet-smelling filth, dripping down your face and landing on the floor with a wet sound. His body is so hot, burning so brightly with the adrenaline typical of wins like these, wins he hasn’t touched with the ruggedness of his fingers in so many months, now within his clutches, now brought under a banner of blood red and snow white, his victory so absolute no one, not in the farthest stretches of obscurity, could deny it. 

The power of him overwhelms you, the scent of him, the feeling of his thighs, spattered with a layer of brown hair and now soaking with saliva, under your palms, a psalm for your taking. The musk of sex is overwhelming – you pity the poor worker who walks in here to clean up after your debauchery (you, briefly, remember the absurdity of your situation: it reads like cheap pulp fiction, at times, you think, that only so many months, years now, he had descended on you, delivered you from the dregs of your monotonous, menial, laborious job and into his arms. You would happily open your mouth, your legs, your arms to him as thanks for this epiphany, but he refuses every time; he says the look in your eyes is enough, the brush of hair and skin and the very thought of your shared bed far too much for him already.) 

But you can smell him, feel him all over, a woman possessed – Sid gives as much as he takes, like this, though he doesn’t know it. You hope he doesn’t notice the way you grind yourself against your heel, the red silk already so soaked through with arousal now completely ruined, only a memory of your decadence in the broom closet. Surely, he would insist that you climb on top of him, to let him run his tongue over the folds of you until you scream and pound at his chest, screaming mercy, mercy, mercy, as he’s so fond of doing, but you’re happy, perfectly happy, like this, serving him. He hates to hear it, makes him feel his age, the power imbalance that infrequently, but profoundly, informs small bouts of jealousy or solitude. But you like to serve him, yes, especially when he’s like this. 

Sid’s so utterly debauched, so lost in himself that even if one of his teammates were to enter, they would hardly recognize their usually so measured captain, completely drowned in the throes of his own pleasure. Sidney’s cheeks, already prone to the kind of ruddiness that inspires poetry or paintings, are flushed a bright cherry red, dotted with sweat and the remnants of champagne, dripping down the long, curved line of his nose (you’d like to lick it off, to suck the liquid from his skin and revel in the salt and the musk of his sweat, the bitterness, then the sweetness of the champagne. But alas, your mouth is occupied.) His salt-and-pepper hair is mussed up in a manner only Caravaggio could imagine, every curl so perfectly askew, which seems to be a habit of your boyfriend’s and one that, admittedly, inspires bouts of desire similar to Sidney’s in you, all over him in the dusk when he comes home, or in the early morning before he leaves. The plush pinkness of his bottom lip is worried to pleasantly between his bottom teeth and the top ones and, had you been more lucid, you would have been able to identify the ones he pointed out to you as implants, replacements for the ones that had been knocked out by one Flyer or another while you were still learning your alphabet. 

Sidney’s thrusts are ragged now, are getting deeper, faster, more desperate, his grip on your head that much more intentional, maneuvering your face the way he wants you. He makes you wonderfully lightheaded like this – so completely and thoroughly possessed. You love being his toy, like this, to sit on your knees and please him, almost as much as you like for him to do the same, to press a worshipful mouth to your ankles, your calves, your thighs, then the part of you he loves very most, apart from your eyes, maybe your laugh or the shape of your teeth, the feeling of your smile; if not what he loves the very most, the one he serves – the one thing that puts ‘Captain Canada’ himself on his knees. This is a secret pride of yours, one that you tell no one, one that is kept safe in the depths of you until Sidney is away on a roadie and his side of the bed, still smelling of that bergamot and musk, is getting cold. 

But he’s close – you know, you know, and you resist smiling around the heady, intoxicating weight of him. You know him so intimately, you think, you could know his orgasm even if blindfolded with your hands behind your back. You like to think you could coax one from Sidney the same way, but you’ll have to wait, to bide your time. Your ears ring with it, watching the way Sid’s crows’ feet bloom across his cheeks, disturbing the stubble there, the way that, when he grimaces like this, teetering on the edge, his dimples pop out, digging graves in his cheeks. 

Sidney’s fingers are doubly hot against your scalp now, dangerously lecherous as they clutch the base of your skull tighter still, pulling you even deeper into him, your nose buried in the wiry brown hair at the base of him. On the precipice of ecstasy, he misses the way your eyes roll back, the way your mouth vibrates at the smell of him, all sweat and manhood, the way you like him, completely in control, yet so entirely under your thumb. You hear a familiar hymn on Sid’s tongue, vaguely, and wonder if he’s been talking this entire time, if you’ve just been so enthralled in the scent of him, the wires of his thighs under your hands, that you missed the oh fuck baby oh fuck yes yes take it fuck yeses. He’s teetering, desperate, flailing for it, grasping at straws as he thrusts deeper still. 

You want him to come, want him to give the reward of his spend so badly that you’re suffocating on it. You’re grinding on your own foot so hard it’s almost painful, desire controlling every movement, every gyration of your hips against your heel, pushing into the floor rolling your swollen clit with the daftness you’ve realized is inherent with orgasms not provided to you by Sidney. You won’t cum like this, certainly, but you don’t need it, no, not when you have him like this. 

You slide the viscous hot pleasure of your tongue along the vein on his underside and he breaks. 

Sidney tenses, your hair now taut between his fingers, pulled to its limits, your face pushed as far into his pelvis as it can go, now suffocated in the truest sense of the word in the man who stands above you, so powerful and so destroyed all at once. His pink mouth is dropped open, completely lax, and you can see the edges of his teeth, where they meet the softnesses of his own mouth, the pink tongue, the reddish gums, the pale pink roof of it, and his eyes have screwed shut, now only two tiny, puckered hints of eyelash and supple, thin skin, barely covering the dark bags which have accumulated under his eyes. Stress, you think, maybe sleep, but, then again, no, he’s always good about that. No worry. You have your ways of keeping him in bed when you need to, of keeping him exhausted in all the ways he wants the very most. He gives smaller, tiny thrusts as the heat of him spills down your throat, and you hum at the taste. Sidney eats well, so virile, so fecund, that he tastes good, strong, heady, and a base, animal part of you revels in the smaller thrusts, the taste of him, pines the loss of his cum; he could be thrusting like that in you, keeping his spend inside of you, where it belonged, where it’d carry on his progeny better than TNT or ESPN could. 

Sidney eases, taut muscles now weak, so spent you swear you can see his legs shake. It’s an illusion, you know, knowing that his legs, so well accomplished, can hold his weight under much more pressure than any orgasm. But you stroke your pride this way, like to think that you can make him weak, can make him strong whenever you please. His hands slips from your hair, returning to your cheeks, where he turns your head back up from where you hadn’t realized it had slumped. The amber of his eyes is so soft, looks so brown in this light, rather than the greenish they look in the bright lights of the media room or the fluorescence of the rink, so much like pools of dark water, undiscovered, unthinkable to anyone but you.

“Swallow for me.” Sidney is so soft like this, so disparate from the man who can level men twice his size without a second thought on the ice. He could crush you between his thumb and his finger, so easy, like this, but he doesn’t. 

You listen, swallow him the way he likes you to, so you keep some of him in you until the next time he can have you. 

“Good girl. My best girl.” Sidney says, so quiet anyone else wouldn't have been able to hear it, said for your ears only. He brushes his hands once more over your cheeks, wiping away sweat, stray tears that may have fallen with the tenderness only he’s capable of. “C’mere, give me a kiss.” 

You oblige him easily, but act as if it’s a chore – you shrug, roll your eyes as you rise uneasily from your feet, steadied into Sidney’s arms at the first sign of unsteadiness, huff a little for dramatic effect. 

He laughs, a soft, easy sound, wraps his hands once more about your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours. Sid’s yours, like this, all yours, away from the cameras, from his teammates, from the rink, and you revel in the softnesses of his mouth, the plush of his lips and the slight scratch of his five-o’clock shadow, and everything else falls away, quickly, easily, just like this. The party persists outside – they’ll have to miss him for a minute more.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

i love your writings so much! i need you to write about könig with maid!reader like i need air and water. könig who needs someone to take care of his house while he‘s gone, returning from his deployment only to find reader huddled up in a soft blanket on the couch, the house smelling of freshly baked cinnamon bread and lavender while she sleeps peacefully. he‘s so touch starved and the domesticity makes his heart and cock stir, he‘s never had any woman cook for him since his Oma passed away. poor reader is oblivious to her boss‘s infatuation until she‘s not, he‘s so awkward around her she thinks he just doesn‘t wanna be disturbed, but she doesn‘t know he uses her conditioner to stroke his cock every night, and now he can‘t help but get a raging boner everytime she passes by and he smells her hair :((((

Banner picture credit: @661ave

possession

noun

the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

Word count: 7 k Tags/warnings: 18+ only DARK FIC. Perv!König masturbating to thoughts of you + your stolen panties. Jealous & possessive behaviour. Dubious consent to having unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, size kink, breeding kink, implied age difference. Some fluff if you squint.  A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if you expected something sweet & fluffy anon… This thing just came out of me. Also, @gremlingottoosilly wrote the best thing EVER for this trope so please if you haven’t read it yet go give it a read (dark content there too though so be warned!)

He’s good at repairing things. He prides himself in that.

And he keeps his house neat and clean: that’s not a problem. His papers are in order, his office is in order. His home is in order too, and so is his whole life – love life included because there is none. 

He always ensured he’s not dependent on anyone, he never seeked a mother from a partner. Just for self-reliance's sake, he knows how to do his own laundry and meal prep for weeks. He learned to fold his t-shirts with an orderliness fit for the military when he was ten years old, just so that no one would have the chance to say he needed a wife.

He always vacuums the entire house before deployment, does the dishes, takes out the trash. And he doesn’t hate house chores… but he doesn’t like them either. His house is a sad, lifeless, gloomy place to spend time in. It’s big enough for a family, it has everything he needs to host a night for friends, but he doesn’t have any. 

Family, or friends, that is.

When he hears that his co-worker – the one with a frigid wife and five unruly kids – hired a maid to do the cleaning in the house, he pauses to think. He doesn’t have a chaos in his home, but he’s got enough money to make life a tad easier. Besides, it’s only expected of a man of his position to hire an assistant of some sort, is it not?

It’s just that he didn’t expect housemaids to be this… cute. 

There are quite a few applications, and he’s a sick bastard for choosing the maid solely based on the picture attached to the CV. He told himself it was also because it looked like this lady needed the money the most. He's a generous man, so why not help a woman in need? 

Another thing he didn’t expect is how his house would start to smell so nice and look so cozy. It’s the small details, the tiny little things that make his chest burn. The way she uses softener on his shirts and folds not only his shirts but his boxers, too, or places a scented candle on the table when the weather turns cold. It’s clearly for his delight because it’s not one of those overly sweet apple or caramel things but something fresh, maybe spruce or fir. 

She even bakes for him on the days when he comes back. The fact that a beautiful young woman bakes for him stirs something unwanted and long-forgotten in his chest. The sweet scent of home baked buns makes his cock stir, too. His place has never seen a woman’s touch, no one has ever baked anything here…

And he certainly doesn’t expect to find his maid sleeping on his sofa when he arrives home one evening.

She stirs immediately, and apologizes profusely for making herself at home like this. She starts to stutter and explain how she’s had a busy week and difficulty with sleeping, how she simply dozed off while waiting for the rolls to bake in the oven. 

He stops her in the middle of her flustered excuses: she can take a nap here any time, it’s not like the furniture is going to wear and tear from use anytime soon. He’s barely even home, so it’s good that someone enjoys the sofa, right? She can use his bed too if she wants. More convenient that way, ja?

He realizes he went a little too far when she looks at him like he just offered to fuck her on the kitchen table. Which he has thought about, to be honest, for a good long while now. In fact, he’s thought about it ever since she started in this position a month ago. 

It's her fault for being so unsuspecting and lovely, and she's playing with fire when she takes more dangerous liberties by showering at his house. He finds a women’s conditioner bottle in the bathroom and once, he even catches her doing her laundry here too. There’s a pair of women’s underwear in the pile of clothes she politely informs he’d have to fold himself this time because she’s in a hurry to catch her bus. 

He’s far more intrigued by the innocent, blush pink strings greeting him from amidst his black and dark green clothes than by the fact that his maid is breaking the rules. Other employers would give her a warning or simply say she no longer has to come and work here ever again. Showering at his place, washing her clothes in his washing machine and taking a nap on his sofa border on violating the terms of their agreement, but he couldn’t care less. He would carve a hole in his chest if that would make her happy. 

When he finds out she’s busy because she has to work two jobs, he raises her pay, despite the fact that she’s sometimes late and at times, leaves a little too early. She does her job well enough, so there’s no reason to complain. He would simply like it if they saw each other more... Which is ridiculous, he knows, because the point of having a maid is that she cleans his house when he’s away. 

It just feels so nice to arrive home now that she's here. He’s never looked forward to getting back to his bleak modern mansion, but now he’s pining for his leaves like a young recruit who's got a girl waiting for him back home. 

Even if she’s not there when he gets back, he can savour her lingering scent. He sniffs the dark woolen spread she might’ve slept under just moments ago, he eats whatever freshly baked goodies she has made for him. He sleeps with her underwear tucked under his pillow, and reaches for them before sleep. Or then he grabs them in the morning when he wakes up, already hard. 

It’s nice to have an unhurried fap at home than to relieve his needs in some small grey room of a boring military base. It's far more enjoyable to stroke his cock with her tiny, cute underwear spread over his face. Sometimes he wraps it around his cock and jerks himself off to a quick, groan-filled release, adoring the way his cum stains her blushing strings.

His showers last for about 15 minutes nowadays.

It’s unheard of for a soldier, and he read somewhere that lonely and depressed people take longer showers because the warm water is supposed to make up for the lack of human touch and intimacy, and that may very well be true… But he also wants to take his sweet time stroking himself while using her conditioner as lube. 

Coconut or peach, vanilla or argan oil, he lathers it all over his cock and imagines her hot, wet pussy. His hand is too calloused to give him any illusions of softness, but the mind-numbingly sweet scent takes him immediately back to her. Her eyes, her soft smile. The dreamy sway of her hips, the elegance of her wrists as she moves some item out of the way to sweep or scrub or clean a surface.

He faps with slick urgency, wondering if her eyes would go wide if she saw his cock. He wonders if she’s noisy in bed – is she a screamer, or a moaner? Would she claw at his back or simply cling to him if he fucked her? 

And god, how he would fuck her… 

Slowly at first, draw moans out of that soft mouth until she begs him to fuck her hard. He would drag her shirt up and her bra down until her breasts are exposed, then watch how they bounce as he starts to fuck her with purpose. She begins to tighten around him, looking so fucking desperate as her cunt starts to throb and pull him in. The first moan of surrender is needy and tight when she cums around his shaft…

He never gets any further than that because his cock spills with a violent jerk. He cums, long and hard across the tiles. Loads and loads of hot seed go to waste as he groans loudly, not giving a shit about making so much noise. Feeling hollow and deprived for not being able to shoot his cum inside her and then stay there, snug and safe and warm inside her cunt, he allows himself just one single sob. 

He just wants to know how it would feel to cover her whole body with his as he slowly pumps the last drops into her. Sigh afterwards, breathe together, hold her close... Search for her eyes, check if she's in rapture too. Watch her come down from it while still squeezing him down there. Perhaps she’d give him a pleased giggle and a cute, weary smile.

"Scheisse–"

He leans on the wall, knowing that he's lonely, filthy, sick and obsessed. He lives in a dream world, and the thick conditioner takes ages to wash off. The withdrawal phase is worse every time he indulges in his dark fantasies and then has to live without her for weeks and weeks.  

She's just his maid, a hired employee. She’s just an innocent woman with her whole future ahead of her.

He's just a colonel at a notorious private military company… He's just an old, horny, depraved soldier. Calloused, fucked up, depressed. Girls like her don't want anything to do with a man like him.

…

She asks if he wants his house decorated for Christmas.

She asks it with bright eyes and such a lovely smile that he tells her he doesn't own such junk, but he can pay her if she goes to choose him some and then comes back to decorate his place. Their unusual agreement gets more unusual still as she nods with shining eyes, then goes to the city to choose his Christmas decorations for him. He even lets her use his car, which is unheard of. 

Soon, his windows are filled with lights and there are mistletoes hanging from the ceiling. She puts fancy little elves in the window, places Christmas flowers and candles everywhere she possibly can. He walks around the house with a coffee mug in his hand, suddenly awkward and shy when watching his maid put up the most sophisticated, elegant and adorable Christmas decorations he has ever had or seen.

Is this what a home should look like…? Warm, and light, and pretty, filled with cozy, useless things? 

But it's not the items she got him that make a home, no. Home now equals rich, home-cooked meals, or the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon rolls greeting him at the door. Home is a cute girl, returning his obsessive stare with a small smile and telling him to stay safe before he leaves to kill people. Home is a woman who's the perfect wife material, so fuckable and sweet, who's fussing over the fact that he doesn't even have a Christmas tree.

He gets it before her next visit – meaning, her next shift – and decorates it himself. It looks clumsy and uneven and a bit sparse, but she compliments him on it when she arrives. The looks she gives him are so warm and playful that he starts to have some hope – hell, a full surge of it – and he also starts to miss his hood. He's feeling awkward as it is around her, he doesn't need to be blushing in front of his suddenly flirtatious maid... Men don’t fucking blush when a woman flirts with them; they fuck them until their knees give in.

With no small amount of hidden guilt, he finally confronts her with her underwear, telling her she forgot something and that he found these in his laundry pile. Taking sick satisfaction from seeing how she's the one who's flustered now, he forgives her for washing laundry in his place. He's a merciful man, after all. 

There's still some cum on the lace as he returns her possession to her, and he hopes he's just imagining the shock in her eyes when she takes them back. It's his way of saying that he likes her a lot, but the flirting ends immediately, the playful smiles stop, and he knows he fucked up big time. The warm, lively woman is gone, she suddenly resembles an ice sculpture who's about to flee his apartment at any given moment, and he could hit himself in the head with a big metal bat.

What the fuck was he even thinking? That a woman would appreciate it if he returned her panties covered in old, dried cum?

He's a fucked up pervert, and he has lived in a dream world, and now reality awaits.

He shuts down and shuts up after that, keeps the connection pure, pristine and professional. She's just here to do her job. 

The holidays approach, and he's sulking, knowing that he won't see her again in at least six weeks. He'll have to make do without a maid, and he'll have to numb his whole soul to get through yet another lonely Christmas.

Well, not lonely: this time he spends it with the decorations she got him. They can keep him company during the lonely masturbation sessions. They can watch him live on takeout food and remind him what a horny, sad loser he is.

So his last attempt, his last minor sin is that he gets her a Christmas present. She's about to leave, hurrying to some place where she's loved and cherished, or then about to get fucked because she has her hair and make-up done. The jealousy creeps up his spine like a viper as he watches her get all dolled up. 

She's so very grateful to him for allowing her to get ready here and use his bathroom, and he plays the generous, kind gentleman while gritting his teeth, trying to ignore another demanding erection telling him to dick her down and make her stay down. Make her bake for him and sit on his knee as he squeezes her tits and watches her stare turn dumb. Tell her to douse the lights and light the candles, tell her to undress in front of that stupid Christmas tree, order her to lie down on the mat and spread her pretty legs for him…

She's standing at the door, a cute girl turned into a seductive goddess, while he's about to enter into another lonely brain fog. She grabs her coat and grants him one of those warmer smiles as he walks to her with an envelope in hand.

"I got you something... Merry Christmas."

"Aw… You shouldn't have…"

She accepts his gift delicately with both hands, clearly surprised and pleased. When she opens the gift, she laughs and then covers her mouth with her hand. It's a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and with a relatively large sum on it, too.

"Oh god... Ahah, okay. I like your humour," she laughs again, then gives him a wink and an exceptionally gorgeous smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." 

He's fully aware that he sounds like an ominous, threatening robot. His voice has an effect on women; most flee, some get curious. She's one of the few who don't know what's good for them at all.

He never had a gift with females, and even with his position, experience and age, he still feels like he’s trying to court a breathtaking alien species whose native language he can’t quite understand or speak. The silence stretches on, and her smile slowly fades, making him perfectly aware of the fact that he should say or do something assertive, something charming, instead of just standing here, looming over her. When the playful stare then turns into a helpless, pitying one, the kind his mother used to wear when she discovered he had been bullied again at school, his hands start to go numb. 

Jerk off and kill, those are the only things he ever was good for… 

"Mm... I'm afraid I have nothing for you," she says apologetically. 

Ach so… She’s ashamed for not getting him a present. 

Well, shit. Fuck.

"Don't worry about it."

"No, I mean… I thought about it. You're the kindest employer I've ever had. I really appreciate it... and I love working for you."

"That’s nice to hear." 

"I just didn't know what to get you. I don't know what you like."

He's trying to ignore the pull of his chest, the sick burning in his loins. His cock is stirring just from the way she's looking at him. Inviting, adoring, waiting.

"You already got me Christmas decorations."

"Yeah, but… You paid for them."

"Aber... You baked for me. No one's ever–"

He shuts his mouth before making a complete fool of himself.

"Well, I'm glad you liked my buns," she laughs, then bites her lip, realizing what she just said could be taken in many ways. 

"I truly did."

She guides her stare to the floor and smiles, and the electricity between them… it just can't be only a fabric of his imagination.

"Take care of yourself. Ok?" He says, then swallows a lump in his throat, but it never quite goes down. She’s still waiting for something; the tension between them is petrifying. 

"I will," she says, her voice a bit frail, and far too sweet. "You too. Take care."

She gives her last smile to him; it’s sad and somewhat disappointed as she turns around and reaches for the door.

"Wait," he calls, purely from the hard instinct that tells him to fucking do something about this heavy, sickening tension. She immediately turns with hope in her eyes.

"Yes?"

"I… Ah, glückliches neues Jahr."

"...What does that mean?" 

"It means 'Happy New Year'."

"Oh," she laughs, "I thought it was something naughty…"

Shit.

Shit.

Shit…

"Ich möchte deine Muschi lecken."

She freezes with her hand still on the doorknob. That fucking sentence was so dark it left little or nothing to the imagination... It was thick enough to make it clear that he’s not a kind, generous employer, nor is he a gentleman.

"What's that?" She asks, her pretty voice barely a whisper.

"Something naughty."

Her hand lets go, it falls to the side. She even tilts her head before her voice turns thick and suggestive too. 

"Really…?"

"Yes."

"Well don't be shy. Tell me what it means."

Playful, naughty, dirty. 

She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.

Is this a filthy dream or is this really happening? 

"I want to lick your pussy."

There's an intake of air, just a soft gasp. Batting of long, dark lashes, just before the stars in her eyes start to shine in full.

"Oh," she breathes. "Is that so?"

"Ja."

It wouldn't be the first time someone offers him cunt just out of spontaneous pity. It wouldn’t be the first time he accepts it. A man like him takes whatever he can get.

Pity is apparently what's happening now, because his maid starts to undress. 

With a victorious shine in her eyes, she drops her coat to the floor, then unbuttons her jeans. Takes away her shirt and bra with shaky hands while maintaining that seductive, downright filthy eye contact. More and more of her skin is exposed as she quickly strips in front of him, finally slipping out of her black, see-through underwear while he's trying not to shake from dark urges and lust.

When she's naked, flush and bare, her fingers start to slide up her thigh. The other hand is pressed against her side as if shy. She’s either offering him a Christmas present in the most elegant way, or then she’s concerned about getting licked and fucked sore. It's like throwing a dog a meaty bone and then putting the hound in a loose chain, just an inch away from the mouthwatering sight and scent. She steals one look at his erection, currently trying to rip its way through his pants. The gross tent is pointed at her, and she knows it: she knows she has him on a leash, but only barely.

"Go ahead then," she whispers.

He falls straight to his knees, and presses his whole face against her softly trimmed hair. When he opens his mouth, she shudders, clearly not ready for someone this starved trying to devour her whole.

She doesn't know she's about to sleep with the devil… If she knew, she would be out the door by now.

It's too late now: he engulfs her, locks her in place by wrapping his arms around her hips. 

Mein.

Mein.

Mein…

He could rub his face in her sweet cunt forever, but that won't do: she said he could lick her, so that’s what he’s going to do. After a few bites and nibs, after inhaling the sweet scent of her and squeezing her long and hard in his embrace, he finally rises and carries her to his den. There’s only loneliness there in his bedroom, just stale sweat and old musk staining the sheets, but she softens on the linens when he goes down on her.

Her pussy is already throbbing and wet when he gives her the first, fat lick. Next up, soft little laps to make her thighs drift apart. Some long, teasing circles on her clit, and she starts to sigh - he’s not an expert, but he knows she won’t find a more enthusiastic cunt licker in this city. Or this whole country… Perhaps the entire world.

And she's not a screamer, she’s a moaner. She also whimpers a lot. He switches between giving fast attention to her clit, then slow tongue fucking to her hole. The scent of pussy fills his room: they only talk to each other through moans and whines and groans. He breathes into her like a panting dog: she whimpers under torture like she actually likes it, and likes him. Like she actually prefers his bed to any other place in this world.

He fucks her with his mouth, sloppy and hungry; he could french kiss her pussy forever like this. He could spend every evening licking her to ruin. 

"Just like that… Just like that… Don't stop…"

He's as hard as can be; he's about to lose his fucking mind. If she doesn't cum soon, he might just die from having to listen to those unhinged cries. 

To help her out – because he's a generous, generous man – he slips a finger inside, earning another spill of filthy moans.

"Oh god ohgod oh fuck–!"

She sounds dumb and helpless as he eats her out like she’s his last meal. His chin is drenched and his cock is hard as the poor girl leaks all over her ass and on his bedding. He adds another finger, starts to fuck her slow and steady. She's more than prepared for his cock, and when he starts to do the alphabet on her clit, she whimpers, whines, and finally, screams. 

The feel-good hormones flood his brain when she cums. He kisses her through it and slows down the torture gradually, gives her some space to pulse and throb and leak against his chin. 

Women need a lot of stimulation; that’s what he has learned. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and he doesn’t want to ruin the explosion by overriding her senses. When he rises from a job well done, he sees how some of her makeup is ruined. 

Yeah. Fuck... A screamer, a moaner, and a crier.

And he's only about to fuck her…

"Das war gut. Good pussy," he mutters and licks his lips, high above his pretty little prize.

"Oh–oh god…"

Poor thing is so flushed, desperate and helpless; she jerks as he taps her clit with his cock, whines when he forces the fat, leaking tip into her folds. 

"Wait–"

"I will fuck you now."

"Sir… Please, could we use a condom? Please…"

She's still calling him sir like she's at work. Like he's her superior, or worse yet, an officer, a colonel she's not supposed to flirt with, let alone spread her weak little legs for. 

"Hm. I don't have any."

"I do," she's panting heavy on the bed, clearly reluctant to get away from his cock, too weak to get up after his thigh-shaking treatment. It would give him a year’s worth of confidence to witness her in this state, if she would only let him finish the job. Right here, right now. Dip it in raw and blow a load inside that sweet, aching cunt. She might just end up with his child... 

But the moment is ruined: he hates condoms, and he hates it that she has them with her. Jealousy starts to eat his mind like there's a can of worms poured inside his brain.

Who does she carry condoms for? Does she get fucked often...? 

How many does she have, one, two, three? A whole pack?

She rises to get the darned piece of plastic, and the thick thunder in his head is making him seriously consider locking her up and throwing away the key. Women shouldn't be running around like that, hungry and desperate for a dick. She should stay at home, his home, and go crazy when he returns from war. The rage is the only thing keeping his cock from growing soft. 

"It's too small," he laments when the condom is finally in place but barely reaches the base of his shaft. It's going to roll off if he fucks her like he intended to… Good, long, deep and hard.

She bites her lip as she stares at the sad little wrapping trying to render his cock harmless. Surely she can see how stupid and useless this is… Either he gets her a morning after pill tomorrow or then he pulls out, but the condom has to fucking go. 

"It's… okay," she swallows. "It's okay. Let's just… If you're clean?"

"I am."

He doesn't tell her he hasn't had a woman in months. Almost over a year.

And he’s clean; he keeps everything…in ordnung.

He rolls the cursed plastic off, and his cock immediately bounces back up: hard, demanding and ready. He throws the condom away, just somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's out of his sight. Wasting no time, he's back at her cunt, and bullies himself in.

"Ah ja… Das ist schön… Sehr schön."

Nothing compares to the feel of a real cunt, hugging him tight. And fuck… He can actually fit fully inside her. He fits like a glove. 

"Oh ja. Das ist... I'm not going to pull out. It's not an option. Ok?"

It's not a warning, it's a simple, honest statement. She looks at him with a fearful, desperate stare as his balls arrive to press against her flesh. Yes... nothing beats a wet pussy and a frightened stare.

"Ok…" 

"It's better this way," he promises, wondering if it would make him a bad person if he disposed of her condoms first thing in the morning. "Ja?"

"Yes," she sighs. "Feels so good…"

The tightness in his chest falls down, all the way to his stomach and forms a bittersweet knot there. Why does she keep looking at him like that…? He's not hurting her, she's not exactly afraid, it's something else that's making her give him those dumb doe eyes.

"You're pretty," he rasps while trying not to start a complete fuckfest in every meaning of the word.

"O‐oh…?"

"Ja… It's illegal to be that pretty. Someone might want to fuck you..."

"Please do," she almost chokes on the words while looking up at him. "Please…"

If this is a dream, it’s the best dream he’s ever had. She's so perfect, far more needy and helpless than he ever imagined. He moves before he drives them both to madness. 

"I'll fuck you, Liebling. As many times as you want. As hard as you want."

He can't remember when was the last time he sounded so soft. Or reassuring... He can't remember the last time a woman was so responsive to his cock. But he fucks her. He fucks his own sorrow into oblivion, too. He pauses only to take a good look at her and remind himself that he’s truly inside the sweetest pussy he’s ever had. 

He even whispers lies to her ear about how she doesn't have to worry: he'll get her a plan B after this. The girl turns a bit wild now that it's somewhat safe to be fucked by an animal. She lets him lick and bite her breasts, and thoroughly abuse her cunt. At some point she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, hungry and sweet. Squeals into his mouth as his balls slap against her ass, hugs him like a drowning person when he picks up the pace and starts to lose himself in her pussy. The feel of a woman's hands around his middle is a sensation he's forgotten completely. 

"You like that?" He starts to talk nonsense between her sloppy kisses, pleased with his own soft voice, with her, with everything in his life right now. "You like my cock? Hm?"

"Yes… Oh fuck, I'm…"

Fuck, she's about to cum again... He's in heaven, no, he's somewhere near Eden. She suddenly goes still, and sinks her nails in his back, just before a cry cuts through the air. It reminds him of the aftermath of a grenade detonating; her moans pierce the air, and he can’t get enough of it. He wants to swim in those screams.

He was supposed to make love to her for hours, but it's crystal clear now that this won’t be a long session. He's a selfish asshole for chasing his own peak next by fucking her through her second orgasm like a rabid dog. 

"Oh das ist sehr schön, das ist gut… Ach für–scheisse—"

He sounds a bit too pathetic, and quickly buries his face into her neck to escape her lovely, adoring stare. He fucks himself into a big, fat, blinding explosion, he can barely hear the thundering roar that meets her sweaty neck. 

She's scared silent by his despair, poor little thing. And he just fapped this morning… But the orgasm compares to the first time he came, it's violent, abrupt and rough. Sadly, the descent is too heady, and too quick. Nuzzling deeper into her hair, he tries to listen to her heartbeat but only hears his own beastlike panting.

"Ok… Ok. I guess we both really needed that, huh?"

She's laughing and out of breath as she gathers their pieces and constructs some kind of a new reality out of them. He rumbles in agreement and refuses to pull out – now that he's inside her, he'll never fucking leave.

"Will you stay? For the night…?"

His question is met by complete silence. She just breathes, then buries her fingers in his hair. He feels like melting chocolate; for the first time in his life, he's somewhat relaxed and content. 

"I… I'd really like to but… I can't. I have a party to attend.”

She gives him a quick kiss on the head, then ruffles his hair. She fucking pets him while he’s plunging into some deep recess with the raw, post-nut clarity. 

She just needed a fuck… She just needed some cock. And a gift card, so she can buy nice things for the men she allows to lick her to ruin. Fuck… She's even worse than him.

“I'm sorry..."

"It's ok," he hears himself say. She’s too fucking gentle as she drags her fingertips across his scalp. Her other hand comes to trace his jawline, and her thighs hug his waist so good that he would have no trouble making love to her again. Just start another round with a slow roll of hips. Fuck her until they're both sweaty and crying, fuck her full of his cum and chain her to the bed, for safekeeping as he goes and gets himself a beer in between the sessions.

For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to act on this wish. Not when she just cried from how good he was, not when she's petting him like he's a good dog who's earned his rest.

He gives himself a minute before pulling out, and she leaves his bed in silence, tiptoeing into the bathroom in a hurry. Trust a maid to not want to stain the floor with cum when she just scrubbed everything clean…

She takes a quick shower and fixes her makeup, then picks her clothes from the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his breaths remain even as he watches her get dressed. He even offers her a ride to the party, which she accepts with apologetic gratitude. It’s held at someone's home: a house party is a sight he has only ever seen from outside.

She gives him an uneasy, distant smile and a quick kiss before thanking him for the evening and the ride. Then she half walks, half runs across the pavement and up towards the door to be let in by her already drunken friends. Some man embraces her, and the white rage inside his skull is telling him to grab a gun, rise from the car and start a good old mass shooting. Instead, he guides his stare to the asphalt and drives off.

He goes home and has a beer, the rage and longing giving his insides a good stab every five or ten minutes. He watches some TV, then mulls over whether to sleep on the couch because her scent is still on the sheets.

It starts to rain outside, and reality kicks in. When it rains, it pours… He decides he actually hates Christmas, and he also can't stand the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Too tired to dump them in the trash, his feet carry him to the bed, cold and soiled and wrinkled from past love that never was.

The clock is only half past ten, and the doorbell rings just before he takes his shirt off. For the umptieth time this day, his heart starts to race, reminding him that it's not wars that are cruel, but women. 

When he opens the door, she's standing there in the rain. Utterly soaked, dripping wet, sad like a stray cat, lower lip trembling from cold.

"Sir?" she declares, "I'm afraid to fall in love."

There’s a spread of wings inside his chest, catching wind like a soaring eagle. It’s a fell swoop and a heady high at the same time, a burning pain right there over his heart as he looks at her, lonely and sad and so adorably lost. Beautiful and wet, like a trampled little flower after a summer storm. She's perfect, just perfect.

And has she walked all the way back here…? There’s no sign of a taxi, no sounds of a car or a bus, and she looks like she's wetter than a wet dog.

"You’re afraid to fall in love…?"

She nods, then bursts into tears. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with sobs, the rain makes long, wet strings of her hair. He takes a step and tries to pull her in, but she won't come. Stubborn, incredible little thing…

"Liebling... Me too."

"Really?” she raises her sad stare to meet him while trying to wipe her ruined mascara in the midst of falling rain. “You seem like the kind of man who fears nothing..."

"Oh I fear a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Like… flying, for example."

"But you fly all the time?"

"Exactly."

She's sniffling and pouting and sobbing, like a princess who always got everything she wanted. He wonders if she's the kind of girl who would've laughed at him in high school, or looked him down her nose. If she would've joined the bullies and been the one to say she’d never sleep with a freak like him…

"Let's get you inside. Hmm? You must be cold."

She won’t come, no matter how hard he tries to coax her to come inside his dry, warm house. The rain falls in mats behind her as the city sleeps, vibrant and vigilant. He thought he already broke his heart to the point it couldn’t get more broken anymore, but the look she gives him as he tries to pull her inside is making it burst and shatter into pieces again.

If she's a princess, she must be a battered, broken one. 

"Come on. I'll give you a bath," he tries to entice her. "And then we’ll tuck you in. That sound gut?"

"Yes," her shoulders drop as she finally accepts his asylum. "Thank you, sir…"

"And don't call me sir unless you want to make me hard."

She breaks into a fragile, shy smile while looking down at the tips of her drenched ballerinas. Then she allows him to drag her in. 

He helps her out of her coat and hangs it to dry while his pretty little kitten gets out of her clothes for the second time this evening. A strong, powerful possessiveness settles in his chest as he guides her to the bathroom and draws her a bath. Then he pulls her shivering, naked body against him so that she wouldn’t feel cold while they wait for the tub to fill with water.

What happens next is soft and gentle, the kind of unhurried exploration he never had time to do because the few females he was with were always in a hurry to get away from him and his needs. 

This pretty thing just eases herself into the bath. A timid but trusting little creature, who allows him to study her body like it’s already a possession for him to play with. She lets him rub her tits and tease her clit, caress her neck and face and waist. She does so with patience, love and hope. He’s been extremely tender and extremely slow with her; perhaps that’s why she doesn’t run away from him. 

"You're too good for me," she whispers when his hand comes to rest on her stomach, just below her tits.

"...What?" 

He barely hears what she’s saying, he can hardly hear her speaking at all because he’s there in the water with her, submerged in the hot, soothing liquid, even if he’s crouching next to the tub in reality.

"Oh please... You're everything a woman could want," she complains softly.

"What do you mean.”

She sighs and looks up to the ceiling, as if begging for help. Then she starts to list things.

"You're… Rich? And powerful, and strong. Kind and considerate. Mysterious... With a great body and a big dick, and still wanting to go down on a woman... It's insane."

He tries to remember how to breathe, but she’s not done yet.

"I'm sorry but… No one's ever eaten me out like that. You must be so experienced."

Her praise eclipses everything, even the thoughts of wanting to kill everyone who's had a taste of her.

So, the boys she's been with don't know how to please her… Stupid arschlochs don't understand what true devotion means. Even a fucker like him knows it's better to make a woman cry out of pleasure than out of fear. Although he always had a talent to do the latter…

And he's not experienced, he's just fucking horny. He just likes to eat pussy. 

But that's not something she has to know. Better to have her keep the illusion that he's a dream catch, a rich cosmopolitan of some sort. What a joke…

"You’re literally perfect," she moans from the bath like the princess that she is. "How are you even single?"

"I'm not… right in the head, I guess."

"Well, neither am I."

He can’t look at her. Not when she’s open and trustful and sweet like this. But her hand comes to rest over his, under the water, under the safety of the surface.

"No one is."

"No. Wirklich, I’m a bit sick. Always was. I jerked off to your…" He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, risking a look into her eyes. 

"I know," she smiles. "I don't mind… Actually I think that's hot."

"Liebling…"

"I think I’ve had enough now. Can we go to bed…?"

"Of course."

She giggles when he lifts her from the water, smiles as he dries him with his towel like she's a wet little kitten he rescued from rain. And perhaps he did... She caresses his chin when he carries her to bed, and reaches for him as he accompanies her under the sad, steel-blue sheets. 

He doesn’t need to fuck her, not right now. It’s enough that she’s here: soft, trapped, and tame. His, just his. 

Not another lonely Christmas for him ever again…

And she latches herself onto him like he’s the saviour she’s been waiting for all her life. Poor thing doesn’t know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but he’s not kind. He’s not considerate, and he’s not perfect. He’s her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise. 

He’s single because no one ever stayed. No one stayed after they saw who he really was... Some even had to flee the country.

But he knows she’ll stay. He’ll make sure that this cute one never leaves. No, this one is not safe from him, even if she tried to escape him to space.

"Are you still afraid?"

He caresses her head, pressed against his chest. She’s unsuspecting and lovely, the perfect woman, hugs him so tight and sighs from simple, lamblike happiness. 

"No," she smiles softly. "Not at all... I know you'll treat me right."

[delusional-day-dreamer]

Reflections - e.e

‣ emily engstler x reader

‣ wc: 2958

‣‣ synopsis: emily had no choice but to bail on your planned day together, so you decide to get a little revenge, leaving your reflection as the only thing on her mind all day.

‣‣‣ a/n: sorry this took SO LONG to release, i was a little nervous to write smut for the first time so hopefully this isn't too bad! i'm still working on more fics and hopefully i can still follow my plan to release one a day!

You adjusted the position of your body in front of the mirror, lifting Emily's shirt to reveal just a sliver of your boobs as you posed for your selfie in your lacy thong. You weren't posing for a social media post or anything of the sort, you were just trying to torture your poor girlfriend a little bit.

The two of you had planned a day-long date today, as she wasn't supposed to go in for practice or any sort of team events, but her coaches had changed their mind, calling the team early in the morning for mid-day practice, followed by a workout session, ice baths and checkups with their athletic trainer, and a film session to end their packed day.

Unfortunately for you, the text had come in during an early morning makeout session, causing Emily to leave the comfort of your bed to eat breakfast, get ready, and head out for her long day. Leaving you a needy, pleading mess for her in the process. You knew the change in plans wasn't her fault, nor was it in her control.

You were just seeking revenge for the fact that she chose to leave you orgasmless before heading out, promising to finish what the two of you had started later in the evening.

Grinning as you finally got the perfect shot, you sent off a text to Emily, containing both the selfie and a short text that read, can't wait for you to get back Em. Now, all you had to do was wait for her response, which you knew wouldn't come until a little later, when she finally got the chance to check her phone during a water break.

To your delight, Emily's response came in sooner than you had expected, not even ten minutes after you had sent the text, your phone pinged with a new text. you better find a way to wait, don't you dare touch yourself without me.

You knew that was one of Emily's "rules", if she wasn't away for a game, your pleasure was hers and hers only. And usually, that was always enough for you, as you had no need to get yourself off either by hand or with any of the toys hidden in your shared closet, Emily was always there to take care of you. But today, you found yourself struggling to hold off on relieving the deep ache that had settled in your core.

You swear you did everything in attempt to pass by the time that Emily was gone. You ate breakfast, dusted nearly every surface in your apartment, wiped down every mirror, scrubbed down the bathrooms, ate lunch, cooked dinner for you two to enjoy later, took an everything shower, and finally settled down in on your bed to watch t.v. around four in the afternoon, knowing Emily would be home before six.

Just as your eyes began to shut, drifting off into a light sleep, you heard the front door open as Emily entered the apartment, dropping the keys in the little ceramic bowl you had bought for the apartment and taking off her shoes, walking towards your bedroom.

You shot up in bed, eager for Emily to walk through the door so you could capture her in your grasp and lure her into bed, finally able to relieve the throbbing between your legs. She greeted you as she entered the room, dropping her practice bag over by the laundry hamper before making her way to you, not that you were paying attention.

You leaned in and grabbed the back of her neck, smashing your lips onto hers the second she was close enough. She climbed onto the bed with you, laying her body over yours as you continued to make out, her tongue intertwined with yours as her hands moved up and down, from kneading your braless tits to squeezing your waist, the two of you just couldn't get enough of each other.

You whined as she pulled away from your kiss, she chuckled before ducking her head down to kiss across your jaw to your ear, "missed me that much baby?" She questioned smugly as she moved her lips under your ear, alternating between sharply nipping at your skin, open mouthed kisses, and soothing licks over the trail of reddish-purple marks she left behind.

"Please Em, don't tease. Been waiting for you all day," you begged, arching your chest into her, hoping she would get the hint. She popped her lips off your neck with a smirk, gazing at your needy expression before moving her hands to pull her t-shirt off your body, uncovering your perky nipples, begging for her touch.

Her lips began a trail of kisses, licking, biting, and sucking her way down from the base of your neck to your chest, leaving hickeys at the very tops of your breast before finally latching her mouth onto your right nipple, her hand coming up to twist and tug at the other.

Your hands flew to her ponytail, gripping it as you moaned at her teasing, urging her head to continue its descent down to where you needed her the most. Thankfully, she continued to kiss down your abdomen, stopping at the edge of your lace thong to nip at the fat of your hips. She continued to tease you, leaving hickeys around the perimeter of your inner thighs as you whimpered the arousal continuing to pool within your panties, yet Emily purposely avoided your throbbing pussy.

“God Em, please I can’t take it anymore, need you so bad,” you propped yourself up on your elbows to look down at her as you pleaded, your mind far too hazy to feel embarrassed of how desperate you sounded. She propped herself, perching herself to the perfect position in between your thighs as she finally ran her fingers up and down your lace-covered slit, feeling the wetness that had begun to soak through.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this baby,” she hummed, “Wanna try something different with you, that okay?” She asked as she pulled your thong down, a strand of your slick sticking to the fabric. "You're this wet for me and I haven't even touched you yet baby," Emily rose to lean back on her knees, moving her hands to rest upon your thighs.

“Please Em, do anything, I just need you,” you whispered back, sitting up as you watched her rise from the bed, walking over to the floor length mirror you had taken the picture in. She picked it up and adjusted it so that it leaned against the wall in front of your bed, such that you were now gazing at your own naked reflection.

Your attention, however, was quickly drawn back to Emily, who had now stripped her t-shirt and sweatpants off her body, leaving her in just a plain black sports bra and a matching pair of boxers. She walked back over to the bed, settling against the headboard and planting her feet flat on the bed to take a seat behind you.

"Come here baby," she requested, and with such a low, sultry tone, how could you resist for even a second? You quickly turned onto your hands and knees, crawling up the expanse of your California king bed to kneel in between her thighs, capturing her lips once again.

You took the chance to tease Emily back a bit, taking control of the kiss by biting and dragging out her bottom lip before slipping your tongue back into her mouth, moaning eagerly into her as your hands tugged at the straps of her sports bra.

She didn't allow you to continue for long, grabbing your waist and manhandling your back into her front before you could take off her bra. She traced her hands down your body, grabbing the back of your thighs to rest them over her bent legs, spreading you open in front of the mirror.

"You see how wrecked you are for me?" She mumbled into your ear, you watched as her tattooed hands kneaded at your hickey covered tits, pinching and tugging at your nipples once again. "Mhm," you nodded, biting your bottom lip to hold back the moans threatening to spill from your lips.

Emily, however, wouldn't accept that as an answer. She grabbed your jaw firmly with her right hand, using her thumb to pull your lip out in between your teeth. "None of that tonight ma, I wanna hear you properly, whether your answering me," she spoke softly, beginning to suck hickeys into the unmarked side of your neck, "swearing," she flicked her tongue out to soothe a particularly rough area, the skin already turning purple, "or moaning my name, begging me for more," she whispered into your ear.

Your brain turned to mush at her words, which meant you didn't notice how her left hand dropped from massaging your breast to reach your cunt as she was whispering filthy things into your ear, turning you on even more. A borderline pornographic moan tore from the back of your through as Emily finally pressed her middle and ring fingers onto your clit, rubbing small circles at first.

You threw your head back against her shoulder as your body arched against her, desperate moans spilling from your lips as your hips moved upwards to search for more friction in her touch. Her right hand wrapped around your waist, holding down your bottom half before she quickly lifted her fingers from rubbing circles on your clit to lightly slapping it, not nearly hard enough to hurt, but the pressure was enough for your head to shoot up at the sparks it sent through your core.

"I want you to watch yourself in the mirror, you stop looking and I stop touching you, okay baby?" Emily insisted, her fingers only moving down from your clit to trace your folds after you agreed, dragging her fingers to collect the arousal dripping from your entrance back up to your clit, this time adding more pressure onto your clit.

Your body squirmed in her hold, your mouth emitting a near constant stream of desperate whines, begging Emily for more. "C'mon ma, tell me what you want from me," she murmured, her breath warm against the bruised skin of your neck. "Fuck me, please Emily, need you to fuck me so bad I," your words were cut off by a guttural moan leaving your mouth as she plunged two fingers into your sopping heat, the prolonged foreplay had made you so wet she slipped in without any discomfort.

Your eyes fluttered, as your body melted into hers, illegible pleas, swears, and cries of ecstasy continuously fell from your lips, all the while maintaining eye contact with Emily through the mirror. Her fingers increasing their speed as she plunged a third into you, continuing to pump in and out of you, curling into you with such precision you preened her grasp, rolling your hips forward to meet her thrusts. In the process, the heel of her palm brushed against your clit, causing you to writhe in her arms, all the while Emily ducked her head down to suck at your sweet spot.

Her name fell from your lips repeatedly, the coil in your abdomen was so close to snapping, you could almost taste how close your orgasm was. Sensing this from how tight your cunt was squeezing her fingers, she moves her unoccupied hand up to your nipples, roughly tugging at them while she moved her lips up to whisper filth into your ear.

"Just like that baby... see how pretty you look while taking my fingers, my dirty little slut getting off on being finger fucked in front of a mirror, thought about fucking you like this all day... such a good girl for me," her continuous praise and encouragements, combined with the sensation of her playing with your tits, her fingers curling so deep inside of you, and her palm providing friction to your clit was all too much for you to withstand any longer.

Your moans turned into near screams as you finally came, your orgasm hitting you full-force as your legs shook on top of Emily's, full body shudders coursing through you as Emily continued to fuck into you at the same pace, insistent on having you ride out the full extent of your orgasm.

As your orgasm finally began to subside, your body going limp against hers, Emily slowed the pace of her fingers until they stilled within you. To distract you from the emptiness she knew you felt as she withdrew her fingers from your soaking cunt, she peppered kisses along the side of your face and placed a few gentle pecks on you lips accompanied with soft praises as you tuned to face her.

She brought her fingers up to your lips, shoving them into your mouth so you could clean off your own slick, humming as she felt your tongue swirling around her fingers. After popping your mouth off her fingers, you removed your legs from on top of hers, twisting your body around in her grip to face her as your hands reached upwards to cup her face, pulling her mouth down to yours in a searing kiss, all the while your knee pressed into her core.

You were acutely aware of the fact that you hadn't even touched Emily yet, and as stubborn as she was, you could feel the throbbing of her pussy against your knee, and you would be damned if you didn't get her off after the earth-shattering orgasm she gave you.

Your lips continue to move roughly against hers, attempting to establish dominance and only separating when you tugged her sports bra over head. Your lips met the soft skin of her neck, peppering gentle kisses as you knew you couldn't leave hickeys on such a visible area just two days before her next game.

You continued placing kisses to her chest, circling her nipple with your tongue as right hand reached down to cup her warm cunt through her boxers, forcing an airy moan from her. You were able to feel through the fabric how aroused she had gotten from making you cum.

You paused your ministrations to retract your hands from her body, moving to grab at the waistband of her boxers, the only material still separating the two of you. You looked up at her glazed over eyes, nonverbally checking for her consent. Emily's past relationships and hookups always had the same dynamic, she gave a lot more than she received, if they even made an effort to reciprocate her pleasure.

With you, that was never the case. You were just as concerned with Emily's satisfaction as she was yours, despite her having the more dominant personality, you almost never allowed her to leave without at least one orgasm.

With her approval and the slight lift of her hips, you discarded her underwear, laying down on your stomach and spreading open her thighs to be eye-level with her glistening cunt. "All this just from watching my reflection Em?" You teased, your breath warm against her inner thighs as you sucked and nipped at the skin closest to her center, knowing no one would be able to see the bruises left there.

"Yeah baby, it's all for you," she breathed our, grabbing your tousled hair into a makeshift ponytail, using it to guide you closer to her sopping pussy. Even now, she still Deciding she had waited long enough, you dove your tongue into her, licking a long stripe from her entrance up to her throbbing clit, causing her to throw her head back into the headboard as she moaned deeply.

"Right there ma, just like that," she encouraged as you devoured her, running your tongue through her folds to lap at her leaking arousal like a woman starved. You gather her wetness to move up and press your tongue flat against her clit, sucking and lapping at her bud. "Oh fuck baby, doing so good for me," her hips moving up to meet your mouth.

She groaned loudly as you began to hum against her clit, holding her hips tighter as moved down to her entrance again, dipping your tongue to curl into her as your nose moved against her clit, her orgasm quickly approaching from the friction you provided. You moved back up to her clit, knowing just what she needed to be pushed over the edge.

You latched onto her nub, sucking and slightly grazing her with your teeth, humming and pressing into her as she came with a throaty moan, pushing your head deeper into her to draw out as much of her orgasm as possible.

You continued to suck at her for a few moments after, slowly reducing your touch to a few soft kitten licks as her body went limp against the headboard, relaxing fully as you detached your lips from her, rubbing your hands up and down her thighs.

Her thumb wiped the slick that covered your lips and dripped down your chin, grinning at your wrecked state. “Worth the wait ma?” Her smug but somehow genuine demeanor took in the blissed out expression on your face, exhausted from your previous activities.

“Well worth Em, should mess with you more often if this is what happens,” you beamed, only half joking. “Yea right, try that again and I won’t be so nice next time, I could barely make a single shot at practice,” she grumbled, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on your lips, crawling off the bed to grab a washcloth from your joint bathroom. Your reflection had truly served you well today.

[mellowwillowy]

Yan! Lawyer Husband x GN Spouse Reader HCs

CW: mafia related stuffs

—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕

Yan! Husband is a gentle soul to you, he can't and will never lay a finger with the meaning to hurt you! He just doesn't have the strength to do so, almost as though he was set to be so. It's another whole story when it comes to the others though, can you guess how many times he has pulled the trigger of a gun?

Yan! Husband who spoils you rotten with everything you could ever think of. Luxuries, reputations but never the forbodden knowledge he has tried so hard to keep away from you. No, he won't clip your wings. You are his songbird who gets to only fly inside the gilded cage but never in the outside world. He will create a stage of the outside world for you, but never the real deal.

Yan! Husband who paints a portrait of you whenever he's stressed over the cases he has to handle. To move the brush without any problem as your form starts to appear on the blank canvas, he has no trouble remembering you. Sculpting is no problem for him as well. He has spent all his lives honing his artistic skill just to eternalize you as pieces of art.

Yan! Husband loves you so much that he deems children as a burden and bothersome (adoptive too). He only needs you to build a family, he had no need for children to continue this lineage. His whole life revolves around you. If you pass away, he too, will pass away shortly after. That's how much he loves you to the point that death cannot separate you two.

Yan! Husband who might not look like he's able to do it but he is actually an S-rank gaslighter. He will trick you into believing that what he is suggesting is only to keep you safe! He doesn't really enjoy taking your autonomy directly unless it's needed (of course, in a way where you will not confront him about it).

Yan! Husband who will cover and remove all your bad track records (if you have any). He has the power and connection to erase any kind of dirt that is on you, you are his pristine pure lily-of-the-valley and you should not be defiled with those records. Live without any worry clouded in your mind dear, the laws will never tarnish your reputation when you have this lawyer backing you ^^

Yan! Husband who adores any sort of physical touch when it comes to you, yes, anything. Even if you hit him silly, he'd still love every moment your skin feels his. He loves hugging you the most, his face buried into the crook of your neck while taking a scent of you.

Yan! Husband who enjoys humming lullaby of yours to the point everyone's ears around him is bleeding from the repeating lullaby. Can this guy please hum something else for once?

Yan! Husband who will read for you whenever he has the time to sleep with you. He doesn't know what to say to you as his work is either foreign to your brain or a tad too shady. Childhood memories are not great too as he has long forgotten about everything the moment he pledges eternal vow to love you. He abandoned everything and lives only for you.

Yan! Husband who prioritizes you as his number one, even above his own well-being and career. He can still live even if he falls ill, his career would never fall out of track as he has the mafia under his grasp, but you can slip out of his grasp. And he doesn't want that to happen again.

Yan! Husband is without a doubt an infamous lawyer. Especially with how many times he has let the ringleader of that renowned mafia group slip out from the prosecutor and judge's grip? If you seriously think you'll be pronounced guilty of that murder, you better throw that thought out just like how he throws all the scapegoats and falsified evidence into the court. (Should I write a fic for this?)

Yan! Husband who will always make time for the two of you. While vacations are not as often as he wishes he could have, cuddles and tea parties sound nice enough for him to kill time with you.

Yan! Husband who has this cute journal that's filled with what you have been doing every day instead of his own daily stuff. Oh, your diary is almost his if you know how he reads it daily like a refreshment.

Yan! Husband who as much as he hates having to show you to the people at the official parties and events he has to attend, he just can't shake away the butterflies in his stomach as well! You are not just some trophy spouse, you are his beloved! A hand on your waist and a face that is seen whispering sweet nothings into your ear with a glass in his other hand. Oh, he looks so o-godly-handsome like a man who comes out from a romance novel!

Yan! Husband who is a man of greed, the embodiment of Mammon. Wealth is not something that he has never not possessed. So whatever the fuck you do, gambling or blowing it off somewhere in a dumb investment or stock, he won't make a fuss out of it. Instead, he'll teach you more about money management instead :/

"Do you want to learn how to invest? I know a way or two from my predecessor."

He will let you play all the money game you want and gives you the illusion of success despite all the trials and errors you made (he's the one who clean up all the mess lol)

I know that this is AFAB! oriented BUT Yan! Husband never wishes to impregnate you even once. No, he doesn't like the idea of you being in pain over a damn baby(ies) that could just take your life as well. He does enjoy fucking you without any protection on but that is after he tracks your safe day (man is literally fighting the fate of having you pregnant). He prefers you to not consume any birth control for just in case it causes harm rather than good to you. (Shots are a pass if you are scared of syringes)

He is A-OK with adopting if you are persistent enough about this matter and is B-OK if you want to get pregnant (AFAB). He just can't refuse and upset you...

So please don't imagine what would happen if darling dies during delivery :)

Yan! Husband who will always open his pocketwatch and kiss the picture of you in his pocket watch. How many times and lives had passed just for him to enjoy the solace of being your husband?

𝐀 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫.

Yulian de Alpheus is a man of ambition. While he does share the same look as his 'father', the ambition he has is the complete opposite of Castiel. Castiel created him to seek the truth of life, Adam existed to be the Genesis of Life, Alan existed to be someone he didn't recognize and Yulian existed to live beneath the shadow of his spouse.

𝐘𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

Taglist: @vinivave @destructa1 @szde8-blog @luminous011 @ush0 @annbourbon @randomnl @cassanderasblog @maam-appreciator @lem-hhn @fanatic-fan @flesh-eating-ladybug

(send ask/message to be removed from taglist)

[quarterlifekitty]

Which obsessed! 141 character is most likely to harm their kidnapped partner? Is the harm minor like a smack or broken bones? I'd like to see a most to less likely scale👉👈

cw: kidnapping, dark fic, physical violence, emotional manipulation, serious wound/blood, minor amputation, description of parental abuse (does not occur in writing, just a personal anecdote). Also sorry I did the scale in reverse!

So I'm gonna say Soap is at the bottom tentatively. It depends on how well you can handle pain. I think he's almost overly empathetic-- he's the type who will cry if he sees someone crying, and wince when he sees someone in pain. So if you're easy to reduce to tears, he won't do very much, if anything. However I can also easily imagine a scenario... Stay with me here.

(So there's a style of corporal punishment, which I'm not going to say is good, but I can see Soap subscribing to it. My grandfather used to put his hand on the top of my fathers head and hit that. This is so that whenever he was giving him corporal punishment, my grandfather hurt himself as well, maybe more so, and wasn't able to forget how much force was being used. Again, not gonna say it was a good thing to do, but there's an amount of logic behind it.)

Anyways, I can see Soap doing that. Any injury he inflicts on you, he'll do to himself. It's almost like he's making his own soulmate style bond. It's another effort on his part to build up a connection between you-- a sort of camaraderie.

I think John cares too much about image to be able to hurt you very much. He won't do anything that will leave marks-- I also think he's the one most likely to take you on outings, so he can't exactly have you looking like an abused spouse. Anything he does is open palmed, nothing that leaves cuts or bruises.

Gaz prefers not to resort to violence, but he's not shy, either. He's more likely to put you in scenarios where its up to you not to get hurt, so less of the burden is on him. Things like holding a knife to your skin so you have to stay completely still. Also in situations where he'll grab, and tell you to say what he wants you to say or he'll just keep twisting.

Ghost is fully willing to hobble you. Not in a permanent way, but if you like running, like fiddling with things you shouldn't be fiddling with-- he will break bones and cut tendons. It is not in a way that causes more pain than needed. He isn't cruel, he doesn't want you to hate him and associate him with pain. So he'll dutifully care for the wound, make sure everything is setting correctly and that you have everything you could ever want while you recover. But it's possible he's only making sure it heals well so that he'll be able to do it again later if needed.

Nikolai's physical punishments will come without warning, without gradation. He'll basically let you rack up sins, offenses, bad behavior-- all while you don't know he's keeping a tab and fully intending for you to pay up when he's ready. And he will do permanent damage. Nikolai will have never once laid a hand on you in violence, and suddenly one day one of your tirades of screaming and calling him a monster ends with your pinky wedged in his bolt cutters, right at the middle knuckle, all while the look on his face doesn't change. And he makes you beg for him to help. Tell him you need him, that you always needed him, that you were being stupid and you didn't mean what you said. If you tell him what he wants to hear? Suddenly he's like a big cuddly bear again, doting on you and cooing poor thing while he neatly bandages and cleans everything, feeds you your favorite meal, doses you with plenty of painkillers and cocktails.

If you refuse to beg? Well, he won't let you die of gangrene or anything. He'll pour the nearest bottle of liquor over a kitchen knife and hold it on the stove for a minute before cauterizing the wound.

When all's said and done, months and months from now, he'll probably get you a decorative silver cap for what remains, finely engraved, with you new last name, perhaps?

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

What Happens in Cars, Stays in Cars

dbf!jake seresin x fem!reader 9k words

summary: After a month-long deployment, Jake is finally coming back home. Well, not home home. You're too desperate to wait until you've actually got him home. But who needs home when there's a perfectly good car anyway?

a/n: porn with plot. a lot of plot. and a lot of porn. 18+ obviously. reader is twenty-five in this, jake is forty-seven. as always, a list of things to watch out for:

nudes. mentions of masturbation. pet names used in an unholy way. the word 'brat' is dropped twice. safe sex (yess they still have a condom!!! i feel like i deserve a round of applause for not forgetting it). car sex, so a tiny smidge of exhibitionism. dom!jake. a lot of begging, as always. a tad bit dry humping. first finger sucking, then fingering. any more, uh....? i don't think so. there's not much space in a car for anything else.

top gun masterlist | dbf!jake seresin masterlist

(the gif has nothing at all to do with the fic, but tell me that's not dbf!jake working out in his backyard knowing you're watching him istg)

It's a one time thing. That's what they told him. A one time thing.

He isn't supposed to do these anymore. He's supposed to be stationed permanently, sitting in his office and doing what an admiral does. Important work, surely. It's a high honour and he's proud, of course. But office work... Office work has never really been his thing. And if they'd deployed him for this mission four months earlier, he would've been thrilled.

He's the best of the best. The navy knows. He knows. Which is why he's an admiral by now. And also why they want him coaching the new hotshots for a month, halfway across the country.

And, yes, he would've been thrilled - four months ago.

Four months ago, when you'd not yet moved back home. Four months ago, when he hadn't yet met you. Four months ago, when he hadn't known what it was like to hold you, to touch you, to miss you.

His phone chimes and momentarily distracts him. It's not that he didn't mute it - he's standing in front of a bunch of twenty-something year olds who he does try to be a role model for - it's just that you'd tampered with it once and ever since then, you've had a personalised ringtone that still somehow works even when everything else is muted. (He could totally turn that off if he wanted to, though. Definitely. Ab-so-lu-tely. He just... doesn't.)

His jaw clenches and he has to restart his sentence, but other than that, he manages to pretend nothing happened. Nonetheless, he has to glare at the snickering wannabe-pilots in the first row, who remind him very much of a young version of himself.

You're three hours ahead of him and probably just got off work. It's likely nothing but a sweet "having a good day?" message or maybe a photo of you all dressed up, ready for dinner with your friends like you'd planned.

Either way, knowing your message is sitting unopened in your chat has him talking quicker. He finishes his lecture half an hour early and fishes his phone from his pocket before the first of his pupils have even got up from their seats - which turns out to be a horrible, horrible idea, because the photo attached to "don't know how long i'll stay out, have a nice night, admiral" with the winky face emoji is not one of you all dressed up for a night out with your friends, but one of you in just a pair of panties in front of the mirror. The mirror in his bedroom.

Fucking god-

He seems to let out some kind of choked up groan or something of the sort, because a few of his pilots turn to look back at him. One even has the audacity to ask if he's alright, which he certainly isn't. But that's absolutely not their problem.

So he grumbles something about how they should all use their free time to go to the gym instead of bothering him before he collects his things and flees to his room. One of the many advantages of being an admiral, of course, is that he doesn't have to bunk anymore, which is always the greatest nuisance for anybody who's ever looking for privacy. The times he's had to listen to guys jack off a foot away from him- fuck, the times they'd had to listen to him.

No, right now he is incredibly thankful for the privacy of his bedroom as he locks the door behind him and opens his phone again. Goddamn, why were you in his house? His fingers hover over the call button for a few seconds, but then he decides against it - you're going out with friends for the first time in months, he doesn't want to bother you.

He's popping the button of his jeans and sitting down on his bed right as you come online.

"Like the pictures, baby? I've got more"

And before he can even respond, you've sent a bunch more selfies, half of them in front of his mirror, the other half on his bed and none of them decently clothed. Fucking hell, in one you've got your fingers down your panties and Jake is really thankful for the privacy of his room then because he groans so loudly that a bunkmate would definitely have heard.

"Are you still at dinner?", he asks, his fingers flying over his keyboard while he tugs at his zipper with his left hand.

"Yeah, won't be home soon", you write back. "Sorry"

"Don't be", Jake responds, as quickly as he can, because he definitely does not want to make you feel bad for spending time with your friends. "Have fun"

"Have fun with the pics", you send. Jake can picture your grin, sitting all dressed up in a restaurant and ignoring your friends to text him. "Thought those could maybe make up for no phone call tonight"

He swallows hard as you log off, leaving him with those pretty pictures of yours that certainly improve his night by a lot. Hell, he's already moving his briefs out of the way and clicking on your photos again. Just seeing you half-naked in his room - fuck, the thought of you sneaking over there only to do a goddamn photoshoot... You're really unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. And he can't wait to get back home to you.

...

"I miss you", you mumble into the phone, blinking at the alarm clock on your nightstand. It's eleven thirty, not nearly late enough for you to feel as exhausted as you do.

"I miss you too, darling", you hear Jake drawl on the other end of the call. "I'll be back soon."

"Not soon enough", you whine - god, you sound pathetic and miserable to your own ears already, you must sound ten times worse to him. You fall back onto your pillows and let out a deep sigh. "Would it be rude to say I hope the mission gets cancelled?"

Jake chuckles. Fucking hell, you miss that chuckle so much. You miss him so much. You miss cuddling up to him under the covers and tucking your head under his chin. You miss running your fingers through his hair and having your hands on him. You miss seeing him, standing in the kitchen or working out or tinkering in the backyard or fresh out of the shower. Shit, you even miss sneaking around with him, because at least then you'd gotten to watch him from a distance, maybe steal a kiss when your parents hadn't been looking or spend a night at his house pretending to be at your friend's.

Now he's halfway across the country and absolutely, completely out of reach. You'd barely gotten to see him at all - twice it had worked out to video-call during a lunch break, once he even managed to show you around his office after work. The camera quality is hardly any good, of course, which means video-calls aren't all that great, plus the connection never seems to really be stable, so with a few exceptions, you've only seen Jake in pictures over the past two and a half weeks.

His deployment would take another one and a half and then, finally, he'd be back home. Back home with you.

"I won't answer that", Jake says, and you can almost hear him grin. "But I wouldn't mind either if they moved the mission up."

You have to bite down on your lip to hide a smile.

"So you think you're good to go?", you ask softly, not wanting to bring the mood down further, instead opting for the non-classified work questions. You've already been bringing down the mood enough back here at home - you don't need to fill the few minutes a day you get with Jake with your whining as well. Your parents already hear enough of that. Of course, they don't know why you've been in such a bad mood ever since Jake left. And they can't know, either. You can't tell them. You can't tell anyone.

You can't tell anyone because no one knows that you've been sneaking around with your dad's best friend for the past three months. So you resign yourself to moping around and keeping out of everybody's way as much as you can. For one and a half week more, one and a half...

...

Exactly one and a half week later you're standing at the airport in your best heels and a little yellow sundress and are positively buzzing with nervous energy. Jake's plane would get in at half, he'd said, when you'd last spoken to him six hours earlier. Then the plane had taken off and so had his wifi.

You're playing around with a strand of your hair and doing your hardest not to start chewing off your nails, which proves more difficult than you'd thought (even though you'd put on nail polish).

You're just so excited.

It's been a month since you'd last seen him. A month. And at the early stage of your... relationship, if you could call it that, that's basically half a year. God, how long it's been since you've run your hands through his hair, since you've felt his arms around you.

You miss him so much.

Your phone chimes and you fish it out of your pocket with trembling hands, only to be disappointed when it's not a message from Jake. It's not like you'd told him to text when he'd landed, just... A part of you is kind of scared you're waiting in the wrong place. Maybe he's on the other end of the airport - it's not a particularly small one. It'd take you hours to find each other if you were waiting in the wrong place.

Then again - maybe the plane is late. Maybe he's had to wait for his luggage.

You check the time, just to be safe. It's 11:46. For all you know, Jake is still in the air. Or less than a door away.

You bounce on your feet, nervously shifting back and forth before checking your phone again. The text you'd gotten is from one of your friends, who you text back only to distract you. It barely works anyway. You can't put it away again quickly enough.

It's not even that you don't want to distract yourself. You just physically can't pay attention. You've been a nervous wreck for the past three days, ever since you'd made the plan to pick him up from the airport. Which is probably why you almost don't spot him.

Almost.

He walks through the opened doors with his suitcase rolling behind him, his backpack slung over his shoulder and at least five other people rushing past him.

He sees you before you see him.

But then, then when you see him-

You're already sprinting towards him before your mind even tells your legs to move. You can't control it and you can't be bothered to. Why would you?

You don't care about the people glancing at you with raised eyebrows. You only care about Jake, about Jake who's standing there, pulling his hand from the handle of his suitcase and grinning at you. Grinning at you as you run at him and throw yourself into his arms.

He catches you effortlessly and steadies you as you cross your hands behind his neck and press your lips to his.

God, how you've missed him! How long you haven't kissed him!

His palms flatten against your back and he holds you tight, so tightly to him. You push even closer. He's here. He's back.

You don't realise you're crying until you taste the tears.

That's when Jake pulls back.

"I've missed you", he mutters, raising a hand and brushing the tears off your cheeks. You lean into the touch and tighten your arms around his neck. You're really touching him. He's really here.

"I missed you too", you try to say, but you're choked up and crying and it somehow comes out a blubbering, stuttering mess that you're not quite sure Jake can even understand. "Missed you so much."

He smiles one of those gorgeous smiles that you haven't seen in far too long before he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into him, your fingers trailing up the nape of his neck. His breath mingles with yours as he draws you in again and catches you in another kiss, tugging gently at your bottom lip as if he has all the time in the world to do it - slow and languid and real. Finally real again.

He pulls you in by your waist, his hands splayed wide and so, so big against your thin sundress. Your nails scratch against his neck and he lets out a groan and suddenly, he's got his hands on your thighs and you're wrapping your legs around his middle and tightening your arms around him and his lips are working against yours feverishly, heavily, messily. You're crossing your feet behind his back when one of them hits something hard. You've flinched away from him even before you can hear the dull crash of his suitcase kissing the airport floor.

There's blood rushing in your ears and you're sure if someone measured your heart rate right now, you'd be sent to the ER immediately. You probably look like a tomato with all the redness in your cheeks. But Jake stares at his suitcase silently for two seconds too, breathing heavily as his grip on you tightens further.

As much as he likes having you in his arms, his suitcase reminds him that you're still very much in the middle of a well-used airport. So he turns back to you and lowers his voice.

"I think we should get out of here, darling."

Your lips tug up into a grin and you lean in to give him just one last, quick kiss.

"Yeah", you breathe, carefully jumping back down onto your own feet. Jake lets go of you only reluctantly - if this wasn't a public airport, he'd never have let you go again. But it is, so he swallows hard as you brush your palms down your dress and blink up at him with a smile.

You're wearing heels. You're still shorter than him by quite a bit.

His amusement melts into a frown when you grab the handle of his suitcase.

"I've got that", he says, reaching his hand out to take the suitcase from you, but you're already maneuvering it away from him and starting to walk in the direction (you think it's the right direction) you'd parked your car in.

"I want to do it for you", you hum.

"Sweetheart, you're already doing enough for me", he says, and he really does mean it. You've driven all this way to come pick him up, you'd watered his plants while he'd been away, you'd even cleaned. That one mostly because you'd desperately needed something to do and Jake's house had always smelled like him, but still.

"Doing enough to you, you mean." Your grin borders on lewd as you dig your teeth into your lip.

"Yeah, that too", he sighs, but he has to grin as well. You're absolutely unbelievable. Instead of trying to argue (he knows it'd be fruitless anyway), he wraps an arm around your back and pulls you into his side, his hand resting on your waist again.

You glance at him.

"I'm not letting go of this suitcase", you warn, even as you lean into his side and swallow. God, he looks so good. And he smells so good. And he feels so good.

"Got it", he chuckles, brushing a kiss to your temple and pulling you even closer into him. He can't have you close enough. Does this fucking airport not have an end? He just needs a little more privacy, a little more space-

"This way", you say and point right. Jake smiles at you as you guide him down the halls. He can't help but watch, can't help but stare at you, at your dress in that soft shade of yellow and your matching heels. Autumn doesn't seem to have caught up with you yet. Then again - autumn hasn't caught up with this place yet. And he's used to Texas heat, he likes that it doesn't get cold here. Also, those sundresses... Yeah, he certainly isn't complaining about the weather.

You speed up when you finally catch sight of the doors, dragging him along with you, almost falling into a jog. The suitcase rumbles against the airport floor, the wheels click-clacking over uneven ridges and bumps and then, thank god, you feel the sunshine on your skin. His hand tightens around your waist.

"Home sweet home", you grin as you take the first step onto concrete. You swivel around and steady both palms against the handle of his suitcase behind your back, bouncing on your heels and looking up at him. "After about a three hour drive."

Jake chuckles and looks back at you with raised eyebrows.

"You'll drive?", he asks. You hum.

"Maybe", you grin as you turn away again and walk over to your car, parked only three rows away for whatever holy reason. You'd been incredibly lucky. And you'd almost run over a grandma. "Or maybe not."

Jake follows you with another low chuckle that sends a pleasant tingling sensation down your spine. It's been so long since you heard that chuckle behind you.

He's next to you again within a few long strides, reaching out for you and you slow your steps to intertwine your fingers with his.

His hands are so big. He's holding onto you so firmly. Fuck, you've missed him so much.

You squeeze his hand and walk a little quicker. Car, home. Car, home. That's it. Then you've got him all to yourself. You can see the car glinting in the sunlight already - and then it's three hours. Three hours next to him in an enclosed space before you've truly got him back.

You stop and let go of his suitcase to fish the car keys out of your pocket without dropping his hand. You push the unlock button and open up the trunk before you turn to Jake and grin at him.

You want to say something, really. It's on the tip of your tongue, still running through your mind, but you've completely forgotten it when you look up at him.

Because while you'd been dragging him to the car, he'd pulled his sunglasses out and put them on and for whatever reason... That kind of does it for you. Holy shit.

"Are those new?", you ask hoarsely and swallow hard, the car keys digging into your palm as you tighten your fist around them. Maybe it's just that you haven't seen him in a month. Or maybe it's the way the sunlight catches his hair, slightly longer than when he'd left. Maybe it's just that with the sun behind him, you've got no choice but to squint at his broad shoulders.

"The other pair broke", Jake explains, letting go of your hand only to wrap his arms around your waist. Fuck, you're just standing there, doing absolutely nothing and he already can't keep from touching you. He has to touch you. He's got to put his arms around you and pull you close. "Why? Don't like it?"

You steady your palms against his chest and let out a breath as your eyes drop to his lips - he's got that cheeky look on his face that's not really a grin but not really not a grin and that nobody but him can do.

"I do", you counter, because it's the truth, and there's no way you can lie to him. "I very much do."

"Very much?" Jake does grin then, raises his eyebrows and pulls you fully against him. "That's more than just a yes."

Your fingers fist his shirt, the car keys digging into his chest just as firmly as they're digging into your palm now. He doesn't seem to be too bothered. He really isn't too bothered.

"They look good on you", you mutter, pulling him even closer. It's been too long since you'd pulled him close... And he feels so good, smells so good, looks so good. Fuck, he's so big and broad and-

"Thanks", he mutters, his grin all cheeky and self-assured and god, is it really this hot? Do you just feel this hot? Because you feel really, really hot. Your skin is burning. How the hell are you supposed to manage a three hour car ride?

"Jake", you whimper, without even meaning to. It's barely above a breath, barely above a whisper, and still too much of a whine to sound anything close to appropriate. A sort of grunt leaves his lips before his arms tighten around you, before he slots his mouth over yours hard. His thumbs drag circles against the small of your back, catching on the fabric of your dress. Your fingertips dig into his shirt, into his chest.

The sun beams down on you, warming your thighs and your arms and every exposed inch of skin, brightness behind closed eyelids as you push further and further into him. He's so sturdy, all hard abs right in front of you, broad arms around you.

You don't even notice the breathless moan that escapes your tongue. You can only feel the heat boiling inside of you, the desperate heat inside of you crawling up your body, every inch of you burning. Burning with want for him. With need for him. Fuck, he's been gone for way too long.

And then he pulls back.

You need a few seconds to even blink yourself back to reality.

"Home?", he suggests, even though it's less of a suggestion and more just a fact. He's getting you home. Now.

"Please", you whine, already halfway through pulling back and dropping the car keys into his palm. Three hours. Three fucking hours, you... You simply won't manage to sit down behind the steering wheel with your skin crawling and your underwear soaked through.

You'll barely manage sitting in the passenger seat.

Jake presses another kiss against your temple before he grabs his suitcase and leaves you standing there, trying to pull yourself together. He's breathing hard and his muscles are tight, his jaw clenched as he heaves his suitcase into the trunk and drops his backpack into it right after.

You force your legs to work, to carry you to the passenger side, force your arm to raise and your hand to close around the handle. It's heavy and hard work. Your body feels leaden, entranced. You let yourself collapse onto the seat and close your eyes.

Fuck.

You'd forgotten how much... how easily...

"Seatbelt, darling", Jake reminds you as he climbs into the driver's seat and adjusts it. You swallow hard and strap yourself in, trying to even out your breathing and pull yourself back to reality while you fumble for the confirmative click.

"Three hours", you remind yourself breathily.

"Three hours", Jake agrees lowly and turns the key in the ignition.

You settle back in your seat and close your eyes, clenching and unclenching your jaw as the radio starts playing and the car rolls out of the parking lot. You just have to relax. Just relax. Relax.

So you breathe out deeply and open your eyes again. Jake glances over at you as you lean forward, flick through the radio channels and then adjust in your seat - it's touching too much, too little of your skin, and the way you're rubbing against it somehow doesn't help in the slightest.

Before you can tuck one of your legs under the other and press the heel of your foot against your core, Jake puts his hand against your thigh. Against your bare thigh. His big fucking hand against your bare thigh.

You bite down on your lip and look up at him.

God, he looks so good. His features are chiseled, his hair that sunny, beachy kind of blond-

"Stop that", Jake grunts, his eyes trained on the road in front of him. It takes you two seconds to even realise he's talking to you. You'd kind of lost yourself in staring at him there.

"Stop what?", you ask, voice hitching as his fingers tighten on your thigh. Damn it, he needs to stop that. He's hardly been driving five minutes, he can't already be teasing you.

For once, actually, he doesn't even mean to tease you - not that you know. He just can't help but touch you, not when he hasn't touched you in a month, not when you're sitting so deliciously, tauntingly next to him.

"Stop looking at me like that", he says, taking his hand off of you to change gears before grabbing even tighter onto you again. "Or I'll have to pull over."

You brush your fingers along his wrist. Your chest feels tight, so tight. It takes everything in you not to push his hand further up your thigh. And you'd actually thought you'd manage a three hour car ride.

"I'll stop", you breathe, even though pulling over doesn't seem like the worst idea. "If you want me to."

A muscle twitches in his jaw.

"Don't do that", he warns, his voice staggering into that indecent gruff of his that has you clenching your thighs together, trapping his fingertips between your legs.

"Don't do what?", you ask, trying your best to sound somewhat innocent while you continue this little taunting game, not as though you're deliberately riling him up. You aren't, really. It's more just a reflex.

He turns his head to you then. His eyes are narrowed and his jaw is clenched and honestly, the way he's meeting your gaze all serious, as though he's trying to reprimand you just by looking at you - for no more than three seconds, of course, before he drags his eyes back to the road - has your lips tugging up in a teasing grin.

"Jake", you whisper, drawing your nails slowly up his arm, all the way from his wrist to his elbow. "Baby. You've been away for so long. You know how lonely I've been, right?"

Jake glances at you again and grunts his agreement, eyebrows raising as he starts to realise what you're doing.

"You can't blame me for looking at you", you go on, digging your fingertips into a spot right above his elbow and drawing one, two circles there. "Or for touching you."

Then you shift in your seat, spread your legs a little and run your fingers down his arm again. You grab his hand and brush his fingertips against the soaked spot on your panties.

"Or for being this wet", you whisper, your breath hitching from the sting in your stomach. He lets out a low curse. "I've just missed you so much."

He sucks in a breath then and trails his fingertips up your panties once, just once, before he jerks his hand back and clenches it hard around the steering wheel, so hard that his knuckles turn wide. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck! You're driving him crazy. You're driving him fucking crazy.

He's supposed to be responsible here. Somewhat responsible. You're young, you've got that risky twinkle in your eyes that he knows so well because he'd seen it in the mirror himself for over twenty years. He knows the thrilling buzz that's running through your veins. He still feels it whenever he's in the air. And he feels it around you.

Which is why he's not responsible, not when it comes to you. Not when you're sitting next to him in that pretty dress, with no shorts on and completely fucking soaked through.

You grin to yourself as he pulls off the highway and bite down on your lip, shifting in your seat once more, fighting the urge to trail your own fingers into your panties.

You haven't even asked how his deployment had been.

But goddamn, you'll have enough time to do that once you've got home. Or got off. Or got him off. At this point, you don't fucking care.

He pulls into one of those parking lots that mainly trucks use, one of those where there's hardly ever a toilet and if, then one that hasn't been usable since the last century. Right now, there's two trucks right at the front that Jake just brushes past. He parks your car at the far end and turns the motor off.

The silence is heavy.

Your breath comes much too quickly. Your eyes are fixed on him. And every inch of your skin is crawling with heat. But you don't move. You can't move.

He rolls his seat all the way back.

"Jake-", you whisper, catching on his name when he looks up and meets your eyes. There's a ghost of a grin on his lips, but... Maybe you're wrong.

"Yes, darling?", he asks, raising his eyebrows and leaning back in his seat. You have to strain your neck to keep looking at him. Instead of an answer, you just softly shake your head. You're suddenly unsure of what to say. His eyes weigh you down. You're painfully aware of every inch of your skin under his watchful gaze.

"Come on", he drawls, the grin that's growing on his lips more obvious now. "You were all eager to talk just then, baby."

Your teeth catch on your lip as you let out a breathless sigh. Your fingers hover over the buckle of your seat belt. Can you? Or...

"I missed you", you whisper, letting your fingertips glide over the hard plastic. "Can I-"

You swallow.

"Can you what, darling?", he repeats, grinning widely now.

You chew on your lip as you push down and unbuckle yourself slowly, your eyes still trained on Jake, who simply watches you with raised eyebrows.

"Can I touch you?", you whisper, your breath disappearing into the thick air of the car, the seatbelt still caught between your fingers. The corners of his mouth only tug up further.

You look angelic with your wide eyes and rosy cheeks, so obviously desperate to feel him - but still you don't move. You sit there and wait for him to tell you what to do. To allow you to do something. Anything. It's almost endearing how well behaved you are in moments like this.

"Go on, darling", he drawls. "Come here."

Without hesitation, you reach over the centre console and grab onto his shoulders, steadying yourself against him as you throw one of your legs over his and climb into his lap. His hands find your waist, grab onto your sides, hold you softly against him. Your teeth dig into your lip as you sink down, your fingers trailing along the outline of his collarbones over his shirt, your dress riding up and pooling around your hips. You suck in a breath when your panties drag against his jeans.

Fuck. It's been so long. It's been way too long.

"Jake", you mutter as you lean in, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, brushing your nose against his cheek. "You look good."

He lets out a breathy chuckle, his grip on you tightening.

"I know, darling", he can't help but say with a grin. "Thanks."

You giggle onto his skin as you trail your lips down his jaw. Sometimes he's incredibly unbelievable. I know. How cocky. Not that he shouldn't be - goddamn, he should be! You can't even fault him. And confidence is sexy. Especially on him. Though, then again, anything on him is sexy.

"I've missed you", you mutter, pressing another open-mouthed kiss against his skin, this time against the spot between his neck and his ear. "Missed looking at you. Missed touching you."

"Yeah", Jake breathes, digging his hands into your hips and pulling you harder onto him. "I've missed you too."

He's missed you so fucking much that he's hurting, straining against his jeans so hard that he feels like he might combust. And you're kissing down his throat, pressing your lips against his skin, wanting, needing to touch him, to feel him-

A month away from each other. A month too long.

"I need you, Jake", you whimper into his ear, all breathy and desperate, rocking softly back and forth in his lap and letting your eyes fall shut.

"You need me, baby?", he echoes, grabbing you as tightly as he can and dragging you against him, his head thumping back against the seat.

A filthy moan slips past your lips as your hips roll against his, finally, for the first time in weeks. God, yes, you need him so badly. You need him now. Here and now, in the driver's seat of your car.

"Please, Jake", you breathe, steadying one palm against his chest and grabbing one of his hands with the other. You wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug it off of you, but before you can drag it down to your panties again, drop it between your legs and beg him to fuck you, before you can do any of that, he's turning your grip around and taking your hands in his instead.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, baby", he chuckles, settling your hands against your thighs. He's painfully hard by now, yes- But that doesn't mean you can just drag him to where you want him. "Seems like you forgot your manners."

You're already shaking your head before he can finish. No, you haven't, you haven't, you just need him so badly... and you can feel him, you can feel that he needs you too, so why doesn't he just take you? Why doesn't he-

"I haven't, Jake, I promise", you whisper, looking at him and forcing yourself to still on his lap. It won't help you if you move. It definitely won't help you if you move.

"You haven't?", he asks with raised eyebrows, looking all but amused at you. You keep shaking your head no, no, no. "So if I'd told you to stay in your seat and wait, you would've?"

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and look away. He's grinning. He knows. He's not even really asking. But if you've learnt anything, anything at all about him, it's that he doesn't like to be ignored. If he asks a question, he wants it answered. So you'll answer.

"No", you breathe truthfully, because you most definitely wouldn't have managed a three hour car ride next to him. There's no way you would've managed a three hour car ride next to him. No fucking way.

His grin widens.

"No", he repeats lowly. "No, darling? You wouldn't have listened?"

"Couldn't", you correct, fighting the desire to rock against his thighs that's growing with every passing second. He looks so fucking good. He smells so fucking good. He feels so fucking good. And he'd fuck you so good, you know that, if he'd just finally get to it.

"Couldn't", he echoes, his fingertips rubbing circles onto the bare skin of your thighs. "That desperate."

It's just that he's that desperate, too. Desperate to feel you wrapped around him, desperate to hear you whimper and moan. He needs you as much as you need him.

"You want me to fuck you, baby?", he asks, all smooth and casual and your fingers dig into your thighs to feel something, anything. It's unbelievable how easily something so dirty slips off his lips.

"Yes", you gasp. "Want you so bad, Jake. Please. I'll be so good for you. I'll be perfect."

A muscle ticks in his jaw.

"You are perfect", he breathes, even though that hadn't been his plan at all. But he has to say it. He has to tell you. You've got him wrapped around your little finger, even if you don't know. And he's not all that sure you don't know anyway.

Your teeth catch on your lip, your hands dig harder into your skin and-

And Jake's thumbs trail along the inside of your bare thighs, brushing up naked skin, drawing a shallow breath from your tongue. A shiver runs down your spine as you clench your legs around his and force yourself to keep still. He's touching you. You have to remind yourself of that. He is touching you. There's no reason at all for the urge to defy him, to pop open his jeans and just sink down on him. He's touching you, he's touching you...

Yeah. Barely.

"Let me feel you", you beg, drawing your hands away from your thighs and trying to put them against his chest - but before you can, he's pulled his hands away from your thighs as well and grabbed your wrists. Again.

"You're not in charge here, darling", he chuckles, pushing your hands back down. He grabs for your waist again. "If you can't behave, I'm gonna put you back in the passenger seat and keep on driving, got that?"

You nod.

You want to be good for him. You will be good for him. God, there's no fucking way you could have managed the car ride already, and if you had to sit through it now, after this- No. You'll be good for him. You'll be so good for him.

He flashes you a grin and goes back to dragging his thumbs along your thighs.

"Ask nicely", he says. "Maybe I'll-"

"Please", you blurt out, your hips involuntarily bucking into his touch. "Can I kiss you?"

His eyes drop down to your mouth then.

"Yeah, baby", he mutters, his thumbs catching on the hem of your dress. "You can kiss me."

He expects you to jump at him, to slot your lips over his and lick into his mouth eagerly - but you only steady your palms carefully against his chest and lean in, your eyes focused on his, your breath meeting his skin. You kiss him softly, lightly, with your lips just so grazing his and your eyes fluttering shut. His fingertips run down the soaked spot on your panties.

That's when your teeth catch on his lip. You sink them into his skin gently and tug, your heart missing a beat as he groans into you. He hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them to the side just like you'd hoped, just like you'd begged for.

Jake's right - you're not in charge. But that doesn't mean you don't know what buttons to push to get what you want.

His fingertips trail through your wetness for the first time in a whole fucking month. It's long overdue. So long.

You moan into him, pressing your chest right up against his and fisting his shirt, and push closer. You need to be this close. You need to be even closer. You need him to fuck you, now, not only to drag his fingers up to your clit.

But he's too focused on you, getting too drunk on the feeling of you. He's finally got you here again, finally on his lap again, finally kissing him again, finally eager for him again. He's finally touching you again. And he has to touch you.

You're so fucking wet. You're soaked. He wants to take his time to notice that. He needs to take his time to notice that. He needs to touch you, to feel you. He doesn't even mean to tease you. He doesn't even realise he is teasing you. Not until you rock into his hand and let a whine slip into his mouth.

You really don't intend to. It's an accident. You don't want to rush him. What you want is to be good for him. But you can't help yourself.

And he knows you can't.

Which is the only reason he doesn't pull back and leave you high and dry. Well, that - and his desperation to have you.

So instead, he pushes two fingers into you and catches the languid moan you let out. Fuck. You sound so sweet. You feel so perfect. It's been so fucking long.

"Jake", you whimper, just because it's also been that fucking long since you've whined his name into his mouth. Into the low-quality mic of your phone, yes. But with his lips on yours? With his fingers thrusting inside you so precisely, hitting the right spot immediately? No, that's been too fucking long.

It's dirty. Not quick, like the other times neither of you had been patient enough to look for a better spot to have each other and had opted for the car instead. No, it's just dirty, with his fingers pumping in and out of you, his tongue running along yours and your knees rubbing against the seat.

Maybe it's because the radio had turned off alongside the car, or maybe it's just the long month you'd spent apart - either way, all sounds are louder than they should be, your ears ringing with your moans, your wetness around his fingers and his lips against yours.

Goddamn.

He's working magic. You don't know how he hits the right spot again and again and again, his fingers curling, his thumb catching on your clit - but he has you clenching around him, warmth pooling in your core, wetness dripping down your thighs and onto his jeans within minutes.

You pull an inch away from him, your eyes still squeezed shut, your palms flattening against his shirt, and the only reason he knows he isn't just dreaming of you again is because you're warm and wet around his fingers. Everything else about you is unreal.

You're gorgeous. You're so damn stunning, rocking your hips back against him and moaning his name, your lips parted and your skin sweaty.

"Fuck", you pant, your chest rising and falling so tantalisingly that his eyes drop right down to your cleavage. "Just like that."

He has to grin to himself, but he lets it slide, if only because you're looking so pretty holding onto him as he pushes his fingers into you and circles your clit - just like that. Again and again, until you're digging your nails into his chest and catching your lip between your teeth and moaning his name, Jake, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck, until you're clenching around him and shuddering in his arms, until you're reaching your high not on your own, but on his fingers for the first time in four full weeks.

"Attagirl", he mutters, straining so hard against his pants that it hurts. "I've got you."

You press your lips against his jaw sloppily as you come down, your breath shallow, your skin burning, just needing to get your mouth on him. You can feel your heart beating, every thud, thud, thud against your chest. God. You hadn't come like that in a month. You'd come, sure, to the low rumble of his voice over the phone, calling you all sorts of sweet names and telling you just how to get off for him. But nothing could ever possibly beat the way he works you.

And still - even as you come down from your orgasm, you already crave the next, long and lust and hunger for him inside of you, not his fingers, but his cock.

"Jake", you mewl, slotting your lips over his and desperately dragging your tongue over them before you draw back an inch, your breath meeting his. "Fuck me? Please?"

He pulls his fingers out of you and raises his hand and before you can even really realise what you're doing, you're parting your lips and watching as he grins and presses his fingertips down on your tongue. God, he fucking tastes like you. You suck his fingers into your mouth obediently and lick them clean, looking at him out of lowered, half-lidded eyes and he fucking grabs at your waist with his other hand like his life depends on it.

Goddamn, it's been too long since he's watched this. Since he's had this sight in front of him. And holy mother of hell, what a sight that is.

Your cheeks hollowed out, your gaze caught on his, your lips wrapped around his fingers. His jeans are too tight. Too fucking tight. He needs relief. Now.

So he pulls his fingers out of your mouth with a low grunt and fumbles with the button of his jeans, quick and hurried. He's barely popped it open before your hands slip between his and push them out of the way. You drag down his zipper, reach into his briefs, finally, finally, finally! and he lets you, steadying his palms against your thighs and watching you tug your lip between your teeth.

"Condom", you breathe, then you glance up at him and blink - once, twice, thrice to get yourself back to reality. Condom. Condom, fuck, you're sure you've got one, you know you've got one, somewhere-

Jake takes his hand off your thigh and reaches for his pocket, pulling out a condom before you've even finished thinking.

You grab it from him almost reflexively, your fingers closing around it, tearing it open - quick and frenzied now, because you're not sure how much longer you can hold out. How much longer you can manage without having him.

You glance up at him before you roll it onto him, waiting, checking, if you can, if he'll let you- And how could he not? Fuck, he's got to clench his jaw and grab onto your waist just to hold back, to stay still. He hadn't meant for it to be like this. He'd meant to fuck you back at home, slow and steady, preferably in bed where he could really see you, where he could see every inch of you, not in the front seat of your car that he'd probably have to get cleaned tomorrow. But he can't fucking help himself. He can barely fucking wait until you've rolled the condom onto him, already grabbing at your bare thighs, slipping his hands below your dress, grasping at your stomach.

You steady your palms against his chest and breathe out a whine as his fingers slide across your boobs, pushing the fabric of your dress up, up, up, circling your nipples and damn, you've missed him. You've missed him so fucking much. It's been so fucking long. And you're so fucking desperate.

So you slowly sink down on him and let out a moan, rolling off of your tongue so filthily that he has to groan. Shit, shit- You hold yourself against him, drop your head against his shoulder and an open-mouthed kiss onto his skin.

"Fuck", he grunts, his fingers working frenzied circles onto your boobs, trying, desperately, no, needing to touch you, to feel you. God, you feel so good around him. Finally around him again. You take your time sinking down on him, catching your breath and pressing your lips against his neck, your eyes squeezed shut. Inch by inch, you take him - and the only way he can keep from bucking up into you is by trying not to concentrate on the way you feel around him (so, so fucking perfect), but instead do his best to breathe. Just... breathe. It's been too fucking long. And you're too fucking pretty. And he'll go fucking crazy.

"Jake", you mewl, your lips dragging against his jaw.

Instead of an answer, he turns his head and catches you in a kiss.

You whine into his mouth, your legs clamping around his, stilling as you adjust, your tongue running along his lips, his teeth, your hands fisting his shirt, clenching and cramping and pressing against his chest.

"Go on", he urges, pulling away no more than an inch, his breath shallow, mingling with yours. "Take what you want, darling."

"Fuck", you breathe, arching into his palms and steadying yourself against him, your teeth catching on your lip as you move - up, slowly, steadily, then down, faster, quicker, and again, and again. Holy hell. Moan after moan rolls off your tongue. He feels so fucking good. You're so fucking full of him. You find a rhythm, then that spot inside of you. Your head tilts back, your fingers clench into the collar of his shirt, your nails scratch against his skin.

He watches you, every inch of him tensing. You're gorgeous, so damn gorgeous, bouncing in his lap like this. You're stunning, your dress pooling around your hips as he drags his hands back down to your waist, thumbing at your stomach, circling and drawing against your skin. He's touching you. Now, here. It's not just a dream. It's not just his imagination. It's you, you, wrapped around him, moving up and down him, your palms against his chest, your eyes fluttered shut, your teeth digging into your lip.

"Just like that, keep going", he encourages, all low and deep, smooths his hands down your body and can't help but grin as you let out a soft mewl. It's been so long since he's heard you whine for him - so long since he's heard it without hundreds and hundres of miles between you, without the microphone ruining what have to be the sweetest sounds he's ever known. "Feeling good, baby?"

The air is heavy, heavy and sticky. It presses down on you, pushes against your skin, settles on your body and flattens your breath. Every single one of your nerve ends is on fire.

"Yes", you gasp, your eyes fluttering open to take him in, him in all of his very, very real glory right in front of you. He looks so handsome, so fucking handsome. Your thighs tighten, clench. You can feel yourself growing closer and closer and closer with every stroke, with every time you sink down on him. Fuck, he doesn't just feel good, he feels heavenly. He feels like everything you need. "So good, Jake."

The grin on his lips sends sparks through your body. It's confident, self-assured... Yeah, you're on top of him, you're moving, you're taking what you want - but he's in charge, you can see it in his eyes. He's in control. It's in the way he breathes, in the way his hands grab at your hips, in the way he palms at your skin. If it weren't for the red on his cheeks, for the sweat beading on his forehead, you wouldn't even have guessed he's all that affected. But he's hard, he's hard as a rock, and it's taking everything in him not to just buck up into you and come right on the spot.

He prides himself on his stamina. In all his years, he's always prided himself on his stamina - on how he can keep going long enough to make you come twice, thrice. And he'll hold out now, too.

But you're gorgeous. And you feel perfect. And you're close, you're clenching around him as you lean in to press your lips to his, to slot your mouths together and kiss him with all your might.

So you're not making it easy for him. Not at all.

He brushes his hand down to the inside of your thigh, leaves a trail of tingles on your skin before his finger finds your clit. You breathe out a whine that he easily catches on his tongue, your nails digging into his chest as he draws circles on your clit, on that sensitive bundle of nerves that has you melting, your eyes squeezing, squeezing, squeezing shut.

Fuck, fuck, you're close, you're close-

Just for a fleeting second, Jake debates pulling his hand away again and leaving you there, on this edge you're teetering on. Not forever, only until you'd got home or so. But he's too desperate to come, too wound up already, too close himself, and there's a much bigger part of him that wants to just fill you up in the driver's seat of your car, in this random parking lot, a month after he'd last had you. The part of him that will revel in knowing that you'll be sitting in the passenger seat for the next three hours with soaked panties, probably leaving behind a wet patch when you'll get out, the evidence of two orgasms right there-

"Fuck, Jake", you gasp and your head rolls back, your lips parting as your entire body clenches, every single muscle cramping and tightening at once, your nails digging hard and harder into his skin, your eyes squeezing shut. His finger on your clit doesn't still, just keeps drawing circles, keeps guiding you through your high, through the foggy haze you're swimming in as your body writhes and tingles.

Jake is too entranced, too enamoured, too captivated by you to even realise he's spilling inside the condom, coming as you do. He can't feel, can't see, can't touch anything but you - his hand grabs at your hip, it palms at your thigh. Anything to feel you. Anything to be with you as you unravel.

"Jake, fuck", you breathe, a lot more softly now. Your grip on him loosens. He'd barely noticed how your nails had still been digging into his chest, but now that you're pulling them away, stretching your fingers and steadying your palms flat against him, he can't help but miss them. You blink at him with the sweetest smile, your lips plush and kiss-swollen, and the view of you is so disarming that he can just so resist opening his mouth and letting those final three words roll off his tongue. But it's too early, it's way too early, even as you're sitting in his lap, even as you're squeezing his cock, even as he draws his finger away from your clit. He's never been the type to say it early. He won't now.

No, instead he raises his hand and rests his fingers against your lips. Once more today, you part them obediently and wait until he's pushed them onto your tongue. Then you close your mouth around them - he still tastes of you faintly - and suck, slathering them in saliva in that sloppy, messy, dirty way you know he likes, your head bobbing as you clean them off. You pull back just far enough to dig your teeth into his fingertips and bite down on them playfully.

Your lips tug into a grin as he draws his hand back, eyebrows raising, his gaze settling on you - still so very heavy, so intense, so fucking full of sex.

"You're a brat, darling", he chides, but he's already brushing strands of hair out of your face, tucking them behind your ears and then wrapping his arms around you to pull you even closer, even tighter to him. Your grin only grows as your fingers clench into the collar of his shirt.

"Maybe", you laugh breathily, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips, one that's so addicting he thinks he might need to stay in this car, in this parking lot for the rest of eternity. "But you love it."

Jake chuckles as he chases after your lips.

"Such a brat."

[umbrella-show]

https://www.tumblr.com/umbrella-show/766905601979727872/httpswwwtumblrcomumbrella-show76562826466233?source=share

Ooooooooh I love it! Great now i wanna send this in as a genuine request of your requests are open...y/n can be timid or not depending on what you wanna do but still want twist where y/n was only crowned ruler so there is an excuse for y/n to stay in the castle and be cared for/watched over by all the cookies...like to expand and explain more...cookies claimed y/n is their ruler when in reality, the cookies are the ones making up laws/creating rules, doing all the stuff rulers do and y/n's job is just to sit there with their little crown, that the cookies made sure was very comfy for y/n, and accept affection and attention from the cookies lmao!

(Also now I can't help but imagine in a funny scenario like this...to give an example of what I had in mind lol...

Some bad guy cookie...maybe DE or shadow milk...will call em bad cookie as place holder:

Bad cookie: MWAHAHAHAHA!

*all the cookies panic!*

Gingerbrave: OH NO! IT'S (insert name!)

Bad cookie: IM HERE TO TAKE OVER THE KINGDOM-

*cookies still panic...some readying to fight and others running for their lives and others just having zero clue what to do!*

Bad cookie: -AND TAKE Y/N FOR MYSELF!

*Suddenly, all the cookies froze...and slowly turn to the bad cookie, all going dead quiet. The kingdom became so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.*

Bad cookie: what the-?

*suddenly, all the cookies whip out various weapons...either their signature weapons or torches and pitchforks.*

Gingerbrave: you messed up the moment y/n's name left your mouth....CHARGE!

*all the cookies of the kingdom absolutely SWARM the bad cookie.*

Bad cookie, not expecting all the cookies to share a braincell: SON OF A- OH DEAR WITCHES! AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

*Bad cookie screams in terror as they are now in the middle of a giant horde of angry cookies.*

Meanwhile...

Y/n: *was gaming...suddenly heard a little noise.* what was that?

Strawberry, who was sent to y/n earlier to distract them from the chaos outside: that was probably just the wind...say, how about we do this level next?)

And late reply is ok! I know life gets busy sometimes lol!

Kay i love this idea it made me laugh a little-

Have a short fic!

As you placed down another card on the table from your deck, you couldn't help but wonder. Is this all a ruler does? All the stories you’ve read about kings and queens usually had them attend to important affairs or run their kingdom. After becoming a ruler yourself, you found out that there wasn’t much you needed to do in the first place. All you really did was sit there and look pretty. Your friends, the Ancient cookies, who ruled their own kingdom, did more than you. They were more involved with actually running their kingdom. And you did practically nothing.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Pure Vanilla cookie said it was your turn again. Looking up at him, you saw him smiling at you with his deck of cards in his hands. He had an excellent poker face when it came to these sorts of games, you had learned. He always kept a gentle smile no matter what. You didn’t know whether it was an intimidation tactic or because he genuinely enjoyed playing these types of games.

You placed a card from your deck down on the table and took a few seconds to glance out of the window right in front of both you and Pure Vanilla cookie. It was a beautiful day. The vibrant blue sky, clear of any clouds, caused the sunlight to shine onto you and Pure Vanilla cookies from the window. You could hear birds chirping and leaves gently rustling from the light breeze.

As Pure Vanilla cookie had just placed down his card a sound made you perk up. It was quiet at first, but it grew louder as the source seemed to come closer to where you were. It almost sounded like..screaming? You looked out the window, searching for the noise. You were worried and confused. Was everything okay? Did something happen? Were people in danger? It wasn’t long until you saw what was happening.

Licorice cookie, with Bat-Cat and Choco Werehound Brute close behind, were all screaming and running from something. They just ran by, screaming their lungs out. A horde of cookies followed, yelling and brandishing their weapons. As they chased, you noticed and recognized them as almost all of the cookies in your kingdom, with Gingerbrave and his friends leading the charge. Heck, even some of the children such as Pancake and Cherry cookie were trailing along in the very back, but were determined to catch up.

As the horde passed, you could only sit in a state of shock with Pure Vanilla cookie, looking out the window with raised eyebrows while you attempted to process what you had just seen.

“Oh my. Seems as if that cookie caused quite the stir.”

Pure Vanilla said after a few seconds of stunned silence from the sight both he and you had just witnessed. However, his voice was as soft and tranquil as it always was.

“Well, Gingerbrave and the rest seem to have the situation under control.”

Pure Vanilla cookie then placed down a new card on the table, smiling at you with closed eyes as if nothing happened.

“Why don’t we continue from where we left off.”

BONUS

Licorice cookie scowled, muttering complaints as he brushed the leaves off of his robes. Bat-Cat and Choco Werehound Brute followed him, looking shaken up from their previous experience. Licorice cookie and his companions had narrowly escaped the insane cookies' anger. They had ran into the nearby forest on the outskirts of the kingdom, losing the horde in the trees. Now, they all trudged, defeated and shaken, back to the castle. Dark Enchantress cookie won’t be pleased, and Licorice was sure Pomegranate cookie would rub his loss in his face once he got back. The thought made him grip his bone scythe tighter in anger.

He may have failed to indoctrinate you into the Cookies of Darkness this time, but he promised he would get to you before Pomegranate cookie.

[pomefioredove]

I love you're writing!! Hope the exam went well!!!

Can you give us some good Ole cheesy, romantic, vil fluff??

I just want to kiss and cuddle him FOREVER

the vil love never ends on this blog. this turned out to be more sappy than anything. hope you enjoy nonetheless~!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ comfort

type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, established relationship, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, comfort & fluff

"Can you please come over?"

The words weigh on Vil's shoulders as he walks across campus. They're heavy.

It's dark, and the air is cold. You're probably shivering, you never dress warm enough-

He pushes the thought away. No use in stressing himself any more.

"I just don't want to be alone right now,"

Vil hadn't asked why. He had a thought. He didn't want it to be right, but he's always right.

His steps are faster. Damn the curfew. Rook can handle the dorm for a single evening. And morning. And day. However long it takes.

He lets himself in without knocking. "Prefect?" he calls for you in title first. "Sweetheart?" and in petname second.

It's dark inside Ramshackle. He pulls off his shoes and coat, and hurriedly makes his way upstairs. Your door is closed.

"Are you in there?"

He holds his breath until you answer. "...Yes,"

"May I come in?"

"...Yeah,"

Vil opens the door, mercifully unlocked, and lets himself in. It's dark in your room, too, but he can still make out the huddled shape of you in bed.

"Sweetheart, it's freezing in here," he says. "Are you cold?"

You say nothing. He sighs, momentarily catching the eye of Grim, nesting in your arms. The direbeast says nothing.

"How can I help?" he asks, eyes lingering on the strange position you've curled up in. "...May I touch you?"

You nod. Good, Vil thinks, and he gets in bed behind you. He and Grim make a sort of... you sandwich, the two on either side of your body. As soon as he's settled, though, Grim stretches and hops off the bed.

Vil takes that to mean, you've got it from here.

"Darling," he says, delicately stroking the side of your face. "Are you sick?"

You hesitate, but nod anyway. He knows what you mean. And his heart aches for you.

"That's alright. That's perfectly alright," Vil says, holding you close to his chest, his arms around your waist.

"I'm here. You're safe."

You mumble something against him. It's unintelligible, but he's sure you meant it to be.

"I'm not going anywhere, don't worry," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I love you very, very much. Everything will be alright."

You're very quiet. It scares him, but he won't say that, not now. Now, he just needs you to feel better.

He pets you softly, playing with your hair. "My love, my darling. My favorite person in the entire world,"

You hum. He can feel your arms, now, wrapping around his waist, as if to get closer, seeking his warmth and comfort. It's everything to him.

"There," he whispers, kissing your head again. "Get some rest. I won't go anywhere, I'm here. I'm right here."

It's a little funny, he thinks. The only time he can excuse cutting his evening routine is when it's for you. On your rough, threadbare sheets, in a rickety bed, in a drafty house in the cold of winter.

He'll get you out of here, someday.

But for now, he holds you, and thinks of what he's going to make you for breakfast.

[discordantwritings]

Creative Cures (Mihawk x Reader)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, gn afab! Reader, sex pollen trope (but it’s a devil fruit power), the inherent dubcon of sex pollen but the con is as con as it can get under the circumstances, intercrural sex, PiV sex, creampie, mild cumplay, semi public sex

WC: 3.3k

Summary: As a relatively high ranking Marine doctor you were in charge of Dracule Mihawk’s post mission check ups. Normally you don’t have to do anything- until he shows up sick.

The only solution both you and him can agree on is a little… unconventional

Notes: I (lovingly) blame @fanaticsnail for this. All of her lovely sex pollen fics pushed me over the edge to write this one so go check hers out. Go.

Tagging: @keiva1000

Most Marines didn’t like it when Mihawk had to come check in and give his after mission report in person. But you barely considered yourself a Marine anyways, always thinking of yourself as a doctor first before anything. A doctor who just so happened to be in charge of doing all of Mihawk’s post mission check ups.

Of course it took him a while to actually agree to do any sort of post mission work, but despite his generally sour attitude inside the Marines base he was never mean to you. Dismissive? Sure. Non-compliant with any medical advice you’d give? Yes. But that’s what you dealt with on a day to day basis. He was one of the few people you could have intelligent conversation with- he would listen to you and you would cherish the snippets of traveling stories you would get out of him.

Your check ups were never more than a handful of minutes, you had never seen him get more than a scratch, but he always let you run down your required checklist. Despite this you always cleared out half your day, just in case. So today, a day he was set to check in at your base, you sat patiently in your office until he was done talking with your superiors.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Until, finally, there was a frantic knock on your door before a frazzled looking cadet burst in. You immediately stand up and get serious- mass injuries were unfortunately commonplace for you to deal with and he had the scared look of someone who just saw a ship roll in half destroyed.

“Doctor-“

“How bad.”

“It’s Mihawk.”

That caught you entirely off guard and your stomach drops. “How bad?”

“We don’t know. He was giving his report and then he looked flushed and that’s when he ran out. Apparently he’s locked himself in some spare office and won’t come out.” He explains and you slowly get more and more concerned.

You quickly grab your bag and sling in over your shoulder, practically pushing the cadet out the door with you as you order him to show you where Mihawk is. It’s a quick jog down hallways and stairs but eventually you get to a door with two cadets on either side. One of your captains is leaning on the wall across from the door looking exasperated.

“The only thing he’s telling us is to leave him alone.” The captain explains, gesturing to the door.

You sigh and walk up to the door, rapping on it with your knuckles. “Mihawk, you’ve got everyone worried out here.”

A few seconds pass before you hear Mihawk’s voice, muffled from behind the steel door. “Doctor?”

“Everyone said you looked sick.” You explain.

There’s a long pause and you’re about to speak again before you hear his voice. “You all need to get out of here.”

You see the captain throw up his hands in your peripheral and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Turning your attention back to your fellow Marines you gesture down the hallway.

“Give me a few minutes alone with him.” You don’t need to tell them twice, and they eagerly take the relief.

You wait a few beats for them to clear out and then turn your attention back to the door. “Alright, it’s just us.”

“I thought I made it clear that all of you needed to leave me alone.” You can tell he’s close to the door, which you take as somewhat of a good sign.

“Look, if it’s something contagious I just need to know. If it’s something embarrassing I’m a doctor and I take confidentiality incredibly seriously.” There’s silence and you lean on the door. “Just let me help you.”

You hear him moving behind the door and then the heavy sound of the lock turning. You give him a few seconds before you enter, closing the door after yourself immediately.

All the lights are off, only the small amount of light through the high circular windows illuminating the space. It takes you a second to locate Mihawk but eventually you find him, shoulders hunched as he leans on an abandoned desk. It’s jarring to see his normally perfect posture gone and even in the low light you can see the intense flush over his face and exposed chest. You don’t need a thermometer to see that his temperature is dangerously high.

“What happened?” You don’t approach him, hoping the space gives him some comfort.

“It was-“ He breaks off as he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Some Devil Fruit user. Don’t know what the power was but I inhaled some smoke and then-“

He trails off and you know you’re probably in a bit over your head. Devil Fruit powers could be quite literally anything. You shove all that down though and hope your nervousness doesn’t show. “What are your symptoms?”

Mihawk shakes his head. “This was a mistake I shouldn’t have let you in you need to-“

“Mihawk I need you to tell me.” You’re unsure where this confidence is coming from, there’s not a world in which you would ever be in a position to tell a warlord what to do. But to your surprise, it works.

“I’ll kill you if you tell anyone.” He practically growls.

“You have my word.”

“Fine.” You see him shift and it looks like he’s uncomfortable in his own skin. “I have a fever, I am experiencing some mental fog, and my senses seem to be heightened.”

It’s your years as a doctor that let you immediately know he’s holding something back. “And?”

His gaze darts up and he glares at you making your blood run ice cold. If looks could kill you would be a pile of viscera on the floor. Despite this, he does give you and answer.

“I am in an… unnatural state of arousal.”

Oh.

That would certainly explain a few things.

You let your doctor brain take over as you set your bag on the ground, opening it and looking through what you have. Medication wouldn’t help since the cause was a Devil Fruit power but…

“Okay. I have a few ideas.” You reach into your bag and pull out an ice pack, throwing it over to Mihawk who easily catches it and presses it to his forehead. “The first is what you are doing, which is isolate until the effect stops. I’m not sure this is the best idea since you seem to be incredibly uncomfortable.”

“What else.”

“I could sedate you and hopefully have it flushed out of your system by the time you wake up.” You offer, showing him the vial of clear liquid.

“Absolutely not. I refuse to be further incapacitated around you Marines.” He spits out the last word and you would be offended if you actually considered yourself a Marine.

“Alright. Those are my… sensible ideas.”

“Which implies there are insensible ones. Spit it out.”

You can’t blame him for being short but it didn’t make your next concepts any easier to say. “I could find you someone to… ride it out with.”

That idea hangs in the air and you watch Mihawk screw his eyes shut, clearly struggling. “I don’t- it’s insufferable enough to be vulnerable on a Marine base but you want to bring in some stranger-“

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

A thought pops into your head as you scramble for more ideas as Mihawk’s composure slowly keeps slipping. It’s a stupid thought, one a doctor like you shouldn’t have even had. But in the moment, pressed for ideas, it tumbles out of your mouth before you can even think properly about it.

“I would help you.”

You realize what you’ve said a moment too late and wish that somehow the floor would swallow you whole. It’s not like you don’t want to- it’s clear that your stupid monkey brain has always held on an attraction to the incredibly handsome warlord- but offering yourself up like this?

Beyond wildly inappropriate.

“Don’t say things like that.” Mihawk says as he backs up a few steps and shame hits you like a brick wall.

“I’m so sorry- it was- you shouldn’t be with anyone when you’re compromised like this I’ll just-“ You fumble over your words and quickly turn to unlock the door and get out of there.

Before your hand can even reach the handle an arm comes out from behind you and slams on the door. Suddenly you feel the intense heat of Mihawk’s body behind you, heavy breath fanning over the back of your neck. He doesn’t press into your body but instead hovers and your mind can’t quite keep up with the sudden change in events.

“Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean it.” His voice is low and dripping with lust.

Your gaze is locked forward as you try to control your breathing. “I meant it.”

“Last chance.”

The professional part of your brain gets smashed to smithereens as he presses his body against yours. “If you’re sure you want this then-“

The air is knocked out of your lungs as he steps forward, pushing you harshly into the door. One hand knots in your hair while the other snakes around your waist and pulls you in impossibly closer. The grip on your hair forces your head to the side, giving Mihawk the space to attack your neck, teeth digging into your skin immediately. As he does so he grinds his hips up and you can feel just how painfully hard he is against your ass.

The hand on your waist pulls at your uniform pants and you quickly get the idea, using your free hands to shove them down. You’re only able to get them just over your ass with how your legs are pressed apart by Mihawk’s but that seems to be enough for him. His hands leave you for a second and you hear the clatter of his belt before both hands tightly grip your hips.

You feel his cock slide between your folds, not entering you but instead sliding between your lips. His shaft is almost scorching hot as it slides against your clit, slick dripping from you and easing his shallow and fast thrusts.

“I just- fuck I just have to take the edge of your so-“ The grip on your hips is bruising as he holds you still to use you.

“It’s alright just-“ You can practically feel every vein against your sensitive clit and you bring one of your hands up and back to dig into his hair.

The scratch of your nails in his scalp is all Mihawk needs to tip over the edge, grunting as he spills onto the door and your thighs. You feel his heavy breath on your neck as he collects himself but the hardness against you doesn’t fade. You hear frustration in a low growl against your back but despite this he places kisses over the deep bite marks he created on your neck.

Slowly Mihawk pries his body away from yours and you take the opportunity to quickly toe off your shoes and slip your pants all the way off. When you turn around you see Mihawk watching you from a large chair, slowly pumping his cock, soaking from you slick.

“Get the rest of that god awful uniform off doctor.” You quickly discard your jacket and pull your shirt over your head, earning an appreciative hum from Mihawk. “What a pity you have to hide all that.”

You flush under his compliment and piercing gold gaze. With his free hand he beckons you over and you obey without hesitation. The second you’re close enough he pulls you into his lap, your thighs pushed apart by his spread ones. Your hands grab his shoulders to stabilize yourself as his hands find your hips once more.

“Normally I would work you open darling but-“ He nuzzles into your neck, breathing in your scent. “You can take it, can’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before one incredibly strong hand pushes you down while the other lines himself up with your entrance. You don’t fight him as his tip presses into you, stretching you out. You curse as he pushes into you a bit faster than you can adjust, but probably significantly slower than he wants to fuck into you. The sting feels good mixed with the way Mihawk curses and praises you under his breath, words barely understandable as his fingers bruise your waist.

“Just like that- so fucking tight-“ He mouths at your collarbone as you sink down and your head falls back as he splits you open.

Soon enough your hips meet his and you moan and dig your nails into Mihawk’s shoulders. He can’t help but shallowly thrust up into you, hot breath fanning over your skin as his instincts seem to overwhelm him. Once you feel ready you work to move your hips in time with his, pulling yourself up and down further on his length.

“That’s it- you’ve been waiting for an excuse to fuck yourself on my cock huh? Proper little doctor- I’ve seen how you- fuck- how you look at me.” You flush with embarrassment and look down to see his golden eyes blown out by darkness.

Maybe you should have some shame, knowing you were seen through so easily, but when he looks up at you like that you can’t think of anything else. You quickly press your lips to his and he seems caught off guard for a second- only to quickly overtake the kiss. One strong hand grips the back of your neck and holds you in place as his tongue slips between your lips. You stay like this until your lungs scream at you and you push yourself back and gasp for air.

You’re about to lean in for another kiss when you notice Mihawk’s gaze quickly dart to the door. You’re confused for a second but soon a loud knocking bounces off the steel door.

“Doctor- status report?” One of the cadets yells through the door and you swear under your breath.

You stop your movements, hoping to catch your breath and sound somewhat put together but Mihawk has other ideas. The second you falter he grabs your hips and starts moving you up and down effortlessly and when you glare at him he only grins up at you.

Seems he still has the mental capacity to be an ass.

“We are-“ You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to stop a moan after a skillfully directed thrust. “We are quarantining until some of my tests are- are done processing.”

There’s a pause before the cadet responds. “Okay… are you alright? You’re not sick are you?”

When one of Mihawk’s hands leave your hips you know something is up and you’re able to bite down on your hand in time to stifle the moan that leaves your body when his skilled fingers find your clit. You’re so close to an orgasm but you fight it back just long enough to get this stupid cadet out of here.

“Quarantine this hallway until my further say- that’s an order!” You yell out and you hope and pray the cadet doesn’t hear the pleasure in your voice.

“Y-Yes!” The voice shouts back and you hope he’s running down the hall because you can’t take this anymore.

“What would your fellow Marines think?” Mihawk’s voice, cruel and playful, rings in your ears. “They’re precious doctor getting fucked stupid by a pirate- fuck you like that don’t you?”

You can only nod, overwhelmed by hick cock and fingers skillfully taking you apart.

“You’re squeezing me so tight- just- need you to cum all over my cock- you can do that can’t you? Cum for me-“ There’s a hint of desperation in his voice and his command breaks any last tethers you were using to hold off your orgasm snap.

Mihawk swears loudly as your walls convulse around him and it’s only seconds later he’s holding your hips down hard against his and spilling inside you. You lay your forehead on Mihawk’s shoulder as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. Even after you catch your breath he’s still hard inside you and you know you’re not done yet.

“I just want to see- hold on.” Is the only warning you get before Mihawk is standing up.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips but his strong hands on your ass are more than enough to keep you up. He moves a few feet to the desk, setting you down on it and tapping your thigh once you’re settled. You get the idea and unlatch your legs, letting him slip out and away from you.

“Let me see.” Mihawk says as he pushes your knees apart, eyes transfixed between them. “Fuck.”

He watches as his cum leaks out of you, his fingers quickly scooping it up and shoving it back inside of you. In any other headspace you might think that was disgusting but the way he watches you and is claiming you makes it incredibly arousing. Once he’s satisfied he brings his fingers up to your mouth and you automatically take them between your lips, tasting the mix of your fluids.

“I’m- fuck- you’re perfect.” He seems reluctant to take his fingers from your mouth but the second both his hands are free he’s easily flipping you around and pushing your chest into the desk.

There’s no warning before he’s plunging into you again, your hips roughly meeting the edge of the wooden desk. You don’t really feel the pain amongst the pleasure, oversensitive from your previous orgasm. You feel open mouth kisses pepper your spine as he thrusts into you from behind. While one of his hands stays on your hips- your skin practically indented in the shape of his fingers there now- one reaches down to your thigh, giving it a squeeze before he pushes your leg upwards. The new angle is heavenly as you just let yourself be used- sliding forwards and backwards on the desk with each powerful thrust.

“Need you to- fuck darling I just need you to cum on me again- please I need to feel it-“ Mihawk sounds so desperate, a whine to his voice that he no longer can hide. “Just a little bit more for me-“

Your body seems to crave following his commands and another orgasm is ripped from your sensitive body. Only a few moments later you feel him cum inside you again, and you’re confident at this point he’s dripping out of you onto the floor.

“So good for me- taking all my cum-“ He’s breathless as he pulls out of you again and you don’t need to turn around to know he’s staring at your fucked out hole.

When he actually give you space for a minute you turn your head, still using the table to support your weight. “You feel better?”

“Hm…” His hand skates up your back, soothing you. “Feeling just sated enough to get you back to the room I’m staying in.”

The prospect of going more rounds was overwhelming but you can’t deny that you wanted it more than anything. One problem.

“If anyone sees me I think they’ll figure out some of what happened.” From your messed up hair, the bruises forming on your neck, and the fact that there’s no way you’ll be able to walk normally- yeah it’ll be obvious you were just fucked within an inch of your life.

“Oh doctor.” He pulls you up off the desk and places a surprisingly tender kiss on your forehead. “If anyone else sees you like this I’ll kill them.”

[lcvelycait]

OMG I loved that! I'd die if you make a part two with more of the brothers :))

𝝑𝝔　　 ⁺( ᵔ⤙ᵔ)　hidden love　⟡

(ᴗᴗ｡ ) 　˚　　♡　₊ 　  ﹒　how well do they keep their feelings from MC before it gets exposed . . ?

꒰ა ໒꒱　┄　﹒　ft. obey me younger bros x gn!reader

⤷        ❤︎       ૮ ྀི◞͈ ˔ ◟͈ ྀིა      pt. 1 with the older bros!

˚　　𓂃　𓆩𓆪　　　⌦　　cw ﹕ none — just fluff

SPOILER WARNING FOR LESSON 16 ON BELPHIES PART IM SORRY AUSKWJSBDK

(´-﹏-)　⠀⟢ ⠀a/n ﹕ HI! 2nd fic post! I wasn’t expecting my first post to gain that much ‘traction, it’s not much, but I’m happy I got over 200 notes in 2 days! :3 apologies if the younger brothers are ooc, ESPECIALLY ASMO:( (sorry to the Asmo lovers.. is now an okay time to mention I share my birthday with him?) I know more about the older bros rather than the younger ones AAAAA 😭 IM SO SORRY!!! hope this was goooodddd agiahwisbdk

✧　　Satan

just like Lucifer, he’d be pretty good at hiding them. but also, unlike Lucifer, he’d actually be leaving hints. like leaving breadcrumbs as a trail

he’s more of a/n (idk which to choose…. IM SORRY) “I want you—but it’s okay if you don’t feel the same” kinda guy rather than “I WILL HAVE YOU NO MATTER WHAT” ahem— lucifer.. ahem.. he wouldn’t be ashamed to let you know that he has feelings for you, but when it comes to his brothers…..

he’s really respectful of what you want and your boundaries, he tries his best not to cross over them and if he does he’d apologize and let you come with him to see the cat that keeps coming in the backyard of the house of lamentation

he tries his best not to lash out on you, even if he’s feeling extremely pissed, he knows better than to scare off the person he considers the love of his life

your presence alone just calms him down, throw in some reassurance and he’ll calm down COMPLETELY for the rest of the entire week. you really think that way about him? you’re so sweet.. come here MC, I’ll give you this book I’m not even finished reading yet! he’ll probs get mad again cause Mammon did smth

yeah, he’ll let you borrow a book from him even if he’s not finished reading it yet, heck, read along with him, he doesn’t care! he’ll even try to read with you by your pace so you don’t have to tell him to ‘wait, i’m not done yet’ or to ‘turn the page’

tells you about his plans for the anti-lucifer league, until Lucifer actually overhears and gives him a punishment to clean the dishes for the whole week

looks forward to talking to you, or just seeing you. he wakes up for you and also tries to better himself for you. even if you say he’s fine just the way he is (his heart skipped a beat), he wants to be on his best behaviour when he’s with you

he’d be the first to compliment you, really, he’s in a race with NO ONE. even then, he wants to be the first to tell you that you look great today even though you probably spent the whole night either reading fanfics or doing a project and couldn’t get any sleep. he loves you in any form

does he get jealous when you talk to his other brothers? probably, but he calms himself down, telling himself that you’ll soon be his and that he doesn’t need to worry. he gets angry when you talk to Lucifer though

would you find out? depends if you follow the trail he leaves for you or not. probably yes though because you’ll catch him staring at your lips while you two are hanging out in your room

✧　　Asmodeus

beauty influencer asmo! would his feelings be obvious? sort of.. he shows his love in a unique way that most of the time seems like he’s looking out for you (because he is, and he’s doing it with love!)

usually he won’t share products, he’s secretly a gatekeeper in my eyes, but you’re an exception because he wants nothing but the best for his darling!

will randomly message you at any time saying “hey MC! have you tried this product yet? it’s so good! you should try it~”

he makes sure to test out what type of face you have, if it’s sensitive or not, before giving you the cream or toner that he already has sitting in his room (most likely from a sponsor)

invites you to his room to either paint your nails or style your hair with hair clips (if you have any) or just to gossip, really. or all!

he’ll take you shopping with him, of course! it’s not like you have any other choice, he’d say. you need a whole new wardrobe! he would also say

when you two are out shopping, he’ll pick clothes out for you! he knows your style/aesthetic at heart, and if you can’t pick one, it’s alright! he just got paid from his modeling shoot from last week, so he’d want to spoil himself, and his darling ♡

SHOWERS you with praise. oh my days you will not go a single day without asmo at least telling you that you’re second to his beauty, and you should be happy about it! personally i wouldn’t consider that praise, but hey! that’s how asmo’s brain works

he dresses you up like a doll, he calls you that too! you’re almost as perfect as him.

only clothes from your wardrobe though! his fashion must be unique and only Asmo! he’ll lend you a few clothes here and there, but you rarely get to keep any.

if you’re feeling stressed he’ll offer a manipedi, if you turn that down you two can have a relaxing time in his tub. if you turn that down too, he’ll massage you with the most luxurious essential oils ever. if you want all of that, he’d be more than happy to do it!

it’s up to you to decide if you’d figure out whether he likes you or not, but you should know that he never does this for anyone, let alone a human! *insert asmo pouting with crossed arms

✧　　Beelzebub

SWEETIE! omd i love this cutie patootie

his feelings surprisingly wouldn’t be obvious until one day he randomly mentions that he likes you or he has this sweet feeling that courses throughout his body when he sees you and his heart skips a beat

he can’t express his feelings very well, especially through his face. so this cutie might slip up while talking to you with a mouth stuffed with food

you two will be in the kitchen after you just cooked something for beel because he saw something while scrolling through DevilTube and he sent it to you saying “can you make this for me MC? i love your cooking, i think the fact you cooked this will make this taste 1000x better.”

very much enjoying your cooking, you followed every step right, and you just added your sheep magic.. (just cooking it is your sheep magic but Beel doesn’t need to know)

loves how you don’t mind that he eats so much, he can’t help it, his stomach’s growling for some food all the time.

you’re still trying to figure out how Belphie can figure out what Beel wants just by the sound of his growling stomach. you’ve asked them both countless of times. surely it’s not just because they’re twins… right?

always sends you links to cooking recipe videos and asks you if you can make that the next time it’s your turn to cook or to just make it for him right now. never pressures you though <3

ever since Lucifer caught Beel in the kitchen at 2am eating away to his hearts content, he put a special curse on the fridge so Beel can’t access it unless he gets permission from Lucifer who comes down and grabs what Beel needs and that’s it.

and by some miracle… you come into his room and.. sneak in some food for him..?

man gets to snacking IMMEDIATELY. gobbles everything down, he’s only been able to eat at breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the last 2 days, his stomach couldn’t handle this.

thanks you profusely and tells you how much he appreciates you being here

gives you some to share. he doesn’t share his food with anyone, so that’s how you know you’re special to him.

it’d be hard to tell if whether or not he likes you, given the fact that he’s not the kind to react with his face and eats almost everything <3 but if you have a good eye you might realize that pookie likes you

bring him more snacks please! he’d love to share them with you ♡

✧　　Belphegor

sleepy king Belphie! this man doesn’t get any water at all!

despite being so sleepy and being lazy most of the time, i see him as sort of a yandere. he’s kinda possessive, but not the suffocating kind. he just wants you all for himself

invites you to his room or to the attic or just barges in your room to cuddle and sleep together, but he makes sure to be gentle, he wants you to know after everything he’s done to you that he’s changed

sometimes when you two are cuddling with each other, he’ll get nightmares of the time he tried to end your life subscription.

he wakes up in a cold sweat to find you either still laying on his chest or looking up at him with a smile, asking him if he had that nightmare again.

you and him both know that he wouldn’t do it again, but just knowing he already did it once scares him. he’s scared of what he’s capable of doing to you :(

give this man a hug, he’s trying his best

he knows you extremely well, like with his twin and their telepathy, you and him have your own

he’ll randomly message you saying “i bet you’re doing [insert thing you’re doing right now] right now” with that little sticker kissy thing

he likes laying on your lap, he dozes off quickly though. it’s his second pillow. bonus points if you play with his hair, he’s off to dream world (oh) in a blink. (gone)

tries his best to stay awake whenever you two are doing something, but his eyelids are always so heavy! he murmurs as he gets comfortable in your lap to sleep

you can’t really watch movies with him, he’ll easily fall into a deep sleep with just a wink. but he tries his best to stay awake for you. you really wanna watch this movie with him? awww, he might fall asleep though.. oh this is a really great movimmmfmfffmimimi hkoonnkk shoooo…

if the fact that he asks if he can cuddle with you ‘til you both fall asleep isn’t already a dead giveaway that he likes you, then idk HELP

he’ll hold you like the fragile human you are. after all, you’re his human, no one can steal you away from him ♡