#dave york x fem!reader

[pedroscurls]

eyes on you (one-shot)

summary: dave has been single for a while now - focused on his work, but you manage to capture his attention. the only downside? you're already spoken for and your husband is his colleague.

pairing: dave york x fem!reader content warnings: 18+, legal separation (not with dave!), neglect in relationship (again, not with dave), mutual pining, sexual tension, dave wants to take care of you basically, brief mention of dave's PTSD, reader has a child, no use of y/n. word count: 5.1k a/n: ok - please bear with me. this is my first time writing for dave york and i hope i did his characterization justice... i wanted to write a softer kind of dave 😭 anyway, this year has honestly been about stepping out of my comfort zone! this story is part of dev's (@penvisions) "give a little love" writing challenge! i got forbidden romance with dave york. hope y'all enjoy <3

On his way to his office one morning, Dave catches a glimpse of you from outside of the nearby coffee shop. You have a younger boy in your arms, who’s snuggling against the crook of your neck. Your body sways side to side with him and despite the crowd and business of the coffee shop, there’s a calm aura about you. 

There’s a part of him that misses his girls—Carol having full custody of them in the divorce. He tosses his coffee cup into the trash and steps inside the coffee shop. Immediately, he’s welcomed by the sound of chatter, the coffee machines whirring, baristas yelling people’s names and he’s suddenly overwhelmed by the everything. He grips the strap of his messenger bag when he feels the walls beginning to close in around him—his eyes scanning the entire area, out of habit. 

He’s forgotten momentarily why he even walked inside until his eyes meet yours. Dave watches your eyes soften at the sight of him, the corners of your beautiful lips curling upwards as if you knew what he was feeling. A barista yells your name and you break the gaze to retrieve your drink and Dave quickly walks to the register to order a black coffee—something quick, low effort because he sees you already begin to make your way towards the front door. 

Dave doesn’t bother to make small talk with the young girl at the register. He just hands her a twenty, mumbles to keep the change, grabs his coffee and turns on his heel to catch up to you. He isn’t sure why he feels a sudden pull to you, but he knows that he’d regret it if he didn’t get the chance to at least speak with you. 

Someone bumps into him and he’s already on edge that the coffee slips out of his hand and falls to the floor on his shoes—great, he thinks. 

“I’m so sorry, man,��� the stranger mumbles before rushing out of the door. 

Dave sighs heavily and turns around to walk back towards the register. He doesn’t bother sparing you another glance because he’s sure that you’re already gone. At least I tried, he thinks. At the register, he’s about to open his mouth to speak until he sees you in his peripheral. 

“Can we get a stack of napkins and can we get another refill of whatever he ordered?” you ask the barista who’s already smiling so brightly in your direction.

“Oh! Don’t sweat it. We’ll clean it up,” he says, turns around to grab a large cup to refill with coffee for Dave. Then, he turns back around to set it in front of you. “And this is on the house.” 

“That’s sweet,” you smile. “Thanks so much.” You grab a sleeve to put on the hot cup of coffee before you turn to face him. “Figured you will probably need this.” 

Dave looks down at you—this close, he can see the way your eyes sparkle against the natural sunlight that comes through the windows. The younger boy in your arms seems to be fast asleep, but Dave can’t help the way your smile makes him feel. Everyone around him disappears—all of the sounds seem to fade until all he can see and hear is you. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” he finally answers. Dave reaches for the cup, feeling his fingertips brush against your own when you hand the cup over to him and he feels the heat in his cheeks rise. “But thank you.” 

You shrug a shoulder—your eyes are staring so deeply into his own. “I won’t be cleaning your shoes, but—” you giggle and the sound makes his heart flutter. 

“Do you work here?” he interrupts. 

“What? Oh no,” you smile. “Just saw someone who needed help, that’s all.” 

Dave isn’t sure why that made him feel so warm inside, but he smiles and begins walking out of the coffee shop alongside you. “He’s out like a light,” he points out. 

You giggle again and Dave suddenly realizes that he wants to hear more and more of it. “He had a late night,” you tease. “I let him stay up an extra fifteen minutes—story time was very intense,” you smile. 

“I have two of my own,” he adds. 

“Two?” you say with a shocked tone. “I can barely handle this one.”

“They stay with their mom,” Dave says, holding the door open for you. You walk through it and he can’t help but let his eyes drift down your back to your ass—god, those yoga pants are definitely working in your favor. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you tell him, waiting for him to step out after you. You bite your lower lip and tighten your hold on the younger boy in your arms. Soon enough, it’s only going to be you and your son will end up having to go to two homes, alternating holidays with you and his father. 

“Don’t be,” Dave smiles. “We tried to make it work and sometimes, it just isn’t enough. I just try to be with them as much as I can.” He sees the distance in your eyes and he furrows a brow—it’s obvious that you’re thinking about something else. “Hey…”

You finally look up at him, shaking yourself out of your thoughts as you look back up at him. “Sorry,” you laugh nervously. “Anyway, I should go. I hope you have a great day…”

“Wait, hey…” Dave sighs. “I’m Dave.”

Then, you smile—the same smile that managed to calm all of his nerves. You respond and tell him your name, see him smile as well and you notice the dimple on his right cheek. 

“Can I walk you to your car?” He asks. 

You nod, feel the young boy shift in your arms. “Sure.” 

Dave walks alongside you and smiles to himself, glancing over at you. “So, what do you do?” He asks. 

“Full time mom,” you answer. “But it’s the best job there is.” You glance over at him—you’re obviously very attracted to him, but your husband looks in the back of your mind. “What about you? What do you do for work?”

Dave shrugs. “Nothing exciting,” he answers too quickly. He doesn’t want to reflect on what he does for a living—if he’s being honest, it’s not something he��s proud of anymore. Especially since it cost him his marriage. “So, full time mom… What’s the plan for today?”

“Well, definitely needed my coffee,” you smile. “Then head to the store to grab some groceries…” you arch your brow and notice that his attention is solely focused on you. “Nothing exciting,” you repeat. 

Dave laughs quietly to himself and stops alongside you when you near your car. He holds open the door for you when you begin to put your son in his car seat—the young boy wiggling slightly before he makes himself comfortable. 

With your arms free—save for the coffee in your hand—Dave finally gets a better look at you. You’re wearing a faded dark grey v-neck and it’s low enough that he can see your cleavage and he has to quickly look away before you notice. 

“Well, I hope you have a great rest of your day,” Dave says quietly. He’s usually so alert when he’s walking to work—making sure that he can hear and see everyone around him, but you’re making all of the tension that he normally feels disappear. It’s strangely comforting because he can feel—for once—like he can take a deep breath without having to worry about the possibility of something happening. 

“Thank you, Dave. I hope you have a good one as well,” you smile in his direction. “And thank you for walking us back to the car.” 

Then, Dave blurts out, “I hope you know that you made my day today. So, thank you.”

“The day just started,” you laugh quietly, cheeks heating up. 

“Yeah,” Dave grins. “And it’s already starting out great.” 

You bite your lower lip and then gently tap your coffee cup with his own. “Hope I get to see you around, Dave.”

“Me too,” he says softly. “Me too.”

The next time Dave sees you, it all but crushes him because there you are—hand in hand with one of his colleagues. You don’t seem to want to be here though, smile not reaching your eyes like it did that morning he met you at the coffee shop. He can see the way you tense up when the other man whispers in your ear and you immediately pull your hand from his grip to walk towards the bar area. 

“Baby,” the other man calls out, but you just keep walking. 

Dave bites his lower lip and walks after you, ensuring that none of his coworkers have yet to see him. He hears you let out a shaky sigh, waves to the bartender, and even despite the tension he can see in your body, you’re still so polite, so kind to the man behind the counter. 

Dave straightens his tie, takes a deep breath and walks over to you. He tells the bartender to put your drink on his tab and when he finally gazes down at you, that same fucking smile is lining your lips. He can see the shock in your features, but before he can even say anything, you wrap your arms around him in a tight embrace. It catches him off guard, but he leans into you nonetheless. The way your body feels against his own makes his heart race even faster. 

“Hey,” he whispers, his arms snaking around your waist. “Nice surprise seeing you here.” 

You pull away and look up at him—you had been thinking of him every day since meeting him about a week ago. You would be lying if you said that you tried to go back to the coffee shop in hopes that you’d get to see him again, but you never could find the time to go back. 

“Dave,” you say quietly. “It’s you.”

He smiles, arms slowly slipping away from you. Dave looks at you from top to bottom, biting the inside of his cheek at the way your dress clings to every curve. When he gazes back at you, he can see the way you pull your lower lip between your teeth. 

“And it’s you,” he finally answers. “You know, I’ve gone back to that coffee shop every morning in the last week. Thought I’d never get the chance to see you again,” Dave admits. 

“Me too,” you answer honestly. “Are you here with your girlfriend?” you ask quietly, hesitantly. 

Dave shakes his head. “Work dinner.” 

“Oh,” you reply. “Me too actually. Well, not me specifically, but…” 

Dave nods, “Didn’t realize that you’re Robby’s wife.” 

You clear your throat and suddenly take a step back away from him. “You work with Robby…”

“I do,” he sighs—Dave sees the change in your behavior and he glances over at the bartender who sets your glass of wine on the counter. He mutters a quiet thank you and sets the glass in front of you.

“You were in the military.” 

“I was,” he answers. 

“I can’t talk to you,” you finally say. “Robby will get upset and—”

“We’re just having a conversation,” Dave shrugs. “I wouldn’t worry about him.” He tilts his head, sees you glance over in Robby’s direction and quietly lowers his voice. “D–Does he hurt you?”

“No,” you answer quickly. “It’s just,” you sigh. You grab a hold of his hand and lead him back to the bathrooms, pushing him inside a vacant co-ed bathroom and locking it behind you. “I’m just here for show.”

“For show?” 

“We’re getting divorced,” you sigh quietly, biting the inside of your cheek. “This is the last dinner I’m supposed to attend and he’s not making it easy.” 

Dave lets out a sigh of relief—divorced, or at least about to be. He can’t help the excitement that he feels bubbling inside of him and he crosses his arms over his chest, watching your eyes trail down his face to his arms and back up. The mutual attraction is there, he knows it. 

And you know it too. 

“So, for show…” he repeats. 

You nod. “I’d rather be at home with Mateo.” 

“Mateo?” 

He sees you relax, a large grin lining your lips. “My baby.” 

“Ah,” Dave smiles. “Cute name. Didn’t get a chance to meet the little guy. He was knocked out when we met.” 

You laugh quietly and Dave perks up, suddenly takes a step closer to you at the sound. “Yeah, he’s with the sitter tonight.” 

“So, I’m guessing no intense story time tonight,” he teases. 

You laugh again and it only fuels him further—excitement coursing through his veins until he’s inches away from you. You lean back against the sink and stare up at him, biting your lower lip as you stare into his eyes. 

“No, not tonight,” you whisper. You feel his fingers brush your hair away from your face and you let out a quiet gasp—your body reacting to him instantly because you tilt your head and lean against his touch. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” Dave whispers. 

“Dave…” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“We can’t,” you sigh. “Robby—He won’t make it easy if he knows that I’m seeing someone. We haven’t finalized the divorce, haven’t even told Mateo yet, and—”

Dave just nods, but he gently cups your cheek and brushes the pad of his thumb along your soft skin. He leans down and presses his lips against your forehead to place a light kiss before he’s pulling away. 

“Okay,” he answers. 

“I’m sorry. I really want to,” you shut your eyes against the soft kiss he places on your forehead. Even though he pulls away, his hand is still resting on your cheek. 

“Me too,” he whispers. Dave lowers his hand to the side of your neck, brushes the pad of his thumb across your jawline and now across your lower lip. He watches you part your lips for him and he fights the urge to slip his thumb inside—to feel the warmth of your mouth, your tongue, and—

“Dave,” you sigh quietly. 

“You can push me away, you know?” He teases. 

“But I don’t want to,” you admit. 

“Making it real hard for me to not kiss you right here, right now.” Dave adds, slowly pulling away as his hand drops back to his side. He makes it obvious now that he’s looking at you, at every inch of your body and he can feel his manhood stirring awake. 

You don’t feel shy under his gaze. In fact, you feel empowered, sexy. Your cheeks heat up and when his eyes finally land on your own, a broad smirk lines his lips—and there’s that fucking dimple again.  

“I’ll see you out there, baby.” Dave presses one last kiss against your cheek before he pulls away from you and leaves the restroom. 

You sigh quietly, slumping against the sink as you turn to look at yourself in the mirror. Technically, you’re single, but you know Robby… if he finds that you’ve already moved on, he’d make this so much more difficult than it needs to be. 

Throughout the dinner, you’re seated in between Dave and Robby. Robby’s arm is draped around the back of your seat, his fingertips brushing against your arm. You look up at him and he catches your gaze—he drops his hand immediately. 

Dave switches his persona—professional but charming. He can keep the conversation going and you notice that the other men at the table—Robby included—hold onto every word that leaves his lips. The respect is evident, and when the other women look at him, you know just exactly what they’re thinking. 

Because you’re thinking it too. 

Dave is fucking sexy and he knows it. He flashes that smile that makes his dimple appear and his deep brown eyes lure you in. It’s only when he looks down at you that you feel the heat in your cheeks. 

“Robby, you have a little boy, right?” Dave asks. 

“Yeah, Mateo. He’s three.”

“Four,” you correct. “He’s four,” you answer, looking up at Dave with a small smile. 

Robby’s jaw tightens but he masks it with a forced smile. His hand comes down to rest on your thigh and it startles you, feeling his grip around it. “Sorry, baby. Been busy at work lately,” he laughs nervously. 

You don’t respond—instead, you grab his wrist and push his hand away from you. He looks down at you with narrowed eyes and you lean forward to whisper in his ear. “Stop, Robby. Or else I will walk out of this dinner.” 

Robby just grunts in reply and nods, pulling away from you and flashing everyone else a smile. “I’ll definitely be in the dog house for that one,” he says, everyone else but Dave erupts in laughter. 

“Anyway, he’s four and he’s just the sweetest little boy,” you continue, pulling the attention away from Robby. “The other day, he wanted to make me breakfast because—and these are his words—he wanted to take care of me.” 

The women at the table melt at your words, hands gripping their husbands’ arms—you and Robby are the only ones with a child. Well, and Dave too. 

“He’s a little protector,” Robby chimes in. “And he’s a momma’s boy.” 

You force a smile and stay quiet for the remainder of the dinner. The other women at the table opt to do the same, only speaking up when their husbands are speaking to them—or if Dave addressed them specifically. There’s a part of you that can’t wait for this dinner to end, but another part of you that doesn’t want it to.  

Only because of Dave. Having him sit next to you provides a sense of safety and security, and you yearn to just have another moment alone with him. You spend the rest of the evening with your eyes on your plate, but when your phone rings, you excuse yourself and stand from the table. 

“It’s the sitter,” you smile apologetically. Your eyes meet Dave’s and the corner of his lips curl upwards before he turns back around to continue the conversation. 

Robby makes no effort in walking after you—you know that he would rather have more time with Dave than with your son. 

After about five minutes, you walk back to the table and grab your coat from the back of your chair. “I’m heading out, Robby.” 

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you at home.” 

You tighten your jaw and you’re about to say something before Dave chimes in. 

“Everything okay with Mateo?” Your eyes soften instantly, but you can’t help the conflicting emotions that you feel. This is a question that your husband should be asking, not his colleague. 

“Oh, everything’s okay. Something just came up with the sitter and she has to head home,” you answer. “It was great meeting all of you.” 

Robby doesn’t stand up, doesn’t offer to walk you outside. Instead, he just leans further back in his seat with another glass of alcohol in his hand. You feel anger rushing in your veins and you want so badly to scream, to yell at him but instead you pull on your coat. Nonchalantly, you slip off your wedding ring and gently rest your hand on Robby’s shoulder. 

He looks up at you and furrows a brow until you place your free hand in his—dropping your wedding ring into his palm. His eyes widen slightly and tears build in your own. Leaning down, you place a light kiss on his cheek and whisper, “We are done, Robert.” 

A month later, you and Robby have established boundaries. While you’re both still living in the same house, he sleeps in another room. In front of Mateo, you both try to keep up with appearances and luckily, the younger boy doesn’t notice anything differently. 

On one Friday afternoon, Robby lets you know that Dave and some other guys from the office are coming over for dinner. You tell him that you plan on leaving the house with Mateo, but he insists on you staying—mentioning that Dave actually wanted to see you again and also meet Mateo. 

To him, he thinks he’s making an impression on Dave. 

But you know what Dave really meant, and it made your heart race faster. 

So, you set the table with the dinner you made just in time to hear the doorbell ring. Mateo’s small feet echo throughout the home when he runs towards the front door, standing on his toes to try and open the door. You look over in his direction, expecting Robby to answer the door but he’s nowhere to be found. 

With a heavy sigh, you walk over to the front door, scoop Mateo into your arms as you gently tickle his sides. “You’re naughty, baby.” 

“Just wanted to help, mama!” 

You smile and place a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose before you open the door. Dave’s grinning at you, holding a case of beer in one hand. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. 

“Hi, Dave.” You can feel the heat in your cheeks as you open the door wider for him. “This is Mateo.”

Dave steps across the threshold and keeps his eyes focused on the both of you. “Hi, Mateo.” 

“Hi!” He smiles, nuzzling your neck. “Mama made dinner.” 

“She did, did she? No wonder it smells delicious in here,” Dave winks. 

“She made my favorite.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

You bite your lower lip, feeling your heart race even faster at the interaction. 

“Mhm! Pasketti!” 

Both you and Dave laugh quietly. Mateo wraps his arms around your shoulders and rests his head against your own. “I did, baby. Now, can you go and be a big boy and get ready for dinner?” 

He nods. “Okay, mama. I’ll wash my hands too.” 

“Thank you, honey.” You set him down on his feet and watch him walk down the hallway to his own bedroom, leaving you and Dave alone. “Sorry, Robby’s probably in his office. I’ll go get him.” 

Dave bites his lower lip and gently reaches out for your hand, turning you around. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Dave…”

He plays with your fingers with his own before he lets his hand drop back to his side. “Can I put these in the fridge?” He asks, motioning towards the case of beer. 

“Oh, yeah, follow me.” You turn on your heel and walk ahead of him, leading him to the kitchen. 

Dave glances around but his eyes stay focused on you. You’re wearing those same yoga pants and it sculpts to every curve—he clears his throat and tries to rid his mind of every dirty thought. 

He bumps into you when you stop walking—too distracted by you. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. For a brief moment, he feels the curve of your ass press against the front of his slacks and his manhood begins to stir awake. “Clumsy me.” 

“Distracted?” You tease, turning around to grab the case of beer from his hand. 

His eyes narrow at you. “You wore those pants on purpose, didn’t you?” 

You grin, tongue darting out to lick your lower lip and you watch his eyes stare at the action. “They’re comfy.” 

“And your ass looks fucking great in ‘em,” he grins. 

“You’re flirting.”

“I’m complimenting you,” Dave corrects. 

You let out a quiet laugh and shake your head, placing the beer into the fridge. As you’re about to turn around and quip back, Robby enters the kitchen. Dave catches your gaze when you turn around—his big, brown eyes soften. 

“Thanks, baby. Was in the office.” Robby says. You don’t respond, just give him a quick nod before you excuse yourself quietly to check on Mateo. You glance over your shoulder—Robby begins talking animatedly to Dave, but he’s staring right at you. 

“Your wife not joining us?” Dave asks, sitting at the table with Robby and his other colleagues. 

Robby shakes his head. “Nope. We have an agreement.” 

The other men grin. “A woman who knows her place. Lucky you.” 

Robby laughs. “Gotta train ‘em early.” 

Dave tightens his jaw—he’s the only one not laughing, the only one who doesn’t find it funny. “That woman cooked you and your colleagues dinner and you talk about her like that? You let them talk about her like that?” 

Everyone at the table quiets immediately. They are all intimidated by Dave and they clear their throats, beginning to apologize. 

“It was just a joke,” Robby says nervously. 

“Joke or not, you shouldn’t talk about your wife like that.” Dave can feel the anger in his veins—you mentioned that you were getting a divorce, but why in the hell are you still here? 

“Well, won’t be my wife for long,” Robby shrugs. “She asked for a divorce. We haven’t told Mateo yet.” 

“Oh shit, sorry man,” one of the other men comments. The rest of them share the same sentiment, but Dave wants nothing more than to be with you. 

“Hey, Robby. Where’s your bathroom, man?”

“Down the hall, to your left.” 

Dave nods his thanks and stands from the chair. He walks down the hallway and finds the bathroom, but he looks at the other door across from it that’s slightly ajar. He hears the sound of Mateo’s laughter, followed by your muffled voice. He glances over his shoulder and takes a deep breath, knocking on the door quietly. 

He can hear you getting up and within seconds, you open the door and smile instantly at the sight of him. 

“Hi.” 

“Hello again,” he says softly. “You and Mateo not hungry?” 

“We’ll be out in a few. Just want Robby to have enough time with you all first.” 

“Why are you so nice to him?” Dave blurts out, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.” 

“Mama’s gonna be right back, baby.” You tell Mateo, stepping out of the room and gently pushing Dave into the bathroom across the hall. You shut it behind you and lock it, staring up at him. 

“I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have and—”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you admit, interrupting him. “Since that morning at the coffee shop, actually.”

Dave arches a brow and steps closer to you. He brings his hand up gently to cup your cheek and he watches as your eyes fall shut. You let out a quiet sigh and bring your hand to wrap around his wrist gently. 

“Me too,” he confesses. “Robby doesn’t have to know,” Dave says quietly. “We can keep this a secret until you finalize the divorce.” 

“He’ll find out, Dave,” you whisper. Slowly, you turn your head and kiss the inside of his wrist, lips moving upwards to press light kisses along the inside of his palm. You can hear Dave inhale sharply before his thumb brushes across your lower lip. 

“Baby,” he says quietly. Dave steps closer—his front now inches from your own. He can feel your breasts lightly pressing against his chest and his free hand moves to rest on your hip—ready to pull you into him when the time is right. “Robby won’t even think about doing anything where I’m concerned.”

“You don’t know that,” you whisper. You can feel your resolve slowly slipping as you bring your hand up to gently play with the ends of his tie. 

“Trust me,” Dave responds quietly as he steps closer—caging you in against the sink. His hands move to rest on the edges of it at either side, dipping his head lower until his nose brushes against your own. “You make all the noise go away,” he admits. 

“The noise?” you ask quietly, eyes falling shut—you can feel his breath against your lips.

Dave nods. “My mind races all the time. It gets worse when it’s crowded and I’ve worked on getting it under control, but losing my girls, failing my marriage… It just amplified it.” He presses his lips against your cheek—lips catching the corner of your own. “But I saw you at the coffee shop when I was walking to work that morning and you—” he sighs. “There was just something calming about you. Then, you looked at me and smiled.”

You smile and move your hands up his chest to his shoulders, linking your hands now at the nape of his neck. “Dave…”

“I really want you,” he interrupts, “In any way that you’ll let me.”

“Will you kiss me?” 

Dave’s smile broadens and he nods, closing his eyes slowly and pressing his lips firmly against yours. When he feels your soft lips, his hands move from the sink to rest on your hips—-holding you tighter, closer against him. 

You lean into him instantly, fingers carding through his hair. His lips are softer than you imagined and the tension between you builds even further when you deepen the kiss. It isn’t quick or hurried—it’s slow, intimate, and almost as if you’re both savoring the moment. Your lips move with his own and you can feel the grip around your hips tightening even further. 

He pulls back only slightly to gently nip at your lower lip—it causes a quiet whimper to escape your lips. It’s just enough for you to remember that you’re both on limited time. You have to get back to Mateo and he has to get back to his dinner. 

Slowly, you pull away and Dave rests his forehead against your own. Neither of you make any move to pull away from each other, but he leans in repeatedly to peck your lips—he just can’t get enough of you.

“We’ll make this work,” he whispers. 

You nod in agreement. “Just in the meantime,” you repeat. “Until the divorce is finalized.” 

“I’m a patient man,” Dave smiles. “At least for you, I can be.” 

You smile, eyes gazing at his lips. Dave lets out a quiet chuckle and moves a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing against your soft skin. “If you wanna kiss me again, baby, just do it.”

You roll your eyes playfully and lean in to press your lips firmly against his own—this time, more rushed, desperate. Dave growls lowly against your lips, his hand on your hip moving to reach back to squeeze your ass. You quietly let out a moan and he uses this chance to slide his tongue past your lips—hand moving from your cheek to tangle itself in your hair. 

“Gonna be real hard for me to let you go after this,” he mumbles, breaking the kiss momentarily to press kisses along your jawline. Dave glances up in your direction and he smirks—he sees the way you tilt your head back, eyes shut, and your lips slightly agape as a quiet whimper leaves your lips. 

“Dave,” you moan quietly, feeling his teeth graze your pulse point along the side of your neck. 

He presses one last kiss on your throat before he pulls away. Dave bites his lower lip and watches you open your eyes. 

“Robby’s out of town this weekend,” you tell him. “I can have the sitter watch Mateo.” 

A large grin spreads on his lips. “Dinner at my place?” he asks. 

“It’s a date,” you smile. 

[cinewhore]

Til Death Do Us Part

Pairing: Dave York x fem!reader (Mr & Mrs Smith AU) Rating: General Warnings: none? Word Count: 620 A/N: first thing I wrote in like a year. So do what you will with that. Was inspired by the new amazon series, go watch if you haven't already!! Will there be more? Maybe. Maybe not. Enjoy! Credits to the gif makers.

Dave forgot just how much he loathed flying. 

Not that he was afraid of heights or anything, it was a simple matter of not being in control. Should anything go to shit, there was nothing he could really do to stop it. You’re more likely to die in a car accident compared to a plane but if he was required to take down an enemy on a flight and things got choppy? He was useless. Unless he learned how to fly a plane. Surely, that wouldn’t be expected of him, would it? He wasn’t entirely positive about that. 

Dave glances out of the window once more, admiring the cloudless sky. It looked like he felt, bare. 

He had survived the accident, the fall and decided that instead of putting the girls and Carol through all that hell, he remained dead. They would receive his pension, life insurance and be set for life. That was the one thing he was proud of outside of everything else. He didn’t want to hurt or kill Mac but that was the name of the game. Mac was once his friend. He realized that this life wasn’t for making friends, though. The lonelier, the better. 

A stewardess arrives in the main cabin, rolling out a small beverage cart. 

“Good evening! We are about to begin our descent so I wanted to grant any last minute refreshment requests.” 

Dave admired her pretty teeth for a second too long before answering. “I’m fine, thank you.” 

She nods and turns to her cart to grab a tiny silver platter. Placing it delicately on the table in front of him, she folds her gloved hands together. 

“Thank you for flying with us this evening, we hoped you enjoyed your trip. The plane will land at approximately 6:37 pm, Central European Standard Time. You will find a wardrobe through those doors,” she gestures towards the back of the plane. “The event is a black tie affair, so please dress accordingly. Welcome to Paris, Mr. Smith.” 

Oh. 

Right.

He wasn’t Dave York anymore, he was now John Smith. 

John opens the silver platter carefully only to find a folded paper underneath. His instructions were clear. 

Find Jane.

[cosmicaura7]

EATING YOU OUT

Pairings : pedro pascal characters x reader

Genre : f/m, smut, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, edging

Synopsis : He is a devoted husband in every sense of the word. But when it comes to you, his pretty wife, there’s one thing he simply can’t get enough of.

Clint Flood (Freaky Tales)

Clint had always been a man of few words. He never needed them, not when his actions spoke louder, not when he could show you exactly how much he adored you with the way he touched you, worshiped you. And God, did he worship you.

You barely had time to register the way he pulled you into bed, hands gripping your thighs, parting them with a desperation that made your breath hitch. Clint had that look in his eyes, the one that said he was about to ruin you and the one that made your body tremble before he even laid a finger on you.

"Been thinkin’ about this all damn day." He muttered, voice rough with hunger as he pressed kisses up your inner thigh. His scruff scratched against your skin, sending shivers up your spine.

Your fingers threaded through his messy hair as he settled between your legs, inhaling deeply, like the scent of you alone was enough to drive him mad. His large hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth and before you could say anything, his tongue was on you, slow, deliberate and savoring. "Clint…" You gasped but he only groaned in response, the vibrations making your thighs twitch around his head.

"You know better than to talk, sweetheart." He murmured against you, his tongue flicking over your clit in a way that made your breath stutter. "Just let me take care of you."

And he did.

Clint was relentless, devouring you with an obsession that left you weak. He licked, sucked and nipped, memorized every little sound you made, every little movement of your hips. He wanted you shaking, coming undone on his tongue, over and over, until you were too blissed-out to do anything but whimper his name. His grip on your thighs tightened when you tried to move away, too overwhelmed by the pleasure but he wasn’t letting you go, not yet. "Stay still, baby." He murmured, voice thick with need. "Ain't done with you."

Your back arched as his tongue worked you over again, teasing, torturing, until you were gasping, pulling at his hair, your body trembling under him. He ate you like a man starved, like he’d never get enough of you because he wouldn’t. And when you finally shattered, thighs clamping around his head, your body shaking with the force of your release, Clint only groaned in satisfaction, licking up every last drop of you like it was his lifeline.

As you lay there, boneless, breathless, he kissed his way back up your body, his lips brushing over your heated skin, smirking against your cheek. "Still with me, pretty girl?" He teased, his voice full of pride. You could barely form words, still floating in the haze he’d left you in. But Clint? He was already thinking about the next time because once would never be enough. Not when it came to you.

Dave York (The Equalizer 2)

Dave York had many obsessions, precision, control and more. The satisfaction of a perfectly executed plan. But none of them compared to you. And more specifically, the way you tasted. It was the one thing that shattered his discipline, made him reckless and made him a goddamn fiend.

Tonight was no different.

You barely had time to process before Dave had you spread out on the bed, your silk nightgown pushed up to your waist, his broad shoulders wedged between your thighs. He wasn’t even pretending to take his time, he needed this, needed you.

The first swipe of his tongue was slow, deliberate, a groan rumbling deep in his chest as he tasted you. “Fuck.” He muttered against your skin, his grip tightening on your thighs. “How do you get sweeter every time?”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he devoured you, licking into you like a man starved. The heat of his mouth, the flick of his tongue, the way his scruff rubbed against your sensitive skin, it was too much. “D-Dave.” Your voice was already shaking, your thighs trembling around his head but that only seemed to spur him on.

He growled, a deep, needy sound, and wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking you in place. “Not done yet, sweetheart.” As if you had any say in the matter. He feasted on you, tongue circling your clit before sucking it into his mouth, making your back arch off the bed. You whimpered, thighs trying to snap shut but his grip was bruising, his strength impossible to fight.

“That’s it.” He murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your swollen cunt. “Give me everything, baby.”

Your body obeyed, hips rolling against his face, chasing the high he always pulled from you. And when you finally broke, when pleasure crashed over you so violently your entire body trembled, Dave didn’t stop, didn’t let you go.

You tried to push at his shoulders, whimpering from overstimulation but he just laughed, pressing his tongue flat against your clit again. “Who told you we were done?” He murmured against your soaked heat. “I’ll stop when I’m finished.” And you knew, there was no stopping him now. You were his and he was going to ruin you.

Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)

Dieter had many vices.

Drugs? Sure. Booze? Of course. Attention? Absolutely.

But nothing compared to his addiction to you. Specifically, your pussy.

It was almost ridiculous how often he had his face between your legs. You could be doing anything, reading, scrolling through your phone, even talking to him about something completely mundane and suddenly, Dieter would get that look in his eyes. That lazy hungry gaze.

Like now.

You were sitting on the couch, dressed in nothing but one of his old t-shirts, scrolling through your emails. You barely noticed Dieter shifting beside you, draping himself over your lap, nuzzling against your thighs like a cat begging for attention. It was when he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh that you finally glanced down.

“D…” You sighed, already knowing where this was going. “I’m busy.”

Dieter hummed, completely ignoring you, nosing the fabric of your shirt up so he could kiss higher, closer. “You can’t really be that busy.” He murmured against your skin. “Not too busy for me, right, sweetheart?”

“You literally ate me out this morning.” You arched a brow. 

“And? That was hours ago.” Dieter grinned, nipping at your thigh.  You sighed but the anticipation was already pooling low in your stomach. Because you knew Dieter wasn’t going to give up. He never did. 

With a content hum, he hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled, dragging you down until you were half-sprawled against the couch. You let out a soft yelp as he pushed your legs apart, settling between them like a man ready to worship at the altar of his favorite religion. “I love this pretty little pussy.” He murmured, eyes dark as he ran his fingers along your already damp folds. “I swear baby, I could die between these thighs and be the happiest man alive.”

“You’re insane.” You let out a breathless laugh. 

Dieter smirked. “I’m just a man who knows what he likes.” And with that, he dove in. His mouth was hot, tongue slow and deliberate as he licked a long, teasing stripe up your slit before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

“Fuck, Dieter…” Your head fell back against the couch. He groaned against you, like he was savoring the taste, like he’d been starving for this. Because he was. He never rushed. Never got bored. Never stopped until you were a shaking, whimpering mess underneath him.

And tonight? He was taking his time.

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

It was late aboard the Razor Crest, the hum of hyperspace a soft backdrop to the warmth cocooning you within your shared bunk. The dim glow of the overhead lights bathed the cramped space in shadows but none of it mattered, not when you were beneath him.

Din had you sprawled out on the thin mattress, his beskar discarded, his helmet resting on the shelf beside him. His dark eyes were fixed on you, hungry and full of devotion, as he pressed kisses along the inside of your thigh. His gravelly voice, thick with need, sent shivers through your already trembling body. "You're shaking, cyar’ika." He murmured, lips ghosting over your sensitive skin. "And I haven't even started yet."

Your fingers curled into the sheets as you whimpered, your body betraying you. The sheer intensity of his gaze, like you were the only thing in the galaxy that mattered, left you breathless. "Din, please." You whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

A low chuckle vibrated against your thigh. "So needy." He murmured, dragging his tongue over your skin, slow and teasing. "You know I love it when you beg."

You gasped as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, trapping you beneath his unyielding strength. And then he devoured you. His mouth was hot and relentless, tongue swirling, lips sealing over you with an insatiable hunger that left you writhing beneath him. You cried out, arching against him but his grip tightened, holding you down and forcing you to take it.

"You taste so fucking good, my riduur." He groaned against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. Your fingers flew to his hair, tugging, desperate for something to ground yourself. But Din only growled, doubling down, lapping you up like a man starved. His obsession with this, with you, bordered on madness. And you were helpless against it. Utterly and completely at his mercy.

Ezra (The Prospect)

Ezra has always been an indulgent man. The kind to savor his pleasures, to take his time. And when it comes to you? He’s downright ravenous.

It starts with a kiss.

It always does.

A slow, lazy thing, Ezra’s lips pressing soft and warm against yours as he pulls you into his lap. His hands, calloused and sure, trace the curve of your spine, skimming lower, gripping just enough to make you sigh against his mouth. "You’re too good to me, sugar." He murmurs, his breath ghosting over your jaw as his lips move lower. "Ain’t right, how lucky I got."

"And what did I do to deserve such praise?" You smile, threading your fingers through his hair. 

Ezra hums, dragging his lips down the column of your throat. "Exist." And then he’s gone. Down, down, lower, his hands gripping your hips as he lays you back against the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight, his broad shoulders parting your thighs as he settles between them.

And God help you, because you know what’s coming. Ezra is obsessed with your pussy. And he’s about to prove it.

He starts slow. Dragging his mouth along the inside of your thigh, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin there. Savoring, worshiping and teasing. "You’re soft everywhere, sugar." He murmurs, voice thick with hunger. "But this? Right here?" His thumb presses against your slick heat, parting you, and he groans. "This is my favorite part."

Your breath catches as he dips his head, his tongue flicking out to taste.

And then Ezra moans like he’s the one being pleasured, like he’s just been given the most decadent meal in the universe. His good hand grips your thigh, holding you open, keeping you spread and vulnerable for his mouth. He licks deep, dragging his tongue through your folds before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

You jolt, your hands flying to his hair, thighs trembling around his head.

"Ezra!"

"That’s it." He rasps, pulling back just enough to press a wet kiss against your swollen bud. "Say my name, sugar." He licks again, slower this time, his tongue curling just right and you keen.

"God, Ezra!"

He groans against you, the vibrations sparking pleasure up your spine. His grip tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he devours you, his mouth moving in slow, deliberate strokes, building you up, winding you tight. And then he flicks his tongue, fast and sharp, before sucking hard.

And you break. Pleasure crashes over you in waves, your body arching, thighs clamping around his head as you cry out his name. But Ezra doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. He keeps going, keeps licking, keeps sucking, dragging out every last tremor, every last pulse of pleasure until you’re shaking beneath him, gasping, whimpering. Only then does he finally pull away, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and blown with hunger.

"You taste like heaven, sugar." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your trembling thigh. "Think I might need another bite."

And then he dives back in.

And you?

You’re gone.

Francisco Morales (Triple Frontier)

Frankie wasn’t ashamed of it. Hell, he’d scream it from the rooftops if he could. He was obsessed with his wife’s pussy. It was his, after all.

And right now, he was devouring it like a man starved. His broad shoulders were wedged between your thighs, his scruffy beard scratching against your inner thighs as his tongue worked you over, slow and deliberate, savoring the way you squirmed beneath him. Your back was arched, your fingers tugging at his curls, your breath ragged as you tried and failed to keep up with his relentless pace.

“F-Frankie!” Your voice hitched as his tongue flicked against your clit, his arms tightening around your thighs, locking you in place.

“That’s it, baby.” He groaned, his voice gravelly, deep, vibrating against your soaked cunt. “Let me hear you.” You whimpered, legs trembling around his head, but he just held you tighter, lapped at you harder, his tongue dipping deep, tasting everything you had to give him.

“Always so sweet, honey. Always so perfect.” You shuddered, your body tensing, that familiar heat building, rising, coiling tight.

And then Frankie sucked your clit between his lips, his tongue swirling, flicking, pushing you over the edge. Your cry filled the room as you came undone, your thighs clamping around his head, your entire body shaking beneath him.

But Frankie wasn’t done, not yet. “One more, baby.” His voice was thick with hunger, his hands spreading you open again, his tongue diving back in before you could even catch your breath.

And the only thing you could do was take it like a good little girl.

Harry Castillo (The Materialists)

The penthouse was dimly lit, the glow from the city skyline casting soft shadows across the bedroom. Outside, the world was still alive, cars honking, sirens wailing, people laughing in distant bars but here, none of that mattered.

Here, it was just you and Harry.

And Harry was hungry. His hands were possessive, large palms gliding over your bare thighs as he spread you open beneath him. The warmth of his breath tickled your skin, sending a delicious shiver up your spine. “Look at you.” He murmured, eyes dark with need as he settled between your legs. “My perfect little wife.” His lips pressed to the inside of your knee, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses up your inner thigh. Every inch he covered made your heartbeat hammer against your ribs, your breath catching when his nose brushed against where you needed him most.

“Harry…” You whispered, already trembling beneath his touch.

His lips curved against your skin. He loved this, loved how eager, needy and utterly wrecked you became under his hands. He had barely touched you and yet you were already coming undone for him. “You know I can’t help myself.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the softest part of your thigh. “Not when you taste so fucking sweet.”

And then, he devoured you. His tongue was hot, skilled, and utterly merciless as he dragged it through your slick heat. You arched off the bed, a cry spilling from your lips as your fingers shot down to grip his hair, holding on as he took his time tasting you.

Harry groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. He loved this. Loved the way your thighs tried to clamp around his head, the way you whimpered and gasped his name with every flick of his tongue. His strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you spread for him as he feasted. Every slow, deliberate lap of his tongue had you trembling, your body coiling tighter and tighter with unbearable pleasure.

“Oh, god! Harry…” You gasped, hips bucking against his mouth. “I…I'm gonna…”

“Go on.” He growled against you, tongue pressing deep, voice husky with obsession. “Give it to me.”

And you did. Your body shattered, pleasure ripping through you so violently that you couldn’t even scream, just a silent, breathless cry as your vision whited out. But Harry wasn’t done. Even as you trembled beneath him, legs twitching, breath shaky, he kept going.

“Too much…” You whimpered, trying to pull away, but his grip tightened on your thighs, pinning you down.

“Uh-uh, sweetheart.” He rasped, looking up at you with hungry, darkened eyes. “I’m not done yet.” And then he dove back in, tongue relentless, dragging you into another devastating wave of pleasure.

You were his. His beautiful, perfect little wife. And he was going to worship you all night long.

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels (Kingsman)

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels prided himself on many things, his skill as an agent, his precision with a lasso, his ability to hold his liquor better than most men. But above all else, there was one thing he cherished, one thing he could never get enough of: you.

More specifically, the sweet little prize between your thighs.

And tonight? Tonight was no different.

You were sprawled across the bed, your body trembling beneath him, your breath coming in ragged little gasps. The silk sheets beneath you were already wrinkled, your fingers tangled in them as you tried to keep yourself together. But Jack had other plans. “Oh, honey.” He drawled against your soaked folds, his voice thick with amusement and hunger. “Ain’t no use runnin’ from me.” Your thighs jerked as his tongue dragged through your slick folds, his hands gripping the plush flesh to keep you still. He’d been down here for what felt like hours, working you over with that devastating mouth of his, taking his time like he had nowhere else in the world to be.

And for Jack, that was true. He had you all to himself, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“J-Jack…” You whimpered, your voice wrecked and needy, barely a breath.

His cock throbbed at the sound, at the way you begged so prettily for him without even realizing it. He nuzzled against your swollen clit, letting his scruff drag against the sensitive skin before wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

You cried out, arching off the bed, your hands flying to his hair as your thighs instinctively tried to clamp around his head. But he was stronger and faster, he pinned your legs open with ease, spreading you wide for him. “Uh-uh, darlin’.” He murmured, looking up at you with dark, hazy eyes. “You know better than that. Let me see you.”

Your chest heaved as you met his gaze, your body quaking beneath him. He looked downright ravenous, his mouth and chin glistening with your slick, his pupils blown wide with hunger. “Prettiest damn thing I ever laid eyes on.” He muttered before diving right back in. His tongue worked you over, alternating between slow, teasing licks and deep, relentless strokes that had you seeing stars. He devoured you, like he was a man starved and you were the only meal he ever needed.

Your stomach tightened, pleasure coiling low, your muscles locking up as you felt yourself hurtling toward the edge. “Come on, sugar.” Jack murmured against you, his voice vibrating through your core. “Give me another one. Know you got it in ya.”

And oh, you did.

With one last flick of his tongue, you shattered. Your body seized, pleasure ripping through you as you sobbed his name, your vision going white-hot as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Jack groaned against you, his grip tightening, holding you steady as he licked you through every last aftershock, determined to prolong your bliss for as long as he could. Only when your body finally sagged against the bed, spent and trembling, did he pull away. His lips were wet, his beard glistening, but that smirk was firmly in place as he crawled up your body, pressing his hard, aching length against your thigh.

“Think you got another one in ya, sweet thing?” He murmured, nipping at your jaw as one of his hands trailed between your legs, his fingers teasing your overstimulated clit. You whimpered, your entire body shuddering as a fresh wave of need coursed through you.

Jack grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

Javi Guttierez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)

Javi Gutierrez had always been a devoted man. To his work, to his friends, to the things he loved. But nothing held his devotion quite like you did. Especially when he had you like this. Sprawled out on the bed, limbs trembling, thighs spread wide for him as he buried his face between them like a man starved.

He wasn’t even pretending to pace himself tonight. From the moment he laid you down, he had been relentless, tongue hot and wet as it flicked over your clit, his lips sealing around the swollen bud just to suck, pulling desperate whimpers from your throat. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you still even as your body tried to escape the pleasure he forced upon you. You were shaking. Shaking beneath him, body writhing against the sheets, fingers tangled in his thick curls, tugging, pulling, pushing. Not that he ever listened to your weak attempts to get away. If anything, your resistance only spurred him on.

He groaned into your soaked heat, the vibration sending another shockwave through your already overstimulated body. “Tan dulce, mi amor.” He murmured, voice muffled as he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit before sealing his lips around you once more. “I could stay here forever.”

“Javi…” You whined, thighs trembling in his grasp. 

But the plea was cut off by a sharp gasp as he slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, his mouth never ceasing its delicious assault. His free hand splayed over your stomach, feeling the way your muscles tensed beneath his touch. “Give me one more.” He coaxed, voice thick with arousal, tongue circling your clit in slow, deliberate movements. “One more, cariño, I know you can.”

You didn’t stand a chance against him. Against his tongue, his fingers, the overwhelming hunger he had for you. And when you finally shattered, crying out his name, Javi moaned like he was the one coming undone, lapping up every bit of your pleasure as if he could drink you in. Even as you lay there, panting, skin glistening with sweat, body too spent to move, he still wasn’t satisfied. Because you were his favorite meal.

And Javi Gutierrez never left a plate unfinished.

Javier Peña (Narcos)

Nights with your husband had always felt like a dream, heavy with warmth, golden with affection. But tonight, something different simmered beneath the surface. Javier had been watching you all day. From the way your sundress clung to your curves as you folded laundry, to the delicate stretch of your legs on the couch as you flipped through a magazine, lost in your world. He looked at you like a starving man, slow, focused and reverent.

And now you were lying in bed, bathed in the soft lamplight of your shared room. A breath caught in your throat as he hovered above you, still fully clothed, yet somehow already unraveled by you. “Javi…” You whispered, fingers curling around the front of his shirt.

“Shh, baby.” He murmured, kissing the center of your chest with quiet, burning reverence. “Let me take care of you.”

You swallowed, heart racing, as he trailed kisses lower, slow and deliberate, fingertips skimming down your sides as if he were learning your body all over again. “You’re always so good to me.” He whispered, his voice rough and low. “Always so damn beautiful. You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your breath hitched as he settled between your thighs, warm palms spreading them gently but firmly, like he couldn’t wait another second to worship you properly. And when his mouth met your skin, it wasn’t rushed. No, it was worshipful, slow, focused and obsessed. You gripped the sheets, legs trembling as he groaned into you like he was the one being undone. As if the taste of you was the only thing he ever wanted, the only thing he craved.

“Javi, oh my god!” You gasped, your voice catching as your body arched beneath him.

He didn’t stop. Not when your fingers tangled in his hair. Not when your legs threatened to close around his shoulders. And especially not when you were trembling beneath him, so sensitive you could barely breathe. He pulled back just long enough to kiss your inner thigh and look up at you with that devilish proud smirk of his. “You shaking, baby?” He teased, breath hot against your skin. “I’m not done with you yet.”

And when he kissed you again, slow and deep, you realized Javier Peña wasn’t just obsessed with you. He was starving for you. And he wasn’t stopping until you melted completely in his hands.

Joel Miller (The Last of Us)

Even after all these years, after all the ash, blood and grief the world had dumped at your feet, Joel Miller still looked at you like you were the last good thing left on Earth.

And tonight, he touched you like it too.

The house in Jackson was quiet, the walls still and the fireplace crackling low in the distance. Joel had returned home from patrol just hours earlier, his hands rough and cold from the snow, his body tense, his eyes tired. But the second he walked through the door and saw you curled up on the couch in nothing but one of his old flannels, your thighs peeking out and lips glossy from your nightly tea, something shifted in him. That dark intensity in his gaze sharpened, zeroing in on you like you were a meal he hadn’t had in days.

And truthfully?

He hadn’t. Not the way he needed to.

Which is exactly how you ended up like this, legs trembling around his broad shoulders, your fingers tangled in his salt-and-pepper curls as he buried his face between your thighs like a starving man at his last supper. “J-Joel…” You gasped, back arching off the bed as he moaned against your soaked heat, his tongue lapping up everything you gave him like it was nectar, his hands gripping your thighs tight, holding you open and in place.

“Shhh, darlin’.” He murmured against your skin, voice rough and low, vibrating right through your core. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til you’re shakin’ for me. You know that.”

He always said that. Every damn time.

And you always did.

Joel was obsessive in the way he worshiped you, taking his time, learning every inch of your body, every twitch, every gasp, every whispered plea. His beard scraped against the tender skin of your inner thighs and you felt it when he smiled, smug and greedy, like he could feel your pleasure in his own chest. He shifted slightly, dragging his tongue slow and deliberate, before sucking that sensitive spot in a way that made your whole body jolt.

“I-I can’t!” Your breath hitched. 

“You can, baby.” He growled, tightening his grip, his voice wrecked with hunger. “Gonna come for me. Gonna soak my fuckin’ face like a good girl, huh?” You cried out, the coil inside you snapping, unraveling as your body shook beneath him, just like he wanted. Just like he always wanted.

Joel didn’t let up. He never did. He kept going until your thighs trembled and your lungs burned from how hard you were panting. It was only when your legs started to twitch from overstimulation that he finally pulled back, mouth wet and beard slick with you, eyes dark and blown wide. He looked like a man possessed. And you looked like a goddess completely wrecked. He kissed your inner thigh reverently, gently now, almost as if apologizing for how fiercely he’d devoured you.

Then he crawled up your body, slow and deliberate until his face was hovering above yours, eyes searching yours with that same intense affection that always managed to shatter you a little. “Don’t ever get tired of that.” He rasped, pressing his lips to yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “Could do that every damn day ‘til the day I die.”

“You say that like you haven’t already been trying.” You let out a soft, breathless laugh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Damn right I am.” Joel grinned against your neck, pressing a kiss to your pulse.

Marcus Acacius (Gladiator II)

To the empire, you were his sweet delicate wife. A vision of beauty, grace and modesty, always draped in soft linen, eyes lowered in public and your voice rarely raised above a gentle whisper. The senators adored you and the noblewomen envied you.

But Marcus Acacius, Rome’s most brutal and revered general, knew the truth. He knew how you trembled in your shared bed. He knew how your soft moans sounded at midnight. He knew how you tasted when you were soaked and aching just for him.

And gods, he was addicted.

The lanterns burned low. The white marble walls of your bedchamber glowed gold in the candlelight, casting shadows that danced across their silken sheets. You sat at your vanity, brushing your hair, clad only in a thin white shift that clung to every curve. Marcus stood behind you, freshly bathed from the private spring, his broad body wrapped in a loose robe. His eyes devoured you through the mirror.

So soft. So sweet. So his.

You caught his gaze and smiled, shy and knowing. He stepped closer, large hands landing gently on your shoulders. You stilled as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“Lie down.”

Your breath hitched and obeyed. Marcus was slow with you. Reverent, like a man kneeling before his goddess. He pulled the thin shift over your head, letting it slip to the floor. You lay back on the cool linen sheets, your body already warm from anticipation.

He knelt between your thighs, his hands parting them with care but no hesitation. His eyes were dark with hunger. His voice, low and rough. “You don’t know what you do to me, carissima.”

You whimpered softly as his thumbs stroked your inner thighs, lips ghosting lower, breath hot on your already wet folds. Marcus kissed the inside of your knee. Then lower. Then lower still. Until his mouth found your aching dripping cunt. You cried out softly, hips jerking. But his arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place as his tongue slid through your folds with slow, deliberate strokes. Your fingers gripped the sheets.

“Marcus…”

“Shhh.” His voice was muffled, buried between your legs. “Let me taste my wife.” He licked you like a man starved, like you were the only thing he ever wanted. And maybe you were. He didn’t rush. He worshiped. He kissed, sucked and flicked his tongue over your clit until your moans filled the room, your legs trembling against his shoulders.

“You’re shaking.” He murmured against you, voice dripping with satisfaction. “You feel how wet you are for me?”

You nodded frantically, hips lifting and chasing his mouth.

“Tell me.” He growled.

“You… you make me feel so good, Marcus. I…gods, I can’t!”

“Oh, but you will.”

He grinned, lips slick with you and dove back in with even more hunger. His tongue flicked faster now, fingers spreading you open, licking deep until you were writhing, panting, with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Your thighs shook violently and then you finally broke. You came hard, gasping his name like a sacred vow.

But Marcus didn’t stop. He lapped up every drop, sucking your clit until you sobbed from the pleasure, your voice hoarse from moaning out his name. “I love how you taste.” He whispered, dragging his tongue up slowly. “I’ll never get enough of you.” 

And in that moment, as you lay boneless and quivering beneath your general, your husband, you knew the truth: Marcus Acacius may have conquered nations. But you were the only thing he would ever worship. And he worshipped you well into the night.

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

Marcus Moreno is a patient man. A disciplined man. A man of control. But when it comes to you? All that restraint shatters. Because he’s obsessed with you. With the way you fall apart beneath him. With the way your breath hitches when his lips graze your skin.

But most of all?

With the way you taste. It always starts the same way. A simple kiss, slow and lingering. Then another. And another. Until he’s got you spread out beneath him, his mouth trailing lower and lower. Until he’s right where he wants to be.

You whimper when he kisses the inside of your thigh, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “Marcus.” You sigh, fingers threading through his dark curls. “Please…”

He shushes you, eyes dark with hunger. “Patience, sweetheart.” Then, with a slow sinful smirk, he devours you. He loves this, loves how your thighs tremble around his head and loves how your back arches, how you cry out his name like a prayer. He lives for this. For the way you come undone, legs shaking, body writhing, completely at his mercy. And he’s not stopping. Not until you’re gasping. Not until you’re clenching your fingers in his hair, babbling, pleading and begging. Not until you’re so overstimulated that you have tears in your eyes.

Only then when you’re thoroughly wrecked and limp beneath him, does he finally lift his head, his lips glistening, his expression utterly feral. And when he leans up, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He grins against your mouth. “Such a good girl.” He murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction. “Think you can give me another?” And despite the way your body still trembles you still nod.

Because Marcus Moreno?

He’s not done with you yet.

Marcus Pike (The Mentalist)

The soft glow of golden evening light spilled through the bedroom windows, casting warm lazy rays across the sheets that were still tousled from your earlier nap. The quiet hum of the city below faded into the background as your husband, Marcus Pike, leaned in the doorway, watching you stretch slowly across the bed like you were the most beautiful piece of art he’d ever laid eyes on.

His tie was already loosened, jacket tossed over the back of a chair, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. And that look on his face, soft and reverent, made your breath hitch.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked with a small, teasing smile.

“Like what?” Marcus stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth twitching. 

“Like I’m about to be worshipped.”

He leaned down, bracing one knee on the edge of the bed as he brushed his knuckles gently along your cheek. “Maybe because you are.”

Your heart thudded at the low, husky tone of his voice, full of something tender, something hungry, something devoted. He kissed you then, slowly and deeply, like he had all the time in the world. The kind of kiss that melted your bones, made your skin tingle and reminded you just how safe and loved you were in his arms.

“Marcus…” You whispered, fingers curling into his shirt.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes serious but warm. “You know I could spend the rest of my life just appreciating you. Every inch. Every sigh. Every little sound you make when I touch you.” You’d been married long enough to know he meant every word. Marcus didn’t rush through intimacy, he savored it, savored you.

He was gentle but firm as he coaxed you to lie back against the pillows, his hands skimming down your sides as he took his time, memorizing every reaction you gave him. He kissed a trail down your body, murmuring soft words of praise, of adoration. His lips were warm, his stubble brushing over sensitive skin and every motion felt like worship. You gasped when he kissed your inner thigh, his breath warm and slow as he rested there, holding you like you were the center of his world.

“You always take care of me.” He murmured, pressing a reverent kiss just below your navel. “Let me take care of you tonight.” And you let him. You let him pour his love into you, every kiss and touch whispering the truth, that Marcus Pike loved his wife with every fiber of his being and that there was nowhere else he’d rather be than wrapped around you, worshiping you like you were his whole world.

And to him, you were.

Max Philips (Bloodsucking Bastards)

Marriage can change a man. At least, that’s what everyone told Max. He heard the horror stories, how the passion faded, how the excitement dulled, how men started avoiding their wives instead of worshiping them.

What a joke.

Because Max?

Max Phillips was obsessed with his wife. You were his pretty little thing, his perfect girl, his everything. And there was one part of you he loved the most.

It started like every other morning. You were barely awake, your body soft and warm against the sheets, wearing one of Max’s old t-shirts and nothing else.

Perfect.

His favorite way to wake up.

Max slid beneath the covers before you even registered what was happening. His hands pried your thighs apart, his breath hot against your skin.

"Max." You mumbled sleepily, shifting slightly. "What are you…?"

And then his tongue was on you. You gasped, your fingers clenching in the sheets as pleasure rocked through your half-asleep body. Max groaned against your heat, lapping at you like a man starving. He never got tired of this. The taste of you, the scent of you, the way your thighs tremble every time he sucked on that perfect little clit. It was everything. And Max was never satisfied.

By the time he was done with you, you were wrecked. Your body was trembling, your thighs still twitching from the aftershocks. You lay there, panting, eyes dazed as you tried to process what just happened. Max wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning down at you like the smug bastard he was. "Morning, sweetheart." He murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction.

"You’re insane." You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. 

Max chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss against your still-sensitive core, just to watch you jerk from overstimulation. "You married me, baby." He reminded you, voice husky.

And as he slid two fingers inside you, grinning at your whimper. "You knew what you were getting into."

Maxwell Lord (Wonder Woman 1984)

Maxwell Lord was a man obsessed. To the world, he was a tycoon, a businessman, a man who commanded respect and wielded power like a weapon. But behind the closed doors of his penthouse, stripped of the expensive suits and the cutthroat deals, he was just a man desperate for you. And he had no shame in showing it. His mouth was already on you, hot and eager, his grip firm on your thighs as he spread you apart. The silk sheets crumpled beneath your trembling hands, your back arching at the first slow, deliberate drag of his tongue.

"Max…"

He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. "You know better than to say my name like that, mi amor." He murmured, his voice a dark promise against your heat. "Not unless you want me to keep you here all night." His tongue flicked again, teasing, coaxing, tasting.

You did want that. You always wanted it. Your husband was relentless, worshiping you with a devotion that bordered on madness. It wasn’t enough for him to simply touch you, to make love to you, no, he had to devour you, to drown himself in you until he couldn’t breathe. And right now, he was starving. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you in place as his mouth worked you over, slow and indulgent, like he had all the time in the world. He loved doing this to you. Loved feeling you unravel beneath him, loved the way you gasped and writhed and whimpered his name like a prayer.

"You taste so sweet, cariño." He groaned, his voice thick with need. "So perfect for me." Your fingers tangled in his golden hair, hips lifting, desperate for more. But Max was in control and he wasn’t going to let you rush him. Not when he could keep you on the edge for as long as he wanted. Not when making you fall apart was his favorite thing in the world.

Lucien De Leon (The Uninvited)

The estate was quiet now. The party had ended hours ago, leaving only the soft hum of cicadas and the occasional creak of floorboards beneath your bare feet. Moonlight spilled through the wide windows of your bedroom, casting silver shadows across the expensive linen sheets, catching in your hair like a halo. You were already in bed, curled beneath the silk covers, a book forgotten on your lap. But your mind wasn’t on the pages.

It was on him.

You heard him before you saw him, his measured steps down the hallway, the soft clink of his belt being undone, the rustle of his jacket as he shrugged it off. When the door opened, your eyes lifted and there he was.

Lucien.

His shirt was half-unbuttoned, his dark hair tousled from his hands, always tugging when he was stressed or when he was thinking about you, which lately, seemed like all the time. "Still awake?" He murmured, voice low and rough with something darker.

"Couldn’t sleep." You shifted onto your back, watching as he stepped into the moonlight, eyes raking over your form like you were a goddamn miracle.

Lucien crossed the room in slow, measured strides. You could feel the heat radiating off his body before he even touched you. “I saw you tonight.” He murmured as he knelt beside the bed, his hand reaching to slowly push the sheets down. “The way you looked in that dress, smiling, talking to everyone, pretending like I wasn’t five seconds from dragging you out of that ballroom.”

“You didn’t say much at the party.” You shivered under his stare, the heat in his voice licking over your skin. 

He tilted his head, his hands already trailing up your thighs, gentle and reverent. “Didn’t trust myself to.” His fingers curled beneath the hem of your nightgown, pushing it up. “You drive me fucking insane, mi amor. All night, I could barely think. All I wanted was to get you alone.”

“Lucien…” You gasped as his mouth brushed against your inner thigh, soft slow kisses that made your toes curl. 

His eyes flicked up, wild and tender all at once. “I married the most beautiful woman in this world.” He whispered. “And I will never stop worshipping her.” And with that, he buried his face between your thighs. The first stroke of his tongue was slow precise, like he was savoring you, like this wasn’t something rushed or expected. It was an offering. A ritual.

Your fingers tangled into his hair instinctively, back arching as he sucked gently on your clit, tongue circling with maddening patience. Lucien groaned against you, like he was starving, like this was what he craved most in the world.

He loved this. Loved how your thighs trembled around his face, how your hips bucked helplessly, how you whimpered his name like a prayer. He gripped your thighs tighter, pressing you down as you started to squirm, overwhelmed by the waves of heat crashing through your belly. "You always taste so fucking sweet.” He growled, voice muffled. “My pretty little wife… this is mine."

“Lucien…” Your voice was breathless, shaking, your body already close.

But he didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down, flicking his tongue faster, rougher, his hands locking you in place as he devoured you like a man possessed. You were shaking now, legs trembling uncontrollably, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it. You came with a cry, your entire body clenching as the world shattered into stars.

But Lucien didn’t stop. Even as you begged, soft stuttering, “too much” falling from your lips, he kept licking, moaning like he was the one being pleasured, like your shaking body beneath him only fueled his obsession.

“I’ll stop when I’ve had enough.” He murmured darkly, kissing your overstimulated folds, then licking slow and deep again. “But I’ll never get enough of you.” And you believed him. Because Lucien De Leon didn’t just love you, he worshipped you. Every inch. Every tremble. Every shattered breath.

And tonight, like always, he would ruin you, slowly, thoroughly and completely. And you’d let him.

Every. Damn. Time.

Oberyn Martell (Game of Throne)

The warm Dornish night wrapped around the palace of Sunspear like a silken embrace, the air thick with the scent of citrus and salt from the nearby sea. The moon hung high, casting silver light through the open balcony doors, the soft billowing of sheer curtains whispering against the stone. But inside the grand bedchamber, there was only heat.

Oberyn Martell lay between your thighs, eyes dark with hunger, lips curled into a lazy, sinful smile as he pressed a teasing kiss to the inside of your knee. His large hands held your legs open with ease, fingers tracing idle patterns against your flushed skin. "Look at you." He murmured, his voice like honeyed wine, deep and thick with desire. "So beautiful like this, my love. Spread out before me like a feast meant only for my lips."

You shivered beneath his touch, your breath hitching as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your thigh, dangerously close to where you needed him most. Your fingers tangled in the silk sheets, a desperate whimper escaping your lips as he deliberately avoided the place where you ached for him. "Oberyn." You gasped, hips shifting in silent pleas.

He hummed in amusement, his nose brushing against your inner thigh as he nipped at the sensitive skin, dragging his teeth along it before soothing the mark with his tongue. "Patience, sweet wife." He chided, though his own restraint was hanging by a thread. "I plan to savor you tonight."

And savor you he did.

His mouth descended upon you, his tongue flicking against your most sensitive spot with slow, deliberate strokes. The first contact sent a jolt of pleasure through your spine, your back arching off the bed as a breathless cry fell from your lips.

Oberyn groaned at the taste of you, gripping your thighs tighter as he buried himself deeper, drinking in every sound you made as if it were the sweetest melody. He licked, kissed, and sucked with expert precision, his tongue swirling in lazy circles before dipping lower, teasing, devouring.

Your fingers found their way into his dark curls, tugging desperately as the coil of pleasure within you tightened with every stroke of his tongue. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure crashing through your body.

"Oberyn, gods, please!" Your plea was met with a low chuckle but he didn't stop. If anything, he doubled his efforts, his hands pressing your hips down to keep you from writhing away from the overwhelming pleasure. He wanted you shaking beneath him, wanted to hear his name fall from your lips like a prayer, wanted to ruin you with nothing but his mouth.

And when you finally shattered, when your body trembled and arched and you cried out his name like it was the only thing you knew, Oberyn didn’t stop. He licked you through it, drawing out every last tremor until you were boneless beneath him, your body twitching with aftershocks.

Only then did he pull away, his lips glistening with evidence of his devotion as he crawled up your body, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "Perfect." He murmured, voice thick with pride and desire. "But I am not yet done with you, my love." And with that, the night stretched on, filled with whispered praises, gasping breaths, and the relentless worship of a man utterly devoted to his beautiful wife.

Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)

The evening crept in quietly, the golden light fading behind the hills and casting a soft glow through the cabin windows. The fire crackled gently in the hearth, and the cozy warmth of their little home wrapped around them like a thick quilt. Pero had been watching you for a while, admiring the way your hair spilled over your shoulders as you finished the last few rows of his sweater. His heart, often guarded and rough around the edges, softened completely in your presence.

And now, he couldn’t resist you any longer. He set the knitted sweater aside carefully, eyes smoldering with a kind of hunger that only you could inspire. "Lie back for me, cariño." He murmured, voice low and deep with promise.

“Now?” You blinked up at him, lips parting slightly as a soft, knowing smile played on your mouth. 

He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “Now…” He repeated, his fingers already slipping under the hem of your dress, coaxing you gently to lie back across your bed.

You complied as you sank into the pillows. Pero wasted no time, kissing a path down your stomach, worshipping your body with every press of his lips. He loved how soft you were, how you trembled when his stubble grazed your inner thighs, how you sighed his name like a prayer. “Relax, mi vida.” He whispered, spreading your legs with reverent care. “Let me take care of you.” And he did, thoroughly.

His strong arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you steady as he indulged in the sweet taste of the woman who made a hardened soldier like him feel utterly undone. Every flick of his tongue was precise, every kiss intentional and it wasn’t long before your breathing grew shallow, your hips subtly lifting to meet his mouth.

“Pero, oh gods…Pero, I… I can’t…” You tangled your fingers in his hair, gasping as waves of pleasure built and rolled through you. 

But he didn’t stop. He was lost in you. Obsessed with how you responded to his touch, the way your thighs trembled against his cheeks, how your voice shook when you whimpered his name. He was a man on a mission. And his mission was to worship every inch of his pretty wife until you were trembling beneath him, completely undone and thoroughly loved.

And when you finally reached that peak, body quivering, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries, Pero held you gently through every wave, his own name echoing in your voice like a song. When you collapsed back into the pillows, boneless and breathless, Pero kissed the inside of your knee, then your hip, then your belly before crawling up beside you and wrapping you tightly in his arms.

You were still catching your breath when you turned to him, flushed and glowing. “You’re insatiable.” You whispered with a sleepy smile.

“Only for you, mi amor. Always for you.” Pero chuckled, brushing a damp strand of your from your face. 

Reed Richards (Fantastic 4)

Reed had always been a man of intellect, of science, of logic. But when it came to you? All reason was lost. It wasn’t just love, it was obsession. An insatiable hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with the way your body trembled beneath him when he had his head buried between your thighs.

Tonight was no different. Your fingers tangled into his salt and pepper curls, back arching as his wicked mouth latched onto the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you gasping out his name.

“Reed, fuck!”

He groaned against you, his large hands pinning down your trembling thighs, refusing to let you squirm away from his torturous pace. “You taste so fucking sweet.” He murmured, dragging his tongue in a slow languid motion, savoring you like you were the finest thing he had ever had.

And to him? You were.

His brilliant mind, capable of unraveling the universe’s deepest mysteries, was reduced to one singular thought, his neverending devotion to you. His pretty little wife. His obsession. His addiction. “More.” His voice was hoarse, desperate, his grip tightening around your hips. “Give me more, sweetheart.”

As if you had any choice. He devoured you whole, until your body shuddered, until your breath hitched and your nails raked against his scalp. And yet, even as you came undone beneath him, he wasn’t done with you. Not even close.

Reed pulled back only for a moment, darkened eyes drinking in the sight of you, flushed and wrecked, completely at his mercy. “I hope you don’t think I’m finished, darling.” His lips curled into a smirk, glossy with your slick. “We’ve barely even started.” And with that, he dove right back in.

Tim Rockford (Merge Mansion)

Tim Rockford had a problem. A serious, all-consuming, mind-numbing problem and it was you. More specifically, your pussy. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t get enough. It didn’t matter how many times he had you, he was always aching for more. Always desperate to taste you, to bury himself between your thighs and ruin you in ways that made you sob his name.

And tonight was no different.

You had barely crawled into bed when Tim was already reaching for you, big hands sliding up your thighs, warm and insistent. "Tim." You murmured, blinking sleepily as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh. "What are you…"

"You know what, sweetheart." He muttered against your skin.

A small gasp left your lips when he nipped at the soft flesh, dragging his mouth higher, closer to where you were already warm and aching for him. "You don’t have to." You breathed, even as your legs parted without hesitation.

"Yeah, I do." Tim huffed a low, wicked laugh. Because it wasn’t a choice, not anymore. Not when you were already so soft, so wet for him, just from a few teasing kisses. Not when the scent of you had him damn near losing his mind. He didn’t waste time, didn’t tease and didn’t make you beg for it. No, he devoured you, spreading you open with his fingers and dragging his tongue through your slick folds like a man starved.

"Oh, my God!" Your hands flew to his hair, fingers curling against his scalp as your back arched off the bed.

Tim groaned into you, lapping at your swollen, sensitive clit, slow and purposeful. He could feel you trembling already, thighs twitching against his shoulders, but he wasn’t stopping. Not until he had you sobbing for him. Not until you were shaking and soaking his face, pulling at his hair, begging him for something you couldn’t even put into words.

"You taste so fucking sweet, baby." He murmured, his voice thick with hunger. "Could stay here all night." And he meant it because Tim Rockford had a problem. And he had no fucking plans to fix it.

[pimosworld]

My name is Priscilla but you can call me P,Pimo,Miss Priss or any variation of your fav nickname for me. My blog is 18+, and I mostly write fluff and smut. I’ve made a lot of friends here and I’m open to write for anyone. This community has helped me heal in ways I can’t describe so I hope you enjoy my writing. 🤍

Please turn on notifications if you would like to stay up to date on my posts.

Link to my kofi if you’re feeling so inclined to donate to my writing efforts

My ask box is always open

AO3

700 Follower Celebration

Read it again

Masterlist by pimo

I started out writing for Moon knight and that quickly evolved into other characters so I will say that I’m open to write for anyone.

I don’t have a lot of rules but I generally won’t describe my reader to stay inclusive as a poc and this is a safe space for the lgbtqi community so no ignorance will be tolerated.

Im open to requests (angst,fluff,smut…any character) but I work a full time job so please be patient with them as well as my wips.

Triple Frontier

Frankie Morales

Joel Miller

Santiago Garcia

Dave York

Moonknight

Javier Peña

Blue Jones

Miguel O’Hara

[ryuzakemo128]

In Time I Will Heal

Pairing: dbf! Dave York x Female Reader

Content Warnings: Swearing, cussing, Age Gap (Dave at 43 and Female Reader at 28), alcohol, mention of cage fighting and art school. Parental Abuse (Father doesn't do it. Mother does.), Cheating & Affair (Your mother's), Abrupt ending or cliffhanger? Who knows, Mental health conditions (like OCD, ASPD, BPD, C-PTSD, Psychosis Depression), female reader isn't typically feminine.

Note: Female reader in this isn't the typical feminine woman. Much like myself. If you can't handle that or if you don't think you can handle such a thing. I do in fact implore to fly on by baby bird.

Masterlist

Summary: Maybe one day he’ll get those clothes off you and fuck you. It just won’t be today.

You were watching a recording of a Monster Truck rally from last year and you were painting your shark mural on the wall of your office which used to be your mother’s art room. Ever since your parent’s separation at twelve. You didn’t think to stay with your mother once.

Your father is talking to one of his friends in the kitchen while you were too busy listening to Monster Trucks and the symphony of the heavy textured acrylic covered paint brushes hitting on the wall.

You don’t know what made them separate at the time. Only to find out your mother cheated on your father and the fact that your twin brothers were only your half-brothers. It was like she wanted to not only stab him in the back but twist the knife too.

You do know one thing for certain. Your father never remarried afterwards and only dated a string of women instead. He didn’t want to commit again like he did with your mother. You don’t ask him about it and you don’t want to know about his dating life either. In your mind, as long as he didn’t die from any of them you didn’t fucking care.

As you were taking a break from your mural, your father decided to take a peak at it at least once for the day. He saw the television with the Monster Trucks, “Probably the only kind of pink thing I would like.” You quipped.

The things you enjoyed, but your mother never particularly understood why and refused to acknowledge the fact you loved. These were things like Boxing, Brewing Mead & Gin, Cage Fighting, Heavy Metal, Monster Trucks, Sharks & Marine life, and your art. Your art was always something that she never truly appreciated.

“It’s coming along nicely.” Your father commented, pointing to the mural on the far side of your office with the brown beer bottle in his left hand.

“Yeah. I finished the underpainting too. The rest should go along perfectly fine.” You remarked with a smirk, a smear of pink paint on your cheek and a palette knife in your right hand.

You had hoped that by doing the smaller sea creatures in the foreground first, you could add an eerie view of sharks lurking in the background to hint at them without overpowering the overall mural too much. It was something you didn’t want to focus too much on it either.

As your father stated repeatedly, “Rome wasn’t built in one day, what can be done tomorrow will be done tomorrow.” It was his was to remind you to pace yourself, slow down, and not push too hard if you can’t or don’t feel the energy to continue. Sometimes it was a struggle whenever a deadline loomed over, but somehow you always managed to

As your father stated repeatedly, “Rome wasn’t built in one day, what can be done tomorrow will be done tomorrow.” It was his was to remind you to pace yourself, slow down, and not push too hard if you can’t or don’t feel the energy to continue. Sometimes it was a struggle whenever a deadline loomed over, but somehow you always managed to pull through.

You still always remember the Garfield themed things your father loved a lot too. One of the few things you and your father both enjoyed. The mugs you made in pottery classes themed around Garfield or lemon sharks, your father had them all. You’d catch him sometimes, especially on Sundays, drinking his morning coffee from one of those mugs, looking lost in thought.

Though he also loved the more useful things like the butter bell you made dipped in a light blue glaze and painted with white clouds on them too. Dave's eyes would linger on you whenever you walked by sometimes. You didn't think much of it. You never paid too close attention to it, either.

Dave liked you, loved you from afar, even though he did. You two were never alone long enough for him to act on his feelings and with his own issues coming up lately he feels like he never has enough to think about acting on them either.

You were known as ‘Gorgon’ in the cage fighting scene. Taking the name which bullies threw in your face and making it yours. The money you earned from those fights were put back into your art or training or your diet. Your diet being a mix between Pescatarian and Carnivorous.

The meat you usually eat either Chicken, Beef, Turkey, Salmon, Tuna, and sometimes pork. But not all that often.

The cheat meals you loved were also ‘odd’ according to your father sometimes. You were still being healthy, but the Beef Wagyu had a lot of fat to it, and that was the reason for why you loved it that way. A way to enjoy it sparsely as possible.

Like tonight for example, your father found out you were cooking beef wagyu steaks for dinner with pinot reduction sauce, parsnip purée, rosemary & garlic mashed potatoes. Along with a side of steamed veggies and pasta salad.

It was now blatantly clear that you were celebrating a rather recent cage fight win. Going by the skip in your step. The grin on your face. You were in a great mood. Something or someone must have done something to put you in these kinds of high spirits.

You made sure Dave taste tested the parsnip purée. As it has been a most recent fixation for you in terms of mashed veggies & blended veggies.

“What do you think?” You asked with a hopeful, optimistic expression.

Dave took a spoonful of the creamy parsnip purée, his eyes scrunching together in a contemplative manner as he savoured the flavour. “It’s surprisingly good, actually. Much better than I thought it would be, to be honest.” He said with a chuckle.

“It's been a big favourite of mine lately.” you stated. “Especially the mac and cheese bakes I made using Gordon Ramsey’s recipe.”

Your mental health conditions like OCD, ASP, BPD, C-PTSD, Psychosis Depression. Your mother said you were broken and the comments like ‘I should have aborted you’, ‘You’re going to end up just like me’, and ‘I don’t know why you bother trying’ didn’t help your sense of self esteem at all. Even before your parents were divorced.

Was it really that much of a shock that you didn’t want to go with her when she left? Your two brothers refused to go with her once they found out they were affair children and which for you? That was saying more about your mother than it ever would about you. She was the one who walked away, not you.

Dave still remembers seeing you come home with your truck one afternoon, the massive beast of a thing with things like matte black, a custom black & white plates with ‘GRAV3DANC3R’ on them, the paint job had a shark eating a heart on the side of it, huge tires with great tread, and the engine sounding like it could swallow you whole.

Her father saw this massive thing and like her father he is, when he first saw that thing and you were talking about it like a chipmunk hyped up on caffeine. You told him the plates were custom, the idea for the paint job was a drawing you did a few years ago. That you also used a Fored F-460 Super Duty Limited as a base to work off too.

You said it was paid for combining money earned from your pottery, cage fights, all the winnings you got from casinos, and a few chunks from your art commissions. An incredible stark contrast to the sleek sports cars your mother seemed to taking a liking to with her new husband.

Dave looked at the bottle of the mead you brewed, the Raspberry mead or Raspberry Wine depending on where you’re from. Probably one of the few things that could be misconstrued as a shared interest between you and your mother. But it wasn’t. It was something you picked up from your father’s side, something he taught you.

Only his brewing is more like ale, beer and moonshine. Which you don’t like all that much and preferring things like Gin, Hard cider, Mead, and Fruit Wine. The types you both brew together were usually more of a sweet taste.

And you both adopted so many cats over the years because of the fear of dogs you have from the accident you had with a large dog at six years old. Dave seen the entire thing play out. It was one of the few red flags he saw when your mother blamed you instead of the owner of the dog.

He tried to bring that up with your father, but he didn’t know how to approach the problem at the time other than sending you to therapy to help you process the incident better. Months later, you told him and your father you were thinking about dropping out of art school. But your father, much to Dave’s relief, talked you out of dropping out and that was the same day your mother’s cheating came to light.

Dave knew your mother had a temper, and he had seen it often when she was still around. The way she’d throw things around when she was upset, the way she’d scream and yell, it was a stark contrast to the calm and loving household you had always shared with your father.

And you normally hid in his backyard until she cooled off. He wasn’t going to chase you off after the first time he saw you hide from her. It wasn’t like she laid hands on you. Yet. Lord forbid if she ever does because he wouldn’t just sue that woman, no he would make sure charges are filed against her too.

He was the one who helped your father get you to eat more vegetables through your mac and cheese addiction. He was also given cheese powder from the freeze-dried aged cheese to make cheese sauce from scratch, too.

One of the few things you gave as gift, which Dave himself loved, was the slow cooker you bought him. With a homemade shark sticker with Garfield's grin on the shark's face.

Maybe one day he’ll get those clothes off you and fuck you. It just won’t be today.

[iiconicxpersona]

I’ve thought about writing this Dave York x f!reader x Tyler Owens fic scenario an UNHEALTHY amount of times…

[auroralwriting]

the gun

spencer reid x genius!bau!reader

oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, they both reached for the gun, the gun, the gun…

"you just needed to prove to Spencer, once and for all, that you had all the skills to be the best agent, the best genius."

word count: 2.3k

warnings: cm violence, blood, enemies to lovers, kinda rushed im sorryyyy, fem reader slightly mentioned

a continuation of this story can be found here

Spencer and you always competed. He had an eidetic memory, you had a photographic.

The difference between you two was anything you ever saw, read, you held in long-term memory. Spencer’s, though, resided in short term. However, Spencer was also an autodidact, meaning he could teach himself anything. You also had a vast emotional intelligence. You had such strong empathy, you could detect any micro-detail anyone displayed, making you the perfect lie-detector one that even Hotch couldn’t evade.

Spencer was Jason Gideon’s special boy. Gideon helped Spencer make his way in the BAU. You were David Rossi’s special girl, him noticing your skills from a young age when he met you during a case. He guided you to make all the best choices, leading you to the BAU as well. It took a few years, timing and all, but you got there.

When Dave transferred to Quantico’s BAU, he requested your transfer as well. He thought you would mesh well with the team. More specifically, he assumed you and Spencer would become a genius duo; totally unstoppable.

Oh, how wrong he was. It was from the moment you’d corrected Spencer on some statistic he spewed, you both became enemies forced to co-exist on the same team. There was never a civil moment, always some fight. It was sad, too. You remembered the first time you saw him, you were struck by how cute he was. Too bad he decided to hate you before you got a chance.

Vividly, you remembered the most intense fight you both had.

“So someone with a medical degree,” Hotch muttered. “That’s got to be impossible.”

“It’s more likely that have a nursing degree.” Spencer replied. “We’d be looking at around one hundred eighty thousand people a year. If our unsub is a new graduate, that’s the numbers we’d be looking through.”

You shook your head, “It’s actually one hundred fifty seven thousand. Also, narrow it down to nursing degrees in New York, and you get around eight thousand. Eleven percent were men, so around six hundred. Lower it even more to those who don’t have any family members, most likely from group homes, you can get maybe seventy?”

oh, yes

Garcia clacked away at her keyboard, “My baby’s got it! Seventy two people. If we’re looking at NYU specifically, thirteen.”

Pride filled your system. It was fulfilling when you were able to get things right. Spencer, on the other hand, wasn’t too happy about that.

“You know, nobody asked your opinion.” He scoffed.

“It isn’t opinion, Reid. It’s purely fact, ones you should probably get right.” Your reply had Spencer clenching his fists.

How dare you insult his intelligence? His IQ was much larger than yours, you weren’t one to speak on that. “Maybe you should focus on the case instead of trying to be a people pleaser,” Spencer sneered your way.

His reply made you roll your eyes, “At least I can tell what people want. You’re oblivious, Reid.”

oh, yes

Slowly, the two of you began to go back and forth, your voices raising. Before the situation blew up, Hotch stepped in, trying to mediate. However, Spencer mumbled something under his breath, something you couldn’t just let go. It hurt, stung like a bee, and you weren’t going to let him walk away feeling victorious.

“At least my mentor didn’t up and leave me.” you snapped. “He’s still with me, he didn’t just vanish with a stupid little note as a dingy goodbye.”

Spencer had paused, face dropping. You read him like a book, you’d gone too far. He showed minuscule signs of distress, grief, sadness. The room was silent, no one quite knew what to say.

oh, yes

“Reid, I-”

“Save it.”

Spencer had walked away, leaving you to feel shameful of your words. Rossi just squeezed your shoulder. The man knew you didn’t mean it.

they both

Since then, it was like the two of you were on each other’s cases, constantly bickering and arguing. Now, you were almost subconsciously battling each other for the genius role of the team. Was there any need to? No, not at all, but your fights had become not a battle, but a war.

You stood outside the bank with your team. “They have hostages,” You identified, attempting to peer inside. “There’s no way we can go in. It’s a suicide-murder mission.”

oh, yes

“There’s gotta be a way,” JJ shook her head. “Maybe there’s another way in.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” Derek sighed.

After a few hours, Will made the decision to go inside. You had to help hold back JJ as he walked in. Hearing the bullets made you sick. You physically had to double over, holding back the tears. It suddenly hit you how dire the situation was. You went back to the van with the team. No one really knew what to say.

"Did you see where he was shot?" JJ asked. "Is he alive or dead, Garcia?"

Penelope's breath was shaky, "I don't know."

"He was wearing a vest." Emily reasoned. "He might be okay."

JJ gave a smile, but it was one of disbelief. "Might be," She muttered, shaking her head in reply.

It was then that the team decided to go in. You shoved your gun in your holster, "I'll take first point," You offered. "Check and see if Will's okay. I'll try and manipulate them into letting me go to him." Hotch nodded. With your knowledge of psychology and your emotional intelligence, Hotch knew you could do it.

they both

"L/n, it's too dangerous." You heard Spencer say over the phone. "Just wait for me to tell you where to go in."

You rolled your eyes, "Reid, I'm not stupid. I've handled multiple hostage situations."

Spencer didn't reply. You liked that. This was the first time you'd be able to prove yourself without Spencer's help. This was honestly just a way for you to prove you were the better of the two. Your actions were motivated by the desire to be the best; a classic narcissistic move. You weren't a narcissist, though. You just needed to prove to Spencer, once and for all, that you had all the skills to be the best agent, the best genius.

Oddly enough, hostages flooded out of the bank as you made your way back outside. Maybe Will was alive and managed to get them all out. Once none more came out, you and two other cops began to make your way inside stealthily.

Right as you got in the middle of the bank, you heard Rossi's panicked voice over your comms, "Abort, abort!"

oh, yes

There was no time to reply. It all happened so suddenly. You heard the explosion before you felt it. It was hard to breathe. You couldn't see, hear. It slowly registered that there was a bomb, and it went off.

they both reached for

You had no clue where you had been thrown to. Everything felt cold, really cold. A loud ringing filled your ears as you slowly sat up. You touched your head, pulling back to feel stickiness on your fingers. Your vision was blurry, but you knew it was blood. You had to get out of the building. You needed help, medics, your team. Was anyone else in your team inside yet?

they both reached for the gun

A grunt left your lips as you stood up. You felt your legs give out under you, and you went down again. The desire to live was stronger than your physical weakness, and you stood up again. It was so dusty and hazy that you couldn't see. You leaned on the nearest wall for support, slowly using it to try and find your way out of the building. All that you heard in your head was get out, survive, get out, survive.

After what felt like ages, you felt a breeze against your skin. You followed it, hoping it would lead out, and it did. The light was harsh on your eyes as you tried to scan the area. It was then you saw Spencer and Hotch-- what was Spencer doing here? He was still at the BAU last you'd checked. Maybe the blast knocked you out cold.

Trudging your way over, you weakly called out. "Aaron, Spencer,"

the gun

Spencer knew he heard his name. He looked up from the blueprints of the building to see you, blood covering different parts of your body, your skin covered in debris and dust. You had limp, and your eyes were blown out. "Oh my god," he muttered, running over to you.

the gun

The genius took your in his arms as you fell into him, "How'd you get here?" you asked. "What's for dinner?"

Spencer took notice of your confusion as he allowed you to lean on him. He took your face in his hands, "Y/n, look at me. Focus on me,"

the gun

You couldn't directly look at him. Your eyes darted all over the place. "Where's Rossi? Did he go in?"

"No, Rossi's okay." Spencer leaned over his shoulder, "We need a medic!" He yelled, quickly turning his attention back to you. "It's okay, you're okay."

oh, yes

"I can't feel anything," you breathed out, "That can't be normal. Is that normal? Spencer, am I dying?"

oh, yes

Spencer shook his head, "You're okay, it's okay."

"I can't die," You softly whimpered. "I'm sorry, Spencer. 'M so mean to you, I don't mean to be."

Deep down, Spencer knew you meant what you were saying. The fear of dying without getting your true feelings out always lead to admissions of the truth. "I know, I know," Spencer smoothed your hair. "I don't hate you, I don't. You're going to be okay." Spencer slowly became anxious as he noticed the amount of blood seeping from your head. "Look at me, please, keep talking to me."

"'M sorry," You muttered, feeling your eyes grow heavy. Spencer's face began to fade as you collapsed in his arms.

Spencer felt his breathing grow heavy as he held you tightly. "Medic! She's-- oh, god, Help!"

they both reached for the gun.

A steady beeping was the first thing you heard as you woke up. The light was a blinding white, and you let out a groan at it. Your body hurt like hell, and your head was pounding.

"Shh, shh. It's okay, here, let me just--"

The white lights went out and all that was left was the stream of daylight coming through the windows, along with a lamp that was a warmer light. It was much more comfortable that way. You quickly guessed you were in a hospital. The beeping, white lights, smell of rubbing alcohol that you just identified.

"How do you feel?"

Spencer. You turned your head to look at him. His face held deep concern. He was holding your hand. "I--" You paused, considering his question. "I feel like shit."

He let out a soft chuckle, "Yeah. You kind of got exploded." That's right, the bomb.

"Oh, Will, the team, are they okay?" You softly asked.

Spencer nodded, "Everyone's okay, we got the unsubs. It's all okay now."

You remembered Spencer's words. You should have waited to go in. If you had waited, maybe you wouldn't be in this situation right now. "I should've listened to you." You stated weakly. "You were right. I was being stupid."

"Hey, no," Spencer quickly interrupted. "You were doing your job."

"I wasn't," you shook your head. "I wanted to prove myself. I-I wanted.. to show that I didn't just do victimology and simple hostage relief situations. I wanted to prove myself like you have." You stopped, sucking in a pained breath. You felt your eyes become glassy. "I wanted to prove to everyone I was just as good as you."

Spencer felt his heart break at your words. You both knew overall, he was smarter. It never occurred to him that your constant bickering was to prove yourself, and not to prove him wrong. "You're better." Spencer decided to say. "I mean, I can't relate to our victims, hell, our unsubs the way you can."

"Spencer,"

"I'm serious." He continued. "You're so important to this team. You-you push us to be better." Spencer cleared his throat, "You push me to be better."

You stared at Spencer blankly for a moment, "I never told you that I like this haircut."

Spencer gave you a slightly surprised look. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," You hummed. "It makes you look, I don't know, less like Einstein and more like, uh, a really smart James Dean."

"James Dean," Spencer repeated, "I've never gotten that one before. Are those meds talking right now?"

You shook your head slowly, "Probably the clearest I've thought in a while." You replied, causing Spencer to smile. "Why did you stay with me?"

Spencer paused for a moment, "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know we bicker a lot. Well, more than a lot. Probably several times a day, but I still care about you. I-I was.. really scared for you. I don't think I could forgive myself if I let you walk in there and you'd died."

"It wouldn't have been your fault," You tried. Spencer just shook his head.

"It would have been. I should've rationalized it with you. When I saw you, I just thought, 'What have I been doing this whole time? Have I really been wasting my breath arguing with you when we could've made the best team'? I remember when Rossi first introduced you, I was like, 'No way someone this pretty is doing this', when you should've been some model or something." Spencer rambled. He did that, paired with hand fidgeting, when he was nervous. He rambled as he played with your fingers.

You took a breath in, hoping for the best. "Hey, maybe we could, uh, go to one of those team based trivia nights at O'Keefe's?"

"Are-are you asking me out?" Spencer asked.

"Only if you're saying yes." You responded. "I, uh, maybe thought we could start over."

Spencer gave a chuckle, "Yeah, trivia night sounds good. I'd like a retry at this. Maybe we're, uh, meant to be more than just a team."

You smiled at him, knowing that a simple friendship wouldn't be highest point of your new relationship with the genius.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Moon

summary: as you had gotten ready for the Homecoming dance, you'd finally confronted your sister about her creepy, Ken Doll husband. meanwhile, Xavier had continued to notice differences in his dad's personality while Claire had probed for answers.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.4

At home, you were curled up on your desk chair, Aurora behind you wielding her hair curler, bobby pins poking out from the corner of her mouth as she styled your hair for the Homecoming dance. Your dress hung on the back of your door. Emerald green satin and spaghetti straps, structured bodice and A-line skirt. It had pockets.

Aside from being your personal hair stylist and makeup artist, Aurora had also opened her closet to you and lent you a pair of tall, chunky heels that matched the color of your dress. You weren't much of a heels girlie, but Wally had height and you wanted to kiss him without folding him in half.

Unbeknownst to him (and everyone except Xavier who'd given you the keys to his truck), you had a plan. A plan that involved a blow up mattress and a pile of blankets to cover your body in the bed of the truck while your ghost made merry with Wally unhindered.

Was it risky? Yeah. Was it worth it? Hell yes. You'd make appearances here and there as your living self—you had to, the band was scheduled to kick off the party—but, ultimately, you wanted spend a stress-free night in the arms of your very sexy date.

"You feel pink, little sister," Aurora commented around the bobby pins. "You excited to see Simon?"

Right. That.

Simon had agreed to meet you at the house and pose as your date. It had been a semi-awkward conversation throughout which he and Maddie had teased you. There'd been an item of negotiation. Namely, you'd had to take a folded up note from Maddie and pass it to Simon for a reason neither disclosed. But, in the end, Simon had been happy to be of service.

Nicole would drop him off in—you glanced at the boysenberry Kit-Kat Klock above your desk—twenty-five minutes; he'd say hi to Andrew, Aurora, and Ginny, act a little lovestruck, and then you'd drive to the school in Xavier's truck.

Everything was working out perfectly.

Except the matter of Aurora's mug of tea sat on your desk, the nasty stench doing its level best to overtake your perfume. It wasn't as bad as being trapped in the confines of the car with it, your window open and your room much bigger. Still nauseating, though. You stared at her mug and deliberated whether or not to ask Aurora about Dave who was now, in your mind, suspicious as hell and who also happened to enjoy a cup of tea—that may or may not be related to an evil cult—with his breakfast.

Seeing Dave at the school last night, sneaking around the basement like he was on a mission, had made you uneasy and you realized you didn't know a damn thing about the guy who slept two stories below you.

Glancing at Aurora in the mirror, you ventured, "Rory...how'd you meet Dave?"

She seemed ecstatic that you'd finally asked, plucked the pins out of her mouth and giddily said, "Feeling romantic, huh? And you kept denying it when I called Simon your boyfriend!" After she'd seen you on the swings with him that night he'd found the money in Mr. Anderson's classroom.

You tried not to cringe, "Sure, let's go with that."

"Well," Aurora began, twirling a curl into a roll atop your head and pinning it in place, "We met when I was in New York. Obvi. I actually met him through Carol—" Xavier's mom "—when she was there for a realtor's mixer. They worked together."

"Dave's from Split River?" You were surprised. He didn't sound like he was from Wisconsin. He had a very proper way of speaking. Controlled. Crisp. More Big City Society than Small Town Midwestern. Perhaps it was something he'd learned to do in order to charm prospective investors.

"Born and raised," Aurora confirmed. "Anyway, I went to meet Carol for lunch and Dave tagged along. The rest is history."

"That's it? You ate lunch together?"

Aurora dismissed your cynicism with an eye roll, "No. We stayed in touch after he left. You know, texting and Skype. And then he transferred to the NYC branch of his company. We moved in together after two months," She sighed as if reliving that era of their relationship.

"If you know, you know." You muttered, not sure that Aurora had known, however that wasn't for you to say.

"Exactly."

Staring at the tea again, "And then you brainwashed him into drinking this stuff?" You indicated to her mug.

Again, Aurora rolled her eyes, "You know, this superiority act is getting old. You drank it, too."

"And then I found my brain and stopped."

Answering your question, "No," Aurora said, "Dave was as bad as you're suddenly being about it." Aurora pondered, "But then work stress caught up to him—the pace in New York is no joke—and I suggested he try it." Her reflection smiled at you. "I mean, it helped mom, it helps me, it helped you until you got all holier-than-thou."

"Helped me how?" You frowned at her through the mirror, "I wasn't stressed." Which further made you wonder why you'd been drinking the stuff for so long.

"Oh, come on, you remember. After—." Aurora abruptly stopped.

After Aiden, she didn't say, her face telling you that she was uncomfortable bringing up the memory since you'd always blamed yourself for his death. Because she knew what you'd thought had been the truth; that he'd fallen and busted his head open. Not what'd actually happened.

"Well," You cleared your throat, "I guess I'm over it now, huh?"

"Guess so," Aurora murmured, attention entirely on the curl she was shaping in your hair.

There was a brief lull before either you spoke again. Prodding, "And Nanna still drinks it because...?"

"It helps her focus her divination. The way she puts it, she has too much time to herself these days to think."

The more you learned about your family's motives to drink the tea, the more you realized everyone was using it as a mild sedative. Which, okay, it probably was, but usually the natural stuff didn't work that well.

Though certainly not as strong as what you'd smelt on the sacrifices in the cavern, Wally had claimed that he'd smelled exactly what the tea smelt like on younger-you's breath on the other side of the farmhouse door. It could be as he'd suggested, that your family's tea was missing a key ingredient, but was otherwise identical.

Maddie had given you the list of ingredients, tucked between the pages of your Math notes, and you were more determined than ever to compare what was in your family's tea to what Wally remembered seeing on the shelf in the farmhouse cellar.

"Do you know what's in it?" You asked Aurora who'd relaxed since bringing up Aiden.

She hummed and then, "Sort of. We started to carry most of the floral ingredients at the shop. But some of them I have to get from the holistic place on Randolph." A main drag in one of three upper-middle-class boroughs in Split River.

"So, we make it ourselves now?"

"Oh, yeah, we've been making it for years. The place that used to sell it went out of business a few years ago."

Should've taken that as a sign, you mused.

"I can feel your sassy thoughts, you know." Aurora reminded you, giving you a flat look through the mirror.

You grinned, "I'm not sorry."

"I know you aren't."

There was one more thing you wanted to know, something that had been nagging at you since last night. There was a chance Aurora would rat you out to your great-aunt or mother, but, at that point, it didn't matter. You were seriously unnerved by Dave's behavior. By the fact that he'd driven around town supposedly looking for you by his lonesome, without Aurora...?

And then last night, Dave who never attended a single sports event ever suddenly appears in the school after the Homecoming game wearing Andrew's clothes? Nah, the guy was up to something. Maybe not cult-related something, but something.

"Rory?"

"Yeah?"

"Did Dave mention anything about last week?"

You watched her carefully through the mirror, the genuine confusion on her face as she thought about it.

"No? Why? What happened last week?"

Here goes nothing, you swallowed, took a deep breath and then, "I snuck out last Thursday and Dave found me. He brought me back home... He didn't mention it?"

Shock-horror flit across her face in stages as she processed what you'd said. She was so stunned that she almost burned your hair, the curler on for too long.

"You did what?"

"I'll take that as a no." You said, turning to face her properly. "Oh, like you didn't do the same thing when you were a teenager."

Aurora gaped, "I absolutely didn't, are you crazy!? This is Split River! Your friend is literally missing and you thought it was a good idea to just," She gestured widely, face puffed up in frustration, "wander around the town after dark!? Are you dumb!?"

Right. Normal people worried about things like kidnappers and murderers. Normal people didn't help their friend's ghost investigate the circumstances surrounding them being stuck in an In Between. Because normal people, even if they could see ghosts, didn't put themselves in danger when there were people trained to do that sort of thing.

Oops.

Placating, "Nothing happened. I'm not drinking or having sex or doing drugs. I was hanging out with friends." Kind of. "Can we please talk about how Dave snuck out to come find me and never told you about it?"

Aurora went through the motions of unplugging and setting aside the hair curler, tidying up the unused bobby pins, and uncapping the hairspray before she said anything. Either she couldn't process what you'd said or she needed the time to come up with an excuse.

"He probably heard you," She started, "And he might've woken me up to tell me, I just don't remember. You know how I am, I'm like a zombie when my eight hours are interrupted."

"Strange how you used to wake up when I breathed too loud in my room across the hall with the door closed..." You quipped and gave her a hard look.

Aurora scoffed, "You get to your thirties and tell me if you're the same as you were when you were younger."

"Where's Dave now?" Because he hadn't come home at half-past six as was his routine.

Visibly uncomfortable with receiving the third degree, Aurora shot back, "At the office; he has a meeting with clients on the West Coast. What the fuck? You think he's cheating on me or something?"

You hadn't realized that that could explain all of Dave's weird behavior. Jesus, you were so far down the rabbit hole, the average slimy husband angle hadn't even blipped on your radar and yet it made the most sense.

Ashamed, you tried to salvage what you could of the conversation, "I mean, I don't think so. But, I think he's lying to you about something. He was at the school after the game last night. Did you know that?"

Aurora didn't answer, her eyes darting about, "Maybe he went to pick you up?"

"I didn't ask him to. You obviously didn't ask him to. And when has he ever done anything for me from the kindness of his heart?"

"Why are you being such a bitch!? Dave is a good man. I wouldn't have married him if he wasn't."

You got to your feet, gesturing to emphasize your point, "Good or not, Rory, he was sneaking around the basement at school last night."

"You followed him?" Aurora frowned at you, "Did you see anything?"

You chewed your lip before admitting, "I lost him. Which is why I'm asking you." God, was Dave cheating on Aurora? With someone who liked high school football and basement trysts?

Aurora stepped back until her legs hit your bed. She sat down, pushed her hair out of her face and mulled over what you'd exposed about her husband. You joined her, sat close, studying her expression as she struggled to piece together a plausible explanation that didn't make Dave the bad guy.

"I'll ask him," She finally said.

"You think he'll tell you the truth?"

She shrugged, "If he doesn't, I'll know." According to Aurora, lies were painted in shades of grey and smelt like burnt rubber.

Aurora assisted you through everything else; fixed your hair, perfected your makeup, zipped up your dress. Throughout it all, she remained quiet, obviously thrown into internal hysteria, mentally seeking out what red flags she'd missed from Dave in the past.

You felt horrible. Sort of. Dave wasn't Mr. Anderson who'd been desperate to get out from under a mountain of debt that wasn't his. He hadn't hurt anyone; had actually helped raise that money and had provided new uniforms as promised.

On the other hand, Dave was being dishonest with Aurora. Sneaking around and acting like finding you behind the school near the woods was totally legit.

"Rory." You murmured, "I'm really sorry for bringing it up."

Aurora smiled at you, small and sad, and pulled you into a hug, "I'm glad you told me," She said. "I'd rather know now than be taken by surprise later."

A knock at the door and Andrew peeked in, "How's she lookin'?" He asked Aurora and then entered the room fully. His eyes widened and a grin spread across his face, "Wow. You fix up nice, beans."

You chuckled at the old nickname, "Thanks, Drew," and tried to ignore how his eyes misted and his smile wobbled.

It was sweet, and Andrew basically filled in all the gaps your father left behind whenever he was deployed or stationed away from home. But you'd never been good at handling that kind of emotional attention; preferred jokes and laughter to happy tears.

Andrew cleared his throat, glanced away, and said, "You're date's here, by the way. Ginny's got her paws all over him, so you might wanna hurry up."

"We'll be down in a sec," You grinned back, "Just make sure Ginny doesn't eat him, please."

"Can do," Andrew saluted and stepped back out of your room to rescue Simon from your great-aunt's clutches.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Xavier listened at the banister as Claire fished for clues. He wasn't convinced she'd hurt Maddie, but she was definitely hiding something. Something worth whatever amount that cheque she'd handed Xavier's dad had on it.

He watched the tendrils stretch between him and his dad (blue), him and Claire (a swirl of green and red). His dad's blue was steady tonight, unlike earlier when Xavier had come home with the suit bag and his dad's credit card. No words had been exchanged, just that annoyed stare his dad sometimes fixed him with, like he couldn't wait until Xavier left for college. And that black thread suspended between them, linking them.

"This year has been...unreal. First Maddie, and then Mr. Anderson."

"Yeah...it's nothing you kids need to worry about. The police are on it." His dad told Claire, sounding human for the first time in weeks. Sure, it could all be a show for Claire who had the money to fund his dad's campaign, but Xavier remembered when his dad used to speak to him like that.

Austin Baxter was being real. Himself. Not whatever made that thread between he and Xavier black as pitch.

Claire responded, "It's hard not to wonder, though, if we'll ever have any answers." A pause. "Are there any updates?"

Xavier continued to eavesdrop as Claire prodded about Mr. Anderson, clearly desperate to find out if Mr. Anderson had said anything about her to the police.

Xavier knew Mr. Anderson hadn't, had seen it in the file his dad had brought home one night to finalize (along with a few others, including Maddie's). That was even stranger, now that Xavier was thinking about it. His dad had been meticulous about following every letter of the law; had taken his responsibilities very seriously.

The state specified that no officer, not even the Sheriff, was allowed take home case files unless authorized by a court under tightly controlled conditions. Yet, Xavier's poking around had yielded results twice. First, unmarked evidence in Christopher Nears' case, and then earlier that week, case files that should've stayed at the station.

Either his dad was that narcissistic to believe he could do whatever he wanted, or he was beginning to slip.

"—be sure to tell your folks we're very thankful they're cooperating while we continue to search the abandoned property."

Xavier pushed away from the banister and descended the stairs, eager to get moving. He wanted to get answers as much as Maddie and Simon, but he couldn't do that if they stuck around trying to coax information from his dad.

Claire complimented how well he cleaned up, and he even managed to get what constituted as praise from his dad. Xavier ushered Claire to the door, shooting one last look over his shoulder at his dad, and watched in mild hope as the blue thread between them shimmered a resolute and brightening blue.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon rang the doorbell, shifting from foot to foot. He was nervous. He'd never been to your house, had never met your family—waving to your sister from a swing set while she yelled at you through an open window didn't count—and he wasn't sure what to expect.

To be clear, he wasn't sure what to expect from a family of, "we're not witches, Simon, stop."

In that case, a family of magical people whose abilities ranged from seeing ghosts to acute empathy to psychometry to, what the hell was it? Oh yeah, full-fledged divination.

You'd rattled off who would and wouldn't be there; your mom had been called last minute by a friend to help look after an elderly relative; your Nanna was minding the family flower shop on behalf of your sister who was home to assist you with your nails or lashes or whatever.

If Simon recalled correctly, that meant he had to be wary of your sister the empath, your uncle the psychometrist, and your great-aunt the astral Traveler.

He could do this.

In the last two weeks, he'd been arrested, questioned by police, turned the tables and had his teacher arrested, manifested clairvoyance, embarked on a quest to dismantle a death cult that may or may not have resurfaced, and passed a history test on no hours of sleep. If he could overcome all that, this would be a cake walk.

When the door opened, he was greeted by an elderly woman who he identified easily to be your great-aunt. And, wow, she knew how to make an impression. Beautiful, looked younger than her age with rose gold hair and bright blue eyes, tiny frame swimming in satin. She smiled warmly at him, levering him into a hug before she ushered him inside.

Appearing from the kitchen, wiping his hands with a dishtowel, was your uncle, Andrew. He shared a lot of your great-aunt's features. Same eyes, same impish smile, but he was much taller and broader. He stepped up to Simon and held out his hand for Simon to shake.

"I'll go get the girls," He said after introducing himself, laughing when he added, "And whatever Ginny says, ignore it."

Simon chuckled in response and nodded. "Sounds good," He said, nervous, and followed your great-aunt into the living room after she flapped a beckoning hand at him.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Simon," She said, her voice rich and deep for a woman, at odds with her pixie-like appearance.

Politely, "It's nice to meet you, too, ma'am," he replied.

She gestured for him to take a seat at the corner of the couch as she fell into an armchair beside him; legs crossed, eyes openly grazing up from his shoes to his hair. He felt his ears burn when she at last settled her gaze on his.

"Call me Ginny," She offered, "A friend of hers is family here."

Simon smiled, "Thanks."

He liked her. There was something magnetic about her. Fun. Interesting. He wanted to sit with her over coffee and listen to her tell him her life story. Without knowing anything about Ginny, he could tell she'd lived an exciting life, probably filled with African safaris and cruises around the Mediterranean. She just had that aura about her.

As they chatted—Ginny posing the usual small-talk questions and Simon dutifully answering—he noticed the pendant on one of her necklaces. He wouldn't have been drawn to it had it not stood out against the long strings of bejeweled costume jewelry. In comparison, it was plain, understated, a very simple piece that didn't match the rest of Ginny's aesthetic.

A round piece of silver with a design that reminded Simon of the sun.

She must've noticed him staring because, "It's lovely isn't it?" she said, leaning forward and holding the pendant away from her collar for Simon to see. "An heirloom. Once part of a pair." At Simon's questioning gaze, she elaborated, "Earrings. But one of them wandered off somewhere along the line, so I strung this one on a chain. I simply couldn't part with it."

"It's beautiful." Simon said as he admired the pendant. "Does the symbol mean anything?"

Ginny nodded, "Actually, it does. The compass is to keep your soul on the right path, the sun beneath it represents clarity in this case, to ensure your vessel remains clean. And the flower," She used her Victory Red pinky nail to indicate, "is another layer of purity." She chuckled, "Essentially, it's to ward off any bad juju that tries to enter your body or mind."

Simon listened closely, curious if she wore it because she was a Traveler, like you'd told him. Her soul could walk out of her body on a whim, which, to Simon, suggested something else could walk in. Including but not limited to bad juju as she'd put it. Was that possible? He really wanted to ask, but knew he couldn't.

The click-clack of heels on hardwood turned Simon's attention to the hall. He stood, smoothed his suit jacket and stepped around the couch, eyes widening and jaw going slack when he saw you descending the stairs.

"Wow."

You looked...gorgeous. Stunning. He'd never seen you done up like that before, makeup that enhanced your features rather than made a statement, hair in loose curls that fell down your back, a cocktail dress in a color that complimented your skin. He was, to put it lightly, gobsmacked.

Wally was a lucky guy, Simon thought.

Your sister giggled and whispered something to you that sounded like, "He's pink, too," which...did that make sense? Because he didn't understand. He'd have to ask you when you and he were safely alone in the truck.

He saw Andrew roll his eyes, "Not now," and knock your sister's shoulder as he passed her to stand with Ginny.

Behind him, Ginny snickered to Simon, "We want her back in the same condition she's leaving in," to which Simon blushed to his roots.

Knowing something you didn't, he could only stammer, "I—yeah. I promise. No funny business."

Your sister seemed to disagree, squinting at him before she whispered to you again, this time telling you, "He's red now," then louder, for everyone to hear but directed at Simon, "Remember to keep room between you for the holy spirit."

Oh god. Simon's collar suddenly felt too tight. Andrew barked a laugh. Ginny cackled and patted his shoulder, assuring him not to listen to your sister as she winked salaciously.

When he turned back to you, you had your hands over your face, grumbling, "I hate you so much," to your sister and Ginny.

Grinning, Simon held out his arm to you, a charming, "Milady," as you banded your arm through his.

"Milord," You grinned back, "Let's go before they make us take pictures."

He agreed, wishing Andrew, your sister, and Ginny goodnight, and escorting you to the door. You grabbed a peacoat and a guitar case on your way out, waved to your family and bid them goodbye, groaning like the teenage girl you were at whatever, "You'd better still smell like jasmine tomorrow!" meant.

💀___________________________

PART THREE - PART FIVE

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[baronessvonglitter]

I read so many fics over the holidays and found great new (well, new to me) authors. Starting next month I'll be doing monthly fic recs instead because whoa.. this is a lot ❤️

Please take time to read these stories, and others by these creative and beautiful people 💫 And mind the tags, as the majority of these blogs are 18+ and come with their own warnings.

dividers by @plum98 👑

Joel Miller

Borrowed Time by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Joel x f!reader

Darkest Desires by @myownwholewildworld ~ Boston QZ!Joel x f!reader.

Fade Into You by @probablyreadinsmut ~ Joel x Afab! Reader

Girl Dinner by @slimybeth69 ~ kidnapped!Joel x isolated&unhinged&potentially crazy!reader

A good grade by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader

Guilty Pleasure by @for-a-longlongtime ~ dbf!Joel x reader

A Hell of a Morning by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Stepdad!Joel x f!reader

It feels like hope by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Hot Priest!Joel x f!reader

Lock the Gate by @almostfoxglove ~ Joel x f!reader

The Older One by @frannyzooey ~ Joel x f!reader

Overloaded by @katiexpunk ~ Joel and Tommy Miller X fem!Reader

Pregame Play by @joelmillerisapunk ~ Dbf!Joel x reader

Seeing Pink by @gutsby ~ Joel x Reader

Texas Red by @studioghibelli ~ Joel x reader

this one thing you did by @joelscruff ~ Joel x f!reader

Three Strikes by @maiamore ~ Joel x f!reader

Unwrapped by @sunshinehaze1 ~ Joel x f!reader (f. Marcus Acacius & Lucilla Aurelius)

The Warden by @arcanefox207 ~ GameWarden!Joel x F!Reader

you got me thinkin' nonsense by @joelmillerisapunk ~ Dbf!Joel x F!reader

Dave York

In Vino Veritas by @yxtkiwiyxt ~ dave x f!reader

The Lonely Space Between Floors by @morallyinept ~ Dave x F!Reader

One Day at a Time by @drewharrisonwriter ~ Dave x Female Reader

A Quiet Neighborhood by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Dave x f!reader

The Road Not Taken by @guiltyasdave ~ Dave x f!reader

Under False Pretenses by @joelalorian ~ stepdad!dave x f!reader

Javier Pena

How could you love somebody like me? by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ f!reader x Javier

Lost and Found by @oliveksmoked ~ Javier x f!reader

A New Year's Distraction by @lotusbxtch ~ Javier + f!Reader

Pump by @morallyinept ~ Javier x GN!Reader

Marcus Pike

Merry Christmas, baby by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Marcus P x f!reader

Sign Here, Please by @inept-the-magnificent ~ Marcus P X f!Reader

Dieter Bravo

A Better Man by @drewharrisonwriter ~ Dieter x reader

Din Djarin

Best Kept Secret by @lincolndjarin ~ bodyguard!din x princess!reader

Pero Tovar

Baron Tovar Takes a Wife by @604to647 ~ Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero x fem!reader

Confession by @sawymredfox ~ Pero x fem able-bodied reader

Marcus Acacius

Searching for the Stars Pt. 2 by @the-mandawhor1an ~ Marcus A x f!Reader

Frankie Morales

Extra cream and sugar by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Frankie x f!reader

Multi/Other

Blackmail by @milla-frenchy ~ Javier Pena x fem reader x Joel Miller

Cosmic Love by @kedsandtubesocks ~ Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

Datura by @suzdin ~ Joel Miller x f!reader x Dave York

Don't say a word if this word is not "please" by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ General!Marcus Acacius X slave trader!Javier Peña

Fuckboy by @sizzlingcloudmentality ~ unnamed ppu character x f!reader

Paris, Texas by @almostempty ~ Joel Miller x Javier Pena x f!reader

[cinewhore]

Til Death Do Us Part (2) - the newlyweds

Pairing: Dave York x fem!reader (Mr & Mrs Smith AU) Rating: General Warnings: fighting, blood, explosions. regular spy shit. Word Count: 2.5k A/N: inspired by the amazon mr. and mrs. smith series! no beta. Enjoy! Credits to the gif makers.

You really should stop wearing thongs on missions. It’s not enough that you were getting your ass kicked, you could barely concentrate with the material all bunched in your nether regions. 

All you wanted was a quiet night in, curled tight in bed with an assortment of trashy snacks and even trashier reality tv but duty calls. When the company says jump, you don’t say how high. You take the plunge and await instructions on your way down. So far they kept you from splattering all over the pavement but you caught a few branches to the face from time to time. 

You dodge a punch from a goon, your targeted guy making a run for it through the kitchens. Grabbing a spare ladle, you whip it across the face of said goon and continue your pursuit of the stout looking man, throwing any and everything he could behind him to deter you. 

You dodge just about everything except a fucking saucepan, which collides with your left knee and sends you bending over in a tiny fit of pain. This was very telling of how the rest of the mission was going to go. 

Meanwhile, back in the great ballroom of the Cécile Opera house, John carefully observes the crowd from the outskirts. His instincts went into effect as soon as his feet touched french soil, guard held higher than the Eiffel tower. He stood out to some, a handsome man dressed impeccably without a woman on his arm. Pity. A few women have tried to approach, boldly at first but with calculated risk once they spot the gleaming ring on his finger. 

Each and every one of them looked alike, same air of arrogance he was used to from the many government wives he has come in contact with. That’s half the reason he married Carol. She was unspeakable plain and average, just what he wanted. 

In other matters, none of these women were you. If he had to guess, shady business was being conducted elsewhere and wherever that was, you were sure to be. Slipping from the throng of martinis and tuxedos, John follows security into a secluded area, maintaining his stealth as he moves calmly and quietly through the many halls of the security chambers until he winds up in a room with a wall of monitors, cameras pointing in all different angles and rooms. 

That’s when he catches a glimpse of you, lunging at a man with a butter knife. He turns to head for the kitchen before he can watch you slit the man's throat. 

You managed to get the little fucker after all but not without a heft fist fight. Wasting no time, you dig through the pockets of your victim, laughing maniacally as you pull out a set of keys. You hear the brief clacking of dress shows on the tiled floor and you maneuver yourself into a crouch stance, knife pointed outwards. 

The man doesn’t flinch as you snarl at him and finally, you lower your weapon. 

“John?” 

He frowns for a split second before nodding once. “Jane.” 

The kitchen doors burst open, numerous beefy guards filing in, all screaming something incomprehensible but nonetheless not good. 

“Think that’s our cue,” you mutter as you take off towards the back doors, praying to any god that you were running in the right direction. “You know how to drive?”

The path to the parking garage was a ravenous one, a trail of bodies left in your wake. You press the key clicker numerous times until a lime green lamborghini roars to life. You pop open the trunk, sighing a breath of relief as you come face to face with a small trunk. Nothing looked amiss and that was going to have to do at this point. You’d deal with your fuck ups later. 

You toss the keys to your new husband and you both hop in quickly. John isn’t caring as he presses his foot on the gas, backing up the car into a group of guards like a life sized game of bowling. The car screeches out of the garage and down the winding driveway, bullets ricocheting off the concrete. 

As you emerge from the garage and into the flow of Paris traffic, you collide with a few pedestrian cars. 

“Watch it!” you yell, feeling around the backseat for a gun. You knew the Napoleon looking piece of shit was packing and he didn’t disappoint as your fingers came across the cool feeling of an assault rifle. You quickly check the safety and lean out the window, letting it rip. So much for being careful.

“Mind telling me where we’re going?!” John yells back, erratically swerving to avoid the oncoming traffic. 

As if the car could read his mind, the GPS pings and pulls up a set of directions for a set of coordinates. 

“Just drive, I’ll shoot.” you huff, aiming for the tires of the four black sedans that pursue you. 

After nearly 15 minutes of rapid gunfire, you succeed in shaking off your aggressors, leaving the hustle and bustle of the busy streets for more quiet backroads. You settle into your seat, trying to catch your breath. It had been awhile since you handled a gun and you made sure to keep your trembling hands away from where John could see. 

The route takes you to a small house tucked away in the French suburbs, smoke filtering out of the chimney. A light lets you know that someone was home and you weren’t sure if this was a friend or for, so you tell John to park the car a little ways back. 

Upon hearing the vehicle, a young woman and man come rushing out, nearly tripping over each other. 

John opens the trunk for you and you’re careful as you hand over the trunk to the frazzled couple, Stepping back as the woman nearly rips off her fingernails clawing at the locks. 

John braces himself as the trunk is flung open, widening his legs in a ready stance. You catch a glimpse of his arm moving in your direction, ready to throw himself in front of you at a moment's notice. 

“Oh, thank goodness!” The young woman looks up to the both of you with tears in her eyes, a tightly wrapped infant peering out from the blankets. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Her husband wraps himself around them both and you give him a nod, nudging John in the shoulder. “Come on, we’re done here.” 

You’re both quiet as you enter the half totaled car, the passenger mirror hanging on by a literal wire. You’re attempting to push the press to start button, admittedly struggling but John just sits there, eyes not leaving the young couple as he watches them wander back into their house, baby held closely in their embrace. 

He thinks of his girls, how much he missed them. Missed Carol. 

John doesn’t have long to ponder on his past life as the house emits a tiny explosion. It was big enough to rattle the car and get it started. You waste no time shifting the gears into reverse, expertly whipping the vehicle around before throwing the shift into drive. You exhale slowly as pieces of the house collide with the car, both hands gripping the steering, knuckles straining. 

A noise penetrates the silence and John feels around his suit pockets, face frowning as he pulls out a small flip phone. How did that get there? The screen alerts him to one new message. 

Congratulations, John. Welcome to the agency. 

John expects you to ask what it says but you barely spare him a glance, pulling the car into a shady gas station. A group of teen boys loiter outside, smacking each other up while passing around a poorly concealed bottle of liquor around in a paper bag. 

They grow quiet as you park the tattered lamborghini at the pump adjacent to theirs. John watches as you get out of the car with grace, hands slowly going for the gun near his waist. 

Jiggling the keys in your palm, you hold your hand out further. “Wanna trade?” 

The boys all glare at each other. 

The rank minivan trudges to a stop in the dimly lit parking lot, radio halting as you cut the engine. 

John is apprehensive as the both of you walk to the entrance and you say nothing as he holds the door open for you. “Mama’s Table” was a quaint cuban restaurant, furniture and general set up appearing as if someone plucked the decor straight from a flea market. 

You saunter up to the counter to order, an older woman plopped in a chair behind it. Her wide glasses tilt towards the bottom of her nose as she takes in your appearance. You can’t even begin to imagine how you look: ripped dress, broken heels, bloodied and battered flesh. John fared better, at least his suit was somewhat intact. 

“Uh, bonjour. Can I get two orders of empanadas, some chicharrones de cerdo and I’ll top it off with some flan.” You nudge John with your elbow. “What do you want?” 

John raises an eyebrow. “All of that is for you?” 

You shrug. John places a small order of tamales and takes a seat. You pay the ogling lady, waiting for your change. The woman tries hard not to stare at your injuries but fails miserably. She shoots John a side-eye, hands hovering over her phone. 

“Is everything ok, miss?” 

You nod sheepishly. “It’s Mrs. We’re newlyweds.” you flash your new ring and lower your voice. “He can’t keep his hands off me.” 

Shooting her a quick wink, you grab the tray of food and leave the poor woman too stunned to speak. 

Moaning audibly as the food is served, you pay no mind to the heaps of steam as you dig in, uncaring how unladylike you appear. John tries to eat his fair share of food but finds that he can barely stomach anything after the events of tonight. 

“You’re just not going to talk about it?” 

Slowing down on your chewing, you meet John’s vexing stare. “Talk about what?” 

“Anything.” 

You swallow what’s left in your mouth, dabbing a napkin across your lips. “Didn’t realize we needed to talk. You found me, we completed our mission, case closed.” 

He raises his eyebrows in disbelief, leaning back in his chair like a petulant child. You try to take pity on him. I mean, from an outsider's perspective, he’s had a pretty shitty 24 hours. There wasn’t any hand holding within your line of work, it was either get it right the first time or die trying but you figure there was no harm in throwing him a bone. 

“Ok, fine. I’ll answer your questions as long as you stop sulking. It’s making me look bad to Beatrice.” You throw your head back a little, the noisy woman blatantly staring at you both. 

John nods. “The couple?” 

You shrug. “Don’t know ‘em. That’s not our job, understanding the nitty gritty details. You do as you're told and all is well.” 

“The phone?” 

You dig around your purse until you find your own device. “It’s how The Wiz keeps in contact with us. I mean, outside of that, it’s just a phone. My number is already saved in it.” 

For the first time in a long time, John chuckles. “The Wiz?” 

You laugh a little as well. “Yeah, that’s what I call him. Or her. You never meet the person behind the curtain. It makes things more fun, I suppose. Keeps me on my toes. Just remember, big brother is always watching. Anything else?” 

John contemplates for a second before shaking his head. “Guess I’ll learn as we go.” 

Without thinking, you reach your hand across the table and place it on top of his. Squeezing it mildly, you offer a smile. “It’s scary at first but that’s why every John gets a Jane.” 

John lets you go back to eating, admiring your face. Even with the smeared makeup and caked up blood decorating nearly every surface, he found you pretty. Beautiful, even. 

Beatrice looks on from the window as you two take off in the van, leaving a smoky cloud behind you. She makes her way over to the table, thankful that at least you had manners and were neat about your trash. It wasn’t until she was dumping your food trays that she noticed it, crumbled up in a few napkins. 

A red thong.  

The flight back to New York proves to be uneventful. Most of it was spent with you writing up a mission report, John wavering in and out of sleep. Your Range Rover was still parked where you left it, an accompanying one next to it. 

“Matching cars. What’s next, tattoos?” you jest. 

John follows you to a beautiful suburban neighborhood, complete with luscious landscapes and elegant homes. His sightseeing tour was cut short as you pulled into your own driveway. Built with wheat colored bricks, adorned with cypress wooden accents, the house possessed spanish architectural influence with a modern flair. It wasn’t something he’d typically go for but it wasn’t hard on the eyes. Easy to miss which was a plus. 

You walk in first, inhaling the freshness of it all while John trails behind you. As you wander deeper into the house and into the bedrooms, you notice that your previous wardrobe had been replaced. All the new garments were neatly pressed and symmetrically folded. The bathroom was stocked with enough beauty products to fill a small drugstore. 

John knocks politely on the door. “Where’s your first aid kit? I want to patch up that little shiner on your knee, don’t like the look of it” 

You shrug. “Not sure, there’s usually a panic room with medical supplies in it.” 

John cocks his head. “You don’t know where your own panic room is?”

“New husband, new house.” 

John shifts his weight, sensing the elephant in the room he didn’t feel like acknowledging. “Gotcha.” 

“Don’t worry, I can patch myself up. You should get some shut eye, we’ve got an early start.” 

“Goodnight, Jane.” 

“Goodnight, John.” 

You shut the door to your bedroom, attempting to be quiet as you slowly turn the lock. It was silly, really. There was no reason to fear John and locking the door just seemed out right stupid given that anything could happen at any time. Whoever this man is, was, warranted some getting used to. You had been trusting before with one of your previous husbands, who suffered a mental break and nearly suffocated you in your sleep. 

John wasn’t as secretive about his own room, closing his door loudly and fumbling with the lock before securing it. 

Making himself knowledgeable about every inch of the room, a wave of chills get sent down his spine as he comes across a picture placed polishedly on the nightstand. It was of the both of you on what appears to be a wedding day. His likeness was uncanny and he swallowed down a gurgle of food threatening to crawl up his throat. Your eyes bore into his soul lovingly, body absorbed by a rather puffy wedding gown, left hand resting on his chest. 

Mr. and Mrs. Smith - Always & Forever.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Lockdown

Summary: What better way to sit through the annual sexual harassment online class at work than to break the new intern in?

Pairing: Dave York x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

Rating: E

Warnings: smut (oral m receiving, unprotected sex), face fucking, power imbalance, not specified age gap but reader is just out of college, cum play, spitting, sub/dom vibes, even a little public humiliation? idek guys, praise kink, mocking sexual harassment training

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Main Masterlist // Dave York Masterlist

The whole floor was almost empty today. 

Everyone was either at home or at the annual employee and sexual harassment training which was also available online for the first time since he started working at the DIA. 

Greg from the office next to him left almost two hours ago, leaving Dave alone with you, the new intern slash secretary that had started working here almost seven weeks ago. 

„Just like that,“ he sighed, head thrown back in his office chair, legs spread, his cock down your throat as the annoying voice in his laptop explained the difference between nonverbal and verbal sexual harassment. 

You hummed, the irony of the situation not lost on you as you sucked on Dave York’s cock, your tongue moving over his length just in the way you knew he liked. 

You were the typical cliché. 

Getting this internship straight out of college had been the biggest deal for you and you were determined to make the best impression ever to hopefully secure a job afterwards. 

And the first week ran perfectly. 

So perfect that you had been recommended to your dream department which is where things went… kinda sideways. 

Your boss, whose cock you were currently sucking, was a problem. 

Not because he wasn’t good at his job or didn’t respect you, no. You knew that in the moment you shook his hand for the first time as you were both introduced that you were in fucking trouble. 

He was fucking hot.

Tall, dark and handsome. Much older than you and with a no bullshit attitude that had you so wet by the end of the first day that you were contemplating quitting because staying professional would become a problem. 

In the end it wasn’t you professionalism that would be the problem but his. 

A few days after starting to work with him and his team he asked you to stay longer to go through the last couple of days and well…. You had been bend over his desk within thirty minutes and had been almost every single day since then. 

It was like all common sense left your brain once Dave York asked you to come into his office and lock the door behind you. You weren’t even sure if you believed him when he told you that he was in the process of getting divorced when you had asked him if he was married, always feeling the golden ring he was wearing on his ring finger, when he wrapped his hands around your throat when he was fucking you.

And maybe all those anxious thoughts you had about fucking him in the beginning were a little dramatic. 

Dave had pulled some strings and you would start working full time for his department next month. 

Sure, one of the reasons (or maybe even the biggest) was so that he could keep you around, but in this economy you had no real choice to decline because of your dignity. Or…. Feminism or something. 

And anyways, the whole team, not just Dave, more than once said how happy they were that you were there and how good of a job you were doing. 

So getting some orgasms out of this promotion? Not the worst deal ever.

„You think this counts as verbal or nonverbal sexual harassment?" He asked, smirking down at you as you bobbed our head on his cock. You were about to release him to answer him, when you felt his hand push you down on his cock, making you gag, eyes tearing up for one moment before he released you with a chuckle. 

„Nonverbal. Clearly,“ he grinned to himself, leaving his hand on the back of your head, keeping you still as he began to fuck into your mouth. Slowly at first, but you knew what was about to come. 

„Sending me a fucking temptress of a intern….“ He grunted as he fucked into your mouth, deeper and deeper until he hit the back of your throat. 

„And thinking I give a shit about staying professional?“ He groaned when your throat opened up with him and you choked, relaxing your mouth, letting him use you. 

„Best fucking head I ever had,“ he said, enjoying the way the muscles of your throat relaxed for him. 

„Best fucking pussy I ever had,“ he grunted as he pulled out of your mouth, one of his hands wrapping around his cock, pumping his cock. 

„Open your mouth,“ he hissed, jaw tight as he looked down at you and you did, sticking your tongue out as he came, most of his cum landing on your face before he put his cock back into your mouth, groaning loudly. 

You hummed, your tongue slipping over the head of his cock, looking up at him, looking like every mans slutty dream. Mascara running down your cheeks, his cum drying on your face. 

The voice of the person doing the sexual harassment class droned in the background, talking about way to report the abuse. 

Dave pulled out of your mouth and you kept your mouth open for him, knowing he would want to see. 

He shook his head before he got up from his chair, fingers gripping your chin tightly as he bend down, spitting into your mouth. 

„Swallow,“ he said darkly and you did, showing him your empty mouth as he slipped his fingers through his cum on your forehead, running that finger over your lips, spreading it out. 

„Good girl,“ he smirked and you couldn’t stop the smile on your face as you heard him praise you. 

„Now clean yourself up and get me the 5609 report,“ he said, tucking his cock back into his pants and you nodded, hissing when you got up from the floor, knees stiff. 

You reached for the tissues he had in his desk, but he stopped you, shaking his head. Blinking at him you used your fingers to clean yourself up as best as you could, licking his cum off your fingers. He nodded with the hint of a smile before he tilted his head towards his office door. 

Sucking your bottom lip in you walked towards the door. 

„Take you panties off and leave them on the floor,“ he called after you and you looked over your shoulder, finding him not even looking at you. 

„I am not wearing panties today, Sir,“ you said and his eyes found yours. 

He hummed.

When he didn’t say anything more you turned away from him, hand on the doorknob to open the door. 

„Then I want you to take your dress off and then get me the report,“ he said and you stilled before you slowly turned around. 

„What?“ You asked in a whisper. 

„I want you to take your dress of and get me the report,“ he repeated, challenge in his eyes. You gulped, knowing that he was testing you. Walking naked around his office was one thing, walking naked across the whole floor to the archive where you knew the reports were stored was something else. 

„What about the cameras?“ You asked and he tilted his head. 

„You trust me?“ He asked. 

„I do,“ you said right away. 

„Then take you dress off and get me the report,“ he said again. He was waiting as you made your decision, a smile sneaking to his lips as you reached for the zipper of your dress. Your fingers shaking as you pulled your dress off. 

Taking a deep breath you looked at him. 

You knew the game he was playing with you would be over with one single word coming from your lips, but part of you found a special kind of thrill letting Dave be the one in total control. 

„The report?“ He asked again and you nodded, before you turned around, unlocking and opening the door. 

„Don’t leave me waiting too long,“ he called after you as you took your first step outside, finding the whole floor sitting in darkness with just the emergency lights on. 

As quick as possible you made your way through the office, grabbing the report he wanted before making your way back, screaming when you felt a hand wrap around your wrist, your body pushed against the wall of the dark hallway. 

„Don’t have to be quiet today,“ Dave hummed against your ear as he pushed your chest against the wall. You shoulder sagged in relief when you recognised his voice, only to tense when you felt his cock against your ass as one of his hands manhandled you in the position he wanted so he could sink into you. 

You both moaned when he was inside of you, his head resting against the back of your head. 

„I intend to fuck you on as many desks as possible before they realise I put the whole floor on lockdown,“ he whispered against your ear, before he began to move. 

[cosmicaura7]

BREEDING KINK

Pairings : pedro pascal characters x reader

Genre : f/m, smut, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation, dirty talk, 

Synopsis : He has been thinking about it for a while now, having a baby with you. The thought consumes him and he can't keep it to himself any longer. 

Author's Note : Enjoy this in the meantime since I'm on my period hehe😜

Clint Flood (Freaky Tales)

Clint Flood isn’t a man of flowery words. He doesn’t have to be.

He speaks with his hands, with the way he stands in front of you in the doorway like a wall, shielding and solid, eyes burning like headlights through storm fog. When you wear his shirt around the house? He growls under his breath. When you curl into his lap after a long day, kissing his neck while he runs his calloused hands down your back? He always ends up whispering it.

“Gonna put a baby in you.”

You never laugh. Because when he says it, he means it like a promise.

Tonight, it’s no different. The moment he walks in, sweat on his brow, bruises on his knuckles and streaks of dried blood on his arms and hands, he looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever needed. You’re already waiting in the bedroom, sprawled out in nothing but soft cotton underwear. You don’t say a word, you just spread your legs and tilt your chin, daring him.

His chest rises hard. His boots are off in seconds. He crawls over you like a man starved, kissing you rough, deep and worshipful. His hands slide over your hips, gripping them with reverence and hunger. “You know what this does to me, baby?” He grinds out, voice thick with need. “Lookin’ at you like this. Waitin’ to be filled.” You moan as he pushes inside you, slow and deep. His thrusts are powerful from the start, steady, possessive and built to last.

“You feel that?” He breathes into your neck, hips meeting yours again and again. “That’s how I know you’re made for me. Your body, hell, this womb, it’s all mine.” You gasp his name, clutching his back. He doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t let you drift too far.

He keeps you grounded with his weight, his words. “Gonna fill you up so good.” He murmurs, voice breaking. “So deep you won’t stop thinking about it. Walkin’ around with my baby in you, that’s all I want.” He starts to tremble as you tighten around him. You feel the change, the urgency, the desperation that hits when he’s close.

“You want it, sweetheart?” He pants, forehead pressed to yours. “Wanna be mine like that?”

You whisper yes over and over until he groans, thrusting deep and finally lets go. The warmth floods through you. Clint shudders hard, his arms wrapped tight around you, breath hitching in your ear. “Take it…” He rasps. “Take all of me.” He stays inside you even after it’s over, holding you as if letting go would break the spell. His lips press softly to your temple.

“Gonna keep you full.” He whispers. “Make you round with me.”

“You already have.” You cup his cheek, smiling into the hush of your shared heat. 

Dave York (The Equalizer 2)

There’s something in Dave’s eyes tonight. He’s been tense all day, something about the way he walked through the front door, jaw tight and shoulders rolling like he was shaking off bloodlust. The kind of energy that made your heart race for two reasons, danger and desire.

You didn’t ask questions.

You just waited in the bedroom, lights low, legs bare and wearing that lace he always fingers like he might tear it off. When he finally walks in, the air thickens. He says nothing at first.

Just stares.

Then slowly, like a storm rolling in, he approaches, boots heavy, gaze locked. His voice is low when he speaks. “You been thinkin’ about it too?”

“About what?” You blink, heartbeat jumping. 

He leans down until his lips brush your ear. “About me filling you up. Finally making you mine.” Your body jolts at the heat in his voice, hungry, possessive and needy. That calm control he usually wears is cracking and what’s underneath it is feral. He undresses you in silence. There’s a kind of reverence to it, like he’s peeling away everything that doesn’t belong between the two of you. And when he pushes you back onto the bed and lines himself up, his voice is thick with restraint.

“I’m not pulling out.”

You already knew. He’s been hinting for weeks, hands low on your belly after sex, muttering “It’d be so easy, baby. So fucking easy to knock you up.” And now he’s shaking as he slides into you, one arm braced by your head, the other gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise.

“This pussy was made for me.” He grits, moving in long deep strokes. “All soft and wet, begging to be filled.” You moan his name, lost in the heat, in how full he makes you feel. “That’s it.” He pants. “Take me. Every inch. Gonna breed you so good, sweetheart. Gonna fuck a baby into you so deep you’ll feel me every time you move.”

The words hit you like lightning. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper. He groans, raw and broken, and his rhythm falters. You know he’s close, you can feel it in the way his body trembles. “Gonna give you all of it.” He whispers. “Every last drop. So you’ll carry me. So no one ever questions who you belong to.” When he finally comes, he does it with a deep primal growl of your name. You feel the warmth flood inside you, hear the ragged way he breathes as he stays buried to the hilt as if his body won’t let him leave you. You kiss his cheek, chest heaving.

He strokes your stomach, hand spread wide and possessive. “We start tonight.” He says softly. “You're gonna take. I know you will.”

And somehow, you believe him.

Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)

It always starts with a look.

That Dieter look, smoldering and theatrical, as if he’s the lead in a tragic romance and you’re his co-star, the one woman who will destroy or save him. Tonight, he’s pacing the bedroom barefoot in a silk robe, ranting in half-curses and half-whispers, until he finally turns to you. “I’ve thought about this all day.” He says, eyes wild and sincere. “You. Pregnant. With my baby.”

Your pulse skips. He’s been like this lately, dramatic and obsessed. Every time he touches you, he groans about how “fertile” you look, how “his seed should live in you like holy fire.” It's unhinged. It’s so Dieter. And it turns you on more than you can admit.

“So why haven’t you done anything about it?” You sit on the edge of the bed, head tilted. 

That’s all it takes.

He immediately pounces. Clothes are gone in a blur of motion, his hands fumbling and shaking as he drags your underwear down. “You don’t understand.” He groans, kissing your thighs and your stomach. “You belong to me. And if I don’t come inside you soon, I’ll die. I will literally collapse and perish.”

“Then do it.” You whisper. “Fill me.”

He shudders. And when he slides inside you, it's with reverence, like he’s praying. His hips move deep and slow at first but his words? Those come fast and desperate. “You’re so warm… your body wants this, wants to keep me in. God, baby, I need to breed you.” You cry out, his rhythm getting rougher and more frantic. He cups your jaw and stares down into your eyes like he wants to memorize your face at the moment he claims you. “I want you round.” He moans. “Glowing. So when people look at you, they know that’s Dieter Bravo’s fucking baby in there.”

His name sounds like a plea in your throat as he drives deeper, faster and loses rhythm in his obsession. His hand slides down to your belly, holding it possessively. “I want to watch you grow.” He breathes. “Want to paint paintings about how gorgeous you look carrying my baby. Want to make a documentary about it, hell, a trilogy.”

You’re breathless and slowly getting overstimulated, but you don’t want him to stop. And he doesn’t, not until his body tenses and he groans into your mouth, pressing deep, giving you everything. You feel him release, his whole body trembling as he stays locked inside. “Don’t move.” He begs. “Keep me in. Let me give you a baby.” When it’s over, he collapses dramatically on top of you, panting. “If that didn’t do it, I swear to God I’m buying a fertility clinic.” You laugh weakly. But when he gently strokes your belly and kisses it again and again, you know he’s dead serious.

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

There’s something different about him tonight. He’s already stripped out of the beskar by the time you return from bathing, his gloves folded and helmet placed carefully beside the bed. The air is still thick with anticipation and heavy with purpose.

You meet his gaze. He’s seated on the edge of the bed, forearms braced on his thighs, breathing slow and deep. “You said you wanted a family.” He says simply. “I’m ready.”

Your heart stutters. You knew he thought about it, knew how carefully Din Djarin considers every step, every word. He never promises lightly. But now he’s looking at you like you’re his path forward, his home. The one vessel he trusts to carry his blood, his future and his legacy. You come to him silently, straddling his lap. His hands grip your hips, reverent and rough, as if grounding himself.

“Are you sure?” You whisper, nose brushing his.

He nods once. “I want to see you full with me. Want to know you're carrying what we made.” His voice shakes, controlled and low, like a storm held back by sheer force of will. And then he lifts you, gently laying you back on the bed like something sacred, worships every inch of you with his mouth and hands before finally pushing inside. The stretch, the heat and the sheer weight of him has your legs trembling. But it’s his words that undo you.

“So perfect like this. Taking me so well.”

“You were made for this, made to carry our ads.”

“No one else gets this. No one touches this. Only me.”

His pace is deep, slow and claiming. Not rushed but intentional. Every thrust feels like a vow. Your nails drag down his back as he presses a hand to your stomach, breathing harder and rougher. “Right here…” He groans. “Gonna fill you up. Watch your body take it, keep it.”

You gasp his name as he buries himself fully, over and over, grinding in so deep you swear you can feel it in your bones. “Say it…” He pants. “Say you want me to breed you.”

“I want it!” You cry. “Want you to fill me, Din. Want to carry your child.” His rhythm falters, body shuddering. And then with a deep guttural moan, he comes. You feel the heat of it spill inside as he holds himself there unmoving, forehead pressed to yours, panting hard.

“Don’t move.” He whispers. “I need it to take. Need to know I gave you everything.” You nod, blinking away tears. Because this is how Din Djarin loves, with purpose, with power and with a future in mind. And wrapped in his arms, filled to the brim, you believe him when he says.

“This is the way.”

Ezra (The Prospect)

He watches you like he’s starved, not for food, not for air but for you. Something deeper and something primal. It’s always been in his eyes when he looks at you like he’s survived hell and you’re the only thing worth living for now. You lie back in the narrow bed of your shared dwelling on this godforsaken moon, atmosphere humid, faint hum of the old purifier rattling in the corner. Ezra stands at the foot, shirt half-open, scarred hands on his belt.

There’s a tension in the air that goes beyond lust. It’s been building for weeks, ever since you told him you wanted to stop using the meds and that you wanted to try to have children. He climbs over you like a man crossing a ravine, careful, reverent and trembling with need. “You sure?” He rasps, voice raw with hope and warning.

You reach up, cupping his jaw. “Put a baby in me, Ezra.” Something in him breaks at that. He kisses you hard, desperate and consuming, and then he's inside you in a single thick thrust. You gasp, nails digging into his back as he sets a slow, grinding rhythm, burying himself to the hilt with every thrust.

Ezra’s breath shakes as he lowers his forehead to yours. “Gonna take.” He whispers. “You’re gonna take, sweetheart. Know you are.” You moan, wrapping your legs around him, forcing him deeper. He groans, low and pained, like the pleasure’s almost too much. His hand slides between your bodies to splay over your belly. “Wanna see you round with me.” He says, eyes wild now. “Heavy, glowing, want you walking slow 'cause you’re so full.”

“Ezra…” Your voice cracks, wrecked and dizzy.

“I've been in the dirt too long.” He murmurs. “Time I plant something that grows, something real.” His rhythm stutters. He grips your hips harder and panting like a dog in heat. “This body’s mine. Gonna leave you full of me. Breed you properly. Let this place know who you belong to.” You clench around him, and he shudders, head falling to your shoulder with a ragged cry. And then he spills into you, thick and hot and endless. He stays buried, pulsing, his arms caging you in like he’s trying to keep every drop inside. His voice is soft now, broken in your ear.

“We make a new life.” He whispers. “Right here, in this soil.” You kiss his temple. Because you know he means it. And in the silence of this lonely moon, Ezra holds you like he’s finally found his home, growing deep inside you.

Francisco Morales (Triple Frontier)

You don’t realize how tightly you’ve been held until he’s inside you again.

Francisco is the kind of man who carries everything on his shoulders, the mission, the danger and the never ending guilt. But when he comes home, when he’s with you, he softens only in one place, the way he touches your body like it’s holy, like it’s the only safe ground he’s ever known.

And tonight, he’s different. His hands tremble as they slide down your hips. His mouth lingers on your stomach longer than usual. And when he pulls back to look at you, eyes dark and steady, you know what’s coming before he says it. “Let me do this.” He murmurs. “Let me put a baby in you.”

Your breath catches. He’s never said it aloud before but you’ve seen it in the way he always presses a hand to your lower belly after you make love, the way his eyes linger on the curve of your body, possessive and almost… aching.

“I want something that’s mine.” He says, forehead pressed to yours. “Ours. Something real. Permanent.” You nod, heart racing and that’s all the permission he needs. He spreads you open slowly, reverently. His hands are strong, sure but careful like he’s preparing a place to bury something deep, something that will grow. And when he finally pushes inside, it’s not rushed or rough.

It’s purposeful. Each thrust is deep and anchoring. He keeps eye contact the whole time, jaw clenched, brow furrowed in focus. Like he’s thinking about every movement, every drop he plans to leave inside. “You’re gonna take all of it.” He grits out. “Gonna keep it all in until it takes.” You moan, body clenching and he groans low in response, that sound he only makes when he’s close to losing control.

“You don’t even know what you do to me.” He mutters. “You open up so perfectly. So ready to be filled.” He wraps an arm beneath your lower back, angling your hips to take him deeper until he’s hitting that spot that has you gasping his name like a prayer. And when your body starts to tremble around him, he snaps. “Gonna breed you.” He growls. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you so deep it takes. You’re gonna be carrying me, every time someone looks at you, they’ll know you’re mine.”

You cry out, and with a strained, guttural moan, he spills into you, hard and hot pulses that have him twitching and shaking above you. He stays inside, pressed close, panting against your neck. Neither of you move. Then you feel his hand slide between your bodies, cupping your belly again, like he’s willing the future into existence.

“We’re gonna build something.” He whispers. “Right here. Starting tonight.” And you believe him because Francisco never says things he doesn’t mean.

Not in the field.

Not in your bed.

And definitely not with your body under his, soaked in sweat and filled with his seed.

Harry Castillo (The Materialists)

There’s nothing casual about the way he touches you. Not when the rest of his life is a performance, smooth suits, sharper smiles and perfectly-timed handshakes. But not here, not when you're beneath him, silk sheets tangled around your thighs, wearing only the diamond necklace he bought you last anniversary.

Here, Harry Castillo is all hunger.

"You know what I want." He murmurs against your skin, lips dragging from your collarbone to your breast. "You’ve known." His voice is thick like honey and bourbon but there’s an edge to it now. A need he no longer bothers hiding, especially not tonight.

You thread your fingers through his dark curls and whisper. “Then take it.” And he does. He slides down between your thighs, hands gripping like he owns every inch. There’s always a finesse to Harry but when he’s inside you, all control blurs into desperation.

“Been thinking about it for weeks.” He groans, pushing in slow and deep, making you feel full. “You, heavy with me and absolutely glowing. Want to watch you swell, watch the world know I filled you.” Your breath stutters. He starts moving with long grounding strokes that keep you teetering right on the edge. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other bracing your hip, making you take him all with each roll of his hips.

“You’re gonna take every drop, baby.” He growls. “And you’re gonna keep it. No excuses. No pills. No getting out of it.”

You moan beneath him, back arching. “Want it. Want to be full of you.” That breaks whatever control he had left. 

He kisses you roughly, moaning into your mouth as he fucks you harder, faster and deeper, like he’s trying to brand his name inside you. “Gonna watch you waddle through the penthouse.” He pants. “In your little heels, showing off what I did to you.”

You shudder, crying out as you tighten around him and he loses it. Harry spills inside you with a sharp groan, staying deep, hips grinding as he rides the high. He twitches, still inside, and lets out a raw exhale that sounds almost reverent. “Mine…” He breathes, kissing your shoulder. “You’re mine. And now everyone’s gonna see it.” He doesn’t pull out.

Instead, he lowers your legs gently and lays on top of you, keeping himself buried as long as possible. His hand slides across your stomach, as if imagining the future already taking root. "You want luxury?" He murmurs. "Let me give you the rarest one, a legacy." And in the soft glow of gold lamps and city lights, you know he doesn’t mean money.

He means you.

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels (Kingsman)

The door shuts behind him with a quiet click and you barely have time to turn around before your back’s pressed to it, his broad frame towering over yours. “Been thinkin’ about this all day, sugar.” Jack drawls low in your ear, his voice thick as molasses. “You, all spread out… waitin’ for me to fill you up.”

You gasp as he grinds his hips into yours, the buckle of his belt pressing into your stomach. “You serious?” You whisper, heart racing.

Jack leans back just enough to meet your eyes, tilting his cowboy hat up with two fingers. His gaze burns through you, hazel eyes dark with intent. “I ain’t jokin’.” He says, slow and deliberate. “Wanna put a baby in you real bad. Want you swollen with me. Want the whole damn world to see what we did.”

You shiver because this isn’t one of his usual flirt-and-smirk games. There’s something real behind it, something hungry. You nod in desperation. He smiles, slow, wide and wolfish. Next thing you know, he’s got you on the bed, boots kicked off, shirt unbuttoned, suspenders hanging at his sides. He kisses you like he owns you, tongue hot and eager, hands rough on your waist.

“Gonna fuck you proper.” He mutters as he slides inside, thick and pulsing. “Gonna knock you up the way God intended.” Your head falls back as he sets a steady rhythm, hips grinding deep, every thrust designed to hit exactly where it counts. You can feel it, his need and the way he holds back from going feral.

“Y’feel that?” He pants, resting a hand low on your belly. “That’s where I’m gonna leave it. Right there and deep.” You moan his name, gripping his arms as he thrusts harder. “Gonna make you a mama.” He growls. “Gonna keep you in pretty dresses and rub your feet while you're carryin’ my kid. No more missions. No more pills. Just you, barefoot in my kitchen with a baby in that belly.” The way he says it like it’s the most sacred erotic thing in the world sends you over the edge.

And that’s all it takes.

Jack lets out a broken groan, burying himself as deep as he can go. He twitches and jerks before spilling into you with raw unfiltered need. He doesn’t stop. He grinds in slow circles, coaxing every drop deeper while whispering filth in your ear. “Gonna make sure it takes, sugar. Know it will. You’re made for this, made for me.” He stays there, heavy on top of you, chest rising and falling against yours. His palm lingers over your belly like he’s already imagining the bump, the glow, the baby booties on your shared ranch porch.

And then he smirks.

“Reckon we better start thinkin’ of names.”

Javi Guttierez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)

He worships you like a collector worships his rarest piece.

Javi Gutierrez may have once obsessed over movie memorabilia but ever since he put a ring on your finger, all his attention shifted fully and forever to you. His hands know every line of your body like a poem, like the script of a film he’s memorized frame by frame. But lately, there’s a different kind of need in his eyes. Something deeper and more possessive.

“You don’t know…” He whispers one night, lips pressed to your stomach. “How badly I want to see you full, round and carrying our child.” You freeze, heart stuttering. He lifts his gaze to meet yours, eyes soft and voice low. “Would you let me? Make something real with you?”

You nod. You don’t even think, you just feel. The answer’s always been yes. That’s all he needs. He climbs over you with careful reverence, like you’re breakable porcelain and holy at once. When he enters you, he moans like he’s been starving, slow and deep, filling you until he’s flush against your thighs.

“You take me so well.” He murmurs. “It’s like you were made to.” You gasp as he begins to move, rocking into you with controlled desperation. His hands tremble slightly as they cradle your hips, like he’s holding onto something sacred. “I’ve imagined it.” He breathes. “You, glowing. The way you’ll look in the morning sun. My child inside you. Ours.”

You whimper, clutching his back. And he groans in response, hips thrusting harder now, deeper. “That’s it, cariño.” He whispers, teeth grazing your shoulder. “Let me fill you. Let me plant it inside. I’ll worship the life I put there.” Your whole body tenses and his rhythm falters, because he can feel you getting close. “You want this too.” He says, more statement than question. “Want me to breed you. Leave you dripping, aching and all mine.”

You shatter around him with a cry and that’s all it takes. Javi buries himself to the hilt with a low ragged moan, his whole body shuddering as he spills into you. He whispers your name like a prayer, forehead pressed to yours, hands never leaving your skin. He stays inside you, even after the heat fades. One hand drifts to your belly, gentle and awed.

“It’ll be my masterpiece.” He says. “But not as perfect as the real thing.” He smiles, cupping your face.

Javier Peña (Narcos)

He doesn’t say it out loud the first few times. But you feel it in the way he lingers inside you after he’s come, slow, grinding, deep and refusing to pull out. You feel it in the way he rests his hand on your belly afterward, silent and still, like he's imagining something. And then one night, after a particularly rough case, after too much whiskey and not enough sleep, he breaks. He comes home at midnight. Tired, bruised and reeking of smoke and Bogotá rain. You’re already in bed but when he crawls in behind you, kisses the back of your neck and slides his hand between your thighs, you know he needs more than comfort.

“Wanna see you pregnant.” He mutters, voice hoarse. “Wanna see you round and full with my baby.”

“Javi…” Your breath catches because it’s not just dirty talk, there’s a hidden ache within it.

He flips you gently, settling between your thighs. His fingers push in deep, testing, spreading and preparing you with practiced care. “Let me do this.” He says. “Let me leave somethin’ behind. Just one good thing.” Then he’s inside you, deep and hard, with a pace that screams need. His forehead presses to yours, his hand cradling your hip, keeping you still as he rolls into you over and over, desperate to stay buried.

“I fuckin’ need this.” He groans. “Need to know you’ll carry a piece of me. After all this shit...”

You cup his face, arching into him. “I want it too.” You whisper. “I want all of you.” That’s when he loses it. He grabs your thighs and fucks you deeper and rougher, grinding into your sweet spot until you’re shaking, until you’re clinging to him and crying out. He watches you fall apart beneath him, then follows with a strangled moan, spilling inside you so hard he shudders.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Just stays there, breathing hard, forehead pressed to your shoulder, arms locked around you like you’re his last tether to this world. Finally, he murmurs. “If I died tomorrow... I’d want to know you were carrying somethin’ that mattered.”

You stroke his back, heart aching. “You’re not going anywhere.” You whisper. But part of you knows, if anything ever did happen to him, you’d still carry him forever. Maybe even literally.

Joel Miller (The Last of Us)

The world outside is broken.

But inside these four walls, inside this tiny cabin with its creaking floors and warmth that smells like pine, Joel loves you like the world never ended. It starts soft, always does with him. A brush of his calloused thumb along your cheekbone, a kiss to your temple, a murmur of “Hey, darlin’.” spoken low and tired after a long day on patrol. But tonight, something’s different in the way he touches you. He’s reverent and slow, as if he’s bracing for something bigger than just pleasure.

When he finally presses his body over yours in bed, his voice cracks near your ear. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout it.” He murmurs, breath hot against your skin. “You… carryin’ my baby.”

Your breath catches. “Joel…”

He hushes you with a kiss, slow and grounding. “I know the world’s gone to shit.” He says. “But if there’s one thing worth keepin’ alive… it’s us. You. Me. What we could make.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders and nod, heart pounding.

And then he loses himself in you. The thrust of his hips is deliberate and deep. His weight pins you down, like he needs you still while he gives you every part of him. His hands cradle your thighs, keeping you open for him, spreading you wide so he can press as deep as your body allows. “Gonna fill you up.” He growls softly. “Real deep and make sure it takes.”

You moan and he groans in answer, kissing down your jaw, your throat. “Wanna see you round, baby. Full of me. Belly tight with somethin’ we made.” Each thrust is possessive, each word gritted out between clenched teeth. His rough fingers drift to your lower belly, pressing gently like he’s already imagining it, already claiming it. Your climax hits fast, his voice, his body, his need, it’s too much. You cry out, body trembling.

Joel follows with a low growl, burying himself to the hilt, shuddering hard as he spills inside you. He doesn’t pull out. Not for a long, long time. “Just stay like this.” He breathes. “Wanna keep it in. Let it settle. Let it stick.” Later, when you lie tangled together beneath a wool blanket, he traces slow circles on your belly with his calloused palm.

“You’d be a good mama.” He whispers. “Strong and soft. Everything this world needs.”

You blink at him, heart breaking open all over again. “And you’d be a good dad like always.” He swallows hard, nodding once. And then he holds you tighter, like you’re the only thing left that matters.

Marcus Acacius (Gladiator II)

He returns from the battlefield still wrapped in blood and glory. The roar of Rome follows him but when he steps into your chambers, he softens. For no one else would Marcus Acacius remove his armor with such aching slowness, for no one else would he kneel unless it was for his dear wife.

“Come here.” He murmurs, voice low and gruff from shouting commands all day. “Let me look at you, wife.” You cross the marble floor barefoot, silk brushing your thighs. He reaches for you like a starving man, pulling you into his lap on the edge of the bed. His hands are rough and calloused from sword and shield but they tremble slightly where they cup your hips. “I dream of it.” He says into your neck. “You, swollen with my child. My seed in your womb. My heir in your body.”

You gasp softly, fingers curling into his thick curls as he lifts your shift and parts your thighs. He lays you down like you’re sacred. “Do you want it?” He asks, gaze burning. “To carry my name, my line and my legacy in you?”

Your answer is breathless. “Yes.” That’s all he needs. Marcus covers your body with his own, worshipping you with lips and tongue and hands. He spreads you wide, not just to take you, but to mark you, to claim you.

His thrusts are deep and purposeful, each one a silent vow. “You’ll look divine with my child inside you.” He groans, hand splayed possessively over your belly. “I’ll give you twins. Sons or a daughter, fierce as you.” You moan under him, body arching into every stroke. “I’ll fill you again and again.” He growls. “Until it takes, until the gods themselves look down in envy at what we’ve made.”

You fall apart with a cry and he follows, burying himself to the hilt as he spills into you with a guttural groan, strong hands gripping your thighs, holding you still, locked against him. Even after, he doesn’t pull away. He stays sheathed deep, his weight heavy, warm and protective.

“You will be my legacy.” He whispers into your hair. “And I will protect you and what grows inside you with my life.”

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

He’s never rough with you. Even when his desire runs hot and fast, when his breath shudders and his hands tremble from holding back, Marcus touches you like he’s afraid you’ll break. Even though he knows you won’t. Even though you’ve shown him time and again that you can take everything he gives and still reach for more.

Tonight, it’s quiet.

Just the two of you. Dim light, soft sheets and the sound of his voice low in your ear. “You know what I want?” His fingers trail slowly along your bare stomach, reverent and slow, as if the idea alone deserves to be worshipped. “I want to see you carrying our baby. Our future.”

“I want that too.” You swallow, already aching for him.

Something changes in his expression. The way he kisses you becomes more intense, deeper and more needy. His body covers yours, not to dominate but to cocoon, to shield you, even in intimacy. “I think about it all the time.” He admits. “How you’d look glowing and heavy with my kid. Something of ours.” A breathless chuckle. “A little brother or sister for Missy.” You moan softly as he slides into you, his movements slow, controlled and deep. He holds your hips still, angling just right, like he’s memorized every inch of your body, like he knows how to make you take him in completely.

“Gonna fill you up.” He whispers. “Make sure it sticks.” The words aren’t crude, they’re sacred and said with aching devotion. Every roll of his hips is steady, measured and intentional. Not just to give you pleasure but to plant something in you. A hopeful future with him and his daughter, and soon enough another baby or two.

“I want to leave part of myself with you.” He breathes, voice thick with emotion. “I want you to carry it.” Your breath hitches, hands digging into his back. He feels your body tighten around him and it’s too much, he gasps your name and comes deep, staying pressed to the hilt as he empties into you. And then he stays there, doesn’t pull away. Just holds you close, his hand resting over your lower belly.

“I’ll take care of you.” He murmurs. “You, Missy and our baby. Always.”

Marcus Pike (The Mentalist)

He’s always been the kind of man who thinks before he speaks, thoughtful, measured and kind. Marcus never rushes anything, not when he’s planning, not when he’s kissing you with that slow patient passion that leaves your knees weak. But tonight, there’s a different kind of urgency in him.

The kind he’s been quietly hiding until now. “I’ve been thinking.” He says, hands resting low on your hips as he looks at you beneath the glow of the bedside lamp. “About us. About the future.” You know that look, the way his eyes flicker down to your belly, his fingers flexing slightly. He swallows, then he finally says it. “I want to put a baby in you.”

Your breath catches. He sees the way your lips part, the way your thighs shift. He leans in close, voice dipping low. “Let me make you mine in the most permanent way.” He whispers. “Let me give you everything.” His mouth finds yours, soft but desperate, as he lays you back on the sheets. He takes his time undressing you, kissing the skin he reveals inch by inch. You feel treasured and worshipped.

And then he’s inside you, not fast, not hard but deep and purposeful. His hands cradle your hips, your waist, then splay across your belly like he’s imagining it, what it would look like rounded, full with his child. “You’d look so beautiful pregnant.” He groans. “You’re already perfect but… like that? Carrying my baby?” You moan his name and he leans in to kiss you again, slow and open-mouthed. “Want to fill you up.” He breathes. “Want it to take. Want to see you glowing.”

Every thrust now is deliberate and careful, like he’s afraid to spill a single drop outside of you. You feel it in the way he presses deeper, groaning into your ear as your body tightens around him. You fall first, gasping his name as you shudder beneath him. He follows seconds later, pulsing inside you with a broken sound, holding still as deep as he can while his seed spills.

Marcus doesn’t move and doesn’t pull out. Just wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your neck, whispering promises that sound like vows. “I love you. I want this life with you. All of it.” And you know he means it.

Max Philips (Bloodsucking Bastards)

“You know, sweetheart…” Max says, loosening his tie with a flourish as he shuts the bedroom door. “For a guy with eternal youth, you’d think I’d be patient.” He’s not, especially not tonight, when you’re sprawled on the bed in nothing but his oversized dress shirt and that wicked little smile he can never resist. It’s enough to bring out the predator behind his sharp grin. His hunger isn’t just for blood, it’s for you, for your body and for what he wants from your body.

And tonight? He’s decided.

“I want to knock you up.” You blink at him, heat prickling in your cheeks but you don’t look away. And that alone makes him growl. “I mean it.” He says, climbing over you, bracing his hands on either side of your head. “I want you so full of me, you feel it for days, weeks and maybe even months.”

His fangs flash as he smirks, but the look in his eyes is real, almost reverent. “I want to see this gorgeous body round and soft and slow. With my kid inside you. Half vampire, half you.” He leans down, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Beautiful and dangerous.”

You gasp as he slides into you, thick, hard and hot. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, doesn’t even ask. Because you want it, he knows you do. His thrusts are deep, deliberate and claiming. Max kisses you with biting intensity, sharp teeth grazing your bottom lip as he groans into your mouth. “Gonna fuck it into you, sweetheart.” He pants. “Breed you like I own you. Because I do, every inch of you.”

You wrap your legs around his waist and he loses it. One hand grips your hip, the other sneaks between your bodies to rub circles against you, coaxing you closer, begging your body to take everything he gives. He wants it to stick, wants it to grow. When you cum around him, he nearly unravels, shuddering above you, swearing under his breath as he spills deep, pressing his hips flush to make sure nothing escapes. He stays inside you, panting.

Then, with a small smile, he kisses your forehead and whispers.

“Next time? I’ll keep going until your legs give out.”

Maxwell Lord (Wonder Woman 1984)

Max has always been a man driven by dreams. Some of them may be greedy. Some of them are mostly dangerous. But you are the only one he’s ever held like a prayer. Now, after the chaos, the regrets, the redemption… you’re all he wants to build his life around. And tonight, he’s done pretending.

You see it in his eyes when he watches you undress, slow and deliberate, his gaze reverent like you’re made of something sacred. His fingers trace your hip bone, gentle  but trembling slightly. “I want to give you everything I have.” He whispers. “Everything I am.”

You lean in, lips brushing his, voice low. “You already have.” But that’s not enough for Max.

“No, cariño…” He murmurs, hands sliding down to your waist. “I want it to stay. Inside you. I want to put a child in you. My child. Our child.” Your breath hitches. And then he’s kissing you, hard, deep and desperate, like he’s sealing a promise with every touch. When he lays you back on the bed, he worships every inch of you. He doesn't just want your body, he wants your future, to help build your legacy. Something that will live on long after the world stops spinning.

“Gonna fill you up.” He growls softly, pushing into you, slow and thick and deep. “Gonna make sure it takes.” His rhythm is steady at first but his control is fraying. His hand grips the curve of your belly possessively, like he’s already imagining the swell.

“You’ll look so beautiful.” He pants with such need and hunger. “Glowing, full and carrying the future I thought I ruined.” You wrap your legs around him, grounding him in your heat, your need. You tug him deeper, until your hips meet and his composure shatters. He groans your name, his thrusts growing rougher and more frantic, as he fucks you with purpose. Not just to feel good. Not just to chase pleasure. But to breed.

“I need you pregnant.” He rasps. “Need to see you grow with what we made. Need it more than I’ve ever needed anything.” And when you finally cum hard, crying out his name, he follows with a broken reverent sound, spilling deep inside you. Holding himself there, grinding slow and low until he’s sure it’s all buried where it belongs.

When it’s over, Max doesn’t move. He just stays inside you, arms around you, voice rough with awe. “I want our child to have your heart.” He whispers. “They’d be the most precious treasure I’ll ever have next to you.”

Lucien De Leon (The Uninvited)

The moonlight spills through the window, casting long shadows across the room where only you and Lucien exist. The old manor is silent now, save for the soft crackle of the fireplace and the sound of Lucien’s breathing, slightly uneven as his eyes drink you in. You’re splayed out on the plush velvet sheets, your silk nightgown hiked high on your thighs, the delicate straps slipping down your shoulders. He’s kneeling between your legs, still partially dressed, shirt undone and hanging off his shoulders, chest rising and falling with quiet restraint. His dark curls are tousled from your fingers, his lips flushed, pupils dilated as he looks at you like you’re something holy.

“Lucien…” You whisper, breathless already. “What’s going through that mind of yours?”

His voice is a gravelly murmur, rich and low. “You already know.” You do. You’ve seen it in his eyes every time he finishes inside you, how he holds your hips down, how he groans your name like a man lost in a prayer, how his hands linger on your lower belly like he’s claiming it.

But tonight, it’s different. He’s been more intense and more deliberate. You gasp softly when he leans forward, pressing slow kisses along your inner thighs then up your stomach, pausing to rest his lips just beneath your navel. “I want to see you full with my child.” He says, voice trembling with hunger and devotion. “Want to look at you and know I’ve put something inside you that can never be undone.”

Your fingers thread through his hair as his mouth returns to your skin, worshipping every inch. “Lucien…” He groans at how you say his name, like you’re giving him permission to lose control.

“You were made to carry me.” He whispers, kissing higher, his hand splayed possessively over your abdomen. “My wife. My everything. You don’t know what it does to me, thinking about you swollen and glowing, knowing it was me who did it to you.” You arch beneath him, your body already aching for him. He hooks your thighs over his arms as he lines himself up, pausing, always asking with his eyes before he takes.

“Tell me you want it too.” He says, voice ragged. “Tell me you want to be mine like this.”

“I’m already yours.” You breathe. “Give me everything, Lucien.” He sinks into you slowly and fully with a groan that sounds half pained and half desperate. His eyes squeeze shut like he’s overwhelmed by the feeling of you wrapped around him. But it’s not just about pleasure, it’s always more. It’s about belonging, bonding and possession.

He moves with deliberate control, slow and deep, his hands cradling your hips as he thrusts into you like he’s trying to etch himself into your very bones. Every stroke is filled with purpose, with need and with love. “Gonna fill you.” He pants, forehead pressed to yours. “So deep you’ll feel me for days. Gonna make you mine in every way.” Your nails dig into his back as your pleasure rises. You’ve never felt more wanted, more cherished and completely his.

And when he finally spills inside you, he doesn’t just groan, he whimpers, breath hitching, trembling as if the act of giving you his seed is a sacred offering. He doesn’t pull away, instead, he stays pressed to you, deep inside, kissing your damp temple and whispering broken words into your hair. “You’ll take me, won’t you?” He murmurs, thumb brushing your belly again. “Let me give you a piece of me. A future.”

You nod against his neck, already lost in the idea of having his child. “I want it too…” You whisper. “I want all of you.” And Lucien, for all his darkness, his scars and haunted past, glows like a man redeemed by love, by need and by the family you’re about to make.

Oberyn Martell (Game of Throne)

You wake to silk sheets and the weight of his arm draped lazily across your waist, the Dornish heat wrapped around your bodies like a second skin. But even in sleep, Oberyn clings to you, palm splayed over your belly, thumb absentmindedly stroking just below your navel.

As if it’s already begun.

He murmurs something in Dornish into your skin, lips brushing your shoulder. His voice is low, smooth and drowsy with lust and longing. “You feel so soft this morning.” He purrs. “Like you’re ready to be filled again.” You turn to meet his molten gaze and notice he’s already watching you.

He always is.

“I already have eight wonderful daughters and as much I love each and every one of them…” He says, trailing kisses down your collarbone. “I want more with you. I want them born out of love and passion, made purposefully.” The words send heat curling through your belly. He rolls atop you, pressing your thighs apart with one hand, the other cradling your jaw as if he fears you’ll vanish if he doesn’t anchor you there.

“I want to see you swollen with my child.” He whispers against your lips, voice thick. “I want the entire court to see who you belong to. To see you glowing, ripe and sacred.” His thrust is slow, but deep and claiming, like every movement is meant to ensure that you take.

“You’re already perfect.” He groans, grinding his hips in tight circles. “But gods, the thought of you heavy with my seed… carrying the next Sun of Dorne.” His control snaps. He sets a punishing rhythm, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you again and again, chanting your name like prayer between curses in Dornish.

“You’ll take all of me.” He growls, voice shaking. “Every drop, I’ll spill into you until there’s no room left. Until you’re made to carry me.” Your moans blend with his, the sounds of skin meeting skin filling the room like music.

When you come, he holds you down, lets you flutter around him and then thrusts deep, hips locked tight to yours as he pours into you, moaning against your mouth. He stays there, panting and body trembling, his release warm and endless. Then he pulls back just far enough to press his forehead to yours, his hand gently spreading over your belly again. “I hope it took.” He whispers.

Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)

The wind howls outside your tent, thick with desert dust and the quiet hush of a distant, dying battlefield. But inside, there’s only firelight and the weight of him. Pero towers over you, chest heaving, hair clinging to his damp forehead. The moment your armor came off, the moment you let your soft hands ghost over his bruised cheek, he snapped. “You ride into war beside me.” He growls, fingers sinking into your hips. “Fight like a soldier but you’re still mine and I want the world to see it.”

You tilt your head, breath hitching, watching him through hooded eyes. “Then claim me.” That’s all it takes. He surges forward and kisses you like he’s starved, like the only way to make the ache stop is to ruin you with need. Clothes scatter as your back hits the furs and then he’s there, thick and hot between your thighs, dragging the head of his cock against your slick folds, slow and deliberate.

“I’ve been thinking about this for days.” He murmurs, low and rough. “Burying myself so deep inside you you won’t be able to walk without remembering I own you.”

“Do it…” You whisper. “Put a baby in me, Pero.” He shudders, a full-body tremor, and then drives into you, a savage moan ripping from his throat.

“I’m going to breed you.” He snarls, fucking you hard and deep. “Gonna keep you stuffed full of my seed until you take. Until I can see it and feel it growing inside you.” You cry out, each thrust rocking you into the bed, your nails clawing into his shoulders. He lifts your legs, presses your knees back to your chest, getting deeper, rutting into you like it’s the only thing he was ever meant to do.

“You think you’re done after this?” He growls, eyes wild. “No, hermosa. I’ll fill you again and again. I’ll breed you until you beg me to stop.” You come undone around him, trembling, calling his name like a plea and he follows with a broken animalistic groan, spilling himself inside you in wave after wave.

When he collapses over you, still inside and still throbbing, he doesn’t move. He just cradles your face, his voice hoarse. “You’re mine. And soon, you’ll carry proof of it.”

Reed Richards (Fantastic 4)

You’re seated on his lap in the couch inside his lab, surrounded by the hum of machines and half-drawn schematics but Reed isn’t thinking about equations, not at the moment. His hands splay across your bare stomach, thumbs brushing side to side. He’s been quiet for minutes, just content with feeling you.

“What are you thinking about, genius?” You kiss the corner of his mouth. 

His eyes flick up to meet yours, soft and dark with intent. “You…” That’s not surprising. He shifts beneath you, pressing up against your core. “Specifically…” He says, voice husky and low. “About how perfectly your body is calibrated to carry mine.” Your breath catches as he leans in closer, brushing his lips over your jaw.

“I’ve run the numbers.” He murmurs. “Mapped out the ideal conditions for conception. Your cycle, my genetic markers, even optimal positioning. But there’s something even better than science.” He lifts you gently, guiding you down onto his length, slowly and reverently.

“It’s this.” He groans, bottoming out inside you. “The way you take me. The way your body pulls me in. Like it wants to keep me.” You moan, hips rocking instinctively. Reed’s hands grip your waist tightly. “I think about it all the time.” He confesses, voice unraveling. “You, full of me. Your belly round with our child. I’d document every stage. Not because I’m obsessed with data…” He thrusts hard, making you gasp. “But because I’m obsessed with you.”

You bury your hands in his hair, breath stuttering as he thrusts again, precise and deep. “I want to watch you grow.” He whispers. “Want to chart how your heartbeat syncs with theirs. Want to hold you while you carry the future.”

“Reed…” You whimper, your body trembling around him.

His arms wrap around you as he grinds up with a strained groan, burying himself in one long final thrust. “I’m coming.” He growls. “Gonna fill you up. Let it take. Let you carry my brilliance and your beauty in one perfect form.” He pulses deep inside you, holding you tight as he spills into you, a soft gasp catching in his throat. His body quivers beneath you, overwhelmed and undone. And when he finally speaks again, it’s barely more than a whisper against your throat. “We’re going to make something extraordinary.”

Tim Rockford (Merge Mansion)

You were supposed to be helping him sort through another stack of case files. That’s how this started, papers spread across the oak desk, a storm flickering outside the stained-glass windows of the mansion. Tim had removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and got that concentrated furrow between his brows. You’d only meant to walk behind him, gently kiss his cheek. But the moment you whispered. “You’ve been working too hard, baby.” something in him snapped.

Now you’re bent over that very desk, the cool wood against your stomach a shocking contrast to the molten heat of Tim’s hands gripping your hips. His belt hangs loose from one of the brass handles. Papers are fluttering off the desk, forgotten because he’s not thinking about murder or mystery, or Maddie’s grandmother anymore.

He’s thinking about you. His voice is low, gravelly, thick with something darker than usual, it was filled with desperation and need. “Look at you.” He groans behind you, dragging his fingers down your spine before gripping your waist with both hands. “God, sweetheart. You were made for this.”

“For what?” You pant, already shaking.

“For me…” He growls. “To take me. To carry my child.” You gasp at his words, you’ve heard him whisper fantasies like this before, late at night, in bed with your legs trembling around his waist. But tonight he sounds different, he was serious and completely feral. He thrusts into you again, deeper this time, groaning like the pleasure is almost too much. His chest is pressed to your back, his lips brushing your ear. “You like when I say that, don’t you? When I tell you I’m gonna fill you up so good, you’ll have no choice but to take.”

You moan, head falling forward as your hands scramble to hold onto the edge of the desk. Tim’s hand slides from your hip to your belly, palm splayed protectively over your lower stomach. “Want to see you swollen with my baby.” He says, almost reverent. “Want people to look at you and know you’re mine.”

Your whole body pulses at his words. His voice is hot and possessive but there’s love underneath it, filled with worship and devotion. He’s not just claiming you for the sake of control, he’s building a future in his mind. One where you’re barefoot in the kitchen of that damned mansion, glowing with life, your hands resting on a bump that he put there. He’s breathing harder now, thrusts becoming erratic. “I’m close, sweetheart. You’re gonna take every drop. You’ll be dripping with me.”

“Do it.” You whimper, rocking back into him. “I want it, Tim. I want you to put a baby in me.” The way he groans your name in that moment is primal and almost beautiful. He spills into you with a ragged cry, his arms tightening around your waist as if he could anchor you to him forever. You can feel the warmth of him deep inside you, the weight of his body still trembling behind you as he rides the aftershocks.

Neither of you speak for a moment. Then, softly, so softly you almost miss it, Tim presses a kiss to your shoulder and murmurs. “I hope it takes.”

You twist around just enough to meet his eyes, which are wet and glowing with something raw and real. “So do I.” You whisper. And when he kisses you, desperate and slow, full of promise, you know this isn’t just a fantasy anymore. He means it.

[pimosworld]

Pimos world updates

Life has been a little crazy as of late and I wanted to give you all an update. I’m slowly chipping away at my list of wips and I realize I love to bite off more than I can chew but I don’t leave things unfinished so I’m working on it. I’ve been procrastinating by writing Joel Miller one shots so it’s not allll bad.

Unrequited- Santiago Garcia x f!reader x Frankie Morales

I wanted to give the finale my all so hopefully it will be done being edited by Friday.

The ties that bind-Dave York x f!reader x Frankie Morales

Next chapter update April 15th

The sun and the Moon- Moon Boys x f!reader

I was feeling uninspired with this for a long time but got a sudden burst of energy so chapter 2 will be posted sometime within the next week.

Delta Breeze-Joel Miller x f!reader

I got such a great response to Dog Days so I’m working on a smutty one shot…stay tuned.

If you all have any questions or just want to chat about my upcoming projects my inbox is always open. I’m always down to hear your thoughts no matter the level of spice, angst or comedy I’m open to it all.

[penascigarette]

this is every fic I've read since signing up for tumblr less than two weeks ago that has altered my brain chemistry. there are 30 fics on this list and every one is absolutely a banger.

a big thank you to all of you for taking the time out of your days to make ours a little bit brighter ✨️

read the warnings before you indulge in these timeless masterpieces

Acacius

Bloodline - @gutsby

Pairing: Dark!Marcus Acacius x Reader

Summary: The General needs an heir.

Blood Favor - @pedgito

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Summary: A female gladiator plucked from the arena by the most powerful general in Rome, convinced to serve under his command. You learn that his taste for blood might not be so different from your own.

Home - @milla-frenchy

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x fem reader

Summary: Acacius returns from Numidia several months after his departure, and comes back to his wife

Fit for a goddess - @ozarkthedog

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x afab wife!reader

Summary: you wear Marcus’s gold laurel crown while he worships you.

The Farmers daughter- @punkshort

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Summary: Forced to sell your body after your father's farm went under, you find yourself hand picked to service the Roman army on their latest battle away from Rome. What you didn't expect was to be selected to share General Acacius's room for the duration of the journey.

Cosmic love - @kedsandtubesocks

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

Summary: a missing statue, a handsome ancient roman general, an equally handsome museum visitor - and you caught in the magical (and wonderful) mess of it all

Dave York

Let them feel- @guiltyasdave

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader with a side of whichever Pedro boys you want x f!reader

Summary: sooo... yesterday the lovely em @/luxurychristmaspudding posted this poll with the compelling question in a room full of p boys, who is getting you off (in front of everyone else 👀)?, which led to the lovely daphne @/sizzlingcloudmentality posting let them see (go read that asap!), which then led to me asking "hey do you mind if i continue this?" and then writing 2k words in a state that i can only describe as possessed. enjoy <3

Let them see - @sizzlingcloudmentality

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Summary: he gets you off in front of the other guys

Dieter Bravo

It might be nice - @sp00kymulderr

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Summary: It's more than enough. Having what you have with him now.

Frankie

Blindfolded Birthday - @jolapeno

Pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x ofc!reader

Summary: sometimes, it's necessary to blindfold him and use him.

Javier Peña

Unscripted Desire series - @gothcsz

Pairing: javier peña x f!reader

Summary: you’re a camerawoman that shoots pornos. javier peña is the pornstar you can’t stand. why is it that you’re always so affected by him?

Touch tank- @thundermartini

Pairing: javier peña x f!reader

Summary: Javier helps you get over a little self-confidence crisis.

Dirty laundry - @javierpena-inatacvest

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: After waking up on Sunday morning, you and Javi were supposed to start on your to-do list for the day. It doesn't take long for your to-do list to turn into different plans.

Joel Miller

Me on You - @luxurychristmaspudding

Pairing: young!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: after a night out dancing and a lift home turns into something more, you learn something about your dad's buddy.

Fixation - @mssalo

Pairing: joel x f!reader

Summary: You have an oral fixation, and Joel is more than happy to keep your mouth busy.

Night Walks AU - @toxicanonymity

Pairing: neighbor!Joel x f!reader

Summary: This is an AU moreso than a series. Very little plot. Joel, an older neighbor you've been walking with late at night, asks you into his basement to sell him weed. Turns out he's a little obsessed with you. You find him irresistible, despite your initial efforts to stay away.

Daddy Can Fix It - @baronessvonglitter

Pairing: handyman!Joel Miller x fem!plus size!Reader

Summary: All the housewives in your neighborhood rave about the local handyman. And with very good reason.

Tink - @notjustjavierpena

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Summary: You leave a Halloween party to go see Joel but it turns into a horror show when conversation between you takes a poor turn.

Golden - @slowdivinqs

Pairing: Joel x reader

Summary: A Sunday afternoon on your farm with Joel.

Lovers Once a Year - @joelsgoldrush

Pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: One always craves what is out of reach. Like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. Joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. Your very existence marks the path to his ruin. He can't help but follow it.

Road trip - @elflutter

Pairing: bf!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: car sex with joel on the way home from a weekend trip ;)

Halftime - @gutsby

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: A chance meeting a week before Thanksgiving leaves you and your dad’s best friend to handle your feelings the only way you know how: fucking on the couch when your dad falls asleep during the game.

Heartbreak Detergent- @tokkiwrites

Pairing: boyfriend's dad joel miller x reader

Summary: After breaking up with your boyfriend of four years, you’re left heartbroken and desperate to leave it all behind. But as fate would have it, just as you’re about to walk out the door of his house, you run into his fatherㅡ the man who’s always lingered at the edges of your mind. the next sensible thing to do is fuck him.

Someone to be thankful for - @pedrospatch

Pairing: DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

Summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

See You At Three - @almostfoxglove

Pairing: Young!Joel x f!Reader OC (Ellie's aunt)

Summary: When your sister starts working nights, you're stuck with afterschool pickup duty for your eight-year-old niece. You love the kid, so you don't mind. And, sure—maybe you don't mind having an excuse to check out her classmate's dad, Joel, five times a week, either.

Put it in, coach - @magpiepills

Pairing: Joel Miller x f! Reader

Summary: you are an 18 year old high school senior on the cheerleading team, and Joel is the beloved and successful football coach. He helps you with some stretching after practice.

Vicious- @joelmillerisapunk

Pairing: dbf!Joel miller x f!reader

Summary: In the quiet solitude of your own home, you revel in the rare freedom of an empty house, indulging in forbidden pleasures on a hot summer day. The unexpected arrival of your dads buddy Joel turns your casual rebellion into something far more thrilling.

Pretty baby - @mrsmando

Pairing: joel miller x f!reader

Summary: working as a nanny for joel miller is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Juno - @lotusbxtch

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Your honeymoon with Joel is off to a bang.

Roadside - @toomanystoriessolittletime

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Summary: On your way back from a long weekend that you got to spent with Joel, his car breaks down. While you both waited for Tommy to get there to help, Joel has some ideas on how to spend the time waiting.

Difficult - @schnarfer

Pairing: Young!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: How can you be part of a love story when you don’t believe in love?

Things I wrote

Smooth Operator Series

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!phone sex worker

Summary: You unexpectedly find yourself drawn to a new client during a late-night call, who ignites a surprising wave of desire within you. As you engage in a steamy conversation, you realize this encounter is unlike any you've had before, leaving you eager for more and questioning the boundaries of your professional life.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥

summary: every anniversary you reenact the first time Dave marked you.

pairing: alpha!Dave York x omega!fem reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. a/b/o. small chase scene. marking + knotting. it's not that explicit. w.c: 972

author’s note: first time writing a/b/o, so it's a bit rough. pls, be nice to me. thank you @seventeenpins for looking this over and being otherworldly.

for @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality writing through the seasons challenge - thank you so much for hosting!! 💙

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Every anniversary was the same. 

A quaint dinner at the restaurant where Dave took you for your first date. An uncorked bottle of red wine is shared despite spilling some on your dress. A gift from your Alpha, a heart shaped box of chocolates, your favorite, is placed at the center of the table. A hearty meal and reminiscing about the last few years before Dave asks for the check with a smirk.

The yearly ritual started by chance. 

Dave thought it'd be nice to bring you back to where he first sunk his teeth and knotted into you for your first anniversary. Little did he know you'd run off into the woods like a sprite, tempting his inner beast to hunt you down like he did one year ago.

Dusk sets in over the vast field. Vivid hues of violet spill across the skyline, warmed by the setting golden sun. The growing grass is crisp and cold under your bare feet, but still, you run. Untamed nature rushes your senses as you break through the brush and into the forest, thriving with flowers and lively animals, their calls echoing the sensations thrumming through your body. 

It's fitting that Dave marked you during the blossoming season. Your lives interlocked and started anew as the world flourished.

Delirious heat swells from your heart to the feral ache between your legs. A copious layer of slicks stains your inner thighs as you dash under a low hanging branch. Your heart crashes against your ribs, much like the first time Dave stalked you through the dense foliage, chasing his soon to be Omega.

Your wolf is close. 

Your ears twitch, listening for any sound of your mate as you crouch behind a fallen tree. You sense him lingering in the shadows. He huffs through his aquiline nose with fists clenched at his side, ready to pounce in the blink of an eye.

The head start Dave gave you wasn't for you but for him. He favors the rush, the exhilarating thrill of the pursuit. The way your body smells of fear, sweat, and arousal. It lingers in the air, making it all the more irresistible for him.

You both know he'll catch you; it's all a matter of when. 

A branch snaps to your left, so you bolt to the right, emerging from your hiding spot and running as fast as your bare feet will allow. A growl is the only sound you hear before your ankle is kicked out from under you. The wolf is on you before you can gather your bearings, shoving you into the dirt. 

"Silly Omega." His breath is hot against your ear as he settles his full weight on your back and grinds his throbbing length against your ass. 

You try to shove against his weight, but he laughs, deep and devious. He expertly manhandles his prey, gripping the back of your neck until the side of your face is pressed into the ground. The damp dirt is cold against your cheek, smelling of pine and fog, as your fingers stubbornly dig into the soil. 

You debate tossing a handful of soil over your shoulder and into his face, anything to keep the chase alive, but feeling your Alpha smother you into the earthen floor brings the salacious memories of the first time rushing back. 

Dave narrows his opaque eyes at your trembling form. A low growl pours from his throat as you crane your neck further, giving him full access as you finally submit. 

He lowers his head, and his sharp canines graze the scar he imprinted on your neck, the one he maimed you with many years ago. The beast is satisfied. 

"You can take it. You've done it before." He coaxed as you struggled under his hold with a desperate cry.

No matter how aroused you are, his bite still hurts. Your mouth drops open with a petrified gasp as he tears into your skin. He quickly breaks the surface, claiming your mind, body, and soul.

Your spine bows, arching into his chest as pain blossoms into pleasure. A solemn wave rushes down your back and settles heavily in your gut; your cunt pulses around nothing as your mate smothers you into the ground. 

Dave makes quick work of his slacks, grunting as he curls a hand around his length and notches it against your drenched opening. "Good little Omega. So slick for her Alpha." 

You whimper as he stuffs his cock into your warmth with one devastating shove. You claw at the ground, desperation bleeding from your pores for him to give you his knot.

"Got you right where I want you, Omega." Dave hisses as if he can sense your internal struggle.

He extends his hands over yours, interlocking your fingers, forcing you to submit that much more. "You're gonna take my knot, just like you were meant to."

You push back against his length, the obscene amount of slick pour from your slit drives him deeper into your heat earning a feral growl. 

"What a good Omega,” a feral growl rumbles from his sweaty throat, corded veins betraying the rapid beat of his pulse. 

His hips snap, shoving you harder into the dirt with each thrust. Stars explode behind your eyes as you’re forced to come, tempting his knot to expand as you cry out into the darkened woods.

Dave sinks his teeth into a new spot on your neck, marking his claim as he comes. His knot swells, locking your hole closed as he fills you with his seed. Your mind surges into a hazy rapture as you honor another year with Dave. 

"I love you, Alpha," You whimper over your shoulder, catching his solemn gaze before he presses his eyes closed and kisses your dewy temple. "I love you too, Omega."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[h4neypot]

rush – jschlatt

pairing: jschlatt x (fem)reader  summary: your mom married a random guy, making you two move to a new state. you meet your new step-brother who immediately gets on your nerves. when the feeling of lust and want gets too much for you, how far are you willing to go? (my fault: london/culpa mía AU) genre: smut, fluff (?) warning: cursing, step-bro smut, 18+ not edited!

You stay silent, looking out the window, as it was just you and your mom sitting in the car. She was trying to make small talk, but you couldn’t hear any of it over the sound of feeling like your life was ending.

It was, actually. Your mom got hitched with some random guy in New York, and suddenly, you’re dragged into moving out of your home just to be one big family. 

Yeah fucking right.

You were pissed. Florida has been your home since you were born. 

“And you’ll find new friends and maybe a new boyfrie-”

“Oh, fuck you, Mom.” You yell at her, “I love Dave, you know that. You made me leave him behind!”

“I know, sweetie, and I’m sorry, but you’re young and have so much tim-”

“Whatever.” She sighs next to you, knowing your stubborn nature.

“He has a son, Jonathan.”

“Stupid ass name.” 

Your mom tsks at your comment, “He is lovely. You’ll get along.”

“Wake me up when we’re there.”

She didn’t wake you up.

Your mom’s rustic, old car pulls up to the most beautiful house, scratch that, mansion. 

“Since when did New York have big ass houses?”

“We’re in the suburbs, honey. The Hamptons, of all places.”

You whistle in admiration at the large house, knowing this was now your new home. You both get out of the car. 

Michael, your new step-father, was on the steps with his staff. “Welcome!” He goes to kiss your mom on the cheek, and you stand by awkwardly. “Hey!” He says your name warmly, “it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.” You try to smile, but it ends up looking like a grimace. 

You and your mom get settled in; you go to check out your room alone, wanting to give the couple some privacy. The room was huge: a queen sized bed in the middle, a desk with a vanity nearby, and the walk-in closet with beautiful, expensive clothes with tags still on them. Your mom lucked out. “Jesus,” you whisper to yourself, “it’s like we’re in a new dimension.”

You text Dave, wanting to show him the new house, but he responded saying he was busy. Getting bored of just sitting at your bed, you walk down to the kitchen to get a drink. Opening the large fridge door, you look at your choices. To your disappointment, nothing catches your eye.

“What, rich bitches don’t drink fucking Coke?” You roll your eyes, closing the refrigerator. You jump at the tall, big man standing right there next to you. “Holy fuck!”

“Relax.” His voice is deep and smooth. You get a good look at him: he’s tall as fuck, buff as fuck, and oh God, is that a beard? You love beards. 

He interrupts your train of thought, “So you’re the new pet?” 

You make a face, “The fuck?”

He scoffs, “Joking. I’m Jonathan. And you are…?”

“No one laughed. Whatever, dude. Not telling you my name.” You shove past him to go back to your room. He already pissed you off. Great.

“What’s the rush?” He follows you through the kitchen, “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other. Don’t you want to get to know me?” You walk up the stairs as he lingers by the bottom. 

“Go fuck yourself!” You shout as you reach the top, throwing up the middle finger at him.

Pet? Who the hell does this guy think he is? His dad seemed nice enough, but what a jackass. 

Hours pass and it’s time for you to get ready for the family dinner. You think about Jonathan. You didn’t want to admit it, but he was hot. Don’t get it wrong, Dave is a sweet boyfriend. He’s everything you could’ve asked for, but Jonathan is the complete opposite. Dave is sweet, but Jonathan is hot. 

You decide to pull out all of the stops; your mom said this was a fancy restaurant and you knew you had to look your best. You put on a black elegant yet revealing dress ending at your thigh, showing a lot of skin, but just enough to still be considered appropriate. You touched up your makeup, applying gloss to make your lips look plump.

You walk down the stairs again. Jonathan is already at the bottom, dressed in a suit. You felt yourself drooling a bit. He looked really, really good. He looks up from his phone and watches your every step. His sharp eyes are almost too much for you; you could feel the intensity of his stare. You knew you got him. He wants you. 

Smirking a bit, you link arms with him. “Did I keep you waiting long? Sorry, I was getting dolled up.”

He scoffs, “Took you long enough.”

“You look beautiful.” Michael compliments you as he stands near the door with your mom, making you grin. 

You say your thanks, but turn to his son who’s right next to you. “What about you, Johnny? Don’t you think I look pretty?” You pout, jutting your lips out. His eyes focus on them. 

“You look good.” He clears his throat. You grin even more. Checkmate. 

The three of you get into the car, as Jonathan chose to drive his own, and arrive at the restaurant. You internally scoff at the bougie-ness of it all. Your single meal would probably cost your whole month’s expenses. 

Dinner is pleasant. The food is okay. The conversation is really more between your parents. You sit across Jonathan, studying his face and demeanor. Something about him just draws you in. He’s handsome and suave. The way he talks to your mother, answering her incessant questions smoothly kind of turns you on. 

Bored, you start to play footsie with him under the table. You nudge your heel against his leg, seeing his eyebrow quirk up at you. Smirking, you drag your foot higher up his leg. You quirk your eyebrow back at him. He smiles, you can see the corners of his lips lift, but hides it with his hand. What a shame, you think. Michael suddenly asks you a question, and you stop your antics under the table, conversing with him instead. 

It’s nearing the end of the meal, dessert being the only thing left. 

“This was a lovely meal, but unfortunately, I do have to go.” Jonathan dabs his mouth with his napkin before placing it on the table.

“Oh,” your mom sounds genuinely disappointed, “you won’t stay for dessert?”

“I would love to, but I made plans prior to this. It’s my friend’s birthday, so I do have to go.” 

“Who’s birthday?” Michael asks.

“Ted’s.” 

“Oh, why don’t you bring her with you?” Michael suggests, nodding towards you. “Ted is one of Jon’s closest friends. You’d get along with his girlfriend.”

“Sounds like a great idea!” Your mom claps excitedly, wanting you to adjust to the new life with new people.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jonathan starts to protest.

“Nonsense,” Michael cuts him off. “You’re taking my car, therefore, if you’re leaving this dinner, you’re taking her with you.” 

“Do you even want to go?” Jonathan asks, staring right at you. You know he’s silently begging you to say no. 

“I actually would love to.” You smile, looking right back at him. He rolls his eyes. 

“Great! Okay, go on. Have fun, be safe.” Michael grins. 

“Bye, love you.” You kiss your mom on the cheek.

You and Jonathan walk out the restaurant, heading towards his car. You roll your eyes. Of course he has a sports car. He opens the door for you, and you get in. 

“You should’ve said no. I’m taking you back home.” He shakes his head. “Buckle up.”

“Nope!” You cross your arms and grin, “You’re taking me with you.”

“I’m not playing around. Where I’m going isn’t for a doll like you.” He starts driving. You blush slightly at the compliment. 

“I can handle it.”

“You’re stubborn, Doll.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m telling you I can handle it.”

“Can you handle this?”

He speeds up suddenly. The car is going way past the speed limit, he’s zipping between cars, and he’s drifting corners. You look at him focused on his reckless driving. He’s facing the road, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and occasionally licking his lips. His eyes have a fire to them, either passion or excitement or maybe both.

He’s hot. Fuck, your step-brother is hot.

He slows down. “You alright, Princess?”

“First it’s Doll, now it’s Princess? How many can you come up with?”

“As many as you want.” Jonathan winks at you.

“I’m fine. Racing isn’t new to me. Let’s go.”

“Alright, if you say so. Don’t go crying to mommy about it.” 

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes. 

The rest of the drive is silent, and you still don’t know where exactly you’re going. It isn’t until he pulls up to a parking lot where you realize. There are tens of sports cars and hundreds of people. Street racing. 

“Yo.” Jonathan greets a guy who you assume is Ted. 

“Hey Schlatt. Who’s this?” He nods towards you.

“Hi,” You introduce yourself and your name. 

“I’m Ted!” He grins and points to the woman next to him, “and this is my girlfriend, Grace.”

“Hey!” Grace smiles as well. She seems nice.

“Nice to meet you both!”

“First time?” Grace asks as the two guys start talking to the side. 

“Not really.” You shrug, “I used to race.”

“No way! You up to race tonight?”

“Oh, not at all. I got in an accident once, never again.” Your phone buzzes. You got a text from an unknown number. Eyebrows furrowed, you open it. You gasp at the photo sent: it’s a picture of your best friend and boyfriend kissing. 

Grace looks over your shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

You scoff. “This is my best friend,” you zoom into her face, “and this is my boyfriend.” You zoom into his.

“No fucking way.” Grace gasps. “Bitches.”

“I can’t believe it.” You shake your head. You feel betrayed. You feel angry, humiliated, and hurt.

“You gotta get back at him.” 

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Orrrr,” She drags, “you send him a picture of you making out with someone hot.”

“You’re a genius and I already love you.”

“A simple thank you would’ve worked, but I’ll take it. You’re lucky you’re here tonight. Lots of hotties. Lots of ‘em.” She scans the area. 

You look around you as well. There are plenty of cute guys. You pick one out in the crowd. You ruffle up your hair, fix your gloss. “I’ll be back.” 

“Go get ‘em!” She cheers behind you. 

You start flirting. It’s a simple thing, really, getting a man to be interested. You ask him about his car, letting him explain everything to you as if you already don’t know the answer yourself. You giggle at his lame jokes, you lean over so he has a clear view into your dress. You lean into his ear, “Hey, wanna go somewhere quieter?”

“Lead the way.” He smirks. 

Bingo.

You grab his hand, bringing him to Jonathan’s car. There’s no time to really waste, you grab him by his collar and make out with him. You take your phone in your hand, making sure to take photos while kissing him. It’s not great, too much tongue in your opinion. The photos are all you need though, so you keep kissing him. 

“Couldn’t find anywhere else to do this shit?”

You pull away, hearing him groan. “Sorry?”

You turned to see Jonathan standing there with his arms crossed.

“Chris, get the fuck off my car. Get out of my face.”

The guy, who you now know is Chris, scrambles off the hood. “Yeah, sorry bro.”

He leaves without even sparing a glance at you. You scoff. Fucking bitch boy. 

“What the hell.” You throw your hands up. “I was busy.”

“Yeah, busy making out with a loser.” Jonathan scoffs. He steps closer to you. “Didn’t take you to be a whore.”

“I’m not a whore.” You feel yourself getting defensive.

“Why Chris?”

“I just need to make out with someone attractive. My now ex-boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend. I got a picture of them making out. I’m sending him pictures of me making out with someone else as revenge.”

“That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.” 

You pout. “I dunno. I thought it was a good idea…” you trail off. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.

You don’t even notice Jonathan getting so close. Before you know it, his face is right there above you. The height difference makes you squirm.

He tips your head up, lifting your chin with his finger. “Wanna make him really jealous?” 

“Uh,” You don’t know what the fuck is going on. “Sure?”

“Doll, you into me?” 

You turn red. “What?”

He laughs. “Come on, Doll. I see the way you’ve been looking at me. You want me. Don’t worry, I want you too.”

He drops his finger and picks you up so you’re sitting on the hood of his car. He stands in between your legs. “You’ve been teasing me all day. Just say the words and I’m all yours.”

He’s so close to your face, you feel his breath on your face. His lips are so close to yours. 

“I want you.” 

That triggers Jonathan into action. He leans forward, putting his lips onto yours. He’s so much better than Chris. He kisses you eagerly, molding your lips with his. You moan slightly at the impatient nature of his kissing. He slips his tongue into your mouth with the opening. You tangle your fingers into his curls, trying to bring him closer. You want him to consume you whole. 

He sucks on your tongue slightly before pulling away. You whine unconsciously. He chuckles, “Don’t worry, we’re not finished. Let’s go somewhere else, yeah Doll?” You nod and jump off the hood. He smacks your butt as you walk towards the passenger seat. You roll your eyes at the action before he opens the door for you. 

The car is suffocating. You feel the tension, heavy and eager. You feel restless, shaking your leg slightly in anticipation. He’s so hot and this is so wrong, but it felt so good, you wanted more. 

He’s driving with one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh. His hand looks so big gripping your thigh. You wonder what it would feel like to have his fingers inside of you. You squirm at the idea. 

You feel him glancing at you every so often, but you keep your gaze straight ahead. 

“What’re you thinking, Doll?”

You turn to face him. He glances at you back. “Nothing.”

He squeezes your thigh, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

You fidget with your fingers, “Your hands. They’re really big. Wanted to know how they’d feel.”

You see him smirk, a part of you hates feeding his ego. “Yeah? Was that so hard to admit?”

“Fuck off.”

“I get that you’re stubborn, but in the end, you’ll be begging me to fuck you anyways. You either act like a brat and get treated like one, or we can just be honest and have some fun.”

You sputter a bit at him being so straightforward, but you don’t know what to say.

“Doll, you’re beautiful. I wanted you ever since I saw you get out of the car from the window. I want you now. I know it’s weird, but don’t think about it. You want me too, right?”

You sigh, it’s the only thing you want right now. “Yes.”

“Good. We’re almost there.”

You have no idea where you’re going, again, but the GPS says there’s twenty minutes left. You sigh and look out the window, bored. You start playing with his fingers from his hand on your leg. You smile a bit to yourself as you decide to have some fun.

You grab his hand, lifting it towards your mouth. Looking right at him, you take one of his fingers and put it in your mouth. It’s long, but you take it all the way down.

“Fuck, Doll.” He glances between you and the road. “You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you grin, “someone’s not keeping me company.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“What?” You feign innocence, “Nothing wrong with keeping myself busy.”

You take another finger into your mouth, making eye contact as you go from the top to bottom. 

“Alright. That’s enough.” He pulls over to the side of the road. It’s dead at night with no cars coming on the small road. 

“Hey!” You pout, “we’re not there yet.” 

“You’re being a tease and a brat. You don’t get to be fucked in the vacation home. You’re getting fucked on the side of the road like the whore you’re acting like.”

You can’t lie, you feel turned on just from those words. 

He gets out of the car and walks over to your side. He opens the door and holds out his hand. “Come on, we’re going to the back.” 

The two of you sit in the back seat. It’s hard with him being over six foot, but you make it work. You sit on his lap, body fully draped over his. His big hands are on your hip, balancing you on his lap. The two of you make out for what feels like hours. You whine a bit, wanting more.

“What’s wrong, Doll?”

“Enough kissing. I want you to fuck me.”

He pretends like he’s deep in thought. “I don’t know, you were kinda annoying the whole day.”

Rolling your eyes, you nudge his shoulder, “Fuck off.”

“Fuck you.”

“You want to.”

He scoffs at that, “You want me to fuck you already. Without any foreplay. You’re more desperate for it than me.” 

“Well, maybe I am. I’ll just go back to Chris and get fucked by him inste-“ You move to get off his lap, but are stopped by Jonathan’s hands firm on your waist.

“No.” He growls, “You are not going to him. You’re mine tonight.”

“So make me yours.” You say, keeping eye contact with him.

He starts kissing at your neck, trailing down from your jaw to your chest. His hand ghosts over the nape of your neck, fidgeting with your dress zipper. He pulls it down, revealing your chest. He places kisses further down, trailing all over your breasts. He maintains eye contact with you the whole time, seeing you squirm at the feeling. He sucks at the top of your breast, leaving a mark just above your nipple. He licks at each nipple, making you whine at the sensation. 

He pulls away and grins. “Come on, Doll. Get your dress off.” With some maneuvering, you fully take off your dress and he manages to take off his jeans. 

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers, and it makes you blush. It almost feels like he means it.

“Not too bad yourself.” That’s an understatement. Jonathan looks so fine with his messy hair and lips red and swollen. You palm his cock through his boxers, feeling the length and hardness. He moans a bit at the sudden touch. You pull it out, pumping it to see the full length, drooling a bit at how big it is. 

“Next time you can put it in your little mouth, but right now, I’m going to fuck the shit outta you.”

He lifts you up and lines himself up to your hole, teasing by sliding it against your lips.

“Jonathan, please.” You whine. 

“You sure?” He looks serious. 

You nod and lean in against his ear, whispering “Fuck me so I can’t walk for a week.” 

He grins widely, lowering you onto his cock. You’re so wet it slides in, regardless of the big size. 

The car fills with the sounds of your two moans. He doesn’t move for a second, letting you adjust to him. “Okay.” You nod. “I’m good.”

He kisses your cheek, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

You nod again. Jonathan lifts you up easily, holding onto your two thighs. He drills into you, keeping a fast and quick pace. You can’t help but moan at every thrust. 

“So good, Doll.” He groans, “Look at you, being a filthy fucking slut. Getting fucked by your step-brother. Getting turned on by him. Such a whore.”

You close your eyes and face the window, the taboo nature of it all finally hitting you, but it just turns you on even more. 

He chuckles, using one hand to grab your face. His fingers grip onto your cheeks. “Look at me. Look at your step-brother while he fucks you.”

You clench at his words. “God, Doll. I could fuck you all day. You want that? Huh? You want me to fill you up every single day? Sneak into your room at night and fuck the shit outta you?”

You moan loudly, “I can’t hear you, Doll. Use your words.”

“Yes! God, yes. Please.” You whine.

“So eager to please. So desperate, huh? Need your big brother to fill up your slutty hole.” 

He grabs his phone, “Let’s have something for your ex-boyfriend to think about, yeah?” He pulls up the camera app, recording but having the camera face the floor of the car. 

The idea of him recording this should make you freak out, but it just turns you on more. You whimper, trying to be quieter. 

“Come on, Doll. Let him know how good I make you feel. Tell Dave how I’m fucking you.” 

He thrusts into you faster, pulling your hair slightly along with it. You whine at a high pitch. 

“Say how you feel right now.” Jonathan pulls tighter.

“It feels good!” You cried out. “You fuck me so good, Jonathan. I love your cock, fuck.”

You stare into his eyes, seeing them get darker. “Good girl. Say something to Dave.”

“What?” You sobbed, Dave was the last thing on your mind. 

He drags you down with your hair, whispering into your ear “Tell him how much better I am, how he’s never made you feel like this.” 

“You’re so much better than Dave, Jonathan.” You sobbed, “He’s never made me feel so good. You’re filling me up so well.” 

“Good.” He ends the recording, throwing the phone into the driver's seat. He continues his strong pace. 

“Jonathan, I’m close!” The pressure builds up from inside and you can’t help but chase the feeling. You start pushing down onto his cock, wanting to climax.

“Good girl, working for it, yeah?” He lets go of your face, putting both hands onto your waist. His grip is tighter than ever and he quickens the pace. The pain of his grip and the thrusts escape you as the only thought in your mind is to orgasm. You need to cum. 

You don’t really remember what you say - begging, pleading, and moaning so loudly, you knew you’d be embarrassed. 

The shockwaves wash over you; his final thrust pushes you over the edge. He follows quickly after, filling you up with his seed. You whimper at the feeling of it entering you.

“Fuck.” He pants. “Shit.” 

You stay there, his cock still inside of you. You lay your head on his shoulder, both of you catching your breaths.  

“So.” You break the silence. “That was good.”

“Good? Shit, Doll, I expected a little more than just good.” He laughs.

You punch his shoulder, “It was amazing. Thank you.” You kiss his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry if I was rough.”

“I liked it.”

He slaps your ass. “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up and go home.”

He lifts you up, and you wince at not being able to feel your legs. Jonathan grabs tissues from the front, wiping you down. You smile at how gentle he’s being. “Thanks.”

He just nods. Moving to grab your clothes, he puts on your panties, lets you put your arms through the dress straps. He gets out of the car, walking around to get your door. You try to stand, but you just can’t.

“What?” He asks, confused.

“I,” You cover your face with your hands. “I can’t stand up.”

Jonathan laughs. Laughs harder than you ever heard him. “Oh, you poor thing.” 

“Come here.” He gestures to you to move towards the door. You scoot over to the edge of the seat. He picks you up, bridal style, and opens the door of the passenger seat. Gently, he places you down and pulls on the seatbelt for you. Buckling it in, he closes the door and you smile at him through the window. He gets into the drivers seat, setting up the GPS to go home.

The windows are open and his playlist softly plays in the background. You hum along the lyrics, trying to fathom what the hell just happened. You giggle at the idea of telling Dave you fucked your step-brother.

“What’s so funny?” Jonathan asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Just thinking about how Dave would freak at what just happened.”

He hums, “Yeah, I got the recording. I feel like it’s better than those fuck ass kissing photos with Chris.” 

Sending the video from his phone to yours, you craft a text to send to him.

you: found a much better fuck than you could ever be :) we’re done, lose my number (attachment: video)

“Sent!” You giggle as you see that the text and video were delivered. You see Jonathan smirk a bit. 

Immediately, Dave sends you multiple texts, even starts spam calling you. 

You scoff, “Couldn’t call me at all once I moved, but all of a sudden he’s free?”

Jonathan chuckles at that, but puts out his hand. You quirk an eyebrow, but he just nods at you. You give him your phone. To your horror, he answers Dave’s call.

You can hear your ex-boyfriend’s voice through the phone.

“What the fuck was that vide-” 

“Listen, fucker. You cheated on her with her best friend, and she found someone better. Don’t worry about it, I’ll treat her right. You heard in the video, right?” 

“Who the fuck is this?” 

“None of your business. Lose the number. She’s blocking you.” Jonathan hangs up and hands it back to you. “You’re blocking his number now.”

You can’t help but tease. “But what if I don’t wanna?”

He says your name threateningly, “You’re not talking to him anymore. You’re not talking to anyone anymore.”

“Says who?”

“Says your step-brother who wants to protect you.” He smirks.

You roll your eyes, “You’re such a loser.”

“Not what you were saying ten minutes ago, Doll.”

“Shove it.”

He pulls up to the house, parking next to another expensive car. He turns the car off, taking out the key. Turning to face you, he smirks.

“So, same time next week?”

(taps mic) ahem. yes. so basically i watched culpa mía and my fault: london and thought schlatt was so nick coded. there was so much more i wanted to add (schlatt street racing scene???!!???!!) but idk car terminology like that so it would not have turned out good LOL changed some plot from the movies ofc but still is very similar i did not edit this piece so sorry if it's not the best.. also my first smut post AWOOGA