#go and study now - he's watching and counting your sins

[v6quewrlds]

&.⠀⠀LOVESTONED i⠀⋆⠀SIDNEY CROSBY.

pairing⠀⁎⠀sidney crosby x banker!reader. word count⠀⁎⠀9.7k.

summary⠀⁎⠀after your younger brother is drafted to the penguins, the only things keeping you from giving in to his captain's intensely magnetic gravitational pull are a busy work schedule and the plexiglass barrier between you.

author's note⠀⁎⠀part one of a multi-part series i'll come back to from time to time. warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, smut, fingering, blowjob, there's an age gap, but it's not the main focus, reader is an investment banker in her late 20s (not an important detail in this part)

Las Vegas was blindingly bright, even at night, the neon lights casting a colorful glow on the faces of the passersby. Since you touched down in Sin City the previous morning, you felt a permanent headache embed itself behind your eyes. You weren't used to the flashing billboards, the perpetual stream of music, or the heavy perfume of cigarette smoke that lingered in the air. The only thing keeping you going was the excitement of the NHL Entry Draft.

Your brother Isaac, the baby of the family, was up for selection. At nineteen, he was already taller than most of the other players, with the same rich brown skin and piercing gaze as your father. The teenager had spent the day in a dizzying round of interviews, meet-and-greets, and endless handshakes. But now, as you sat in the packed arena, the moment of truth was upon you.

You clutched your phone, scrolling through messages from friends and family, offering a silent prayer for Isaac's success. When the announcement came, the room erupted. Your heart soared as you watched your brother's name flash across the screen: the 5th overall pick for the Pittsburgh Penguins. The crowd roared, and your parents leaped to their feet, cheering and hugging. Isaac, dressed in a sharp suit that made him look far beyond his years, took the stage, beaming with pride and disbelief. He embraced the Penguins GM, donned the team cap, and smiled for the cameras.

"The Penguins. Geno Malkin, Kris Letang, and Sidney Crosby," your mother gushed, her eyes wide with excitement.

"He's shitting himself," your father added, chuckling. "Imagine playing alongside Crosby, the kid might not make it through the season without a fainting spell."

Isaac had grown up idolizing Sidney Crosby. Posters of the legendary player adorned his childhood walls, his stats taking up a permanent residence in the younger son's brain. Despite having been born the year Crosby was drafted, Isaac had studied every move, every play, every interview, dreaming of the day he finally worked hard enough to share the ice with his hero.

That day came, quick and highly anticipated, in Isaac's first practice as a Penguin. You dutifully indulged Isaac in his second-by-second retelling of every split second shared with the legend on the ice.

His starry-eyed account did little justice to the man that Sidney Crosby truly was in person. You had to admit, watching the legend in action was nothing short of mesmerizing. Your first home game in attendance left you in awe of the team's dynamic, especially Sidney's unrivaled skill. You found yourself looking for him on the ice, your eyes tracing the path of the puck as he weaved through the opposing team's defense with an elegance that seemed almost supernatural.

It was at the Family Skate that you finally had the chance to meet him. The rink buzzed with excitement, the clang of skates and the echo of laughter reverberating through the cavernous space. You held onto the bar, your legs wobbly from nerves and inexperience. You hadn't been on the ice since you were a teenager. Isaac was more than critical of your form, offering unsolicited advice that you mostly ignored.

"You're embarrassing me," Isaac called out to you, a hint of amusement in his voice. You shot him a glare before your skate caught a rut in the ice.

"Shut up, give me a second to remember how to do this," you called back, trying to balance yourself. You finally found your center of gravity, huffing as you looped your arm in Isaac's. "If I go down, I'm taking you with me."

Isaac just grinned, his teeth flashing in the bright arena lights. "Careful, might trip on your ego," he teased before pushing off to increase your glide, laughing as you swatted at him.

It was during one of these wobbly attempts to keep up with your brother that you collided with a solid mass. Your skates scraped against the ice, kicking up a spray that momentarily panicked you. Strong hands caught you before you could face-plant into the frozen surface. You looked up into the surprised, yet amused eyes of Sidney Crosby. His grip was firm, his smile even more disarming in person than it was in the countless magazine covers and commercials you'd seen.

His eyes crinkled at the edges, gifting his sharp, angled edges a hint of softness that wasn't usually captured by the cameras. Your heart stuttered in your chest. "You okay?" he asked, his accent thick, comforting, utterly overwhelming as it filled the space between you.

"Yeah," you managed, your voice shakier than your legs had been a second ago. "Thanks. I'm so sorry, I haven't skated in forever."

Sidney chuckled, a sound that seemed to resonate in the very air around you. "It's alright, I've had worse spills on this ice." He seemed to hesitate before letting you go, his eyes lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary.

"You gonna introduce me to your sister, rook?" Authority leaked into his tone, coloring his words with a playful assertion that, admittedly, made your head spin.

"Oh, right," Isaac said. He looked from Sidney to you. "Sid, this is my sister, Y/N."

Sidney offered his hand, a gesture that seemed almost too formal amidst the casual setting. You took it, your palm fitting snugly into his much larger one. His grip was firm but gentle as he helped you regain your balance. A jolt shot through your limbs at the contact, further liquefying your already compromised resolve. You could feel your cheeks warm under the weight of his gaze, your eyes flickering to the logo emblazoned on his jersey.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Sidney said, his voice curling softly around the syllables as they left his mouth.

You managed a nod, the heat from his touch lingering. "It's an honor."

"I gotta go rescue Mom. Just keep it together, I'm trying to maintain a reputation," Isaac whispered to you before skating off towards your mother, who was clinging to your father's arm like a lifeline on the unsteady ice.

Sidney watched him go, a laugh erupting through his chest and shaking his shoulders. "He's a good kid. Got a nice head on his shoulders, eh?"

You poked your tongue at your cheek as you focused on not falling over again. "Yeah, he's a good kid. It's nice that we're living together again. I missed him when I went off to college."

Sidney nodded. "So, you're older, then?"

You smirked. "By a few years, yeah. I'm twenty-eight."

Sidney's gaze grew contemplative, the back of his hand gently brushing against yours as you swayed on the ice. "Twenty-eight, huh?" he murmured. "I'd never have guessed."

You raised an eyebrow. "In a good way or a bad way?"

Sidney smirked. "In a nice, neutral kinda way." His eyes swept over your side profile. There was a flirtatious air to the conversation that seemed to thicken the cold air around you.

He was magnetic. All broad shoulders and confidence, his movements on the ice so fluid it was like watching poetry in motion. There was a pull in his gaze, an ease to his questions as if he were made to charm the answers right out of you.

For all his magnetism, there was acute awareness of the eyes. Thousands of fans peered down at you from the stands, their conversations carrying like the rustle of leaves in a breeze. You weren't speaking about anything of particular importance, but you felt as if you were under a microscope. The thought was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. You didn't dare linger too long, didn't dare to move any closer to him for fear of what it might imply. Sidney seemed unfazed by the scrutiny, his gaze focused squarely on you as you skated in slow, easy circles.

"You've got a good stride," he said, his voice a slow rumble. "You're a natural."

You laughed. "Hardly. I'm trying my best not to make a fool of myself out here."

Sidney's smile grew wider. "Well, compared to your mom, I'd say you're doing pretty well." He cast a glance over his shoulder where, sure enough, your mother was flailing about on the ice with a grace that suggested she'd been meant to keep her feet firmly on the ground. You couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and genuine.

"Still, I think I should try and get some more practice before you start calling me a natural," you said. You couldn't help the slow rise of warmth in your chest when your eyes met his again. You had to stop skating soon, you knew. The ice was crowded, and you were all too aware that any moment could be the one where someone decided you had been talking for too long to be an innocent conversation.

"Well, I'd love to see you again. It's nice to see fresh faces around here." It was simple and casual, but the way Sidney's eyes held yours made your stomach flip. You nodded, your smile feeling a bit too wide as you watched him skate away.

From that moment, you were hooked.

You found yourself attending every home game you could, your eyes drawn to Sidney's movements on the ice like a moth to a flame. In the crowded family section, you’d spot him, and you’d exchange glances here, a smile there. The air grew charged with a tension that made your pulse quicken. You flirted from afar, all smoldering looks and casual touches, leaving you breathless.

The Penguins' holiday party was in full swing, the guests buzzing with laughter and conversation. Isaac insisted on taking you after mentioning it was mildly upsetting to see his older sister with no plans. You relented, quite easily, with a pinch to his side. The party was a blur of faces, mostly teammates and their significant others, and the occasional awkward encounter with your brother's new teammates.

Sidney spotted you from across the room, his gaze lingering for a beat too long before he excused himself from his conversation with Rust. You felt his hand on your elbow, turning you to face him, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin. "Hey, it's good to see you out of the stands."

The smile that bloomed on your face was almost involuntary. "Isaac dragged me with him, kicking and screaming," you teased, taking him in as he stood before you. Those familiar crinkles around his eyes had deepened with age, adding a depth to his handsome features that had only grown more appealing with time.

"I'm sure he did," Sidney said, his voice low and playful. The party was in full swing, the air thick with the smell of pine and spiced cider. Lights twinkled from the ceiling, casting a warm glow on the faces of the players and their families. The music played in the background, a mix of Christmas classics and modern hits that seemed to be on an endless loop. "I'm glad you came."

He began to move, feet shuffling slowly as if he expected you to follow. You found yourself doing just that, your nerves spiking for a moment before catching the softest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his pink lips. "Have you had something to drink?" he asked as you made your way to the bar.

"Oh, I'm not drinking tonight. I'll probably be driving Isaac home," you nodded toward your younger brother, who was busy charming a group of women nearby, a cup of watered-down eggnog in his hand.

Sidney nodded. "Fair enough. Water for you, then?"

"That’d be great, thanks," you replied, your eyes following Isaac as he regaled the group with some story you'd heard a hundred times before. You felt a warmth beside you, a comfort that was entirely unfamiliar yet somehow welcome. Sidney leaned against the bar, both elbows propping him up as he ordered drinks for you. He was dressed casually, a stark contrast to his usual game-day attire. The sight of him in a simple black sweater and jeans made him seem more approachable, less like a hockey god and more like a man you could actually get to know.

You talked about the game, the upcoming schedule, and your favorite holiday traditions. The conversation flowed naturally, a dance of words that kept the tension simmering just below the surface. You felt like you could listen to Sidney's voice all night, the way it wrapped around every word like a warm blanket.

By the time the drinks really started flowing, you found yourselves tucked away into a dimmer corner. You stood chest to chest, leaning a shoulder against the wallpapered wall of the private room reserved for the party. You felt the weight of his gaze, the way heat rolled off of Sidney’s body, the way he seemed to edge closer to you with every sip of his drink. His hand dangled close to yours, so close you were sure that if you just extended your fingers a smidge, they’d brush together.

But it was his words that had your pulse racing. They’d turned flirty, playful, and you found yourself matching his tone, playing along as if you were in a secret club of two. The conversation grew more intimate, more personal, until you were sharing whispers with an undertone of attraction that seemed too raw to be uttered in such a public space.

"I've noticed you at the games," Sidney said, his eyes scanning the room before returning to yours. "You get pretty into it. There's a lot of passion hidden under there." He motioned toward you, his words accentuated by a chuckle that made your knees wobble.

"I'm a pretty passionate person," you admitted, your voice a soft murmur against the background chatter. You took a sip of your non-alcoholic eggnog, the sweetness coating your tongue. You felt Sidney's hand brush against yours, a gesture so subtle you might’ve imagined it.

"I'd love to see more of that passion," Sidney said, his eyes darkening. "Maybe even get to know it better, up close? I could use more passion."

Your eyebrow quirked up, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. You were playing with fire, you knew, but you couldn't help yourself. He was just too tempting, too close, too everything you'd ever wanted. "I think that could be arranged," you replied.

A strong hand reached out, finding your hip, searing heat into your skin through the fabric of your red dress. His thumb drew lazy circles that made your stomach somersault. "I can work with that," Sidney murmured, his voice dropping lower in your ear. "We can talk more, just the two of us."

Every bit of you was straining to retain composure. The hand on your hip, the heat of his body, so close you could feel it through his clothes—it was too much. Your mind was racing, trying to grasp the reality of the moment. This wasn’t a distant crush anymore; it was a tangible invitation, a possibility laid out before you. "Where would we go?" you managed to ask, your voice breathier than you would have liked.

Sidney leaned in, his breath a warm whisper against your neck. "Somewhere quiet, where we can actually hear each other." His hand squeezed your hip gently, urging you closer. His eyes half-lidded, he searched your gaze, looking for any hint of hesitation. You felt the world around you fade away, the music and chatter of the party a distant echo in your ears. The only thing that mattered was the magnetic pull between you, the electric current that seemed to arc through the air.

You couldn't respond, your hand reaching up to travel over his forearm and curl over his bicep. Your pulse hammered in your throat. You were still in public, surrounded by his teammates and their families, yet it felt like you were the only two people in the room. "I'd like that," you murmured, your voice a mere breath.

There was a pull between you, like gravity had decided you were the only two stars in the sky. You felt your body leaning into Sidney’s touch, your hand tightening around his arm, drawing him closer. The air was thick with anticipation, and you could see in his eyes that he felt it too. He leaned in, your faces so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips, and whispered, "Come back to my place."

As if sensing your internal struggle, Sidney’s hand tightened around your hip. "He won’t think too hard of it. Tell him you found a ride home." The tip of his nose nudged against the line of your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. You swallowed hard, trying to process what was happening. It was difficult, almost impossible to think straight with Sidney’s body heat surrounding you, his hand caressing your skin, his breath tickling your ear.

You swallowed deeply, your eyes closing for a brief second. When you opened them, you saw the sincerity in Sidney’s gaze, the hopefulness that made your heart flutter. You nodded, the decision made before you could second-guess yourself. "Okay, I’ll go find him."

There was an authority to the curt nod Sidney gave you that sent a thrill down your spine. You took a deep breath and pushed away from the wall, smoothing your dress as you made your way over to where Isaac was still holding court with Rutger in tow, both of them laughing at something you hadn’t heard. "Isaac," you called out, tapping his shoulder blade, "I'm gonna head home. I’ve got a headache."

Your brother spared you a brief glance. "Are you taking the car?"

"No," you said, your voice steady despite the tremble in your hands. "I found a ride. I’ll see you at home." You didn’t dare look at Sidney, who was now watching you with a smoldering gaze from across the room. You knew if you did, you might just forget your words and drag him out of the party right then and there.

Just as Sidney had promised, Isaac didn’t think twice about the excuse. With a simple, "Text me when you get home. I’ll crash with Rut," he turned back to his conversation, leaving your heart racing and your mind reeling. You turned back to Sidney, who was watching you with a knowing smile, his eyes holding the slightest bit of I told you so in them. You took a deep breath and stepped closer to him, feeling his hand slip around your waist and pull you into his side.

You left the party with the same ease that you'd arrived, blending into the cool winter night like shadows. His car was sleek, with dark paint that reflected the lights of the city as you sped away from the arena. Inside, the leather seats were warm, and the music was low. His hand found your thigh, slowly creeping higher, making you squirm with anticipation.

"Sensitive," he murmured, his thumb moving in gentle circles on your thigh. "I like that." His voice was a warm caress, sending a shiver down your spine.

You bit your lip in an effort to suppress the whine that threatened to escape. You had never been one to handle teasing well, and Sidney seemed to have a keen sense for it. You leaned into him, your hand coming to rest over his hand. "You're terrible," you said with a shaky laugh.

Sidney smirked, his eyes staying glued to the road. "Oh, I'm just getting started," he assured you, his voice low and husky. The drive to his place was a blur of anticipation and excitement. Your heart felt like it might burst from your chest as you felt his hand move higher up your leg, his fingertips grazing the hem of your panties.

It was maddening, the way you could feel your pulse racing, your breath coming in shallow gasps, while Sidney remained so calm and composed, navigating the car through the quiet streets just outside of Pittsburgh. Your hand tightened on his, silently begging for more, but he was in control, master of the slow burn, and you knew it.

The moment they crossed the threshold of Sidney's home, the dam of your restrained desire burst. You were on each other, kisses deep and hungry, his hands mapping the curves of your body as you clawed at his clothes. Your breaths came out in pants as Sidney's strong hands cupped your ass, lifting you against his body, your legs wrapping around his waist.

"God," you gasped as Sidney pressed you against a wall, his mouth moving to your neck, kissing and licking at the sensitive skin there. Your legs tightened around his waist, your black high heels glossy under the dim lights of his hallway, as you tried to get as close to him as you could. His hands roamed up your body, squeezing at your breasts over your dress and making your nipples peak.

"Perfect fuckin' tits," Sidney groaned into your neck, his voice thick with lust. His hands found the straps of your dress and with one deft move, he had it pooling around your waist. You gasped as his thumbs grazed the sensitive skin of your breasts, the coolness of the air contrasting with the heat of his touch. His head dipped to kiss the plush fat of your cleavage, making your hips rock against his growing erection.

He palmed one of your breasts, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it pebbled under his fingertips, making you whine with need. "Please," you whispered, your voice needy and desperate. Sidney chuckled darkly, his eyes meeting yours, filled with a fiery passion you hadn't seen before.

"Sensitive and eager," Sidney murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing your neck before he captured your mouth in a searing kiss that made your toes curl in your heels. His hands slid over your hips, holding you in place as he ground his clothed cock against you. Your moan was muffled by his mouth, your hands fisting in his hair as you tried to pull him even closer. The kiss grew wilder, his tongue delving deep, tasting you, claiming you in the most primal way.

Your entire body burned as if dipped in fire, your breaths grew erratic as Sidney's hand traveled up your side, slipping beneath your bra to cup your bare breast fully. He pinched the nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, and you gasped, arching into his touch. The pressure built inside you, coiling tighter with every stroke of his hand.

He broke the kiss to look at you, his eyes smoldering with desire. "You're so beautiful," he said, his voice a gravelly whisper. You felt a rush of arousal creep up your neck, your eyes fluttering shut as his mouth found yours again, his tongue demanding entry. You gave it eagerly, your kisses growing more frantic as Sidney's hand continued to torment your sensitive flesh.

His fingertips were incessant, playing with your nipple until it was a tight, aching peak. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your panties damp with need. "Fuck, I'm so wet," you breathed against his mouth, the words barely audible. "Please, Sidney."

With a low growl, Sidney carried you to the bedroom, not bothering to break your kiss. He laid you down gently on the bed, his hands moving to your hips to remove your dress completely. The cool air hit your bare skin, making you shiver as he stepped back to admire you. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but the hunger in Sidney's gaze made you feel a certain security.

"This fuckin' body, my god," Sidney murmured, his eyes raking over you like a brand as you lay on his bed, your dress discarded on the floor. You watched him, your own eyes hooded with desire, as he stripped his own clothes away with an urgency that matched yours. His body was a masterpiece of muscle and sinew, a testament to the hours he dedicated to his sport, and you couldn't wait to feel it against your own.

A muscled knee pressed into the white sheets, and Sidney's body hovered over yours, the weight of his desire as palpable as the tension in the air. His hand slid up your thigh, the roughness of his calloused fingers making you quiver. You reached up, your fingers tracing the lines of his abs before moving to his shoulders, urging him closer. His eyes locked on yours, Sidney leaned in, capturing your mouth in a fiery kiss that sent waves of heat through your tummy.

Both of his hands found your hips, squeezing tightly, his thumbs digging into the flesh as he broke the kiss and moved lower. You watched, your breaths coming in fast pants, as Sidney kissed a trail down your neck, across your collarbones, down the center of your chest, until he reached your breasts. He took one nipple in his mouth, suckling it hard, making your back arch and a cry escape your throat. The sensation was intense, and you could feel the wetness between your legs growing.

With a wicked grin, Sidney reached for the edge of your panties, sliding them down your legs and tossing them aside. He hovered over you, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of your spread before him. "You're fuckin' perfect," Sidney murmured, his voice thick with need. Tentatively, you reached down to touch yourself, your fingertips finding your slick folds.

"Let me," Sidney said, his voice a command you couldn't resist. He pushed your hand aside, his own hand taking over, his fingers sliding into your wetness with ease. Your eyes rolled back as he began to stroke your clit, your body arching off the bed. The tension grew tighter, the need more urgent as it crested; deep, sweet agony building in your pussy.

"Please," you sighed, your voice dipping into a desperate whisper, your hips rising to meet his hand. Sidney didn't relent, his touch unyielding as he pushed you closer to the edge. "Oh, fuck," you moaned, your legs trembling, toes curling into the sheets.

He watched you, his eyes dark with desire, as you grew wetter, your body begging for his touch. When he finally slid two fingers inside you, your eyes snapped open, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful. You bit your lip to keep from screaming, your nails digging into the bed as Sidney began to pump his fingers in and out of you in a slow, steady rhythm that had your body singing with need.

"You're so wet," Sidney murmured against your skin, the words sending a shiver down your spine as his fingers plunged deeper, hitting a spot that made your eyes roll back. He curled his fingers, stroking your G-spot, and you couldn't help but let out a guttural moan. Your hips bucked against his hand, your body demanding more.

"Talk to me, princess. Tell me what you want from me. You know I'll give it to you. Whatever you want, sweets," Sidney rasped, his voice a low, needy growl that made your skin tingle. You couldn't form coherent words, so you did the next best thing: you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, silently begging for his cock to fill you up. The pressure of his fingers inside you was exquisite, but you needed more of him, all of him.

He took the hint, his eyes never leaving yours as he slid his fingers out, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. His fingers were slick, coated in your desire, and he brought them to his mouth, tasting you. The sight of it had your walls clenching, your body begging for more. "So sweet," he murmured, before climbing over you. Your fingers dipped into the waistband of his underwear, tugging slightly as your hips rocked upward, urging him closer.

Sidney chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Fuckin' desperate, eh? Give me a second, princess." He leaned in, kissing you deeply, teasingly, until you were practically vibrating with need. His tongue pressed against yours, sucking your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth, saliva and moans exchanged between you two. You couldn't be patient, not when he was driving you to the brink like this.

Your thighs were spread wide to accommodate his broad, muscular body, and when Sidney's cock finally nudged at your entrance, you couldn't help the whimper that escaped your lips. He was so hard, so thick, and you were beyond ready for him. The anticipation was agonizing, and you could feel your body clench around his length as he continued his movements, his cock pulsing against your walls, pushing inch by glorious inch. The stretch was heavenly, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he filled you completely.

Fingers clawed into his hair, you pulled Sidney down for another deep, needy kiss as he pushed into you. The sensation was overwhelming. He groaned against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you as he buried himself fully inside you. He paused, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside you, before pulling back to look at your face.

"Tell me when," he murmured, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek as your eyes remained locked. You took a deep, shaky breath, feeling the tension coil inside you. "Now," you whispered, your voice thin and urgent. "Please."

Sidney didn't need any more encouragement. He began to move, his hips rocking in a steady rhythm that had your eyes fluttering shut. Each stroke was pure pleasure, a symphony of sensations that had you tightening your grip on him, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist. He was deep, so deep, filling you so fully, buried to the absolute hilt.

His nose nudged against yours, moans and grunts spilling out of your mouths. Sidney's strokes grew stronger, more demanding, as he claimed your body as his own. Your eyes remained squeezed shut, your body tightening around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you felt the high begin to build.

"Look at me," Sidney growled, his voice thick with lust. Your eyes snapped open, meeting his intense gaze. If it wasn't already clear, in that moment, you would never be able to get enough of him. You watched as he thrust into you, the muscles in his neck straining with the effort of holding back. "Keep 'em on me, baby. Wanna hear your sweet moans, see your gorgeous eyes roll back when I fuck you just right."

Your breath hitched as he sped up, each thrust hitting that perfect spot, your walls clenching around him like a vise. You could feel the heat building, the pressure growing, and you knew you were close. "Sid," you panted, your voice breathless and desperate.

"Good, huh?" Sidney smirked. There was that edge in his voice, an intimate alternative to the chirps you had seen on the ice too many times to count. It was cocky. It was smug. It was intoxicating.

You nodded, your mouth too busy whimpering and panting to form words. You felt the orgasm approaching, a fiery heat that threatened to consume you, and you knew you weren't going to last much longer.

"So good... you're so good, fuck, Sid," you moaned out, your voice a mix of pleasure and desperation as the pressure inside you grew to an unbearable buzz.

Sidney's eyes stayed on you, the intensity in his gaze only increasing as he thrust into you, pushing you closer to the edge. "You're soaked, baby," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and desire. "Need me to lose my fucking mind, don't you?"

You giggled, breathless, pitched up into a whiny moan as Sidney's mouth found your neck, kissing and suckling, leaving a mark that you knew would be visible tomorrow. "That was the plan," you hummed, your nails digging into his shoulders. His hips rocked into you, and you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, the warmth of his body pressing into yours.

You were pinned to the mattress, his fingers lacing through yours as the two of you moved together, your bodies a tangled mess of passion and need. Your breath grew shallower, your moans growing louder as Sidney's hips moved faster, each thrust hitting your sweet spot.

"Hold on, wanna see your face," you whispered gently, attempting to pull your hands from his. He tightened his grip for a moment, hesitating then releasing, allowing you to slide your palms up his side, feeling his obliques and shoulder blades, before finding his jaw, your thumb tracing the line of his strong jaw. You pulled him down, your eyes locking again, Sidney's hips stuttering as your mouths collided, tongues dancing together in a fiery tango of passion.

"Christ," Sidney huffed out when he pulled away, catching your heated gaze, your eyes filled with lust and love. The way you touched him, the way you watched him, it was dizzying. He leaned down, kissing you again, feeling you shiver underneath him as he picked up his pace.

"Sid, baby, your eyes, wanna see your eyes," you whined, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth. He groaned, his hips stuttering for a moment before he complied, his gaze locking with yours again. Your eyes were dark with passion, your pupils dilated with desire.

"Don't," he laughed, the sound full of air and strain as he kissed you again, his tongue flicking against your bottom lip before delving back in. "Don't whine like that. I'm trying not to cum before you do. Trying to be chivalrous."

That drew another laugh from you, the sound music to Sidney's ears, especially in the throes of passion. He leaned down, kissing you again, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that had you squirming beneath him. Your nails dug into his skin, your legs tightening around his waist as you grew closer to the edge. You were so beautiful like this, lost in pleasure, your body responding to his every touch.

"I really don't think that would be the worst thing in the world. Think it'd be kinda hot, honestly," you said with a giggle, your eyes filling with that earlier mischief. "But if that's what you need from me, I'll give you that."

"Yeah? You'll give me that?" Sidney chuckled, his strokes growing more deliberate, snapping into you with more force.

"I'll give you anything," you promised, your voice a breathy whisper that sent a shiver down Sidney's spine. "Swear," you added, your hips rising to meet his, urging him to go deeper, faster.

"Anything, huh," he hummed, thinking for a moment before his eyes lit up, pulling out slowly with a hiss. "Get on top, princess. Want to watch you ride me." Your cheeks flamed, but you didn't argue; instead, you shifted your body, sliding off the bed and straddling him. His cock stood tall, the length glistening with your combined arousal, his tip pulsing with need.

He gripped the base of his shaft, his chest, red and slick with sweat, rising and falling rapidly. You took a moment to appreciate the sight of him, his desire for you so evident. Salt and pepper hair was tousled, a singular curl falling over his forehead, also slick with sweat. You leaned forward, your breasts brushing against his chest, and just barely brushed his lips with yours. Your hand wrapped around his cock, guiding it to your entrance, and with a gasp, you sunk down onto him, slowly filling yourself up completely.

You braced yourself with one hand on his chest, the other gripping the headboard as you began to grind your hips cautiously. The feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you was exquisite, dragging against your walls so deliciously you couldn't help but let out a low moan. Sidney watched you, his eyes dark with need as he bit his lip, his hands on your hips, guiding your movements.

"Oh my god," Sidney groaned as you started to move, your hips rolling in a sensual dance that had him gritting his teeth. You were so fucking beautiful from this angle, your body moving above him, your tits bouncing slightly with each rock of your hips. He watched you, his eyes greedy, as you began to move faster, your breaths growing more erratic.

His hands were equally greedy, squeezing your hips, drifting up to your breasts, leaning forward to kiss your collarbone. You threw your head back, your eyes closing in bliss as Sidney's teeth grazed the sensitive skin there. "Oh fuck," you gasped, your movements becoming more erratic as you chased the orgasm you could feel building.

You bounced on top of him, a rhythmic clap of your ass against his thighs that had Sidney's eyes rolling back in his head. He could feel you tighten around him, your pussy squeezing his cock like a fist. "Fuck, baby," he groaned, his thumbs digging into your hips before he wrapped his arms around your midsection, pressing your chest to his.

"Is this good for you?" you panted, your eyes meeting his, your nose brushing against his as you just barely pressed your lips to his.

"You're doing perfect," Sidney murmured, his voice strained. He could feel the tension coiling in his balls, his orgasm just out of reach. "Just keep riding me like that," he encouraged. "Make yourself cum. Just like that."

You swallowed hard, your breathing growing increasingly more shallow as you picked up your pace. Your eyes remained locked with Sidney's, the passion in his gaze fueling your desire. You felt his hands slip from your hips to your thighs then your ass, squeezing and guiding your movements, pushing you down onto him as you bounced atop him with a desperate hunger.

"You were dreaming about this, weren't you?" Sidney pressed, still pulling you down onto his cock with a firm, demanding pressure that made you gasp. "Dreaming about me fucking you senseless," he whispered against your neck, his breath hot and heavy. You nodded, unable to form coherent words as the pleasure took over your body. "Dreaming about dripping all over me," he added, his hands sliding up your body to palm your tits.

Your eyes fluttered closed, your breath hitching as Sidney's thumbs found your nipples. "Yeah," you managed to moan out, your hips grinding against him. He groaned in response, his own desire for you reaching a boiling point. "Wanted you to do this so bad," you whispered, your voice shaky. "Every fucking night, I'd think about you like this," you admitted, your cheeks heating with embarrassment at the admission, but you didn't stop moving. "Feel so good."

"Look how easy it was to make you mine," Sidney murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Couldn't resist, could you?"

You felt a thrill run through you at his words, your body responding with a shiver. "Could you blame me?" you replied, your voice low and filled with desire. You leaned in to kiss him deeply, your tongue tangling with his as you continued to rock your hips against his. "Fit so perfectly," you whispered against his mouth, your arms falling over his broad shoulders, pulling at the dark hair at the base of his neck.

"Take my cock so well, so goddamn pretty taking cock," Sidney murmured, his hands squeezing handfuls of your tits, sending waves of pleasure straight to your core. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your hips moving faster, your breaths coming in gasps and pants. The friction was building, the heat growing more intense with every stroke.

"Sid," you whined, feeling yourself teeter on the edge of a cliff, the orgasm threatening to break free. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," you managed to get out, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to stifle the scream that was threatening to escape.

"Don't get quiet on me now," Sidney urged, his voice a gruff, low hum in the quiet of the room. "I want to hear every fucking sound you make."

You bit your lip harder, your eyes staring into his. "Can't help it," you panted, your body tightening around his cock. "It's so good, you feel so good, Sid."

Sidney's grip on you tightened, his own pleasure spiking at your words. He watched you, the muscles in his arms flexing as he held you in place, allowing him to drive into you with more force. "You should tell me where you want me," he muttered, his back falling against the bed as he thrusted up into you.

You moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt the first waves of pleasure wash over you. "Pull out," you suggested, your voice almost a plea. "I'll let you cum in my mouth." Sidney's eyes snapped open at your words, and he groaned, the image in his mind sending him closer to the edge.

"Fuck," Sidney growled as he felt the tightness of your pussy start to pulse around his cock.

When it finally hit you, your mind went blank, your chest falling forward, hands gripping the sheets tightly as you let out a long, keening cry of pure ecstasy. Your pussy clenched around Sidney's cock, your muscles pulsing in a way that had him groaning deeply, his own release just a heartbeat away. He watched you come undone, your body shuddering with pleasure, your face a picture of rapture.

"Okay?" he asked, his hips still moving, albeit much slower, his cock still buried deep inside you.

"Mmhmm," you murmured, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. You felt the aftershocks of your orgasm still pulsing through your body, making you tremble slightly. "Wanna taste you."

You slowly lifted yourself off him, your legs shaking slightly from the intensity of your climax. He watched you, his chest heaving, as you took him in your mouth, your lips sliding down his shaft with an ease that made him groan. "Fuck, there you go," Sidney murmured, his eyes rolling back in his head. "So good at that."

Your mouth was hot and wet, your tongue swirling around him as you bobbed up and down. Filthy slurps and moans filled the room, each sound making Sidney's jaw tick and his hands tighten in the sheets. He watched you, the way you took him in with such focus, your cheeks hollowing as you took him deeper, your throat tightening around his cock as you swallowed him down.

You stroked what couldn't fit in your mouth, your hand moving in time with your bobbing head. Your eyes flicked up to meet Sidney's, and you saw the unbridled need reflected in his gaze. You moaned around his cock, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through his body. "Shit, yes," he hissed, his hips jerking upward to meet your mouth.

Your eyes watered slightly from the effort, but you didn't care. All that mattered was the feel of him in your mouth, his taste, and the way he responded to your every move. You sucked harder, your cheeks hollowing, and Sidney's moans grew louder. "Keep going," he breathed, his hand finding its way to the back of your head, gently pushing you down further.

You could feel his cock pulse, his pre-cum coating your tongue as you swirled it around his mushroom-shaped tip. You could see it in the tension in his body, the way his abdomen clenched, and his chest heaved. You worked him harder, your hand moving in a firm, steady grip, matching the pace of your mouth.

Your eyes met his, the final strokes of your hand, and the suction of your mouth too much for Sidney to handle. With a long groan, he came, his hot, slightly bitter cum filling your mouth as you eagerly swallowed, not wanting to miss a drop. Your eyes watered, but you kept your gaze locked with Sidney's, watching the pleasure etched into his features as he rode out his climax. When he was done, you pulled off with a soft pop, licking your lips clean, your thumb catching remnants that had escaped to the corner of your mouth.

Sidney's chest heaved as he stared at you, his eyes glazed over with a mix of lust and admiration. "Jesus, princess," he murmured, his hand falling to the side of your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You grinned up at him, a smug satisfaction in your gaze. "You're something else."

You leaned over him, his arms reaching to bracket your waist, pulling you closer as your lips connected. The taste of him, his tongue, his cum still rested on your tongue, mingling with the faint taste of your on his. A warmth washed over you, tingling in your bones, settling over you like a warm blanket.

You felt something shift in you. That feeling of getting what you've wanted, what you've plotted on, and realizing the reality was a hundred times better than the fantasy. Sidney's arms were tight around you, holding you close as you kissed, his hands moving over your body, feeling your curves and exploring every inch of you as if it was the first time he had felt you.

You pulled away first, laughing under your breath when he chased your lips. His pupils were blown, his eyes hazed with satisfaction. "How was that?" you teased, licking your lips clean, wiping the corners of his mouth with the pads of your fingers.

He gently grasped your wrist, turning his head to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "Amazing," Sidney murmured, trailing his kisses up your arm, to your neck, and finally delivering the ghost of a peck to your parted lips. "Let me take care of you, yeah?" he whispered against your skin. "I'll get a washrag, something warm to wear, and then we'll talk."

You nodded, sighing into the kiss he pressed to your lips before he rose from his bed. His bare backside was a sight to behold as he walked into the bathroom, soft skin marked by tan lines and muscles flexing with every step. You couldn't help but watch him go, a small smile playing at your mouth. When he returned with a warm washrag, you took it from his hand and cleaned yourself up, feeling the tension in your body start to ease. He disappeared then reappeared, handing you a clean t-shirt and sweatpants that were definitely his, smelled like his, and draped over your body like his.

Sidney slid into the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms as you settled into the warmth of his embrace. He kissed the top of your head, and you felt his heart beating steadily under your ear. "I don't want to scare you," he began, his voice a soft rumble, "but I think we need to talk."

Your stomach twisted slightly. "We should," you agreed, biting your bottom lip as you sat up. You couldn't ignore the butterflies in your stomach that grew more frantic with every second that ticked by. "What are you thinking?" you asked.

Sidney took a deep breath, his arms tightening around you. He leaned back against the headboard, taking a moment to choose his words. "I'm thinking that I want us to be on the same page. This can't just be about sex. I don't… I'm not built for casual." He paused, letting the admission linger in the air. "I'm not that young anymore, and I've realized that I don't want to just kill my time with hookups. It doesn't have to be forever, but I want it to mean something."

You nodded, your voice earnest, your heart pounding. "I can understand that, but as much as I'd love to dive into something more, I have to think about Isaac. I don't want to mess up his career or his relationship with you." You chewed on your bottom lip before continuing, "He idolizes you, Sid. He's idolized you his whole life, literally." You laughed uneasily, trying to lighten the mood. "I'd hate to ruin his perception of you."

Sidney took your hand, threading his fingers through yours. "Isaac's an adult. And if he's as good a man as I think he is, he'll want his sister to be happy." His thumb stroked the back of your hand. "We'll take it slow. Keep it between us. Figure it out together." He nuzzled his nose into your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. "One date at a time, yeah?"

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders. "One date at a time," you echoed, shyly smiling into his embrace.

One date at a time seemed easy at the time, but the moment you stepped into that one date, it never seemed to end. Every free moment was stolen away, every glance turned into a touch, every whisper turned into a kiss. You were a secret wrapped in whispers and hidden glances, a love affair that burned hotter than the lights in the arena. You had agreed to keep it on the down-low, take things slow, but your hearts had other plans.

Your first official date was at a discreet little Italian restaurant that Sidney had picked out, a place where you could be yourselves without the prying eyes of fans or the media. You wore a simple but elegant black dress that hugged your curves, making Sidney's heart race the moment you walked in. He had chosen a tailored suit that made him look every bit the professional athlete that he was, but when he saw you, all he could think about was you peeling it off of him later.

And you did, peel the suit off him later. In the quiet sanctuary of his home, you shed your layers of clothing like armor, revealing the softness that lay beneath. The chemistry between you was palpable, a living force that seemed to have a mind of its own. You kissed as if you were starving for each other, as if each touch could somehow sustain you. Sidney's hands roamed over your body, memorizing every curve, every dip, and valley that made you uniquely you. You felt like you were coming alive under his touch, as if you had been a dormant volcano and he had sparked the fire within you.

He made a habit of picking you up for lunch—even if all you could afford was 45 minutes—waiting in his dark car with the tinted windows a block from your office. You would go inside, pick up the food he ordered, and you'd eat in the car between kisses. At your place, he'd sneak in when Isaac was out with friends, leaving in the morning before the sun could cast shadows that would give you away. You danced around the truth, whispering sweet nothings that held the weight of your future together.

But secrets are like soap in water, they spread wide and fast.

"And I think I'll have the Eggs Benedict with the blackberry lemonade," you told the waiter, handing over your menu to the young man who nodded with a light smile. Your family brunch was in full swing, it had become a monthly tradition since Isaac had been drafted to the Penguins and joined you in Pittsburgh.

Your parents, beaming with pride, talked about their recent vacation plans while Isaac scarfed down his breakfast, his focus on the mountain of food on his plate rather than the conversation. You felt a flutter of anxiety in your stomach, knowing that dreaded topic of conversation would come up eventually. Your mother was the first to ask that dread question, "And what about you, love bug? You've been so busy with work, you hardly have time to breathe, let alone date."

You took a sip of your lemonade, trying to play it cool, "I've been keeping pretty busy. Just enjoying life for what it is right now." You hoped your nonchalance would be enough to dodge the question. But your mother wasn't one to be easily swayed.

"You're twenty-eight," your father said, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "You don't have to pretend you've never had a date. We know you've had your share of boys in your life."

"Dad," you sighed, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you shot a look at Isaac, hoping for some kind of support. But your brother just sat there, chewing on his toast with a smug look on his face. You could almost hear him thinking, could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

"Well?" your father prompted, his curiosity piqued.

"Well, nothing," you said, playing it off, trying to keep your voice steady. "There's nothing going on right now."

Isaac looked up from his plate, his eyes meeting yours. He took a deep breath, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Liar," he accused, his voice teasing but his gaze unwavering. Your heart stopped for a second, your grip on your fork tightening. "You're dating someone," he said matter-of-factly, swallowing his bite of food. "You've been dating someone for a while."

Your parents looked between you, eyebrows raised in surprise and curiosity. Your mind raced, trying to come up with an explanation that wouldn't involve lying to your family, but also wouldn't reveal the truth you weren't ready to share. "Isaac," you hissed under your breath, your eyes wide with panic.

He leaned back in his chair, his smirk growing. "Dude, I'm fuckin’ ecstatic for you. You’ve been less of a hard ass, I’ll take my wins."

"Aw, love bug," your mother cooed, reaching to squeeze your hand. "Why haven't you told us?" You felt your face grow hotter as you tried to think of a way out of the situation.

"How do you even know that?" you demanded, your voice low enough so only your immediate family could hear.

Isaac's smirk grew into a full-blown grin as he shrugged. "'Cause I have eyes, and I pay attention. I'm not stupid, Scotch." The endearing nickname didn't ease the tension in your chest, but it did remind you of your bond. "Whoever he is, he makes you annoyingly happy."

"Close your mouth when you chew, Isaac," you muttered, trying to keep your composure. "You know I hate it when you do that." You hoped the change of subject would work, but you could see the twinkle in his eye, the same mischievous look he had when you were sixteen and he was seven and he'd discovered your secret crush on the neighbor's son.

"Okay, okay," he held up his hands in mock surrender. "Wanna tell me who he is?"

"None of your business," you replied immediately, flipping him off with both hands playfully.

Isaac chuckled, "So it's serious, then?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you took a moment to collect yourself. "Maybe. We're taking it slow, seeing where it goes," you said, your voice a mix of excitement and nerves. The words hung in the air, and you watched your brother's expression shift from teasing to something more serious.

"Just be careful, okay?" Isaac said, his tone genuine. "You know how guys are…" He trailed off, his concern for you evident.

You had talked about it for years. What might happen if he did make it to the NHL. There was always that looming possibility of a man taking advantage of you because of your brother's fame, or the media spinning a simple relationship into a tabloid circus. You knew the risks, but you had never thought you'd be navigating that minefield so quickly.

The conversation at the brunch table had shifted to other topics, but you couldn't shake the feeling that your secret had been uncovered. You picked at your food, trying to act as if everything was normal, but your mind was racing with scenarios of how this could go wrong.

"What's got you so quiet?" Sidney's voice was low in your ear, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. You took a deep breath, letting the warmth of his touch soothe your nerves.

"Isaac knows that I'm dating," you whispered, turning to look at him. His expression grew serious, his thumb stroking your skin in a comforting gesture. "He said he's happy for me, but…"

Sidney kissed your forehead, his hand rubbing warmth into the skin of your shoulder. "Does that bother you?" he asked, his voice a soothing rumble in the quiet of his living room. You took a moment to consider your answer. The truth was, you weren't entirely sure how you felt about it. Part of you was relieved that the secret was partially out, if only to one person who you knew would keep it. But the other part was scared of how people would react when the whole truth came to light.

"I don't know," you admitted, your voice small and unsure. "It's just… I'm not bothered about Isaac knowing that I'm dating, it's…" you trailed off, uneasiness settling over your expression.

Sidney studied you, his thumb still caressing your shoulder. "It's me?" he asked gently. "You're bothered that Isaac will find out that you're dating me."

You nodded, your breathing a bit shaky. "I'm not ready for him to know," you confessed, your voice trembling. "Or for anyone to know. This is all happening so fast, and I… I just need a little more time."

He considered your words for a moment. That far-off, almost imperceptible look in his eyes suggesting he was weighing your situation carefully. "Why does it bother you?" His voice was low, soft as his accented drawl curled the ending syllables of each word. "Is it the age gap? The attention?"

You sighed, leaning into his embrace, your body fitting perfectly into the side of his. "Is it shitty of me to say it's all of it?" you mumbled against his chest. "I know people will judge, and I know it'll be a circus for a bit. But mostly, I just don't want to fuck up your reputation, or Isaac's for that matter."

Sidney's arms tightened around you. "We're both adults," he reminded you, his voice firm but understanding. "I swear I'll do whatever it takes to protect you. We can't expect that people won't have opinions." He tipped your chin up so you had to look at him. "But this is what I want. I'm all in, if you are."

You nodded, "I'm all in."

Sidney leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against your lips, "Good."

[fudgelling-away]

This is a gift for @amalia-uwu who is studying for university exams and needs some friendly motivation.

Sans delivers!

@amalia-uwu inspired the dialogue - thank you!

-------------------

Aaaand welcome again to the "Sans looks different every time" show!

I made him wear gloves this time because I thought it would make drawing hands a bit easier. Guess what. It didn't 🤍

I do not like the result very much. But I decided to leave them on this time and see how I feel about it later, because I do like him wearing these kind of gloves in other artists' art…

[yungistiny]

I 🖤 NERDS

[ J. Yunho ]

╚═════════

summary: you and your best friend wooyoung have a game you play, picking each other’s next hookups. when wooyoung chooses none other than your secret crush, the nerd that is jeong yunho, you might be in for more than you can handle

warning: dom yunho, possessive yunho, size kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, cum play, choking, squirting, creampie

pairing: nerdy yunho x afab reader

genre: smut

word count: 3.4k

note: this was requested anonymously and when it comes to nerdy yunho with a freak side I might of gotten a little carried away 🤭

masterlist

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“My turn.”

Wooyoung was smiling madly, tongue darting out to poke at his lip ring, rubbing his hands together as he scoped out everyone in the quad. “Not anyone creepy or weird this time!” You exclaimed, already regretting agreeing to your best friend’s little game again.

“Hmmmm….” Wooyoung grabbed your hand, dragging you along with him, eying Kang Yeosang who was busy asleep at a bench, head lolled atop his bag. “No.” He stopped and glanced towards Choi Jongho, a drama major, who was at the moment reading over a script. “No.”

You rolled your eyes, huffing in annoyance before colliding into Wooyoung’s back as he abruptly stopped. “Him.” Wooyoung was smirking now, deviously. “Oh, definitely him.”

Him, was Jeong Yunho. A science major, sitting by himself at an empty table, hand pushing his thick black framed glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he was busy reading a book.

“Oh!” Wooyoung giggled when he saw you smirk. “You are going to enjoy this!” You ran your tongue across your bottom lip, watching as Yunho reached down into his bag to pull out a bag of chips. “Getting to corrupt the nerd that is one Jeong Yunho?” You bit your bottom lip. “Maybe a little.”

Yunho may be a total nerd but he was a hot nerd. Tall, soft brown hair and matching brown eyes. His lips were the perfect shape of a cupids bowl and his hands….. his hands were absolutely sinful. You might of found yourself staring at them from time to time in your shared language studies class.

You cleared your throat, put on the most flirtatious smile you have ever had and made your way over to Yunho, Wooyoung following behind but keeping just enough distance that he could still eavesdrop.

Yunho jumped, slightly startled when your hand landed on the table in front of him, covering the page of the manga he had been reading. “Yunho, just the guy I was looking for.”

He blinked behind his glasses, gulping a little. “I am?” Now Yunho was confused and nervous. He didn’t know you personally exactly, only really talked to you once, but he certainly knew of you. One of the most popular students on campus, your clique that consisted of you, Jung Wooyoung and Song Mingi, were known all around campus.

You smirked at him, running a hand up his back, dancing your fingers across his shoulder and stopping to play at the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re coming over to my place tonight.”

“I am?” He repeated, was this a joke? A prank? “Well, see,” you smiled at him, batting your lashes. “Wooyoung and I are taking on a challenge of picking each other’s next….. you know….” You glanced back at your best friend and smirked before looking back down at Yunho. “I picked Choi San for him.” Choi San was a performance major that you knew Wooyoung had been eying for a while now.

Oh. So it was like a game for you? You didn’t want Yunho, you were just asking him because Wooyoung picked him. “Why should I go?” He challenged which seemed to take you by surprise. You could hear Wooyoung snickering somewhere behind you.

“Why shouldn’t you?” You arched a brow at him, why was your face blushing? You could feel the warmth in your cheeks and held Yunho’s gaze, his eyes narrowed at you behind his glasses as if he were analyzing you, calculating you like one of his science projects.

“Ok.”

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You’re nervous and you don’t know why. You and Wooyoung do this little game all the time, picking out each other’s next hookup. This was no different. It was just nerdy Yunho.

It was after 9:00 when a knock came from the front door of yours and Wooyoung’s off campus apartment. Wooyoung himself was back on campus at the dorms with San so you would have the entire apartment to yourself and Yunho. Apparently, according to your best friend, you could get way too loud.

Yunho stood outside the door, hands shoved into his jean pockets after rolling the sleeves of his light pink and brown flannel shirt up. He was a little nervous, not like he was a virgin or anything, far from it actually, but he might of sort of had a crush on you since freshman year of college.

Now, here you both were, seniors and Yunho was finally getting his shot with you and he was a bit scared he would fuck it all up. Sure, you were just looking for a hookup and Yunho would certainly give you just that, but he was also determined to make you his by the end of the night.

Only his.

When you opened the front door, Yunho’s gaze automatically drifted, eyes trailing down your body behind his glasses, stopping at your exposed legs and thighs. He wanted to mark every single inch of them, leave possessive bites so everyone knew who you belonged to.

You were only wearing a black pair of boy shorts and a plain white t shirt, no bra and Yunho wanted nothing more than in that moment than to ruin you. “Are you going to come in or set there and stare all night?”

Yunho blinked, removing his gaze from where it had been staring at your chest, the white shirt no bra combo driving him crazy. He cleared his throat, stepping past you and into the apartment.

You shut the door, gaze trailing up and down his tall frame, thighs clenching at the sight of his hands, he was using one to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Do you want..”

“Were you disappointed that Wooyoung picked me?” Yunho interrupted you, he needed to make sure that you wanted him first, that he wasn’t just some choice that you got stuck with because of your little game with your best friend.

“What?” You were gliding your hand around his back to his front, slipping it up his chest. “Disappointed?” You smirked, Yunho might be a complete nerd but he was still one of the hottest guys on campus. Tall with a dancers body, broad shoulders and the hottest set of hands you ever seen. A voice dripping like warm honey, all deep and soft and delicate at the same time.

Yunho grabbed your wrist when your hand trailed lower, almost able to touch the very prominent bulge in his pants. He had to be big if that bulge was anything to go by. You pouted playfully at him, looking up at him through your lashes. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since freshman year.” You admitted. It’s probably why Wooyoung picked him.

Something about the big tall nerd just had an effect on you since he helped you that first year in college. You had thought you were gonna pledge for this sorority and one of their pranks during hell week had been making you run across campus in only your underwear. Payback you were sure had to due with how the president of the sorority’s boyfriend had blatantly flirted with you in front of everyone. Like that was your fault he was a douchebag.

Yunho had literally crashed into you on his way back to his dorm from the library. His cheeks had turned the brightest shade of red, his ears too, as he helped you back up from where you both had fell into a hedge bush.

“I am so sorry!”

“It’s fine, you’re…..” you might of checked him out shamelessly because he was really tall and really hot. “you’re fine.”

He had even given you his hoodie to wear as he walked with you back to the sorority where he waited as you got your clothes back on, used your keys to carve CUNT into the driver’s door of the president of the sorority’s car.

Yunho winced at the sound of the key scraping the steel painted door. “Oh…. that’s…” he looked around to make sure no one saw you. “that’s nice. Beautiful artwork.”

Seems your little confession was all Yunho needed to hear. He smirked, something you’ve never seen him do before, a gesture of his pretty lips that had you clenching your thighs together before gasping when he grabbed you, pulling you to him by the wrist he held.

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest and you knew he could feel from how you were pressed against him, his bulge pressing into your stomach as he removed his glasses. “I’ve had almost 4 years to think on all the things I want to do to you.”

What? Yunho’s change in attitude, his words, had you shocked, words stuck on your tongue for a minute before you matched his smirk with one of your own. Oh, you could kiss Wooyoung for choosing him. “Then show me.”

Yunho wasted no time in sitting his glasses down, gripping the backs of your thighs with his hands, lifting you and letting you wrap your legs around his waist. He was fucking big, that alone had you going crazy with the way he carried you with one arm, opening your bedroom door with the other.

He lowered himself down with you onto your bed, one of his hands spraying across your stomach, gripping at your shirt as he sat back on his knees, eyes dark, face so fucking pretty that you wanted him to hurry up and kiss you or devour you, preferably both.

“You’re so tiny beneath me…” his smirk grew, poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek. “you sure you can take me?” He was teasing you, the hand that wasn’t gripping your shirt, trailing down your thigh, stopping just where you needed him to touch you most.

“Yes!” You practically exclaimed, wrapping your smaller hand around his wrist, pushing his hand farther, moaning when he finally made contact with you, warm hand now rubbing his fingers over your aching bundle of nerves through your soaked panties. “I can take it. You can make me take it.”

Yunho closed his eyes, you were so fucking perfect.

You watched as he pulled your panties down your legs, your walls clenching around nothing when he shoved the wet lacy material into his back pocket of his jeans. He’s a little pervert. As soon as your shirt was gone, you now completely bare below him, Yunho took a minute to take you in, all of you.

“Why am I the only one naked?” You once again playfully pouted at him, Yunho chuckled deep, the sound almost rumbling in his chest. You sat up, reaching for the buttons of his flannel shirt, popping them open and pushing the material over his shoulders and down his arms. You almost groaned at the white tank top underneath that still kept his top half concealed. “You wear too many clothes.”

Yunho snorted, pulling his tank top off, tossing it to the side, landing somewhere on your bedroom floor. You bit your bottom lip, hands starting at his bellybutton, tracing the well defined muscle of his abs before stopping at his shoulders, he was fucking perfect. You almost wanted to slap yourself for waiting so long for this.

Yunho reached a hand up, gripping your chin, thumb brushing your lips, you darted your tongue out, lapping at it before pulling his thumb into your mouth, sucking it and eliciting a moan from Yunho, a sound sound so good you wanted to hear it over and over again.

Yunho pulled his hand back, wrapping it around your throat and your eyes almost rolled into the back of your head as he squeezed a little, a moan tore from you, needy and desperate. “Please…”

“Please?” Yunho squeezed his grip on your throat again, tighter this time, his eyes dark as he held your pleading gaze. “Please what?” His voice was so much deeper, almost heavier, wrapping around you like pure sin.

“Please..” you moaned again, hands reaching for the bulge still hard and locked away in his jeans. “please ruin me.”

Yunho pushed you back down, hand trailing from your throat to your breast, leaning forward to finally kiss you, tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting your own as one of his thumbs brushed your hardened nipple, pinching and rolling it between his thumb and finger.

His other hand was sliding between you, finally slipping into your aching cunt, other thumb rubbing at your clit, a growl escaping Yunho when he realized just how wet, how soaked and ready for him you really were. “After I’m done, you’re mine.”

He chuckled to himself, breath tickling your ear as he started to trail kisses down your neck. “Not like any other dick will be able to satisfy you after me anyways.” He said it so sure of himself, a little cocky and you weren’t going to argue or deny him.

Yunho gripped your hips, holding you down in place as he kissed your inner thigh, leaving marks from your neck, breast, to your stomach to your hip. Taking his time to make sure he didn’t miss a spot.

And Yunho felt on cloud nine. He couldn’t believe he was finally getting to have you. To be able to do all the things he’s wanted to do to you that up until now he could only do in his dreams.

He moaned at the feeling of you clenching around the two fingers he thrusted inside of you. You were so tight he could barely scissor his fingers in you, the tips of them brushing your g spot causing you to start moaning again, his dick aching in anticipation.

Yunho wanted to devour you, eat you out until you were a shaking mess but he would save that for later, he waited long enough to be with you and he had grown impatient. “Look at you…” he added a third finger, fucking you with them at a quick pace, the lewd noises of your wetness echoing around your room, little sprays of your juices splashing Yunho’s hand, his arm, your bedsheets below you. “you’re already a such a fucking mess for me.”

You were clenching the sheets with your fists, whimpering cries, almost gasping screams, leaving you as you felt your orgasm ready to hit you, legs starting to shake, Mind blanking out to nothing but the feel of his beautiful fucking fingers destroying you, wrecking you into a complete fucked out mess and he hasn’t even given you his dick yet.

You came with a scream that muffled into a whine of his name, Yunho grinning like a mad man as you squirted all over the bed, your thighs, his arm, drenched and he needed more. He needed to drown in you.

You were breathless, panting as Yunho brought his hand up to his mouth, sucking, licking every last drop of your juices on him clean before taking his pants off, kicking them to the side on the floor followed by his spiderman boxers that garnered a giggle from you, he glared at you playfully.

Yunho gripped his dick, stroking his hand up and down himself a few times before lying it over your pelvis, reaching over your lower stomach and to your bellybutton. It was heavy against you and you would be lying if you weren’t just slightly nervous because he was big, really big. “Still think you can take me?” He teased you again, waiting to make sure you really wanted this.

You reached down, your fingers tracing the prominent veins, hand gripping to stroke him, thumb tracing the tip where precum leaked out onto your stomach, dripping some into your bellybutton. “I told you to make it fit, didn’t I.”

Yunho grabbed your hand that was stroking him, interlocking his fingers with yours, holding your hand as he used his other to guide himself to your entrance, the first inch pushing in, a moan leaving you both, your hand tightening against his as he pushed more and more until he was fully bottomed out, dick brushed directly against your spot, that little spongy spot that had you clenching, whimpering and crying at the stretch and pleasure.

He was right, no dick was ever going to compare to him after this. “I….” you shuddered, back arching a little. “I want on top.” You breathed, Yunho gripped your hip, letting your hand go and pulling you up a little with his other arm as he moved the two of you up a little farther on your bed, flipping you, dick still buried inside of you, his head now hitting a pillow as you gasped.

“Fuck!” You moaned deep, shakily, because with you on top, he felt so much bigger, so much deeper. Yunho reached up, pressing against your lower stomach. “Feel that?” He waited until you reached to see what he was talking about and you almost came then and there at the feel of him literally inside you. “Fit me so good. So perfect. Fill you so fucking full. Made for me.”

His words encouraged you to start moving, hands now both gripping his own as he held his up to let you have something to hold yourself up and leverage with, hips moving, clit making constant contact with his pelvis, moans and a mantra of his name pouring from your lips as he bent his knees, pounding himself up into you.

Your second orgasm hit you by surprise, the shocks of it causing you to lose your grip on his hands, falling forward, Yunho wrapping his arms around you as he pulled you up, his dick sliding out of you as you once again made a mess, squirting all over the two of you, your poor bed was just soaked at this point.

Yunho held you with one arm, reaching his other down, grabbing his dick and swiping it up and down your pussy, tapping it against your swollen and overstimulated clit. You cried out as he moved half his length in and out, teasing you, a little aftershock orgasm making you scream.

Yunho kissed you hungrily, you whimpering into it as you weren’t even given enough time to come down from your high before he was flipping you again, your back hitting the damp sheets. He gripped himself again, tapping his tip against you, swiping it back and forth against your clit before burying himself back inside you in one thrust.

“You got one more orgasm in there for me?” He teased you once again, hands gripping your thighs, pulling you against him, making him feel as if he plunged much deeper, filling your cervix and making cry, moaning, a complete fucked out mess with your back arching up off the bed as he thrusted hard, relentlessly chasing his own high and one last more for you.

“Where….” Yunho was losing himself, that familiar tightness in his stomach and balls making his thrusts become sloppy. “where do you want me..”

“Fill me up.” Though you had been on the pill since high school, you’ve never let anyone cum inside you before but right now, all you want was for Yunho to fill you as full as he could. “I’m on the pill….” Your last orgasm hit you. “Please! Cum inside me…. PLEASE”

And he certainly did. Yunho came so hard he felt himself shake, painting every last part of your cunt inside white, breathing hard as he pulled out, replacing his dick with his fingers, pushing, fucking his leaking cum back inside you until you began to spasm, feeling like you were in a never ending orgasm, screaming his name, black spots in your vision, feeling as if you could pass out.

“Shhhh.” Yunho soothed, grinning tiredly down at you as he used one arm to hold his weight off of you while the other rubbed at your side. “Mine.” He kissed your neck as you calmed down, catching your breath.

“Yeah… yeah…” you nodded, one of your hands reaching up to play in his messy hair.

“I’m yours, you nerd.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990

[sunsburns]

honestly i feel like joaquin gives best friends to lovers vibes. and the moment you realize he likes you (meanwhile you've liked him for years) is gonna be in the middle of one of those heated arguments you have with each other bc he's jealous of the new guy you're seeing but one of you is stubborn and doesn't wanna admit it. idk if this counts as a request but if you like the idea i'd love to see you write something abt it!!

yes yes! i feel like it would be even better if the two of you had been working together for soo long too. like you’re in the middle of a stakeout or a mission and he’s suddenly bringing it up for the first time, trying to be all suave and subtle and you’re like ????

the stakeout had been dragging for hours.

the two of you were stationed in an unmarked van on a dimly lit street, watching the back entrance of an old warehouse where your target was supposed to show. you and joaquín torres had done plenty of missions like this before—long hours, bad takeout, and enough banter to keep you both from losing it.

except this time, he wasn’t talking.

not really, anyway. he was pretending to be busy, fiddling with the comms setup even if it had already been working fine since the start of the op.

the van was cramped, parked just far enough from the target building to stay out of sight. the only light inside comes from the dim glow of yours tablet and the occasional flicker of streetlights through the tinted windows.

and then, out of nowhere—

“you never did tell me how your date went last week.”

you barely heard him over the quiet hum of the surveillance feed. your attention is fixed on the warehouse across the street, waiting for movement, but his words pull you out of it.

you glance over, catching him looking away the second you do. subtlety had never been his strong suit.

“i didn’t think you’d want to know,” you said, testing the waters.

“of course i do.”

something in his voice made you pause. it wasn’t the usual teasing or lighthearted prodding—it was earnest. which was odd, considering the first time you brought it up there had been no jokes and joaquín had not been this curious. if anything, he’d gone uncharacteristically quiet, then changed the subject entirely.

but you’d brushed it off at the time.

still, you decide to humour him. “it went well.”

silence. then the soft creak of leather as he shifts in his seat.

“so, is there a second date coming?”

the casual tone didn’t fool you.

you smiled, mostly to yourself. “maybe.”

you expect some kind of quip, a halfhearted joke to brush it off. but you didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened, how his fingers flexed against his knee.

for someone who was an expert at recon, joaquín was terrible at hiding his tells. always had been. every thought he had crossed his face before he could stop it, which is why you’ve never had to second-guess him.

but that? that was weird.

“why? do you care?” you ask, turning slightly toward him.

“i don’t,” he said too quickly. “just wondering if i gotta learn this guy’s name or not.”

your smile grew wider. “oh? so you do care.”

he finally looked at you, “that’s not what i—“ he exhaled sharply. “forget it.”

you couldn’t.

you studied him for a moment, the furrow in his brow, the slight clench of his jaw. this was the longest conversation you’ve had outside of mission chatter in a week. and now he suddenly wanted to know about your love life?

“joaquín,” you started, voice slower now. “if there’s something you wanna say—“

“i only care when it affects our work.”

that made you bristle. “oh. am i too distracted for you?”

“that’s not what i said.”

“it’s exactly what you said.” you turned toward him fully now, forgetting about the stakeout for a second. “you didn’t have a problem last week when i was watching your six, but suddenly i go on a date and now i’m not focused enough for you?”

“that’s not—“ he stopped himself, dragging a hand down his face. “tu—you’re impossible.”

“like you’re any better,” you fired back. “you’ve been acting weird ever since i mentioned this guy, and now you’re bringing it up in the middle of a mission like it’s relevant intel? what’s your deal, torres? what’s going on? what are you trying to say?”

he pressed his lips together, clearly debating something. you knew him well enough to see the war happening behind his eyes, the push and pull of something he'd been trying to keep locked down.

“i’m not—i’m not trying to say anything,” he muttered.

your eyes narrowed. “bullshit.”

his lips curled into something sour, “i don’t get you sometimes.” his voice was lower now, “you’ll pick up on the smallest details in the field, but when it comes to this?” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, frustrated, “it’s like you’re choosing not to see it.”

that stopped you cold.

because for a second—for one stupid, fleeting second—you let yourself think about it. really think about it.

like the way joaquín always made sure you had the last protein bar on long missions, even if it meant going without. or the way he always covered your blind spots in a fight, positioning himself between you and danger without hesitation. the way his voice changed when he spoke to you, softening in a way it never did for anyone else.

the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

god.

your stomach twisted. you had spent so long convincing yourself that none of it meant anything. that it was just who he was—loyal, protective, a damn good partner. that was the only way you had managed to push your feelings down, to keep yourself from ruining what you had with him.

because the truth?

you had been in love with joaquín torres for years.

and it had been eating you alive.

the only reason you had gone out with someone else at all was because you had needed to move on. you couldn’t keep wanting something that wasn’t yours. couldn’t keep looking at him like he hung the damn moon when he was always just out of reach.

but now—now—he was looking at you like he was waiting for you to say something. like he wanted you to see it.

like maybe you hadn’t been crazy all along.

“joaquín.”

he just shook his head, frowning like he was mad at himself for even saying anything. “doesn’t matter.” the frustration drained from his voice, leaving behind something hollow. “forget i said anything.”

then he turned away like the conversation was over.

but it wasn’t.

because now, there was no taking it back.

and you weren’t sure if you even wanted to.

before you could respond, sam’s voice crackled over the comms.

“guys," he said, slow and unimpressed. “you do realize your mic is on, right?”

heat flooded your face.

joaquín scrambled to reach for the radio, red in the face. “sorry. must’ve turned it on by accident.”

“glad we’re getting some entertainment while we wait, sam continued, and you could almost see that grin on his face. “but unless you two wanna keep broadcasting your love confession to the team, maybe save it for after the mission?”

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR VI

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 2.7k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: I'm finally home!! For some reason tumblr was blocked on my laptop there, which was why I wasn't that active but I hope you all enjoyed the other scheduled posts. I wanted to get this one out to y'all as soon as I could, so I hope my jet lagged brain managed to proof read it fine...if not oops. Also, I think the last chapter of this was scheduled so people were missed on the taglist, i should've fixed that for this chapter but let me know if you were missed! I'm sorry about that! Also did anyone catch that supernatural reference?

MILO'S APARTMENT

You were fucking panicking.

The second you saw that text on your phone, you were out the door and en route to Milo and Anthony’s apartment like it was a goddamn emergency—and to you, it was. You didn’t even say hello. Just beelined straight for their wine rack and uncorked a bottle like your life depended on it.

Halfway through chugging it, Milo snatched it from your grip.

“Talk or no more wine,” he said flatly. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You groaned, dragging both hands down your face before collapsing onto the couch. “I fucked up.”

“Okay, well, you better start talking, because I swear to God—was it the match? You never told me how it went. Was he an asshole?”

“No,” you said, sitting up. “No. Dick was great.”

“Okay…” Milo said slowly.

“And so is Jason.”

He blinked. “Who the fuck is Jason?”

You explained. Everything. From the amazing date with Dick to the equally amazing time with Jason—each moment fresh in your mind and impossible to ignore—to the absolute mess you’d found yourself tangled in now.

“And now they both want to go out with me again,” you finished, looking like you might actually pass out from sheer stress. “And I don’t know what to do.”

Milo stared at you.

“I fail to see the problem here.”

You gawked at him. “I can’t date two guys at the same time!”

“Why the fuck not?” he demanded. “You’re hot. You’re single. And you’re exploring your romantic portfolio.”

You hesitated, then exhaled. “I feel bad.”

Milo narrowed his eyes at you like you’d just confessed to murdering someone’s puppy. “You feel bad?”

“Yes!” you groaned, collapsing against the couch cushions like the weight of your sins had finally taken you down. “I went out with Jason. After my date with Dick. Who, by the way, I also really like. And now I’m just… spiralling.”

Anthony, who’d been eavesdropping, finally emerged from the kitchen, casually sipping from his own glass of wine like this was better than anything Netflix could offer. He leaned against the doorway, perfectly at ease. 

“So let me get this straight,” he said, one brow raised. “You went on a date with one hot guy, then met another hot guy who you also went on a date with, and now both of them want more?”

You glared at him, deadpan. “Yes.”

He took another sip. “Girl, if that’s not the universe begging you to experiment, I don’t know what is.”

Milo jabbed a finger in your direction. “Exactly! You’re not cheating. You’re single. You’re exploring. Gathering data.”

“I’m not running a clinical trial,” you snapped, though a laugh escaped despite yourself.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Anthony muttered into his wine. “You’re treating this like a double-blind study with ethical guidelines.”

You covered your face with both hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“No,” Milo corrected, setting down his glass. “A nightmare is getting ghosted by someone who still watches all your stories and likes your dog pics. This? This is a champagne problem.”

You peeked at Milo through your fingers. “So… what do I do?”

“Date both,” he said without missing a beat.

“No.”

“Date. Both,” he repeated, completely undeterred. “No commitment. No promises. Just casual. See who actually fits into your life. Who listens. Who remembers your coffee order. Who quotes Austen and doesn’t flinch when you spiral into a lecture about neurotoxins.”

“Dick could keep up when I went full brainiac mode,” you murmured. “And Jason… Jason quoted Austen. Unprompted.”

Milo clutched his chest like you’d personally wounded him. “Be still my heart.”

“And they’re both so… different and amazing in their own ways,” you added, softer now, more to yourself than to them. “Dick is light. Safe. He makes me feel seen. And Jason is—”

“A walking red flag with a Shakespeare soul and hidden depth,” Anthony chimed in, deadpan.

You laughed despite yourself. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Milo gave you a pointed look. “Babe. You’re not choosing between a villain and a hero. You’re choosing between two men who see you. Who want to know you. If they’re both worth your time… then take the damn time to find out who you want and get to know them.”

You hesitated. “And if it blows up in my face?”

Milo didn’t blink. Just reached for the wine and refilled your glass. “Then we’ll be right here. With a playlist, ice cream, and a very detailed hit list.”

“Color-coded,” Anthony added with a sage nod. “Naturally.”

You exhaled, dragging a hand through your hair. “I hate how much sense you two make.”

“We’re gay. It’s our burden to carry,” Milo said solemnly, raising his glass. “To emotional clarity and romantic chaos.”

Anthony nodded, raising his own. “And may the best man win.”

You stared at them both like they’d sprouted wings or grown extra heads. “This is still ridiculous.”

“This,” Milo countered, pouring more wine into your glass, “is the golden age of options. You’re allowed to figure it out without pledging your undying love to the first man who makes you laugh.”

“I kissed Jason,” you muttered into your glass.

“And?” Anthony sipped. “Did you enjoy it?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Too much.”

“Exactly.” Milo held his glass up. “Right now, you just don’t know what you’re allowed to feel.”

You looked at them—these two chaotic bastards who somehow made emotional turmoil sound like a well-curated spa retreat—and let out a long breath.

“…I know I still feel bad.”

Milo rolled his eyes. “That’s because you’re a good person. You can feel bad and also let two hot guys take you out. Both things can be true.”

Anthony raised his glass. “To moral ambiguity and excellent taste in men.”

You clinked yours against theirs, muttering, “I’m going to hell.”

Milo grinned. “Then take both of them with you, babe.”

BATCAVE

Meanwhile, Jason was still riding the high from earlier. The night air was cool against his skin, the streets quiet beneath the hum of his bike. He was halfway to his apartment when the notification came through.

A case update.

He didn’t hesitate. One hard turn of the throttle, and he was veering off course, heading straight for the manor.

Inside the Batcave, the mood was noticeably different. Dick and Bruce were already suited up, arms crossed in near-identical stances, while Tim was anchored to the console, eyes scanning a rapid stream of data across multiple monitors.

“Took your time,” Dick said lightly, though the usual ease in his voice was dulled.

“I was busy,” Jason shot back, tugging off his gloves. “What’ve we got?”

Bruce turned toward the central screen, the glow casting shadows across his jaw. “We found a breakthrough.”

Jason’s easy mood evaporated.

Tim tapped a key, bringing up a profile. “To cut to the chase—we know who our ghost is.”

“Well, that’s great. Let’s track the son of a bitch down,” Jason said, his voice clipped with impatience as he stepped closer to the screen.

“It’s not that simple,” Tim replied, already typing something in. “There’s been no physical sightings in over four years. No residence, no digital footprint, no bank activity. Nothing directly traceable. We only got a name because of a flagged experiment—an old one that matches his signature. It was buried in an ethics report filed by his only known connection.”

Tim tapped another key.

“B/N L/N,” he said. “And the only person who might be able to help us find him—his younger sister.”

With a soft beep, the next slide loaded on screen.

A profile image appeared.

Jason froze. So did Dick.

“Dr. Y/N L/N,” Tim continued, unfazed. “Lecturer. Neuroscientist. Gotham University. She’s the one who blew the whistle on his unethical research, which caused the rift between them. Records show he’s made multiple attempts to contact her over the years. If he’s on the run from Joker… she might be the only person he trusts enough to go to. Or the only one who knows how he thinks.”

“She’s one of the youngest in her field,” he added, “with two PHDs—”

“Three,” Jason and Dick said at the same time before pausing.

Both men turned slowly, brows raised, staring at each other across the space between.

“How did you know that?” Dick asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Jason’s gaze snapped to him. “How did you know that?”

Tim looked between them, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Okay… do I even want to know what’s happening here?”

Bruce didn’t so much as blink. “Where can we find her?”

Tim cleared his throat, grateful for the shift back to business. “She’s scheduled to appear at the Gotham Futures Gala this weekend. It’s a high-profile event at the Fairmont. She’s a guest speaker. The event’s raising funds for youth science education and mentorship programs—STEM access, early outreach, that kind of thing.”

Bruce nodded, calculating. “Alright. I can go and see if I can—”

“No!” The word rang out in unison. Both Jason and Dick spoke at once, their voices overlapping in sudden urgency.

Bruce’s gaze flicked between them, unimpressed. “No?”

“I’ll go,” Dick said, his voice smooth and easy—too easy. The kind of voice he usually used to charm the high society. “You’re stretched thin with the Joker situation. Let me take this one.”

“Or I can go.” Jason stated. 

“You don’t even like gala’s.” Dick scoffed. 

“And you do?” Jason raised a brow. “You spend half the night dodging donors and sneaking champagne behind the curtains.”

“At least I clean up well.”

Jason crossed his arms. “You need to get back to Blüdhaven.”

“I’m on leave.” Dick snipped back. 

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose like he was already nursing a headache.

“Enough,” he said, tone edged with steel. “I don’t care which one of you goes. Just make contact with her. Find out what she knows.”

And with that, the ever-exhausted father of far too many turned on his heel and left the cave.

The second Bruce left the cave, the tension snapped like a rubber band. Both Jason and Dick turned in perfect sync, glaring at each other with the intensity of a pending brawl.

“I’m going,” they declared at the same time.

Jason scoffed, folding his arms. “How do you even know her?”

“She was my date!” Dick snapped, voice pitching upward as his patience immediately vanished.

Jason blinked. “Wait—the one from that dating app?”

“You signed up for a dating app?!” Tim choked, spinning around so fast in his chair he nearly tipped over. His eyes were wide, scandalized. “You?!”

Dick didn’t even spare him a glance. “Yes. And we hit it off.”  he said, sharp and pointed. “Now, how do you know her?”

“She’s the civilian I pulled out of that alley last week,” he said coolly, voice dipping into something just shy of smug. He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Should’ve walked her home, dickhead.”

Dick’s jaw clenched.

Jason smirked. “We grabbed coffee today.”

Dead silence.

And then—because he never knew when to shut up—Jason kept going. “She even kissed me.”

Dick’s expression shifted like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing with something sharp and disbelieving.

“You’re lying.”

Jason raised a brow. “Am I? You really think I’d lie about something like that?”

“I think you’d do whatever it takes to piss me off.”

Jason shrugged, unbothered. “That too.”

Tim opened his mouth, then closed it. Slowly wheeled himself back in his chair like he was watching a bomb about to go off.

Dick took a step forward. “She wouldn’t—”

“She did,” Jason cut in. “Not that it’s any of your business now.”

“That’s exactly what makes it my business,” Dick snapped.

“Funny. She didn’t seem to think so.”

“Alright,” Tim said quickly, raising both hands. “Before someone gets thrown into a wall—can we maybe, I don’t know, not have a turf war over a girl who clearly doesn’t belong to either of you?”

Neither of them looked at him.

Dick’s eyes narrowed into slits. “That’s it. I’m going to the gala.”

“Like hell you are!”

Tim raised a hand like a kid in class. “How about… rock, paper, scissors?”

Two sets of eyes pinned him to his seat. He shrank back a little. Then, after a beat, both brothers turned to each other.

There was a long pause.

Then, without a word, they stepped forward, hands balling into fists, resting on their open palms.

“On shoot,” Jason muttered.

“Obviously,” Dick snapped.

And they went.

“Rock, paper, scissors—shoot.”

Scissors. Paper.

Jason cursed under his breath.

“Always with the scissors,” Dick said smugly, shaking his head like an older brother who’d won this game a hundred times before. “You never learn.”

Jason’s glare could’ve peeled paint. But Dick was already sauntering off, throwing over his shoulder, “Better luck next time, Little Wing.”

“Best two out of three!” Jason called, stepping after him.

Dick scoffed. “I won fair and square. No one likes a sore loser.”

Jason grumbled something under his breath—low, unintelligible—but Tim was pretty sure it included cheater, rigged, and next time I’m bringing a taser.

“Fine!” Jason snapped, crossing his arms with a tight huff. “But I want ground rules.”

Dick paused and turned around. He arched a curious brow, arms folded across his chest, then gave a slow nod, signalling Jason to continue. “Go on.”

“First—we don’t tell her we know each other.”

Dick nodded without hesitation. “Agreed.”

Jason took a step forward, the tension between them tightening like a wire. “We stay out of each other’s way. And I don’t think either of us should sleep with her—not until she makes her decision. Things’ll get messy.”

Behind them, Tim mock-gagged. “Ugh. Can we not?” he muttered. He didn’t even want to think about his brothers in that context. He didn’t care that they were adopted—they were still his brothers, and thinking about them doing that was just gross on every possible level.

Dick held Jason’s gaze, steady and unflinching. “Fine.”

Jason’s tone shifted, quieter now—less about pride, more about principle. “And if this starts to mess with the case, or with us, we end it. Doesn’t matter where we’re at.”

Dick’s posture shifted slightly, his jaw tightening. But he nodded. “Done.”

They stared at each other for a beat.

“Whoever she chooses,” Dick said, calm and clear, “the other backs off. No hard feelings.”

Jason’s fingers curled at his sides. A long pause.

Then, he nodded. “May the best man win.”

Dick’s gaze didn’t waver. “For her. The best man for her.”

Meanwhile, Tim watched the entire exchange unfold like a tennis match—head swivelling between brothers, eyes wide. He looked personally offended that no one had handed him popcorn.

“I’ve got to tell the others,” he muttered under his breath, already planning the group chat text.

Dick left for patrol not long after, slipping his domino mask into place with the smug confidence of a man who thought he’d just secured a win.

Jason, who didn’t need to suit up for another hour, turned to Tim with a groan and a scowl. “Alright, nerd. How did you even know where to look for that flagged experiment?”

Tim blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. Uh—it was actually Damian.”

Jason’s eye twitched.

“He said the doctor might be a potential lead. Once we ran her name, we found the connection to her brother and his research. Looked solid.”

Jason exhaled slowly through his nose. Of course it was Damian. The demon spawn never let anything go. And this was exactly what he got for digging into her file on Batcave servers of all places. He might as well have slapped a neon sign across the screen that read I’m hiding something, please investigate. The one girl he was actually interested in—and she was tangled up in one of their ugliest cases to date.

Jason turned to Tim, narrowing his eyes like a man about to drag someone else into his personal war.

“You’re gonna help me.”

Tim blinked. “With… what exactly?”

“Reconning Dick.”

Tim frowned. “Didn’t you two literally just agree not to interfere?”

“I’m not interfering,” Jason said, far too quickly. “I’m making sure he sticks to the rules.”

Tim gave him a long, deadpan look. “Uh-huh.”

Jason just stared.

Tim sighed, resigned. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Nope.”

Another sigh. Tim rolled his chair back from the console like it was a death march. “I need a vacation. Or a therapist.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a real one, Replacement.”

“Don’t call me that.”

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[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.6

Chapter Six: I Keep These Longings Locked In Lowercase Inside A Vault

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, On-Set Accident, Blood, Stitches, Medic

Word Count: 9.6k

A/N: GOOD MORNING CHICKENS 🙂‍↕️ Lowkey, I ran into a wall writing this chapter LOL. Anyways, almost murdered the reader cause why not HEHE. If we’re doing hallmark tropes— I’M GOING ALL THE WAY, BABY.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Guilty As Sin? By Taylor Swift

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING

Sunlight filters softly through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. The air feels calm, almost too calm, as if it knows that something is about to shift.  

“You know we’ll still see each other at work, right?” you say with a soft laugh, zipping up your suitcase and trying to keep things light.  

Despite your tone, there’s a strange ache in your chest—a heaviness that lingers just beneath the surface. You keep your focus on the zipper, avoiding his gaze for a moment too long.  

Pedro stands in the doorway, arms crossed, his shoulder resting casually against the frame as he watches you with that familiar ease. But there’s something different in his expression this morning, something quieter. “Doesn’t mean I’ll miss you any less,” he replies, his voice warm but tinged with a softness that makes your heart stumble.  

Then his lips curl into a teasing pout. “Especially the cuddles.”  

Your breath catches, heat rushing to your cheeks as flashes of last night fill your mind—the two of you curled up together on the couch, your head on his chest, his arm draped around you. You’d fallen asleep like that, wrapped in warmth and comfort, his steady heartbeat beneath your ear. Neither of you had moved until morning.  

You clear your throat, trying to play it off. “I’m sure you’ll survive without a cuddle buddy for one night.”  

“Survive, yes.” Pedro sighs dramatically. “But thrive? Highly questionable.”  

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his antics. The knot in your chest loosens just a little. Stepping closer, you reach out and gently take his hand. Your fingers brush against his palm, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.  

“Walk me to my new room?” you ask, your voice quieter now, almost shy.  

Pedro’s eyes soften as he looks down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “Of course,” he says, his voice steady, reassuring. “Lead the way.”  

The hallway is peaceful in the early morning light, the soft hum of the hotel’s quiet routine filling the air. Pedro stays close, his shoulder brushing yours with every step. It feels effortless, this closeness, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  

When you reach your new room, you pause, staring at the door as your grip tightens around the keycard. Suddenly, you’re not so sure you’re ready to walk in and let the bubble of the past week burst.  

Pedro notices, his head tilting slightly as he studies you. “You okay?”  

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Yeah. Just… feels a little weird, that’s all.”  

He steps closer, his hand resting gently on your arm. “Weird how?”  

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Like… we’ve been in this little bubble all week,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper. “And now it’s about to pop.”  

Pedro’s brow furrows for a second before his expression shifts into something reassuring. His thumb traces a soothing line against your sleeve. “It doesn’t have to pop,” he says softly. “It can stretch—change shape a little. But it doesn’t have to go away.”  

You blink up at him, caught off guard by how easily his words settle the swirling uncertainty inside you.  

“You’re right,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re annoyingly good at this.”  

Pedro grins, stepping back just enough to give you space while still keeping his hand on your arm. “It’s one of my many talents,” he teases.  

You swipe the keycard and push the door open, the soft click of the lock breaking the moment. “Well, thanks for the walk,” you say softly, standing just inside the doorway.  

He lingers for a moment, his eyes lingering on yours like he’s not quite ready to leave. “Anytime.”  

There’s a beat of silence, charged but gentle, before he takes a step back.  

“Pedro?” you call after him, your voice instinctive and soft.  

He turns back, one brow raised. “Yeah?”  

You hesitate for just a second, then smile. “See you tomorrow?”  

His face lights up in that easy, familiar way that feels like home. “You can count on it.”  

You watch him disappear down the hall, the warmth of his presence lingering in the air long after he’s gone. The ache in your chest eases, replaced by something lighter—something that feels suspiciously like hope.  

With a soft sigh, you close the door behind you and lean against it for a moment, letting the quiet settle around you. It feels strange not having Pedro right there, filling the space with his warmth and playful banter. The silence feels heavier now, but you shake it off and turn toward your suitcase.  

Unpacking is slow and deliberate, each item placed carefully, like it might somehow ground you in this new room. Eventually, you unzip the side pocket and spot the little polaroid photobooth strip you’d tucked away.  

You pull it out, your fingers brushing gently over the glossy surface. The photo was taken just yesterday, but it feels like a lifetime ago—a perfect little slice of happiness frozen in time. Pedro’s grinning wide in the picture, his arm slung around your shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You’re laughing, caught mid-giggle, eyes bright and cheeks flushed from too much teasing.  

Your lips curve into a small smile at the memory. That day… it’s up there in your top three moments in life, one of those days you pray you’ll never forget—if you’re lucky.  

It had started with a spontaneous coffee run that turned into hours of wandering through the streets, popping into bookshops and vintage stores, taking goofy photos at every opportunity. Pedro had insisted on the photobooth, dragging you inside with that mischievous glint in his eyes.  

You’d rolled your eyes but followed him in, unable to resist the way his excitement was so contagious. The tiny booth had been cramped, your shoulders pressed together as you both tried to fit into the frame. Pedro had leaned closer, his head nearly resting against yours, and flashed a ridiculous grin just as the camera clicked.  

The memory warms you now, a soft glow that spreads through your chest. You can still hear his voice, still feel the weight of his arm around you, still see the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

You carefully set the photo on the nightstand, propping it up against the lamp. It feels like a little piece of him is here with you, anchoring you in a way that nothing else can.  

The rest of your unpacking is a blur, your thoughts drifting back to him over and over. It’s ridiculous, really, how much space he takes up in your mind.  

Stop it, you tell yourself. You’ll see him tomorrow. It’s no big deal.  

But deep down, you know it’s a little more complicated than that. You’ve been in this bubble with him for days—wrapped up in late-night conversations, shared coffee runs, and the kind of closeness that feels far too easy. Now that you’re on the edge of something new, something that feels like it could change everything, you don’t quite know how to navigate it.  

Your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your thoughts.  

Pedro: Miss me yet?  

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the grin that’s already forming. He’s impossible.  

You: I was just starting to enjoy the peace and quiet.  

There’s a pause, and then:  

Pedro: Liar. You miss me.  

You roll your eyes, warmth blooming in your chest.  

You: Maybe a little.  

Pedro: Thought so. Meet me for coffee in the morning?  

Your heart flutters at the thought, the ache in your chest completely forgotten.  

You: It’s a date.  

You set your phone down, the smile lingering on your lips.

SOHO HOUSE – AFTERNOON 

The café is buzzing with the low hum of conversation, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mixing with something warm and buttery from the kitchen. You slide into a booth where Daisy and Omar are already waiting, their plates half-finished, because of course, you’re the late one.  

“There she is,” Daisy grins, sipping her iced latte. “Surprised you could make time for little old us.”  

Omar smirks, leaning back against the booth. “Figured you’d be too busy playing house with Pedro.”  

You nearly choke on your water. “Oh my god, shut up.”  

Daisy gasps dramatically. “So defensive. We’re just saying—you two have been… spending a lot of time together.”  

“Yeah,” Omar adds, raising an eyebrow. “Like, a lot.”  

You roll your eyes, setting your napkin in your lap. “We were literally just sharing a suite until my room was ready. That’s it.”  

Daisy exchanges a knowing glance with Omar before turning back to you. “Sure. And is ‘just sharing a suite’ why you’re glowing like you’ve been in a rom-com montage?”  

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I hate you both.”  

Omar laughs. “That’s fine, but tell me I’m wrong.”  

You hesitate a second too long, and that’s all Daisy needs to pounce.  

“She’s not denying it.”  

You huff, taking a pointed bite of your food. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”  

Daisy leans in, dropping her voice. “Fine. Let’s talk about how Cecilia is a raging bitch.”  

Omar sighs. “Finally.”  

Your stomach twists. You’ve been dealing with it all week—Cecilia’s passive-aggressive comments, her cutting looks, the way she talks over you during meetings like you don’t even exist. You thought maybe you were imagining it at first, but then Daisy started noticing. Then Omar. And now it’s become impossible to ignore.  

“She’s been awful to you,” Omar says, frowning. “Like, openly awful.”  

“Yeah, I don’t get it,” Daisy adds. “It’s like she’s got some weird grudge against you. She’s only nice when Pedro’s around.”  

You exhale slowly, pushing your food around with your fork. “I don’t know what her problem is.”  

“She’s threatened by you,” Daisy says matter-of-factly. “You’re good at your job, and Pedro actually, you know, likes you.”  

You shoot her a look. “Daisy.”  

“What? I’m just saying. She’s been trying to sink her claws into him forever, and now she’s watching him give you all his attention. You think that’s a coincidence?”  

Omar nods. “She’s not even subtle about it.”  

You groan, rubbing your temple. “It’s just exhausting. I don’t want drama, I just want to do my job.”  

Daisy softens. “I know, babe. But you should bring it up to the first AD. This isn’t just personal—it’s affecting your work.”  

Omar nods. “Exactly. You shouldn’t have to deal with this shit.”  

You chew on your lip, debating. The idea of escalating it makes your stomach knot, but at the same time… they’re right. You shouldn’t have to just deal with it.  

“I’ll think about it,” you say finally.  

Daisy raises an eyebrow. “You better.”  

Omar smirks. “Now, back to Pedro—”  

You groan.  

Daisy grins, nudging you. “What? Just curious—how’s the cuddling?”  

You hide your face in your hands again.  

They’re never going to let this go.  

OXFORD STREET – AFTERNOON  

The city hums around you, the air thick with the scent of freshly brewed coffee from a nearby café, the distant chatter of tourists mixing with the occasional honk of a taxi. The sky is an endless stretch of soft blue, and the warmth of the sun against your skin makes the day feel lighter, easier.  

Daisy swings her shopping bag dramatically as she walks beside you. “Alright, so we’ve got the essentials—skincare, snacks, some clothes. Anything else?”  

“I could use some new art supplies,” you muse, adjusting your tote bag on your shoulder. “I ran out of markers.”  

Omar gasps. “Tragic. We must fix this.”  

Daisy nods solemnly. “Immediately.”  

You laugh as they steer you toward the next store, their enthusiasm contagious. The three of you weave through shelves of neatly stacked notebooks, sketchpads, and rows upon rows of colorful markers. You let your fingers trail over the different shades, your mind already picturing what you could create.  

“Should I be concerned that you look this excited over pens?” Omar teases, peering over your shoulder.  

You roll your eyes, tossing a pack of markers into your shopping basket. “Not everyone can be an influencer like some people. Some of us need hobbies.”  

Daisy cackles. “Wow. Drag him.”  

Omar clutches his chest. “I am wounded.”  

You smirk, grabbing a sketchbook before leading them back into the bustle of the street.  

A few stores later, as you browse through a boutique filled with delicate jewelry, something catches your eye—a simple but elegant bracelet, a thin gold chain with a tiny, shimmering star charm. You pause, tilting your head as you trace a fingertip over it.  

It’s beautiful. Understated but meaningful.  

You hesitate, then shake your head, gently setting it back down. You’ve already bought enough today.  

Daisy, pretending to check her phone, subtly snaps a picture of the bracelet the moment you turn away. She shares a quick glance with Omar, who smirks knowingly, before tucking her phone back into her pocket like nothing happened.  

“Alright,” Omar announces. “Time for the grand finale.”  

You raise a brow. “Which is?”  

He gestures dramatically toward a shop just a few doors down—a musical instrument store. Through the large glass window, you can see rows of guitars hanging on the walls, keyboards set up near the back, and a few people testing out instruments.  

You take a step back. “Oh, no.”  

“Oh, yes,” Daisy says, grabbing your arm.  

“I just wanted art supplies,” you protest, even as they start dragging you toward the entrance.  

“And now you get music,” Omar grins. “A full creative experience.”  

The bell above the door chimes as you step inside. The scent of polished wood and old sheet music fills the air, and soft acoustic strumming floats from the back where someone is testing a guitar.  

Daisy and Omar immediately start messing around—Omar taps on a few piano keys while Daisy picks up a tambourine and shakes it dramatically.  

You, however, find yourself drawn to the guitars.  

Your fingers brush against the smooth neck of one, its warm, honey-colored wood gleaming under the soft lighting. Without thinking, you pick it up, settling it onto your lap as you sit on a nearby stool.  

The weight of it is familiar, grounding.  

You give the strings a tentative strum. The sound vibrates through your fingertips, sending a shiver up your spine.  

Omar and Daisy go quiet, watching as you idly pluck a few chords, your fingers moving almost instinctively.  

And then, without meaning to, you start playing something real.  

The opening chords of Risk by Gracie Abrams fill the air, delicate and wistful.  

Your voice follows, soft at first, barely above a hum.  

“And I wake up

In the middle of the night

With the light on

And I feel like I could die

'Cause you're not here

And it don't feel right

'Cause you're not here”

The melody flows effortlessly from your lips, your fingers moving with muscle memory, like the song has always been resting just beneath your skin.  

Daisy and Omar exchange a look, their teasing smiles replaced with something quieter, something fonder.  

You don’t even notice the way the store quiets, how a few people glance in your direction.  

“God, I'm actually invested

Haven't even met him

Watch this be the wrong thing, classic

God, I'm jumpin' in the deep end

It's more fun to swim in

Heard the risk is drownin', but I'm gonna take it”

Your voice is steady but gentle, carrying the weight of the lyrics, the quiet ache of them.  

For a moment, it’s just you and the music.  

When you finish the last chord, letting it ring softly into the still air, you finally glance up.  

Omar and Daisy are staring.  

“…What?” you ask, suddenly shy.  

Daisy blinks. “So you’re just gonna casually have the voice of an angel and not tell us?”  

You huff a laugh, setting the guitar down. “I just… like playing sometimes.”  

Omar shakes his head in disbelief. “Unacceptable. We need to form a band immediately.”  

You roll your eyes, standing up. “You’re being ridiculous.”  

Daisy loops an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you. “No, we just love you and think you’re unfairly talented.”  

Your cheeks warm, but you let yourself smile.  

Maybe today really was a good day.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING  

The ride back is filled with laughter, the kind that lingers even after the jokes have faded, warmth curling around the edges of your chest. The three of you are crammed into the backseat of a cab, shopping bags piled between you, the city blurring past in a wash of golden streetlights and neon signs.  

“I still cannot believe you didn’t tell us you could sing like that,” Daisy says for what has to be the fifth time.  

Omar sighs dramatically. “Honestly, I feel betrayed. I thought we were close.”  

You groan, leaning your head back against the seat. “It wasn’t a secret—I just never thought to mention it.”  

Omar clutches his chest. “Oh, so we’re just chopped liver then?”  

You give him a deadpan look. “Yes. Exactly.”  

Daisy cackles, and Omar glares at both of you before shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh. “This is the worst day of my life.”  

The driver chuckles quietly, clearly entertained by the three of you.  

The cab slows in front of the Chiltern Firehouse, the warm glow of the entrance lights spilling onto the pavement. You reach for your bags, shifting them into your arms as Daisy nudges you lightly.  

“Alright, superstar. We’ll see you tomorrow?”  

You nod. “Breakfast?”  

“Obviously,” Omar says. “We can’t function without an unhealthy amount of caffeine and gossip.”  

Daisy smirks. “And don’t think we forgot about her.”  

You groan, knowing exactly who she means. “Cecilia?”  

Omar scoffs. “Yeah, Cecilia.” His expression darkens slightly, annoyance flickering across his face. “You have to say something, babe. She’s been unbearable this entire week.”  

Daisy nods in agreement. “Seriously. If you don’t, we will.”  

You sigh, adjusting your grip on your shopping bags. It’s not that you haven’t noticed Cecilia’s behavior—how she seems to have made it her personal mission to be as dismissive, condescending, and outright rude as possible. You just…haven’t figured out how to deal with it yet.  

“I’ll think about it,” you say, because that’s all you can promise right now.  

Daisy eyes you like she wants to push the subject, but instead, she reaches out and squeezes your arm. “Alright. Just don’t let her get to you, okay?”  

You nod, giving her a small smile. “I won’t.”  

Omar tilts his head. “Liar.”  

You snort. “Goodnight, Omar.”  

“Goodnight, secret singer,” he teases.  

Daisy gives you a quick hug before stepping back into the cab, and with one last wave, you turn and head into the hotel.  

The warmth of the lobby greets you as you step inside, the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers filling the air. The quiet hum of conversation drifts from the bar, a few guests lounging in the plush chairs near the fireplace.  

You shift your bags onto one arm, your fingers brushing over the handles of the shopping bags as you make your way toward the elevators. The day’s events settle over you like a soft blanket—the shopping, the music, the laughter.  

You feel good.  

Better than you have in days.  

The elevator dings softly as the doors open, and as you step inside, you can’t help but let a small, satisfied smile slip onto your lips.  

Maybe tomorrow will be even better.

You make your way to your room, tap your keycard on the lock and enter. The door clicks shut behind you, muffling the distant hum of the hallway. You exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders as you set your shopping bags down near the dresser. The room is quiet, save for the faint city sounds filtering in through the window—London still alive and buzzing outside, even as exhaustion begins to settle into your bones.  

You flick on the bedside lamp, the soft golden glow washing over the space. Kicking off your shoes, you make your way to the vanity, catching your reflection in the mirror. There’s a tired sort of happiness in your face, a contentment that lingers in your eyes despite the long day.  

You start unpacking your shopping bags, sorting through the few essentials you picked up. The art supplies make you smile—new markers, sketchbooks, things you didn’t necessarily need but wanted anyway. Your fingers brush over a particular bag, and you pause, pulling out the Polaroid photobooth strip you’d nearly forgotten about.  

Pedro’s face grins up at you from the tiny squares—one shot of him making a ridiculous expression, another where you’re both mid-laugh, and the last…  

The last one makes your stomach flutter.  

It wasn’t planned, wasn’t posed—it was just the two of you, caught in a quiet moment, his face turned toward you, his expression soft in a way that makes something in your chest tighten.  

You let out a breath, carefully tucking the photo into your nightstand drawer before shaking your head at yourself.  

It’s fine. It’s just Pedro.  

You brush your fingers over the bracelet you liked—the one you didn’t buy. For some reason, it lingers in your mind longer than it should, but you push the thought aside and continue getting ready for bed.  

By the time you’ve showered and slipped into an oversized t-shirt, exhaustion has fully caught up with you. You slide beneath the cool sheets, letting out a sigh as your body finally relaxes.  

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.  

You reach for it, blinking at the screen.  

Pedro: Made it back okay?  

A small, involuntary smile tugs at your lips.  

You: Yeah, just got into bed.  

There’s a brief pause before his reply comes through.  

Pedro: Get some sleep, cariño. Big day tomorrow.  

You bite your lip, warmth blooming in your chest at the nickname.  

You: Goodnight, Pedro. 

You don’t wait for his response, setting your phone down and rolling onto your side. The weight of the day settles over you, but it’s lighter now, easier to carry.  

And as you drift off, the last thing on your mind isn’t Cecilia, or the long production days ahead.  

It’s a bracelet you didn’t buy.  

And a Polaroid you won’t forget.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — MORNING  

Your alarm blares, dragging you out of sleep far earlier than you’d like. With a groan, you fumble for your phone on the nightstand, blindly swiping at the screen until the sound finally stops. The room is still dim, the soft glow of early morning creeping through the curtains, casting long shadows across the walls.  

You sit up slowly, rubbing at your bleary eyes before forcing yourself out of bed. The floor is cool against your feet as you shuffle toward the bathroom, yawning through the motions of your morning routine.  

The second your toothbrush is in your mouth, you grab your phone, squinting at the screen as you scroll through your notifications.  

Pedro: Morning, sleepyhead. Still up for coffee?  

You smile around your toothbrush, quickly typing back.  

You: Morning! Yes, definitely. Meet you in the lobby?  

His reply is almost instant.  

Pedro: I’ll be the one looking devastatingly handsome and in desperate need of caffeine.  

You roll your eyes but feel warmth creep up your neck as you set your phone down and step into the shower. The water is warm, waking you up as you let your playlist play softly in the background. You don’t linger too long—just enough to wash away the remnants of sleep before stepping out and wrapping yourself in a towel.  

As you get dressed, you glance at the Polaroid on your nightstand. The memory makes your stomach flutter, but you shake your head, pushing the thought away.  

It’s just Pedro. 

You grab your bag, double-check that you have everything for the long production day ahead, and head downstairs. 

Pedro is already there when you step into the lobby, leaning casually against the wall near the entrance. He’s dressed comfortably, a hoodie pulled over his curls, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the early hour.  

His head lifts when he spots you, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “Well, look who’s alive.”  

You roll your eyes. “Barely.”  

He chuckles, pushing off the wall. “Coffee. Stat.”  

You nod in agreement as you both step outside, the crisp morning air waking you up a little more. The streets of London are still sleepy, only a few people out at this hour, and for a moment, it feels like the two of you exist in a quiet little pocket of the city.  

Pedro falls into step beside you, close but not overbearing, his hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. “Did you sleep okay?”  

You hum, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Yeah. I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.”  

He smirks. “Tired from all that shopping?”  

You side-eye him, but your lips twitch. “Maybe. It was a productive day.”  

“You have fun?”  

You nod. “Yeah. Daisy and Omar were great. We just wandered, picked up a few things, nothing crazy.”  

Pedro hums, glancing over at you. “Get anything good?”  

“Some art supplies,” you say. “Markers, sketchbooks. Stuff to keep my hands busy.”  

Pedro’s brows lift slightly, though his expression softens into something knowing. “Still adding to your collection, huh?”  

You glance at him, a little shy under the weight of his gaze. “You say that like I have a problem.”  

He smirks. “I’ve seen your stash.”  

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. “It’s not that bad.”  

He hums, clearly unconvinced, but before you can argue your case, you both step into the small café near the hotel. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries wraps around you instantly, sinking into your bones like comfort.  

As you approach the counter, Pedro turns to you with a look of exaggerated concentration. “Alright, let me guess your order.”  

You snort, crossing your arms. “You know my order.”  

“Do I?” He taps a finger against his chin, drawing out the moment. “Let’s see… you’re obviously an iced salted caramel latte girl.”  

You blink at him, half-impressed, half-annoyed. “You’re just showing off.”  

Pedro grins, triumphant. “I knew it.” He turns to the barista, ordering for both of you before you can protest.  

As you wait for your drinks, you lean against the counter, watching him. He looks relaxed, the usual weight of the long days ahead not quite settling on him yet.  

“You always this perceptive?” you ask, tilting your head.  

He glances at you, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Only when it matters.”  

Your stomach flips unexpectedly, and you quickly look away as the barista calls your names.  

Pedro grabs both cups, handing you yours with an easy smile. “Alright, let’s get to set before they start sending search parties.”  

You take a sip, the sweet caramel mixing with the bitter espresso, and let the warmth settle in—not just from the coffee, but from the way Pedro falls into step beside you again, his presence easy, familiar.  

Maybe today will be even better.

The car ride to set is comfortable, the early morning haze still lingering outside the windows. You and Pedro are seated next to each other, the quiet hum of the car filling the spaces between conversation.  

Joseph, Ebon, and Vanessa are preoccupied—chatting, answering messages, scrolling through their phones. But you and Pedro? You exist in the quieter moments, where words don’t have to fill the silence for it to feel full.  

You glance at Pedro from the corner of your eye. He’s leaning back against the seat, fingers wrapped loosely around his coffee cup, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. There’s something about him like this—relaxed, unreadable, but somehow still entirely present.  

“You’re quiet,” he muses, breaking the silence.  

You blink, caught. “I’m just… waking up.”  

Pedro smirks, tilting his head toward you. “It’s been half an hour.”  

You hum, taking a slow sip of your coffee. “Some of us don’t bounce out of bed with full energy at the crack of dawn.”  

“I do not ‘bounce,’” he protests, dramatically offended. “I drag myself out of bed like the sleep-deprived, overworked adult that I am.”  

You snort. “That’s not what I saw yesterday. You were practically bouncing into set.”  

Pedro shakes his head. “I think you hallucinated that.”  

“Sure,” you say, amused. “Maybe I should sketch it next time.”  

His lips curl at the mention of your sketching, but he doesn’t tease. Instead, his voice dips, quieter now. “Do you still draw at the end of the day? Or are they keeping you too busy?”  

You hesitate, fingers tracing the rim of your cup. “I try to. Helps clear my head.”  

Pedro watches you for a beat, then nods. “Good. You should keep at it.”  

Something about the way he says it, like it actually matters to him, makes warmth spread through your chest. You don’t know how to respond to that, so you just sip your coffee and hope he doesn’t notice the way your fingers tighten around the cup.  

The car slows as it pulls up to the studio lot, and everyone starts gathering their things, stretching, shaking off the sluggishness of the morning. Pedro slides his sunglasses to the top of his head, glancing at you as he opens the door.  

“Ready for another day of pretending we know what we’re doing?” he asks, grin lopsided.  

You laugh, stepping out of the car. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”  

The driver bids you all a good day, and you offer a small wave, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. The familiar buzz of set life fills the air—crew members moving equipment, voices overlapping, the faint sound of someone running lines in the distance.  

Pedro falls into step beside you, and despite the chaos around you, you feel oddly settled. Maybe it’s the coffee. Maybe it’s the warmth of the morning.  

Or maybe it’s just him.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — DAY 

The day stretches long and demanding, filled with the constant hum of movement, orders being called out, and the steady rhythm of set life unfolding around you.  

You and Daisy barely have a moment to breathe, running between departments, making sure everything is where it needs to be. The production schedule is tight, which means there’s no room for mistakes, no time to slow down.  

“Okay, okay, hold up,” Daisy pants, stopping next to you behind the set, hands braced on her knees. “If I have to run across this lot one more time to deliver another prop, I’m throwing myself into the fog machine and disappearing.”  

You huff out a tired laugh, adjusting your headset as you check the call sheet in your hand. “I hate to break it to you, but we still need to get the next set of dailies to the editing bay and make sure wardrobe has the updated continuity notes.”  

Daisy groans dramatically. “How did we get roped into this again?”  

“You volunteered to take extra PA shifts,” you remind her, smirking.  

She scowls. “And you agreed to do it with me, so who’s the real fool here?”  

You nudge her with your elbow before checking your watch. There’s a brief window before the next setup, and you both know better than to waste it. Without another word, you split up—Daisy heads toward the props department, while you weave through the maze of trailers and equipment toward wardrobe.  

The moment you step inside the wardrobe tent, you’re met with the sharp scent of fabric steam and the controlled chaos of stylists making last-minute adjustments.  

“Hey, got the continuity notes from this morning’s shoot,” you say, handing over the folder to one of the assistants.  

They glance up, looking relieved. “Oh, thank God. We were just about to send someone to chase these down.”  

You flash a tired smile. “Happy to save you the trouble.”  

Before you can leave, someone’s headset crackles with an urgent call from set, and you hear your name being mentioned.  

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, already moving.  

By the time you get back to set, Daisy is already there, headset tilted as she listens to the first AD barking orders. She shoots you a look when she sees you approach, her expression somewhere between we’re so screwed and why is everyone like this?  

“What now?” you whisper.  

“They need another PA to help reset the stunt rigging for the next take,” she mutters back. “Guess who gets to be that PA?”  

“Us?”  

“Ding, ding, ding.”  

You sigh, but there’s no use complaining. Instead, you follow Daisy toward the main soundstage, where the crew is resetting for another action sequence. The rigging team waves you over, already handing you harnesses to help secure the area.  

You’ve barely finished clipping things into place when Pedro appears nearby, already in costume, watching the controlled chaos of set. His gaze catches on you, a flicker of recognition in his eyes before amusement settles in.  

“Didn’t realize this was part of your job description,” he teases, arms crossing over his chest.  

You roll your eyes, adjusting the straps on your harness. “I do everything around here.”  

“Clearly,” he says, grinning. “I should start calling you the real MVP of this production.”  

Daisy, overhearing, snorts. “Oh, don’t encourage her. She’s already got enough of a complex.”  

Pedro laughs, and you glare at Daisy, but it’s all in good fun. The truth is, despite the exhaustion, despite the constant running around, there’s something oddly satisfying about the work. It’s not glamorous, not in the way people think movies are made, but it’s real. And you love it.  

Even if, by the time lunch rolls around, you feel like you’ve run a marathon.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON 

You slump onto the nearest empty bench, your limbs aching from the nonstop running around since the crack of dawn. With a tired groan, you twist open a bottle of water and down it in several long gulps, the cool relief barely making up for how drained you feel.  

“I’m so glad I brought an extra change of clothes because holy shit,” you gasp, wiping at the sweat on your forehead.  

Daisy collapses beside you with an equally exhausted sigh, her head lolling back against the table. “If I don’t sit down for the next hour, I might actually pass out standing up.”  

Omar drops into the seat on your other side, groaning dramatically as he takes a long swig from his water bottle. “No, because fuck this,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Why does it feel like production’s been testing our stamina like we’re training for the fucking Olympics?”  

You huff a tired laugh. “Because we are.”  

Nearby, a group of other PAs are in similar states of exhaustion, scarfing down sandwiches like they’ve been starved for days. The entire crew has been running on fumes all morning, juggling stunts, continuity notes, and last-minute script changes.  

You dig into the lunch Daisy had brought back for you—a sandwich and a bag of chips, simple but satisfying. The three of you eat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being the occasional sighs of relief from getting off your feet for even a few minutes.  

Eventually, Daisy leans forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So… have you thought about saying something to the first AD about Cecilia?”  

You nearly choke on your bite of sandwich. "Oh my God, not now.”  

“Yes, now,” Daisy insists. “She’s been a bitch all week, and it’s only getting worse. I swear, if she snaps at you one more time, I’ll throw my walkie at her.”  

Omar nods, chewing thoughtfully. “Yeah, it’s actually getting kinda unbearable.”  

You sigh, pushing your food around with your fork. You know they’re right. Cecilia—one of the senior production assistants—has been making your life hell lately. Every little thing you do is apparently wrong, and her constant nitpicking has started to feel personal.  

“I just…” you hesitate, rubbing at your temples. “I don’t want to make it a bigger deal than it already is. Maybe she’s just stressed?”  

Daisy gives you an unimpressed look. “Stressed my ass. We’re all stressed, babe, and we’re not out here making everyone miserable just because we can.”  

Omar points his fork at you. “Exactly. And look, I get not wanting to stir the pot, but if she keeps treating you like shit, it’s gonna start affecting your work. You need to say something.”  

You bite your lip, mulling it over. You’re not the type to cause a scene, especially when it comes to work—you’ve always just kept your head down and powered through. But this… this has been eating at you for days.  

“I’ll think about it,” you murmur, still unsure.  

Daisy narrows her eyes. “You better do more than think.”  

Before you can respond, the sound of approaching footsteps makes you glance up—only to find Pedro making his way toward your table, two cups of iced coffee in hand.  

“Oh, look who’s finally gracing us with his presence,” Omar teases, smirking.  

Pedro grins, unfazed, before setting one of the iced coffees in front of you. “Thought you could use this.”  

You blink, surprised. “You—” You glance down at the drink, recognizing it immediately. Iced salted caramel latte. Your go-to. “How did you—”  

Pedro shrugs, casual as ever. “You think I don’t pay attention?”  

Your stomach flips, heat creeping up your neck. Daisy and Omar exchange a look before Daisy not-so-subtly nudges you under the table.  

“I—uh, thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the cup and focusing very hard on the condensation forming on the plastic.  

Pedro watches you with a knowing smile before he turns to the rest of the group. “So, what’s the gossip? What’s got everyone whispering like high schoolers?”  

Daisy doesn’t hesitate. “Oh, just Cecilia being Cecilia.”  

Pedro’s smile fades slightly, his gaze flicking to you. “She still giving you a hard time?”  

You shift uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes. “It’s nothing, really. Just—”  

“It’s not nothing,” Daisy interjects. “She’s been riding her ass all week, and it’s getting ridiculous.”  

Pedro frowns, leaning against the table. “You talked to the AD about it?”  

You sigh. “No, because it’s not that serious—”  

“It is,” Omar cuts in. “You’re working twice as hard as half the people on this set, and she’s still treating you like shit.”  

Pedro’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he wants to say something—something firm, something protective—but instead, he exhales, rolling his shoulders back.  

“Well,” he says finally, voice measured, “if you don’t want to bring it up, at least let me know if she crosses the line again.”  

You glance up at him, the warmth in his gaze soft but serious. There’s something reassuring about it, like he’s quietly telling you that he’s in your corner, no matter what.  

Your chest tightens, and for a second, you don’t know what to say.  

Daisy, of course, fills the silence for you. “Damn, maybe you should just let Pedro handle it,” she jokes, wiggling her brows. “Bet she’d shut up real quick if he just—”  

“Daisy,” you hiss, mortified.  

Pedro chuckles, but there’s a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I mean… I could have a word with her.”  

“Oh my God, no.” You shake your head rapidly. “That would just make it worse.”  

“Debatable.”  

“I swear to God—”  

He laughs, hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll stay out of it.” A pause. “For now.”  

You groan, but there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before.  

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON 

The day isn’t over yet.  

After lunch, you’re right back at it, running around set, checking call sheets, adjusting rigging equipment, and making sure everything is in place for the next round of stunt rehearsals. You, Daisy, and Omar move like a well-oiled machine, setting up wires and double-checking safety protocols.  

Matt Shakman, ever the observant director, watches from a distance, arms crossed and a satisfied nod of approval on his face. “You three are killing it today,” he says, passing by as you finish tightening a harness.  

“Thanks, Matt,” Daisy beams, nudging you playfully. “We try.”  

Jess Hall, the first assistant director, chimes in, “Seriously, you guys have been on top of everything. Keep this up, and I might actually sleep well tonight.”  

You let out a small, shy laugh, ducking your head. “Just doing our job.”  

“Yeah, but you’re doing it well,” Jess points out, before heading off to oversee the final checks.  

As you straighten up, rolling out the tension in your shoulders, you spot Pedro, Vanessa, Ebon, and Joseph arriving on set. Pedro catches your eye first, grinning as he waves. The others follow suit, greeting you and the crew with casual waves and easy smiles.  

You lift a hand in return, a small but warm flutter in your chest.  

And then there’s Cecilia.  

Standing off to the side, arms crossed, face like thunder.  

You don’t even have to look directly at her to feel the glare she’s boring into you. The barely contained resentment. It’s been like this all day—every time you do something right, every time you get even a sliver of recognition, she seems to grow more and more pissed.  

But you push it out of your mind.  

You have a job to do.  

And right now, that means making sure this next stunt goes off without a hitch.  

The rigging for the next scene is extensive—multiple actors wired up, intricate movements choreographed down to the second. You’re double-checking the setup, securing a final carabiner when someone calls for places.  

“Alright, let’s lock it up!” Jess shouts. “Rolling in five!”  

You step back, joining Daisy and Omar off to the side, scanning the setup one last time. Everything looks solid. No loose wires. No unsecured equipment.  

At least, that’s what you think.  

Then—  

A blur. A crack. A scream.  

It happens too fast.  

Something above shifts—maybe a light, maybe part of the set structure—but it’s falling, fast and heavy, right where Pedro is standing.  

Your body moves before your brain does.  

“Move!”  

You shove Pedro with both hands, hard, sending him stumbling out of the way just as the metal rig comes crashing down.  

The impact never comes.  

Not for him, at least.  

Pain explodes across your shoulder, sharp and jarring, but adrenaline surges through you, numbing everything as chaos erupts around you.  

“Jesus Christ—”  

“Someone get a medic—”  

Voices blur together. There’s movement, hands reaching for you, but you’re not even thinking about yourself.  

You blink up at Pedro, his face inches from yours, panic written in every crease of his expression.  

"Are you good?" you ask, voice tight, breath coming faster now.  

Pedro just stares at you, jaw clenched, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to process what just happened.  

Then he swallows, hard. “Am I—?” His voice is strained. “You’re the one who—”  

He doesn’t finish, just reaches for you, steadying you as a medic pushes through the small crowd that’s formed around you.  

It’s only then that you notice—  

The blood.  

Your sleeve is torn. There’s a gash on your arm, deep and angry-looking, but you barely feel it.  

Pedro does.  

His grip on you tightens, like he’s just realizing how close that was. Like he’s just realizing you took the hit for him.

You don’t register the pain at first. The adrenaline drowns it out, buzzing through your veins like white noise, making everything feel strangely detached—like you’re floating just outside your body, watching everything unfold in slow motion.  

But Pedro’s grip on you is very real.  

“Shit, shit, shit—” His voice is low, strained, hands hovering over you like he doesn’t know where to touch, afraid he’ll make it worse. His eyes flicker between your face and your arm, widening at the sight of the torn fabric, the deep gash beneath it.  

“I’m fine,” you mumble, blinking rapidly as the world tilts slightly. “You’re fine. That’s what matters.”  

Pedro exhales sharply, jaw tightening. He looks anything but reassured.  

The medic finally pushes through the crowd, dropping to his knees beside you. “Let me see,” he says, already reaching for your arm.  

“I’m good—” you try to insist, but Pedro gives you a look. A look that immediately shuts you up.  

A storm of emotion brews behind his eyes—concern, anger, something else you can’t quite name yet. He’s tense, his entire body coiled like a spring.  

You feel a little dizzy. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Maybe it’s the fact that Pedro is looking at you like that, like he cares too much.  

“Alright, this is gonna sting,” the medic warns before pressing gauze against the wound.  

It does more than sting. A sharp, searing pain shoots through your arm, and you hiss through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut for a second.  

Pedro flinches. Actually flinches, like he felt it too.  

“Fucking hell,” Daisy breathes from behind him. She’s pale, wide-eyed. “That thing could’ve crushed you.”  

Omar nods, face just as grim. “Yeah, what the hell even happened?”  

There’s a murmur of agreement from the other crew members gathered around, voices overlapping in hushed confusion. Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.  

The rig had been checked. The lights had been secured.  

So why did it fall?  

You glance toward the area where the rigging had come loose. Something gnaws at the back of your mind—an unease you can’t quite name. Your gaze flickers briefly toward Cecilia, who stands a little too still, a little too composed.  

She doesn’t look shocked.  

She looks… interested.  

Like she’s watching.  

And then, as if she senses you looking, she tilts her head slightly—just a fraction—before turning away.  

A chill snakes down your spine.  

“Hey.” Pedro’s voice pulls you back. He’s crouched next to you, closer now, his hand still hovering near yours but not quite touching. His knee almost brushes against yours. “You with me?”  

Your breath hitches.  

You hate how he does that—how he sees you so easily, how he pulls you back from the edges of your own mind with nothing but a word, a glance.  

“I’m good,” you say, voice quieter than before.  

Pedro’s expression darkens, like he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he turns his attention back to the medic. “She needs stitches, right?”  

The medic nods. “Yeah. We’ll need to get her patched up properly.”  

Pedro exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He looks like he wants to hit something.  

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter.  

“Like what?”  

“Like I just died in front of you or something.”  

Pedro does not laugh. In fact, he looks even more tense, if that’s possible.  

“You could have,” he says, voice low. “If you hadn’t moved so fast, that thing—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have done that.”  

“I shouldn’t have saved you?” you arch a brow. “I didn’t realize that was a bad thing.”  

Pedro levels you with a look, one that sends heat crawling up your spine. “You know what I mean.”  

There’s something charged in the air between you. A tension neither of you acknowledge, but it’s there, lingering like the static before a storm.  

Jess Hall calls for a short break while the crew inspects the rigging failure. People start to disperse, murmuring about safety protocols and near-misses.  

But Pedro doesn’t move.  

Neither do you.  

The medic finishes wrapping your arm in temporary bandages. “She should get properly stitched up in the medical tent.”  

Pedro stands before you can even process that. “I’ll take her.”  

You blink. “That’s not necessary—”  

“Not asking,” Pedro says, holding out a hand to help you up.  

You hesitate, but the moment your fingers brush against his, the warmth of his palm against yours, you stop thinking.  

He pulls you up carefully, keeping you steady when you sway slightly on your feet. His grip lingers—just a little too long.  

And when you finally look up at him, there’s something in his expression that makes your stomach twist.  

Something unspoken. Something more.  

Something you don’t have the words for yet.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MEDICAL TENT 

The walk to the medical tent is quiet.  

Pedro hasn’t let go of you. His hand hovers near your lower back, not quite touching but close enough that you feel him there—like a tether, grounding you.  

You should say something, maybe make a joke, lighten the mood. But the words don’t come. Your arm is starting to throb now, the sharp edge of pain creeping in as the adrenaline fades. You exhale slowly, focusing on each step forward.  

Pedro doesn’t rush you. He matches your pace, his brows drawn tight, his jaw locked so hard you can see the muscle tick.  

You swallow.  

“I mean,” you start, forcing out a breathy laugh, “at least I’m lucky insurance covers this.”  

Pedro stops.  

Just—stops.  

You nearly stumble, caught off guard, but when you turn to look at him, the expression on his face roots you to the spot.  

His eyes flicker over you, frustration darkening his gaze. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” His voice is tight, controlled, but there’s an edge to it. “Insurance?”  

You blink. “I mean… yeah?”  

Pedro exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. He looks like he’s about to say something else, but then he presses his lips into a firm line, nostrils flaring.  

You watch the way his shoulders rise and fall with the weight of whatever he’s holding back.  

And suddenly, you get it.  

He’s mad.  

Not at you. Not really.  

He’s mad that you got hurt. Mad that you shoved him out of the way instead of letting him take the hit. Mad that he almost lost you—over a fucking light rig.  

Your chest tightens.  

“Pedro—”  

“Don’t.” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. He looks away, shaking his head. “You scared the shit out of me.”  

Your throat feels thick. “I—”  

“I saw that thing falling, and I couldn’t move—I couldn’t do anything. And then you—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face. “Christ.”  

Your fingers twitch at your side. You don’t know what to do with this—this version of him. The one unraveling right in front of you.  

“I didn’t think,” you admit, voice small. “I just—moved.”  

Pedro lets out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Yeah. You did.”  

There’s a beat of silence. A moment where the world around you fades, leaving only the two of you standing there in the dimly lit corridor just outside the medical tent.  

Then—  

Pedro takes a step closer.  

And another.  

Your breath catches.  

His eyes search yours, something raw flickering beneath the surface. He looks at you like he’s memorizing you, like he’s trying to commit this exact moment to something permanent.  

You don’t move. You can’t.  

Then, barely above a whisper—  

“Don’t do that again.”  

You part your lips to respond, but before you can say anything—  

Pedro cups your face.  

And then—  

He doesn’t kiss you.  

He hesitates. His breath is warm against your lips, his fingers trembling slightly where they rest against your jaw. He’s so close you can count every fleck of gold in his eyes, so close you can feel the way his chest rises and falls against yours.  

You exhale, something between relief and longing tightening in your stomach.  

Then—a sharp ahem cuts through the moment.  

You jolt, heart still racing, as Pedro pulls back slightly—just enough to let you breathe, but not enough to let you go. His hands remain where they are, warm and steady against your skin.  

The medic staff is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow arched like they’ve seen this kind of thing play out before.  

“Hate to break up the moment,” they say, voice dry, “but I have some stitches to put in.”  

You blink.  

Right.  

The pain in your arm, dulled by adrenaline and—well, Pedro—suddenly makes itself known again, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. You wince, shifting slightly, and Pedro’s hands immediately fall away.  

But he doesn’t step back.  

If anything, he lingers, his fingers ghosting over your wrist like he’s reluctant to break contact entirely. His brows furrow as he glances down at your injury. “She’s not gonna need the ER, right?”  

The medic shakes their head. “Nah. She’s lucky. It’s a clean cut—deep, but nothing life-threatening. We’ll get her stitched up, give her some pain meds, and she’ll live to tell the tale.”  

Pedro exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. But not all of it.  

You try to make a joke. “Told you I had good insurance.”  

Pedro doesn’t laugh.  

Instead, he just looks at you.  

The kind of look that makes your breath catch, that makes your chest feel too tight, that makes you ache in a way that has nothing to do with your injury.  

He doesn’t say anything, but his hand finds yours again, his fingers curling around yours. He squeezes, just once, before letting go.  

“Come on,” the medic says, gesturing toward the exam table. “Let’s get this over with.”  

You try really hard to be tough about the whole thing.  

You really do.  

But the moment the needle pierces your skin, you can’t help it—your breath stutters, your body tensing so hard it actually hurts.  

“Hey,” Pedro’s voice is right there, warm and grounding. His hand finds your knee, rubbing gentle circles over the fabric of your pants. “Breathe, cariño.”  

You suck in a sharp breath through your nose, blinking rapidly against the sting behind your eyes.  

God, this is so stupid. You literally work on a film set—you’ve seen worse injuries, watched stunt performers brush off things ten times more intense. But the sensation of the needle threading through your skin, pulling tight with every stitch, is enough to make your stomach turn.  

Pedro must see it written all over your face, because before you can spiral too much, he shifts, crouching beside you so you’re eye level. His voice drops lower, softer.  

“You’re doing good,” he murmurs. “Just a little more.”  

You nod, swallowing against the lump in your throat.  

The medic works quickly, but it still feels like forever. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to think of something else. Anything else.  

Pedro.  

The way he looked at you before he almost kissed you.  

The way he held you.  

The way he’s still here, watching over you like he has no intention of going anywhere.  

“Almost done,” the medic announces, tying off the last stitch. “You’re a champ. Didn’t even cry.”  

Barely.  

Pedro doesn’t let go of you. His thumb brushes over your knee one last time before he finally stands, watching as the medic cleans up and starts giving you aftercare instructions.  

“No lifting anything heavy for a few days. Keep it clean, change the dressing daily. Try not to move your arm too much—don’t want to pull the stitches.” The medic pauses, glancing between you and Pedro with something suspiciously close to amusement. “And get some rest. I mean actual rest. No overworking yourself.”  

Pedro snorts. “Yeah, good luck with that.”  

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined by how utterly exhausted you feel. The medic finishes up, giving you some painkillers and a fresh bandage before stepping back.  

“You’re good to go,” they say. “But seriously—take it easy.”  

Pedro notices.  

Before you can protest, he’s already there, an arm sliding around your waist to steady you. “Alright, that’s enough excitement for one day,” he mutters. “Come on, I’m taking you back to the hotel.”

End Notes:

I’m a sucker for having character A get injured and character B absolutely losing their shit and realizing they could lose them SO FAST and they haven’t even had a chance to love each other yet LOL

YAHHH I KEEP TEASING YA’LL WITH THE KISS IM SORRY— But I swear it’ll probably happen in the next chapter... maybe... 👀

There’s something wonderful about delayed gratification idk why

Pedro probably didn’t want to kiss you in such a situation like that– he’s probs the type to want to do it right.

Also OOoooOOOoo I almost killed the reader lol. How fun.

Again, my apologies for taking so long with this chapter, school is a bitch and I had to lock tf in for a little bit.

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove

[santaasi]

roommates with a problem

pairing: jj maybank x roommate!reader

summary: living with jj maybank is like playing with fire — you swore you wouldn’t get burned, but when he finally touches you, you go up in flames.

warnings: NSFW 18+, language, teasing, edging, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), mild dom!jj, dirty talk, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 4.4k

a/n: I'm still insecure about my smut writing skills so if it's bad just live with it :(

ᯓ★ now playing…

camila cabello - shameless

LIVING WITH JJ MAYBANK IS AN EXERCISE IN RESTRAINT.

It shouldn’t be like this. He’s your best friend. Your partner in crime. The only person who can make you laugh even when you're seething with frustration, who knows the exact rhythm of your moods like a song he’s memorized.

But there’s a problem. A serious, maddening, pulse-spiking problem.

JJ never wears a shirt.

At first, you blamed it on the summer heat. The first time he stumbled out of his room, half-asleep, golden in the morning light with sleep-ruffled hair and sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips, you barely spared a thought.

Once. That’s all it was.

But then it kept happening.

JJ, stretched across the couch like it’s his personal throne, one arm tossed lazily over the backrest, his phone in one hand and that trademark smirk tugging at his lips. JJ, fresh from the shower, towel hanging precariously off one hip, droplets of water catching the light as they trailed down the carved muscles of his chest. JJ, in the kitchen at sunrise, humming off-key while flipping pancakes, looking like the most sinful version of domestic bliss you’ve ever seen.

It’s cruel. He’s cruel.

Strutting around like temptation personified, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you.

But deep down, you know better.

Because JJ never fails to be wherever you are. If you’re in the kitchen, nose buried in your seminar notes, he suddenly appears — digging through the fridge, drinking straight from the milk carton, standing there all golden skin and bare torso, with that lazy grin and eyes that flicker toward you like he’s watching, measuring. If you’re curled on the couch, trying to drown your thoughts in some forgettable show, he’s suddenly pressed up beside you, slinging an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into the heat of him — solid, bare, intoxicating.

It makes you think about things you shouldn't. About the way his voice would sound against your neck. About the way his fingers would feel trailing up the inside of your thigh. About the kind of noises he’d pull from your throat if you just gave in — just once.

It keeps you up at night, staring at the ceiling in the dark, breath shallow, thighs pressed tight together, mind spiraling.

So you run. You bury yourself in your studies, spend long hours in the library under the guise of academia, while Kiara, Sarah, and Cleo tease you relentlessly about your new obsession with “higher learning.” When you’re home, you hide — lock yourself away in your room like it’s a sanctuary, a shield against temptation.

But JJ notices. Of course he does.

Because now, he’s in your doorway more often than not. Leaning against the frame like a goddamn oil painting, abs flexing with every stretch, golden hour light wrapping around him like it’s in love. He doesn’t need a reason to be there. Sometimes he just wanders in, drops himself onto your bed like he belongs there — like he belongs to you — and watches you. Calm. Unbothered. Smirking like he’s in on the joke you haven’t caught up to yet.

It’s like he’s waiting for something.

Waiting for you to break.

And God, you're so close.

BUT ONE EVENING, EVERYTHING CHANGES.

It’s one of those days — the kind that grates down to the bone, fraying nerves until even the air feels hostile on your skin.

You overslept for your ancient literature exam. Rushed across campus half-dressed, only to be turned away — your professor stern and unmoving. Your laptop crashed mid-submission, eating hours of carefully chosen words. And the barista at your usual spot? Got your order all wrong. Too much syrup, too sweet, sticking to your tongue like everything else today.

By the time you unlock the front door, you’re done.

Done with the day. Done with the world. Done with JJ fucking Maybank and his entire unbearable existence.

You shed your coat in the hallway, kick off your sneakers without caring where they land, and stalk toward the kitchen in search of comfort — salt, sugar, anything to soften the edge carved into your mood.

And of course — of course — he’s there.

Leaning against the counter like he was sculpted for it, bathed in the golden warmth of the kitchen light. He’s shirtless — because why wouldn’t he be — skin bronzed and smooth, the sharp cut of his abs flexing as he cracks open a beer with one hand. His lips curve into that signature smirk, the one that always manages to feel both lazy and dangerous. He tilts his head back for a sip, throat working slow and deliberate, like every movement was made to be watched.

It’s obscene. It’s infuriating. It’s — God — it’s unfair.

You slam the fridge shut harder than necessary, crossing your arms tight across your chest like it’ll protect you from whatever this is.

“For God’s sake, JJ,” you snap. “Put on a damn shirt.”

He doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just glances at you sideways, one brow arched, amusement dancing in those sea-glass blue eyes.

“Why’s that?” he drawls, voice syrupy and smooth, laced with mock innocence. “That bother you?”

Your jaw clenches. “It’s just–”

The words dissolve under the heat of his gaze. And then, without thinking, without filtering–

“It’s distracting.”

JJ shifts. His entire demeanor changes — like a predator catching the scent of something new. He straightens slowly, that ever-present smirk deepening into something darker, sharper. More interested.

“Distracting how?” His voice lowers, slides across your skin like warm honey. “Can’t stop looking?”

He runs a hand through his blond hair — slow, purposeful, like he knows what he’s doing. His abs flex with the stretch, and you hate the way your stomach tightens in response. Hate it. Crave it.

“I didn’t know my abs were such a problem, princess,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Unless... they’re not the problem. You just like looking.”

Your breath hitches.

And that’s it.

That’s all he needs.

His grin shifts — cocky giving way to hungry — as he steps away from the counter, sauntering toward you with the kind of deliberate slowness that makes the air grow thick and hot between you. Every step coils something tighter inside your chest, your stomach.

He stops just in front of you — too close — his bare skin radiating heat, the faint scent of salt and soap and pine enveloping you like a second skin. The kind of scent that would cling to your sheets. To your skin.

Your thoughts go quiet. Your whole body just... buzzes.

He leans in — barely. Just enough that you feel the warmth of his breath, the tension hanging on the knife’s edge between you.

“Say the word,” JJ murmurs, eyes locked on yours. They’re darker now, stormy with something unreadable — desire, challenge, restraint. “Say the word, and I’ll put a shirt on.”

You don’t say anything.

Because the truth?

You don’t want him to.

You never have.

“You could just admit you like me and save us both some time.”

JJ’s voice is quieter now, stripped of the usual teasing lilt. There's still self-satisfaction tucked into the edges — but underneath it, something else coils. Tighter. Waiting.

You scoff, reaching for something to ground yourself. Anything.

“Oh, please, I…”

The words stumble, falter, because he steps closer — and the warmth of his skin hits you before he even touches you.

JJ tilts his head, smirk deepening. “Yeah?” His voice dips, thick with amusement. “Did you say something?”

You exhale sharply, forcing your gaze away from his chest. But it’s no use. Frustration sparks, flaring hot in your gut, tangled with something you don’t have the guts to name. You meet his eyes with a scowl, jaw clenched, lips tight in irritation.

He sees it.

And he relishes it.

His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, fighting a grin. His eyes flick to your mouth — slow, deliberate — then back to yours, darker now.

“Oh, you’re annoying me.”

JJ laughs, low and rough, raking a hand through his hair as he watches you—really watches you. Not just looking, but studying, like he’s learning every inch of you by heart.

“Liar,” he murmurs.

Something twists low in your stomach.

“Excuse me?”

He leans in — not enough to touch, but enough that your breath shortens, your skin prickling from the heat between you. And then, almost casually, his fingers graze your wrist.

Not accidental.

“You could’ve asked me to wear a shirt weeks ago,” he says, voice velvet-soft, touch featherlight. “But you didn’t.” His fingers skim higher, ghosting over the sensitive skin of your inner arm. “You just watched.”

His voice drops again, almost reverent.

“And I was disappointed.”

Your breath catches. A shiver dances down your spine.

He notices — of course he notices.

His smirk shifts, darkens into something heavier. Hungrier.

“Tell me to back off,” he says, quiet now, the tease barely hanging on. Beneath it, something real. Something dangerous. “And I will.”

The silence thickens, clings like humidity before a storm.

“But if you don’t…” His gaze dips to your lips, and your knees damn near buckle. “I think we both know what’s going to happen next.”

You open your mouth — but nothing comes out. Not when he’s this close. Not when his lips hover by your cheek, not when his breath dances across your skin like a promise.

Your body betrays you. Heat blooms low in your belly, every nerve aching, reaching, wanting.

He lingers. Waiting. Testing. Letting you break.

“You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

You should.

You really should.

But your fingers curl into the waistband of his sweatpants, gripping the soft fabric like it’s the only thing tethering you to gravity. His breath catches — barely, but it’s there — and then, without hesitation, you pull him in and crash your mouth to his.

And the world shatters.

It’s not gentle. It’s heat and hunger, teeth and tongue, all the tension you’ve fought against burning through you like wildfire. You gasp against his mouth, and he swallows it whole, pressing you back until the counter bites into your spine — but you don’t care. You just want.

The kiss deepens, greedy and overwhelming, stealing your breath and every last coherent thought with it. For a second — for one sharp, electric second — you forget anything else even exists.

Only this. Only him.

JJ moans into your mouth, low and guttural, as if the sound is torn from somewhere deep inside him. His hands slide around your waist, fingers splayed and gripping like he needs to anchor himself, and then he pins you back against the counter in one fluid motion.

You gasp as he lifts you, your spine arching with the sudden motion. The cold marble kisses your thighs before his hands part them and then his hands pushing the hem of your skirt higher, standing between your legs like he was always meant to be there.

“Jesus,” he breathes against your skin, his lips skimming down your jaw, warm and reverent, like he’s memorizing you. His palms press flat against your hips, grounding you, burning into you. “You should’ve just told me.”

“Tell you what?” you manage, your voice trembling as your fingers thread through his hair. It’s grown out a little — just enough for your hands to sink into — and the softness of it, the familiarity, makes something inside you ache. You’re breathing like you’ve just run a race, chest rising and falling against his with every ragged inhale.

“That you wanted me,” he murmurs. His teeth graze your throat, just barely, and a sigh escapes your lips — soft, helpless, aching. “Would’ve saved us months of pretending.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, but your voice is wrecked — breathless and wanting.

He laughs against your neck, but it’s not cocky anymore. It’s shaky. A little desperate. Like he’s unraveling in real time. And then you kiss him again — harder, deeper — and that’s when the teasing ends.

The tension snaps, turning molten in an instant.

JJ growls low in his throat, hands tightening on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His body pushes into yours, chest to chest, hips to hips, until you feel every sharp angle of him. His hands slip beneath your shirt, callused fingertips skating down your sides, and the heat of him makes your knees tremble.

You moan into his mouth, and he answers with a sound that makes your whole body shudder — part hunger, part prayer.

You don’t even register the moment one of his hands slides down, bunching the fabric of your skirt in his fist, the other curling beneath your thigh. He draws you closer, dragging you toward the edge of the counter with a strength that makes your breath catch. You tilt your hips instinctively, and the pressure between your legs spikes like lightning in your veins. You lift your hips for him, heart pounding like a drum in your ears, and the fabric pools around your ankles.

And his hands–

God, his hands are everywhere.

Skimming over bare skin. Tracing lines down your thighs. Gripping, squeezing, worshiping.

You’re dizzy with it.

Every ounce of restraint you’ve fought to keep? Gone. Obliterated the second his lips crash back into yours.

JJ moans into the kiss like he’s starving for it, pulling you closer, tighter, until there’s no space left between you. You can feel the heat of him, the weight of him, the tension humming through every inch of his body as he grinds forward — slow, just enough to tease.

Your fingers slide over his chest, skimming sweat-slick skin, and he twitches beneath your touch, breath hitching when your nails graze down his abdomen.

His grip on you tightens in response, enough to bruise, enough to make your head spin.

“You’re driving me insane, you know that?” he whispers, voice rough, wrecked, as he mouths at your jaw, your throat. He stops just beneath your ear, breath hot as he bites — soft, sinful — and then soothes the sting with his tongue.

You inhale sharply, tipping your head to give him more access. “Am I going crazy?” you rasp. “You’re the one walking around here like some goddamn sinner straight out of an Abercrombie ad.”

JJ lets out a laugh — hoarse, strained. “Could’ve just said something, sweetheart.”

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug, forcing him to look at you.

His pupils are blown, lips kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding it together.

“Do you think I’ll give you pleasure?” you breathe, dragging your nails lightly down his torso again, watching him flinch, jaw clenching.

He exhales harshly — and then his hands slide under your thighs, gripping your ass and lifting you off the counter like it costs him nothing.

You gasp, but he swallows the sound with another kiss — hungrier, rougher — as he carries you across the apartment. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and the friction between your bodies steals the breath from your lungs.

He pins you against the wall outside your bedroom, pressing into you like he’s trying to burn himself into your bones.

There’s no mistaking how much he wants you now.

No more games.

“Still want me to wear a shirt?” he murmurs against your mouth, teasing, breath fanning over your lips.

You don’t hesitate. Not for a second.

“Shut up,” you whisper, tugging at the waistband of his sweats, voice ragged, eyes burning. “And get in my fucking bed.”

JJ grins like the devil himself before throwing open your bedroom door and tossing you onto the mattress.

"You're going to regret saying that, honey," he warns in a low, dangerous voice.

And when he leans over you, eyes darkened with real, bone-deep desire, you realize — he’s absolutely right.

JJ doesn’t waste a second.

The moment your back hits the mattress, he’s on you — all over you. His mouth is hot and demanding, kissing you like he’s been starving for it, like he needs you just to breathe. It makes your stomach flip and your thighs tighten around his.

"You have no idea," he croaks between kisses, his hands sliding under your shirt, "how long I’ve wanted this."

Your breath catches as his fingers trace up your stomach, slowly — deliberately — moving higher.

“Yes?” you tease, trying to keep the upper hand. But your voice betrays you — already breathless, already unraveling for him.

JJ giggles — low, cocky, and utterly rude — but it slips into a sharp gasp when you grind up against him, the friction catching him off guard.

“Hell, yes,” he growls.

His lips find your neck next, kissing wetly, sucking just enough to make you shiver before biting down — leaving a faint mark that makes your pulse race.

“You’re gonna be trouble,” he murmurs, his hands gliding down your sides like he’s memorizing every inch. “I’m already fucking squirming and I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

You want to snark back — but then he yanks your shirt off and just stares.

That hungry, greedy, possessive look in his eyes steals the words from your throat.

“Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then his lips are on you again — hot and open-mouthed — trailing fire down your collarbone, over the curve of your breast, until his tongue flicks over your nipple.

You arch beneath him with a moan. “Damn, JJ…”

Your fingers thread into his hair, tugging hard.

He groans, rolling his hips against you — and God, you can feel how hard he is.

“Can you feel that, honey?” he pants, voice wrecked and teasing all at once. “That’s what you do to me. Walking around, acting like you don’t want to–”

He bites again, sharp enough to make you gasp.

“Like you don’t want me to ruin you.”

Your nails drag down his back, digging in until he hisses.

“Then do it,” you whisper — your voice cracking, already undone.

JJ freezes.

Just for a second.

He stares down at you with wild eyes, dark and blown wide, like he’s about to lose control completely.

Then–

His hands are on your thighs, yanking off your skirt and underwear in one swift, fluid motion.

Before you can even catch your breath, his mouth is on you.

Your head falls back against the mattress. “Fuck, JJ–”

He moans at the sight of you, sprawled out beneath him, your legs parted, your body offered up like some fevered prayer.

“This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmurs against you, voice muffled, drunk on you. His tongue teases, circles, slides — then sucks you in deep, pulling a desperate cry from your lips.

You clutch at him — his shoulders, the sheets, the headboard — anything.

But he just laughs, sinful and smug, squeezing your hips tighter to hold you exactly where he wants you.

“Take it, baby,” he rasps, pushing two fingers inside you, curling them just right. “Be a good girl. Let me have you.”

And you do. God, you do.

He fucks you with his mouth like it’s a goddamn art, like it’s the only thing he was born to do. His tongue works you relentlessly while his fingers curl and thrust, and soon, you’re a mess — whimpering, clawing, begging.

“JJ, I… fuck, I can’t–”

“Yes, you can,” he growls. One of his hands reaches up, finding yours, intertwining your fingers.

You squeeze his hand like a lifeline.

Your back arches, a strangled sob caught in your throat, moans pouring from your lips like prayers.

“Come on, baby,” he groans, mouth hot against you. “Let me feel it. Give it to me.”

When he sucks at just the right spot, your vision goes white at the edges.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave — violent, shaking, devastating.

JJ moans as you fall apart against his mouth, as your body trembles under him. He doesn’t stop — licks you through it, drinks in every sound, every shudder, until you’re spent and wrecked and still gasping his name.

You're breathing hard, blinking up at the ceiling, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened, when JJ wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smirks down at you.

“Yes,” he murmurs, crawling back up your body, voice thick with arrogance. “That’s what I thought, baby.”

You don’t even get the chance to fire back with something smart, because his mouth is already on yours — and fuck, you can taste yourself on his tongue.

You moan into the kiss, needy and undone, and your fingers tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, desperate for more.

JJ chuckles against your mouth. “Patience, honey.”

“To hell with patience.” Your palm slides over the front of his pants, and he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder, body taut with restraint.

For a second, it seems like he’s going to tease you again — draw it out, make you beg.

But then he pulls back, sits up, and yanks off his sweatpants in one quick, determined move — like he needs to be inside you, like he’s got something to prove.

And… yeah.

You stare.

Because holy. Shit.

Of course, you’ve heard the rumors. Everyone’s heard the whispers on campus about JJ and his — well. Let’s just say his confidence isn't unfounded.

But seeing him like this? Big, thick, hard — real? That’s something else entirely.

JJ smirks like he knows exactly what you're thinking. His hand wraps around himself, slow and deliberate as he strokes, watching your face with a look that’s all heat and hunger.

“You’re looking at me like you wanna eat me alive,” he rasps, voice ragged now.

You lick your lips, pushing up on your elbows, gaze locked on him. One hand reaches out, fingers aching to wrap around him — to feel every vein, every inch.

“Maybe I do.”

JJ groans, grabbing your hips and pulling you flat again.

“No,” he growls, voice dropping dark and deep. He hovers over you, pinning your wrists to the mattress, eyes blazing. “Your turn comes later.”

Then he shifts between your thighs, spreading them wide, and you feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance.

“Right now,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

You shudder beneath him, breath catching. “Bold of you to assume I remember it now.”

JJ laughs — really laughs — and your heart stutters.

And then his grin fades, eyes darkening again, and he pushes in.

Deep.

Slow.

Devastating.

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your fingers flexing in his grip as he fills you inch by inch.

JJ curses under his breath, pressing his forehead to yours, shaking.

“Jesus fuck,” he groans. “You’re so tight. So warm. Fucking perfect.”

He pulls out just a little, then pushes back in — deeper, harder. You moan, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

And then he does it again.

And again.

And again.

Each thrust hits deeper, harder, rougher — his grip on your wrists tightening as your body arches up to meet him.

The world narrows to this — his breath scorching against your ear, the way his hips snap into you, merciless and unrelenting. The mattress creaks beneath you, the headboard knocks rhythmically against the wall, but it all fades into nothing compared to the sound of JJ breathing your name like a curse, like a promise he knows he’ll break the second you ask him to.

Your back arches when he angles just right, dragging a broken moan from your lips. He grins, teeth grazing your jaw.

“There she is,” he pants, dragging his hand up your side, fingers splayed wide like he’s memorizing the feel of your skin. “Knew you had it in you.”

He palms your breast roughly, thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaks beneath his touch, and when you whimper, he pinches — sharp, sudden, delicious.

You cry out, clenching around him, and he groans like it physically hurts to hold back. “Fuck, you like that, huh?”

“JJ–” you gasp, nails raking down his back, leaving angry red lines in your wake. He hisses, slamming into you harder, the sound of your bodies echoing in the humid, sex-thick air.

“Yeah?” he growls, mouth finding the sensitive spot just below your ear, sucking until your hips jerk. “That what you needed, baby? Me–… ugh…  inside you, owning you?”

“Yes–… God, yes–”

His hand moves to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, firm enough to make your breath catch, intimate enough to make your head spin. His other hand tugs your leg higher around his hip, and he thrusts deeper, grunting low in his chest.

JJ grabs your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes lock.

“Then look at me when you come,” he says, voice thick and rough. “Take it like you fucking mean it.”

And you do.

Your body bows beneath him, pleasure snapping through you like lightning, your vision going white as you clench around him, shaking. He holds you through it, murmuring your name over and over, like it’s grounding him, like it’s the only word that still makes sense.

You barely register his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering — until he lets out a broken groan and spills into you with a shudder so full-body it pulls a whimper from his throat. He stays there, buried deep, panting against your neck as his weight settles over you, heavy and warm and exactly where you want him.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. His hand traces lazy patterns along your ribs, then drifts lower, slipping between your legs just to watch you squirm again, already too sensitive.

"Fuckin’ insatiable,” he mutters, kissing your breast, dragging his tongue over your nipple before giving it a soft bite. You twitch, gasping, and he grins like a man who knows he’s wrecked you.

Eventually, he shifts, pulling out with a wet, obscene sound that makes you both hiss. You can feel him dripping out of you, thick between your thighs, sticking to your skin.

You should care. You don’t.

You’re still catching your breath when he breaks the silence.

“So…” JJ says, grinning crookedly, his voice still hoarse. “You still want me to start wearing shirts?”

You smack his chest weakly. “You’re such an asshole.”

But you kiss him anyway — deep, slow, and toe-curling. He tastes like sweat, like salt, like the stupid grin he’s still wearing when you pull back.

To hell with the shirts.

To hell with the rules.

Roommates with a problem? Yeah. The problem is, you’ll never get enough of him. And the real problem? He feels exactly the same.

thankx for reading <3

gosh, writing smut is so hard for me. every time I do, I feel like it’s awkward or badly written and I get so embarrassed lol. so if you’ve got any thoughts, I’d really appreciate any feedback—whether in the comments or my inbox! :3

                                    – your santi 🪐

masterlist

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, smut, creampie, fem!reader, rough smut, fingering, semi-public, pro hero Bakugo

A/N: this request got the highest number of votes during the Sinful Sunday poll. Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA & MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The day had been long, grueling, and sweat-inducing. As a pro hero, keeping in peak physical condition was not just a choice but a necessity. 

The air was thick with the smell of sweat and the faint hint of metal, the rhythmic clanging of weights creating a steady soundtrack to your exertion. 

Bakugo Katsuki, your relentless partner, trainer and one of the top pro heroes, was pushing you harder than ever. His methods were harsh, but you knew they were designed to break your limits and build you up stronger.

"You're slowing down, weakling," Bakugo growled, his voice rough with exertion but tinged with a hint of challenge.

You rolled your eyes, slowly trotting on the treadmill. "I kept up with you for nearly two hours, didn't I? Besides, I think you're just trying to cover up how tired you are."

His eyes flashed with annoyance and something darker, more primal. "Watch your mouth, or I'll show you just how much energy I have left."

Soon, he decided to move to another thing on his to-do list.

You were on the leg press machine, your muscles screaming in protest with each rep. Your tight, grey tank top clung to your sweat-drenched body, the fabric almost translucent against your skin. Every bead of sweat that slid down your nose felt like a drop of fire, a testament to your hard work and determination. Your shorts, snug and form-fitting, accentuated the curve of your ass, catching Bakugo's keen eye every now and then.

"Come on! Push harder!" Bakugo barked, his tone leaving no room for excuses. He stood close, his intense gaze fixed on you, arms crossed over his broad chest.

You gritted your teeth, the burn in your legs almost unbearable. "I'm trying," you managed to gasp out, your breaths coming in ragged bursts.

"Trying isn't enough," he snapped back. "You either do it or you don't. Now give me ten more!"

With a frustrated growl, you summoned every ounce of strength left in you, pushing against the resistance of the machine. Sweat poured off you, dripping onto your décolletage, glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights of the gym. Your body was a study in tension, muscles straining, every fiber of your being focused on completing the set.

"Eight... nine... ten," you counted aloud, finally locking the weights back in place. You collapsed against the seat, your chest heaving, muscles trembling with exhaustion.

Bakugo was immediately in your space, his presence as overwhelming as ever. He crouched down, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing with a mixture of pride and challenge. "You did it," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But you're not done yet. Get up."

You groaned, the thought of more exercise almost unbearable. But you knew better than to argue. Bakugo's training methods were brutal, but they were effective. And you had a point to prove, both to him and to yourself.

He led you to the next station, a set of free weights. "We're gonna work on your shoulders now. I want to see perfect form, or we're starting over. Got it?"

You nodded, gripping the weights with determination. Bakugo's eyes never left you, his scrutiny both motivating and nerve-wracking. As you lifted, you could feel his gaze burning into you.

"Keep your back straight," he instructed, moving closer. His hands brushed against your skin as he adjusted your posture, sending a shiver down your spine. "Good. Now, lift."

You followed his lead, lifting the weights with as much precision as you could muster. Every muscle in your body was on fire, but you refused to back down. 

"That's it. Keep going," he urged, his voice softer now but no less demanding. "I want ten perfect reps."

You lost yourself in the rhythm, each lift a battle against your own limits. The sweat continued to pour, dripping off your chin and landing on your chest, mingling with the fabric of your tank top. 

Finally, you finished the set, dropping the weights with a triumphant gasp. Your body was exhausted, every part of you trembling from the exertion. But there was also a sense of exhilaration, a rush of endorphins that made the pain worth it.

Bakugo stepped closer.

For a moment, you thought he might critique your form again, push you for another round. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, wiping away a bead of sweat. "You did great, Y/N," he said quietly, his voice a rough whisper. "But don't think this means I'm going easy on you next time."

You smiled, a sense of accomplishment swelling in your chest. "I wouldn't expect anything less, Suki."

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something more intense passing through them. "Good.”

Before you could respond, Bakugo's lips were on yours, the kiss fierce and demanding. 

You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands gripping his muscular shoulders, feeling the strength and heat of his body.

He pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your lips. "Shower. Now."

You nodded, unable to form words, your body already responding to the command. The journey to the locker room was a blur, your mind focused solely on the promise of what was to come. 

The familiar scent of sweat and the sterile cleanliness of the gym's showers greeted you as Bakugo practically dragged you inside.

You stripped off your clothes.

Bakugo was quick to follow, his eyes never leaving your body. “Fucking hot as hell,” he commented, licking his lips. 

There was no shyness between you; the raw attraction was too overwhelming to allow for any hesitation. 

Inside the shower, the steam enveloped you both. The water was warm as you stepped under the spray.

Bakugo couldn't help but steal glances at your toned figure, his eyes tracing the contours of your muscles as they flexed beneath your skin. You, in turn, couldn't resist sneaking peeks at his powerful physique, the water sluicing off his rippling muscles.

Bakugo's body was pressing against yours from behind. His hands were rough, calloused from years of hero work. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his broad chest as his lips found the sensitive spot on your neck. 

Bakugo's lips traveled down your neck, nipping and licking at the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

You moaned, your head falling back to give him better access. 

He took full advantage, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone before moving further still. His fingers found your hardened nipples, teasing them into peaks as his mouth closed around one, sucking and flicking it with his tongue. 

You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Bakugo smiled against your skin, switching his attention to your other breast as his hand slid down your body.

Your breath hitched as his calloused fingers brushed against your clit, the sensation almost too much to bear. 

He began to circle the sensitive nub, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm. 

The teasing motions of his fingers had your legs shaking, threatening to give out beneath you.

Sensing that, Bakugo wrapped his strong arm around your waist to support you, his grip possessive and firm. With his free hand, he guided you closer, your bodies now pressed tightly together. 

The feel of his hard cock pressing against your stomach, made you gasp, and you reached out to gently brush the pads of your fingers against his mushroom tip.

He let out a hiss while his fingers continued their expert ministrations, sliding easily through your wet folds. He increased the pressure, his movements more insistent as he focused on rubbing your clit with his thumb while his middle finger teased your entrance. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice a low, husky growl. "You like this, don't ya, bitch?”

You could only nod, your voice lost to the overwhelming sensations. 

He slipped a finger inside you, then another, curling them just right to hit that sweet, spongy spot. 

Your inner, velvety walls clenched around his digits. “Suki,” his name fell on your lips like a mantra.

The intensity of your orgasm was almost too much to handle, your vision blurring as you were consumed by the release. 

Bakugo's mouth found yours once more, swallowing your moans with a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue danced with yours, the kiss wild and unrestrained.

Finally, he slowed, his fingers slipping out of you, leaving you feeling both satisfied and achingly empty. He rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. "You look so fucking beautiful like this," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and desire as he brought his fingers up and tapped them against your lips.

Without hesitation, you parted your lips, welcoming his fingers in. The taste of your own, sweet juices on his fingers was intoxicating, a reminder of the pleasure he had just given you. You met his gaze, your eyes dark with desire as you licked his fingers clean, savoring every drop.

Bakugo's eyes flashed with something primal, his breath hitching as he watched you, jerking his cock with a free hand. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice low and rough. "You're gonna be the death of me."

The hot water cascaded down your bodies, washing away the sweat and grime of the training session.

With a fierce kiss, he lifted you up.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling the hard length of his erect cock pressing against your wet folds. Your core throbbed with need, and you rocked your hips, seeking friction. “Shit.” You looked into his crimson eyes, silently giving your consent.

Bakugo's breath was ragged as he reached between you, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance, running it up and down through your folds. "You're gonna regret challenging me," he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

"Oh, Suki," you moaned, his name a plea on your lips.

"Say my name again," he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

"Katsuki," you repeated, your voice trembling as you wrapped your hands around his neck.

With a powerful thrust, he entered you, the sensation both painful and pleasant. The feeling of being filled by him was overwhelming, and you clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

You gasped out an "Oi!" as he started moving, thrusting into you, allowing his cock to drag back and forth against your sensitive fold whenever he was withdrawing, feeling your hands grip his shoulders and your breath panting against his neck.

The sound of water, mixed with your moans and his grunts, filled the shower. 

Bakugo's pace was relentless, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. 

"Fuck," Bakugo groaned, his movements becoming more erratic. "You're so tight."

The rock of his hips picked up the pace, thrusting in the heat of your pussy as if you had not fucked in weeks, even though it had only been a day. It just felt too good to be inside you, thrusting and grinding, the slap of his hips against your mound filling the bathroom with lewd sounds. Bakugo grunted. “Yeah, fuck.” He thrust in and out, in and out, feeling your pussy stretching to take his cock, getting wetter and wetter with each of his thrusts.

Katsuki pounded into your cunny with a vengeance releasing his pent-up frustrations with each massive thrust. He grunted and panted as he plowed deeper and harder, slapping his body against yours until suddenly he stiffened as an exquisite, convulsive explosion ripped through him. As he exploded deep into your quivering pussy, he felt your echoing response as your body milked the cum from his cock with the force of your own orgasm.

“Katsuki!” you raked your nails down his shoulders, gasping for air.

Soon, the pro hero felt the second load building up, the tension coiling in his body. He gripped your hips tighter, his movements becoming more erratic. Within a minute, he shot another load of thick cum deep inside your quivering pussy. The sensation of his release sent you spiraling into another orgasm, your body clenching around him as you cried out his name.

“Katsuki!”

You were both breathing heavily, the air thick with the scent of sex. 

Bakugo leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a slow, languid kiss.

When he finally pulled out, a mix of your juices and his cum began to drip down your trembling thighs, leaving a trail of slick, glistening evidence of your shared ecstasy.

After you finally stepped out of the shower, toweling off and getting dressed, you couldn't help but steal glances at Bakugo. 

"Don't get too comfortable, Y/N,” he announced with a smirk, catching your gaze. "We're back in the gym tomorrow. No slacking."

[the-fiction-witch]

Our Secret

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Gwayne Hightower Couple - Gwayne X Reader (Uncle x Niece) Reader - Y/n Targaryen (Daughter of Alicent and Viserys) Rating - 18+ nudity/ stripping/ incest / c tasting / licking / finger fucking / fingering / Word Count - 1863

Requested-

oh, btw, would you consider writing some smut for Ser Gwayne Hightower, or isn't a character that you fancy enough for that? your writing is so good!

Y/n had waited in the courtyard as soon as word reached her of his arrival in the city, she watched as his men made their way in, horses galloping across the stone. She softly smiled when she met eyes with her uncle Gwayne Hightower as he climbed from his horse and fixed his hair. She adjusted her long green gown holding it in hand as she made her way over and bowed as she reached him "My lord,"

Gwayne chuckled, watching Y/n come over to him, waving his hand in dismissal at her bow. “No need to be so formal, my little bird."

"Forgive me, so much has changed these last few months. I find myself meery bowing to everyone just for simplicity's sake," she answered her tone shy and sheepish,

"I'm afraid if you continue that habit I'll have to give you a few extra lessons on how not to be so proper. Your face may get stuck in a permanent state of bowing."

"Perhaps," she blushed, "Shall I show you to your chambers uncle? I can have them bring you supper? Or would you rather attend to a visit with the queen regent?"

"I can imagine that Alicent will busy at this moment with all her duties. I shall see her after supper, a good meal after a long ride always has a way of making things more bearable."

Y/n nodded and turned to lead the way inside the keep, she led him through the corridors before finally to his chambers. Gwayne nodded as he stepped into his temporary chambers, following Y/n inside. He sat on the bed, taking off his riding boots and stretching out with a soft groan, the bed beneath him being far more comfortable than the leather of his seat that he just spent gods knows how long riding on.

"Last I had heard my mother was taken to prayer, she does so at this hour daily accompanied by none other than her sworn sword."

Gwayne raised a brow at the mention of Alicent's sworn sword, "Ser Criston, I presume. They are practically tied at the hip, that's for sure..."

"she insists, for her protection in these tender days,"

Gwayne leaned back on his bed, arms behind his head. "I wouldn't be surprised if she has more than just protection on her mind whenever she is with her sworn shield."

“Perhaps…”

Gwayne lifted a brow, smirking at her. He rolled over onto his side, leaning on his elbow as he looked at her. One could imagine it was similar to the look a cat might give a mouse, a little bit of mischief sparkling in his eyes. "Does my little niece have something going on in that head of hers? Some juicy gossip to tell her old uncle perhaps?"

“No, No… she is simply very busy, I hardly much see her these days.”

Gwayne sat up on his bed, patting the blanket next to him with a sympathetic smile on his face. "She's the queen regent now, she's going to be busy, especially in these times. But she's your mother, don't be afraid to knock on her door and demand her company."

"I so often find her in the company of my siblings..." Y/n said as she came sitting beside him smoothing her dress as she sat, "It is sinful of me? to be envious?"

Gwayne wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. He squeezed tightly, letting his smile grow once more. "Of course, it isn't. I may be a knight, but I'm not so virtuous to deny that I have sinful thoughts now and then. It would be natural for you to want your mother's alone attention after she's spent years focusing it on your other siblings." Gwayne paused for a moment, squeezing her one more time before continuing to speak, eyes studying her face carefully. “Though, my little bird… I must ask. Do these envious thoughts extend past your mother when it comes to those siblings of yours?”

"How so?"

"Well, sometimes one can’t help but compare themselves to their siblings. Do you? Perhaps even envy them for anything that they may have and you do not?"

"No uncle, I am content. Merely lonely I expect,"

Gwayne hummed, watching her carefully, expression thoughtful for a moment. He nodded in understanding of her words before smiling once more, “Well, you won’t be lonely now that I’m here.”

"I suppose not, may I ask of your travels? and of my little brother Daeron?"

Gwayne let his smile grow at the mention of Daeron, the boy was a favorite of his, after all. He sat up a little straighter, "He’s growing up quickly. Very sharp with a blade already, I don’t have a doubt in my mind that he will surpass me in skill one day. I also wouldn’t be surprised if he manages to get even taller than me as well, gods know that the boy will shoot up like a weed." Gwayne chuckled, rubbing his chin as he continued in thought. He turned to look down at Y/n, taking in her own appearance before speaking once more, voice amused. "He definitely got the good look, too, I’d say. Much better than what I myself was cursed with. And he certainly got that Targaryen look to him, you can’t deny that. He's going to be quite the catch to any young lady that catches his eye..."

“Sometimes… I wish…”

Gwayne’s smile faded once he heard the tone in her voice, a frown starting to form on his face. He furrowed his brows, studying her expression closely. "Wish what, little bird?"

"sometimes I wish mother had sent me away, instead of daeron. or as well as. There are days I ponder over what joys I may have if I was at Oldtown with you,"

A look of surprise flashed across Gwayne’s face. He let out a quiet sigh as he pulled Y/n close, wrapping both arms around her and resting his chin gently on top of her head. They were silent for a moment before he spoke, voice quiet but still with a hint of concern. “I didn’t know you felt like that, little bird… Have you ever asked her why she sent Daeron and not you?”

"No, but I can assume,"

“And would you care to share your assumption?”

"Aegon is king. Heleana his queen. Mother would never send Aemond away she worries to much for him. So she sends away Daeron her little boy she has hopes and ambitions for."

Gwayne hummed, considering the validity of her words. He couldn’t help himself from reaching out and ruffling her hair again, “And there’s no hope and ambition for you, my little bird? Your mother has placed no expectations for you?”

"My mother plans to sell me off, to whatever lord bids highest when the war begins." Y/n answered, “Whichever lord offers the most men,”

Gwayne’s eyes widened slightly as she spoke. He paused for a moment, processing the words that she just spoke., his eyes hardening as anger began to bubble inside him. “Surely it can’t be that bad. Has Alicent actually spoken of that in front of you?”

"she says as her unmarried daughter... it is my duty,"

Gwayne didn’t say anything at first, clenching his jaw as he ground his teeth in anger. After a few moments passed, he spoke up again, voice somewhat quiet but with a clear hint of anger. “Alicent shouldn’t send you to some lord to be sold to, like she’s sending a piece of furniture. You are a Hightower, little bird. One of us. She has no right to treat you like some kind of cattle that she can barter and trade as she pleases.” Gwayne took a breath before continuing to speak, forcing himself to calm down some. He reached over and grabbed Y/n’s chin, gently tilting her head up so he could look into her eyes. His voice was softer now, but there was still a slight trace of anger in his tone. “She has no right… I won’t let anyone treat you like that. I won’t let Alicent sell you off to any lord that bids high. I’ll fight tooth and nail to make sure Alicent doesn’t do that to you, little bird.”

"Thank you, uncle," she briefly smiled, the first real smile he had seen since his arrival

Seeing her smile seemed to calm Gwayne a bit more, his shoulders relaxing and his jaw unclenching as a small smile formed on his face as well. He let go of her chin, gently ruffling her hair once more. “There we go, much better than that pitiful frown I saw earlier. No more talk about Alicent intending to sell you off to some lord. I won’t have it.”

After a while of the sweet embrace Y/n spoke once more, “Uncle?”

Another hum left Gwayne’s mouth, looking down at her with an eyebrow raised. “Yes, little bird?”

“You… have been gone so long,”

Gwayne let his smile grow after her words, nodding his head. “You’re right… I can’t believe it’s been this long. My, hasn’t it been almost four years now?”

"Do you think... I am too old now for 'secrets'?" she whispered

“Too old for secrets? Never.” he smiled,, “Why do you ask that, little bird?”

"One of... our little secrets?" she hinted

Gwayne’s lip twitched upward in a mixture of amusement and curiosity. His smile turned a little wicked, “One of… our little secrets?”

she nodded blushing a little

“Never my little bird,” He cooed, “Would you perhaps like to-”

“Yes please,” she softly giggled and checked the door to make sure no one was around to see them before she closed the gap and pressed her lips to his as they had so many times throughout her life

He let a soft laugh escape his mouth when her lips made contact with his, one of his hands finding purchase on the back of her head and he leaned into the kiss.

The kiss lasted for a few seconds, Gwayne wrapping one of his arms around her and pulling her a bit closer to him as the kiss continued for a bit before he pulled away just enough that their lips were still millimetres apart, but there was just enough there that he could look into her eyes. “… we can’t have anyone finding out about this, now can we, my little bird?”

she shook her head "No..."

A soft chuckle left his mouth as he studied her face once again, that smirk never leaving his face as he spoke. “No, we cannot have anyone finding out. It is a secret that we have to keep. You got that, little bird? This is just between us, okay?”

"If I promise... do I get more?"

The smirk on Gwayne’s face deepened, his eyes flashing with amusement as he chuckled softly and nodded his head. “If you promise, then I’ll give you more.”

"I promise," she nodded excitedly

A soft chuckle left his mouth at her excitement, a brief moment of silence passing before he spoke once more. “Good girl…” He smirked one of his hands gently tilting her chin up some before he leaned forward and planted a kiss on her lips once more, the kiss grew deeper and more intense until he pushed her down on his bed, "You remember little bird? Our secret?"

She nodded giggling softly in excitement, 

He scoffed a chuckle and bit his bottom lip, He grasped the hem of her gown and swiftly pushed it up around her waist, revealing her underdress and stockings, "So sweet and proper," he cooed as he pushed the underdress up to her thighs to the top of her stockings, grabbing under her thighs and forcing them up until her knees where completely up, "Always have been, haven't you. You're really growing into the title... of princess," he smirked, running his nose over the tender skin at the top of her stockings, 

"You think so?" 

"I know so," he smirked, "But... you'll always be my little bird," he growled, his eyes meeting hers before he pealed her stocking down her leg and tossed it onto the floor, the other soon followed and he peppered kisses from her ankle all the way to her thighs, "You know y/n, I have been travelling for so long, I think I need a good meal." He growled, before she even had a chance to respond he forced her to dress and underdress up to her waist, 

She softly and playfully squealed as he exposed her already trembling cunt, 

"Shhh." He reminds her as he sits up with a predatory smile as he looks down at her, laid on his bed her hair cascading around her, her dress up around her waist and her legs up and apart offering herself to him so willingly, "Wouldn't you agree? that your old uncle needs something delicious?" He growled as his hand moved to rub across her tender lips, gliding his fingers over her wetness, he rubbed her clit with a sly clockwise circle before sliding his fingers down to push his index and middle finger inside her,

"Ah!" She gasped her hips bucking upwards, her feet attempting to squirm against the sheets as hie fingers so delicately fucked her, as Gwayne loomed over her with a sly sadistic smile, she tried to be quiet but the moans fell from her lips like a waterfall, 

Gwanye pulled his hand back and licked his fingers clean, "Ummm just as delicious as I remember," He growled, pinning her hips down to the bed and grabbing her thighs holding them apart as he moved closer and blew across her arching clit, "Now... I am so very hungry from my ride, that little taste has only made me feel worse." He smirked, "So you know what that means?"

"you... you must..." She trembled with excitement, 

"Humm I must feast little bird," He purred before burning his head between her legs...

[pearlywritings]

Helloo! I enjoy reading your work so much!! Could I request Albedo + Guitar + soft smut scenario for your current event? Thank you! ‪‪❤︎ ‪‪

I've been feeling so soft for Albedo after the 5.6 Mond update... Now I kinda want him on my account...

Also thank you, love, for your kind words! I hope you'll enjoy this little piece <3

His work table

pairing: Albedo x fem!reader

prompt: random smut scenario

word count: 1.1k+ words

tw: NSFW, oral sex (fem receiving), office sex, fingering, can be seen as a kinda make-up sex

~ The Music of the Night event ~

Albedo’s work table is never a mess. The Chief Alchemist is particular with things - while his personal stuff back home can exist in creative chaos, his study at the Headquarters must be organized. If Jean summons him for an urgent report - all the documents must be set in neat stacks to be easily sorted through; if a subordinate needs a book or a research paper to check some information - it’ll be spotted right away on his bookshelves within the alphabetical order; if he needs to grab something, it’ll always be in the same place - first picked from it and then put back there.

Albedo’s work table is never a mess. But no one said anything about you being an absolute mess on his work table.

And Archons from above, you are.

The dress of light fabric is tugged down past your shoulders and chest and hiked up to your waist. The sweat is beading, the marks begin to bloom on your neck, and you know it’s going to be an embarrassment to walk back home unless you find a scarf, but right now it’s the last thing you can care about. Especially while all your brain can do is send signals to your poor trembling arms to keep your spasming body up and sitting. 

You pant and with every jolt your breasts jiggle, unrestrained by the previously tossed aside bra. Nipples are hard and still a bit wet from the time your lover paid thorough attention to them in his journey from your swollen lips to your…other lips.

On the floor, on his knees, Albedo is settled between your wide open legs and is devouring you like a man who’s devoted.

On his work desk.

In the middle of the day.

You came to him for an explanation. No, you rushed to his office the moment all the charges were dropped and you heard a passing knight say what a brilliant plan the Chief Alchemist came up with to catch an impostor. You needed to know why he kept it a secret from you. You needed to see if he was alright. You needed to do something with the unreleased tension bottled up in your body, which, as you are now aware, couldn’t be dealt with because Albedo was plotting and trying to keep you away from harm.

Which resulted in you being hoisted on his work table, door locked and walls of geo put up to isolate the sinful moans leaving your gasping mouth and squelchy sounds from between your thighs.

Your lover has gotten so good at this. Lips are on your clit and two flawlessly thin fingers are buried deep into your pussy, moving in and out in quick pumps. Albedo’s beautiful teal eyes are closed, because he already had a chance to watch you arch and writhe above him before your first orgasm - now he wants to listen. To your breathy moans, to the quiet chants of his name (he finds it cute how you are still attempting to keep your volume down, even though he’s taken all the measures), to the little whines you let out whenever he lets go of your aching clit with a unintended ‘pop!’ to turn his head and kiss your thighs.

He loves your gasp when he adds the third finger, unexpectedly, mercifully, making you so full, finally giving you just enough to clench around. His mouth returns to the bundle of nerves, but this time he lets his tongue toy with it, pressing the tip harder, licking in big strokes. 

You jolt and the heel of your shoe hits the table. Albedo suddenly thinks that if one of his hands wasn’t busy he would’ve thrown both your legs over his shoulders, trapping his own head between your soft thighs. It sends a shiver down his spine. Fuck, and if your fingers were buried into his locks–

Your second orgasm hits him as a surprise (it looks like he got a little distracted). He realizes a second too late that he must’ve curled his fingers the way they pressed into your g-spot just right and simultaneously sucked onto your clit harder than he wanted to. Yet, upon opening his eyes and gazing up at you, it doesn’t seem that you mind.

If leaning backwards while sitting on his work table with head thrown back and tongue lolling out is any indicator.

Albedo plants one more kiss on your thigh and carefully slides all three fingers out. Your exhale shudders and the man hurries to smooth his palms from your hip bones to your knees. Makes a mental note not to forget to wipe one of the thighs clean of the slick he accidentally smeared in the process.

By the time he slowly rises to his feet and leans over you, you’ve kinda come to your senses already. The first post-orgasm thing you register feeling is his palms squeezing your waist. The first thing you see is his celestial eyes. And with the last remnants of strength you lift your arms to embrace his neck and draw him closer to pull in a deep kiss.

It’s twenty minutes later when he cleans you up, hands you your panties and bra back and helps to readjust the dress. If it wasn’t for the marks on your neck, the blush still blooming on your cheeks and hair slightly disheveled, it wouldn’t be clear what had occurred behind the closed door of the Chief Alchemist’s office.

You admit you are jealous of his origins that predetermined his ability to appear so unphased.

“Can I hope that this was a foreplay for what I can await tonight?” You ask him just as he’s begun to put the walls made of geo energy down. “You know, in the form of you ‘apologizing’ to me that you promised before hoisting me onto this desk?” And you knock two times against its surface, right where you were sitting and leaking slick onto moments ago.

“Tonight is the night of the celebration, you should go and have fun with everyone” he answers softly, now done with his task and grabbing his gloves, “and it appears I’ll have to owe you one more apology, my life, but tonight I will be a little bit busy…” 

When he sees you pout, he rushes to elaborate.

“However I swear this,” he steps closer, covering your hand still resting on the table with his own, “will be picked up tomorrow’s night where we left off today. And I will join you in the city once I’m done.”

“Promise?” You look right in the eyes, and Albedo can’t help but give you one more of his rare smiles.

“I promise. Now, wait a little bit, I’ll go find Lisa and ask her to lend you one of her capes. Even if she realizes what it’s for, she’s the last person to judge.”

And, pecking your cheek quickly, he leaves you there - leaning against his work table with a raging blush and a complaint stuck in your throat.

[sinsolstice]

STRESS RELIEVER ⋆ ( MIGUEL O'HARA / SPIDERVERSE ) !

❥ pairing. college playboy miguel x studious reader.

you're struggling to keep your focus with the stress and miguel offers to ease that worry off you.

genre. modern + college au. content warning. explicit content (18+), finger f*cking, dirty talk. minors do not interact.

word count. 3,573

sin's notes this is long overdue for someone who requested miguel to finger fuck reader as a stress relief. i aged reader and miguel to between 22-23 in this oneshot since they're college students. this fic is longer than intended but hey, we like to take it slow burn here.

Sometimes you contemplate why you put yourself in this kind of situation. 

You were aware that you have exams coming up in the next few weeks. But you were focused on making sure that you got your assignments done before the deadline. So it was natural for you to prioritise those. You wish you had paid more attention to the dates because just when you thought that you would have more time to revise, you didn’t. Leaving you with only three weeks until your exam. And now you’re struggling to get information into your head. 

“Fuck,” you mumble. The machine makes a soft drilling noise as it pours coffee into your mug. You rub your forehead with your hand as you wait for your drink to finish. Thinking about what topics you need to revise for the exam. Mentally planning how you would organise and plan yourself for another long session of studying. It’s going to be another long night.

When your drink is ready, you stride your way to the dining table where all your notes and books are set. With not enough desk space you have in your room, the dining table has turned into your second desk to accommodate all the reading materials and your laptop to work on. You strap yourself in your seat, ready for another torturous session of studying for the finals. 

All the caffeine from the coffee, tea and sugary energy drinks didn’t last long in your system. At first, you feel the buzz of the caffeine that helps you go through two hours of reading and answering mock questions without a proper break. You feel yourself pushing through, feeling motivated that you can do this. But then, the effects wear off, and now you’re struggling through short video clips on your laptop after two hours into your study session. 

Your mind battles. Reminding you about the consequences of you losing more time. But you can’t be bothered at the moment. You are convincing yourself that you deserve a break from studying for fifteen minutes which turned into a two-hour rest and procrastination. 

At this rate, you know that you won't get any studying done. You’re going to have to face the consequences of that but you can’t be bothered about it for now. Staring mindlessly at your laptop with headphones on as you watch a reality television adaption to pass the time. 

“Dios, you’re still here this late?” 

Your eyes look up from your laptop to find your roommate in the dining area. Miguel stands at the entrance in his black leather jacket, red shirt underneath and dark-coloured jeans. His black helmet rests on his left lip and it looks like he’s returned from wherever he went or did. You didn’t realise that he wasn’t in the house you both shared all this time. “When was the last time you looked at yourself in the mirror? You look shit.” 

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” You say. Your relationship with Miguel O’Hara is rather tricky, to say the least. Sometimes, the two of you get along and have a decent conversation with each other about careers, and personal experiences and share similar interests. Though other times, it’s not necessary. It’s mostly when he would bring people over to the house and then take one girl up to his room. Having to hear moans from the girls he fucked and Miguel’s growls and dirty talks. 

It annoys you to no end, especially the one incident when you walked into the bathroom with him getting a blow job in the shower. It’s still his fault for not locking the bathroom or even putting a sign on the door to say that he’s busy getting pleased.  

Even after that, your subtle attraction for Miguel still resonates with you. 

You realise your mug is empty, another drink that is supposed to keep you going has gone to waste in your system. You can’t be bothered but you know that you’ve wasted time not studying when you’re supposed to. So, you get up from your seat, walk into the kitchen and do the same routine that you’ve done the past few weeks when you’re cramming for finals. Either make your coffee, or tea or grab an energy drink. The caffeine from the coffee is too much for you to handle at the moment and tea isn’t strong enough for you. So you settle for an energy drink where it’s in between enough caffeine to maybe help you go through for another three hours for now. 

“Are you thinking of studying again?” Miguel sounds a bit disbelieving, but not surprised. He’s now in the kitchen with you as you take your energy drink of choice for the night—or early morning. You don’t want to look at the time “There’s no point. You’re not going to remember anything at this rate.”

“Can we just… not do this?” You warn, holding your hand up as a sign for him to stop talking. Stop creating conversations that would lead to an argument because you know it would happen. Especially with your emotions all over the place.  

Miguel stares at you, his eyes roaming up and down. Not long after, his lips curl into a smirk. Leaning his side against the frame of the long, rectangular entrance arch. “You’re stressed out. Miss Perfect finally breaks down for finals.”  

A tired sigh escapes out of your mouth. You focus to proceed on opening up the can, hearing its fizziness before pouring it into your mug. “You could say that.” 

The kitchen falls into silence. What he says is certainly true and you feel that you brought this on yourself. You were off-tracked with your assignments and didn’t check the right exam dates. It’s an error on your part but you are trying to do your best to make it through another year of college without failing. At this point, you’re willing to accept a passing grade just to make it to another year.  

“I’ll study and keep you company,” Miguel declares. “Only to make sure you stay focused and get on track. No more messing around. Got that?” 

You blink, unprepared for his words. You’re not sure why he’s doing this to you but what he said made a rush of warmth fill your chest. Despite his words, you guess that he thinks it’s better to have someone to study with rather than doing it alone. But you don’t ask Miguel if that’s his intention, in case he decides to rethink his offer.

“Thank you.” 

Miguel unfolds his arms and lets it drop to his sides. His hands are in his pockets as he’s about to leave, but then he looks over his shoulder to you. “And also; nadie bebe su bebida energética de una taza.” He says before disappearing elsewhere. 

You blink and look down at the mug in your hand, guessing that Miguel is talking about how energy drinks are meant to drink from their can, and not from a mug. 

* * * * * 

You did manage to push yourself for another two hours before you came crashing again. 

“I can’t focus on anything else right now. My mind has gone blank.” You sigh, slumping on your seat. That’s another study session that failed.

“Hm,” Miguel responds. Focusing on his study materials. “I think you’ve studied too much. That’s why you’re burned out.” 

There is some truth to his words. You have been pushing yourself to the bone for this exam and now your mind is haywired. Everything feels numbing in your head. The feelings of exhaustion, guilt and unbotheredness are jumbled in you. 

“I’m just really stressed out. I want to do well on this exam but my brain just… can’t grasp anything that I’ve studied.” You say, sounding a little disheartened. “I can’t focus, I can’t concentrate.” 

Miguel couldn’t help but glance at you. Taking in the way you’re slumped in your seat and how hollow your eyes are, filled with fatigue and emptiness. You look stressed out. He wonders when was the last time you had rest – a proper break. Not the stupid Pomodoro breaks where you take five to ten minutes of break time before getting back to studying. 

He wonders when was the last time you had taken care of yourself? 

Miguel turns his attention to you when he hears you close one of your heavy books. You let out a sigh, “I can’t even relax without being so much on edge. Fuck.” 

He thinks you’re right as he sees the way your body tenses in stress and anxiety. Miguel’s expression stays unfazed though he does feel sympathy seeing you in such a state. “Hey, you should get some rest. Go to bed early or something.” 

“I will after I attempt to get this lesson done. Then, I’ll go to bed.” 

Miguel gives you a solemn look. Your determination is one of the things he admires about you. Your willingness to do whatever it takes to get your points across. It made you endearing in his eyes. But at the moment, it’s making you look stubborn and somewhat prideful. The last thing you need is a bad experience of burnout before your exam, and he knows that you know this as well deep down.

“Let me help you to relax,” 

“Huh?” You shoot him a confused look. As if he’s said something unusual to you. “Help me… relax? How do you plan on doing that?” 

Miguel nods, “You are tensed up and you’re not getting anything remembered in your head. Your mind can’t focus.”  

You raise a brow at him, unsure where your roommate is coming from. Miguel is right, you do need to take a proper break since your productivity is rather counterproductive. But his words still puzzle you about how he can help you relax. “And how do you plan on doing that, exactly?” You ask curiously. “What do you do to relax when you’re stressed out?” 

“You know, go to the gym. Take a walk, drive around.” Miguel says it casually. “Sometimes masturbating helps to wire your brain to relax.”

You stare at your roommate before burying your face in your hands with a groan. Not only is the suggestion embarrassing but you have to imagine Miguel playing with himself. How his hands would stroke his cock, hot and pulsing in the palm of his hands. Envisioning the grunted breaths and deep groans he makes. It isn’t as if you haven’t done that to yourself either, pleasuring yourself. You’ve done that on the nights where you could hear the headboard of his bed from his room moving as the girl Miguel brought for the night kept moaning. 

You shake your head, dismissing the thoughts immediately. Or try to. “I’m not in the right mindset to do that.” 

Miguel raises an eyebrow. “I’m not saying you should do it. I’m offering to do it. It’s on the table for you.” 

“What?” You stare at him in shock and confusion. You think you heard him wrong but from the unfazed look on his face, you know that he is serious about this. Serious about giving you an orgasm, or maybe multiple orgasms. Because you know from the women and girls he brings over to fuck, Miguel has them moaning more than three times. 

When you open up your mouth, you can hear yourself stammering your words. The thought of it is disgusting but at the same time, arouses you. “Miguel, I–” 

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his red eyes piercing into yours. Captivating you to stop talking. To stop denying the offer of pleasure. You give Miguel a look of uncertainty, unsure how to respond to his offer.

“What’s it gonna be?” Miguel asks. The corner of his mouth curves up to a tiny smirk. “No pressure, chica. I want you to think about it and let me know if you’re up for it or not.” 

Miguel goes back to reading his study notes with a neutral expression as if the conversation didn’t happen. He doesn’t look at you and the silence in the room speaks volumes. Leaving you to think about the offer. You’re not sure why he is even offering himself to give you pleasure. Miguel is your friend, for goodness sake. The guy is out of your league and he has been with other people, you know this. Is he doing this out of pity or could there be more to it? 

The two of you have lived together for three years of schooling, and have known each other for that long. He doesn’t give you attention in a lustful way or lustful like he does with other girls; the kind of interest in starting a sexual relationship with you. It’s a blessing in disguise yet at the same time, you want a connection more than just being his friend. 

You have a crush on Miguel but he doesn’t seem the type of guy who isn’t ready to commit to one person just yet. Especially when you’re both still young and exploring life ahead.  

“Okay,” you closed your book with a thud. You catch his eyes when you fully turn to talk to him. This idea is already as insane as it is, but you’re desperate to stop feeling like a lost cause about your exam. You just want to forget about your test for a few minutes. Maybe a couple of hours at most. “I’ll take up on your offer. What I’ve been doing is not working, and I need some sort of break before I go insane.” 

Miguel grins and then puts his reading materials away. You always think that he looks so handsome when he smiles. “Well then. Move your books and laptop aside and sit on the table for me.” Miguel looks at you when you stare at him. “It will be a lot nicer like that, trust me.” He adds. 

“Okay, I’ll get my stuff out of the way.” You say and begin picking up your books and laptop. Miguel does the same, putting his things away, then turns his attention to look at you. 

You’re sitting on the edge of the table, waiting for his next words. The beating of your heart thumping is the only thing you can hear as you watch Miguel. He stands in front of you in between your thighs. Tall, built and handsome. His red eyes look down on you as they shine under the lights in the dining area. 

You feel his hands on the sides of your waistband shorts, his fingers brushing against your clothed skin and hips. “May I?” Miguel asks as he looks at you. 

“Sure,” you say. You’re not one to be nervous around easily but your roommate seems to have that effect on you. When you lift your hips slightly, Miguel curls his fingers on the waistband and pulls down your shorts. Discarding your clothed item you notice that he’s taken off your panties too. “Miguel–” 

His stare made you pause, his red piercing eyes keep you quiet. You’ve always known what Miguel’s eyes are like but in this moment of what you’re letting him do to you, it stirs feelings in you. The gaze in his eyes is fiery in desire; so focused and enraptured. He looks at you in silence – keeping his eyes on you – as he slowly pulls down everything and discards it somewhere in the room. 

“Open your legs a little for me, pretty,” Miguel tells you. “Yes, that’s it.” 

The heat on your cheeks burns you as your heart thumps in your chest at how intimate and vulnerable the situation looks. Never in your dreams you would be in this situation, much less doing it with Miguel O’Hara.

 “It’s not too late to change your mind and tell me no.” He says. Standing between your legs, his calloused fingers on your inner right thigh. “I won’t hate you for it.” 

Your breathing is soft and steady. “Shouldn’t you have asked me that before you took my panties off?” You chuckled with a small smile. You feel a little more relaxed about what you and he are starting. 

Miguel grins, “I probably should have.” His expression becomes serious. “I’ll start slow.” 

You watch as he puts two fingers in his mouth with a gentle suck. When he pulls them out, his digits are glistened wet under the lights. Lubricated and wet against his tan skin. Miguel catches you dazing at him, his intense expression stays on you, as he brings his fingers between your thighs. They find themselves between your flaps, tracing your inner folds with his fingertips. 

“You’re already wet before I touch you.” Miguel hums in approval. “That’s good.” 

His fingers move slowly like he promised. You feel him gather your sleek arousal with a gentle swipe of his thumb and move up to the hood of your cunt. You moan softly when you feel Miguel play with your clit, circling and putting just the right pressure that has you tingling in sensation. Your hands grip on the edge of the table as you brace yourself. 

“Gosh, that feels nice.” You sigh. Your eyes are closed, indulging in the pleasure, finding your body relaxed and mind in tranquillity. Focusing on feeling his fingers touch and tease your folds and clit. Maybe this is what you truly need for a break from intense studying. 

“I like the look on your face,” Miguel tells you. You can picture the smirk from the tone of his voice. “This is just the beginning of your stress relief.” 

You didn’t get to open your eyes and ask him what he meant when you felt something push inside your cunt. Your walls are wet and warm, feeling one of Miguel’s digits sliding into your pussy with ease. It has you gasping and moaning softly, your back arches and hands gripping tightly onto the table edge. Miguel has his index finger in you and he slips in his middle finger, stretching your pussy open. His thumb is still circling your clit as his fingers thrust in and out of you. 

“Stay still, bonita.” His voice deeps, almost growling. “And don’t think. Just focus on the feeling of my fingers. Relax for me.” 

You can’t help but tighten around his fingers from the command. Hoping that he didn’t feel the way your clit throbs from his command. You never heard him speak like that before – maybe not to you – but it sounds hot. All you could focus on is the way his fingers rub and massage your pussy. 

You can tell that Miguel is certainly experienced with the way he can tease your vulva and play with your clit, letting your breathless sighs and moans guide him. It’s completely easy to forget about anything else but being finger fuck by the guy you liked. 

“Oh, oh.” You softly moan, putting the heels of your feet on the edge of the table. Your hands clutch onto his forearms as Miguel fingers you. It has your head spinning with the way he alternates between fingering and rubbing your slick folds. The pace is not fast or slow-- just perfect, as it eases you off and you forget about what you're stressed about in the first place. 

And when he pushes his fingers into your pussy, it has you tilting your head back in ecstasy, moaning his name, as you feel him going deeper.

"So tight around my fingers. You definitely need this." Miguel smirks, his breath warms your neck. “Need a good stretch, don’t you, bonita?” 

You groan as you feel him continuously plunge his digits in and out of you. Miguel doesn’t stick to one way to pleasure you; he would rub your wet folds, flicker your clit up and down and sideways with his thumb, and circle your little pearl. At the corner of your eye, you see the corner of his mouth curve up in a smirk when clutching onto his forearms for dear life. 

“Miguel,” you mewl. The knot in your lower belly tightens when he plunges his whole fingers into your slick pussy, thrusting them in and out. Your body moves in a sudden, forward thrust when Miguel continues to come hither inside your pussy, having his fingers rubbing your G-spot. He doesn’t stop to flicker and circle your throbbing clit and a sultry gasp catches in your throat as your thighs begin to quiver. “Oh, fuck!” 

“That’s it, beautiful. Oh, you really do need this, don’t you?” Miguel asks almost mockingly. You arch your back in his embrace and let out another moan, feeling his two fingers flicking inside your pussy walls. He knows exactly what he’s doing, drawing out more noises from you as your lower body still trembles, and your cum spilling out of your folds and onto his fingers. 

It feels as if Miguel is toying with you and pussy for a long time, even after being overstimulated and sensitive. He slows down his ministrant but still has his fingers gently rubbing circles on your clit and wet folds. You relax in his arm, head on his shoulder as you regain your senses from orgasm. All thoughts cleared up in your head and you couldn’t even remember what you were thinking or doing earlier before being finger-fucked. 

Miguel’s voice sounds a little raspy and distinct, still toying with your cunt, as he whispers:  “Wanna continue this elsewhere?” 

[azrielbrainrot]

Your Name Is a Sin I Breathe Like Oxygen

Pairing: Demon!Rhysand x Angel!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Corruption

Description: Rhysand won't rest until he's brought his angel down to hell with him.

Warnings: Smut, oral sex, hand job, things that shouldn't be happening in a church, this is definitely sacrilegious, slight dom/sub dynamics, dirty talk

Word Count: 3,5k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: This story kept getting longer and longer, i don't know what happened, but I could actually write a part 2 eventually if anyone wants. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

It's not often you find yourself walking alone. If you put aside the apprehension you were feeling you could admit that it was a beautiful night, and that walking through the field with only the faint sound of the wind and faraway crickets felt incredibly relaxing. Unfortunately, the reason behind this walk was anything but relaxing, in fact it was about to change your life forever.

An abandoned church comes into view, the fact that no believers lingered within should have been enough for you to turn back, but you find yourself walking towards it instead. The overgrown weeds and flowers obscured the path, one no one had used in decades - no one except for him, and now you.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as you walk closer, the undeniably dark energy coming from inside could only mean one thing. It makes you pause in your steps, walking to him would be giving in, you knew better than anyone, but walking away brought a weight to your chest you didn't think you could survive, didn't think you would want to.

And so you step inside, one foot in front of the other, leading you deeper into sin, straight to your downfall.

The inside of the church was barren, almost every object having been sold or destroyed by humans. Had he brought you here to show you how ungrateful and destructive humans could be? It certainly wasn't anything new to you.

The demon stood at the altar, back turned to you as he studied the way the weeds had traveled up the walls, obscuring any remaining holy images. The black clothes he wore were the complete contrast to your long white dress. The suit pants fit him perfectly, tailored to his body, and the shirt seemed to be made of a soft almost translucent material, showcasing the muscles hiding under it. There was no doubt in your mind that he had led numerous souls to perdition.

You knew he could feel your presence, probably ever since you set foot on this field. At first you almost feel thankful that he was choosing to ignore you and let you make your own decision with no rush, but it soon turned into annoyance when you realized he's forcing you to accept that you came here of your own choice, so you can't try to blame him. It shouldn't surprise you that he's not going easy on you, he never has.

“Rhysand,” you call out his name when it's obvious he won't be the one to acknowledge you first.

Your voice trembles despite your best efforts, and even though you've grown accustomed to seeing him, - more than you ever should have, - a chill still runs down your spine when he turns slowly and his striking violet eyes fall on you, heart racing in your chest as his smirk grows.

“I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, my sweet angel,” he says with a hint of pride.

His voice sends goosebumps over your skin, unfortunately you can't even bring yourself to try and justify them as a result of solely fear, there's something else blooming in the pit of your stomach, and growing heavier on your chest.

Rhysand walks to you, every instinct telling you to turn back and run, but you don't, you stay in place, watching him take every step with damning anticipation.

“Are you finally ready to stop playing these fruitless games?”

A glare passes through your eyes, but you hold your tongue. What he calls games was your duty to God and the remaining angels, to the good in the world, one you had failed completely by even breathing near him, let alone the lengthy talks you've had. Still, you couldn't deny that you had been grasping at it far longer than you should have.

If you were being honest with yourself, you had fallen the first time you saw him and let him tease you to no end without ever reaching for your sword, when you saw an injured demon and decided to help him instead of finishing the job, you lost the moment you allowed him to ever put a smile on your face, and a need you couldn't even begin to explain inside you.

He raises a hand slowly, tentatively reaching for your face, half expecting you to push him away like you had done every other time. When you still don't move, only looking into his eyes, not even sure what you were searching for, he lets out a breath, smirk broadening on his face, putting his sharp canines on display. He had already won, you both knew it.

“Not running from me this time?”

His hand cups your cheek, thumb caressing your skin softly, much too innocently for the look playing in his eyes and the dark energy emitting off him in thick waves. When the pad of his thumb runs over your bottom lip, playing with the plump flesh, and you still don't move, a sound suspiciously close to a moan escapes him.

“Gonna let me do anything I want to you?” He leans closer, breath hitting your skin, and you can't help but close your eyes, nails sinking into the palms of your hands, balling your fists as hard as you could. It was too much, he was too much.

A tremble runs through your form, that calm and collected front you put up crumbling with every second. You nod, eyes still closed and heart racing when you feel his lips fall on yours, delicately, so unlike him. This isn't something you ever remember doing, if you had at all, the memories of your human life had long since been erased, but your lips move against his as if kissing him came naturally to you.

When he pulls away, far too soon for your liking, you open your eyes on instinct, fear rearing its head as you watch him. The glamor he wore in the human world had been dropped, revealing sharp canine teeth and slits running through his beautiful violet irises. The marks etched onto his chest were unknown to you, but you recognized them as some sort of demonic spell.

His hand was wrapped around your neck, having moved there while he kissed you, except now it was covered in black up to his wrist, the pigment visible in lines as it ran through his veins up his arm. And his wings, you're surprised they hadn't been the first thing you noticed. They stood tall behind him, dark crimson bat-like wings, easily twice the size of your white feathered ones. You can't help, but pull your own in closer to your body at the sight.

Rhysand looked positively wicked, downright sinful, as he studied you intensely, eyes running through every inch of exposed skin with a knowing look shining in the violet. This was the face of a predator watching its prey, except he had no plans of killing you, and that excited you far too much for your own good.

“Need you to answer me, angel,” he purrs, holding onto your chin when you go to nod once again, “Use your words.”

Your eyes widen slightly, swallowing down the nerves before finally finding your voice, and whatever courage or stupidity you had left, “I won't run. Not from you.”

A moan escapes him, a pleased sound coming from deep in his chest, and he kisses you again, a lot more passionately than before, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth while you struggle to keep up. His hands roam over your body, sending a flurry of butterflies flying inside your stomach, pulling you closer into him, humming into the kiss when you finally manage to move, your hands reaching for his chest tentatively, falling over his overheated skin.

A noise behind him almost pulls your attention away, but he quickly steals it back when he starts kissing down your neck, biting softly onto the unmarred skin, marking it with his teeth. A demon was marking you as his own, and God helped you, you were moaning in pleasure as he did.

It's only when he starts walking backwards, a firm arm wrapped around your waist pulling you along with him and sits down, that you notice the sound you heard earlier was a chair being magically pushed to the center of the altar. Your body wants to follow him, wanting to keep his mouth on your neck, or bring it back to yours, but his hands fall on your hips, stopping you, keeping you on your feet, standing between his legs as he looks up at you with a smirk, one that keeps growing as he takes note of your heavy lidded eyes and soft pants escaping your agape mouth, the crease between your brows.

“I'll keep kissing you in a moment,” he assures, your treacherous body relaxing under his grip. He chuckles at this, you were certainly making this a lot easier for him than he imagined.

“Wanna take your dress off for me first?”

This makes you tense up once more, almost taking a step back if it weren't for his hold on you. He lets out an understanding hum, though it comes out tainted with a hint of condescension.

“I know they like keeping you innocent and pure up there, but if you want to keep going you'll have to let go of all of that.” He tilts his head, catching your gaze. “I can't fuck you properly with your clothes on.”

It's obvious you couldn't keep the embarrassment over his choice of words out of your expression when he laughs, leaning forward and hiding his face on your stomach, only worsening the already accelerated rhythm of your heart.

“I'm not sure how I feel about you using me for your own amusement,” you did your best to keep your voice from trembling, grasping for some sense of control over the situation.

“You know exactly how it makes you feel,” he murmurs against the fabric of your dress, kissing over your navel before leaning back against the chair, both of his hands falling from your body, and immediately you miss his warmth on you.

Rhysand doesn't say anything else, but he didn't need to, his eyes said it all as he watched you, he wouldn't repeat himself. You find yourself looking up behind him, where familiar statues should be if this were a working church. Could they see you now?

“Eyes on me,” the demon orders. Your gaze meets his immediately, a hint of fear running through your body. “The only people in the world that matter right now are you and me.”

He was wrong. Your actions would cause a lot of trouble and it wouldn't be only for you. The same way his triumph over you wouldn't affect only him. This moment would be recorded in history for both of your worlds, but you had already made your choice, you were more than aware that it was the wrong one as well, and so you reach for the buttons on your dress, undoing them with shaky hands, eyes never straying from his this time, not even when you let the dress drop at your feet, revealing your untainted skin to his hungry eyes.

It feels like the world stopped spinning when his eyes moved from yours and traveled down your body, taking note of every inch appreciatively. Fighting the urge to cover yourself was harder than you imagined it would be, and for some reason the urge to touch him and strip him of his own clothes was even stronger.

“Get on your knees.”

“What?”

The desire in his eyes only grows when he senses your hesitation. He wanted you to fall kneeling down at the altar, the same way you had ascended.

Rhysand sits up again, reaching for your hand and bringing two of your fingers into his mouth, sucking on them and swirling his tongue around. You can't help but let out a gasp, your thighs pressing together, eyes transfixed on his mouth.

He pulls them out and kisses your palm innocently, unable to hide the grin on his lips. “ I want you to suck my cock, angel,” he clarifies, as if you didn't know what he meant, as if that wasn't the reason you were holding back.

“I've never-” You swallow, not wanting to avert your gaze and be warned against it again, but finding it incredibly difficult to keep looking into those sinful violet eyes of his. “I don't know how.”

“I'll teach you.”

He made it seem like it was the easiest thing in the world, that he wasn't talking about something that would condemn you to eternal damnation at his side, but you knew what you wanted to do, knew what you were going to do, and so you drop to your knees in front of the demon, looking up at him like he was your God.

You can almost feel the light getting sucked out of you, disappearing in the midst of his darkness. It almost makes you wonder how you ended up like this, if fate had already seen this end for you, if it would have still happened if you hadn't met him. The thought makes your heart feel tight for some reason.

His hand grabs your neck unexpectedly, pulling you up so he could kiss you once again, easing your nerves somewhat, everything else disappearing when his mouth fell over yours. When he pulls away you find yourself chasing after him, and he simply chuckles and gives you one more kiss, pulling away for good with a playful lick over your lips, leaning back against the chair like a king on his throne.

“You need to take my cock out to start,” he says after a while with a hint of amusement. You didn't know why you thought he would make this any easier. Shaky hands fall over his pants, slowly unbuttoning them, trying your best to ignore the beating of your heart and most of all the hardness visible through the fabric. Rhysand seemed to enjoy every second of it, you could almost hear him purring in delight.

With a deep breath you push his underwear down, revealing him to your terrified but curious eyes, gasping softly when his cock springs free, falling against his stomach. Biting your lip, your hand moved to grab him, not knowing what else to do, you squeeze him harder, a tingling feeling rushing over your stomach when he rewards you with a moan, startled eyes finding his.

It shouldn't come as a surprise that you find him already watching you, he hadn't taken his eyes off you ever since you first arrived after all, but it almost makes you feel like you were caught doing something you were not supposed to.

“Maybe you're a natural.”

“I-”

“I know, angel,” he assures, voice deepened by something you couldn't quite put your finger on, his hand coming down to cup your head, bringing you in closer, a sigh escaping him when you offer no resistance. “I'll show you.”

Rhysand surprises you one more time when he leans up and lets his spit drop over the head of his cock, his hand spreading it down to the base and falling over yours, guiding your hand up and down his length, tightening your hold on him.

“I'll let you start slow,” he says with a teasing grin in between moans, “so you can't say I'm not considerate.”

You roll your eyes lightly, too focused on the task at hand and your every instinct screaming at you, to tamper it down. He chuckles and lets go of your hand, letting you take over, entranced by the way your fist barely fits around him and every noise that escapes him.

“As good as this feels, I know your mouth will feel a lot better.”

Right. You knew that's what he wanted, but while this is manageable, just the thought of going further makes you freeze.

“I shouldn't be doing this,” your voice is barely above a whisper.

“No, you shouldn't,” he murmurs, looking down at you with an evil twinkle in his eyes, “but that doesn't matter anymore.”

You couldn't turn back the clock, and even if you begged on your knees and repented for thousands of years you wouldn't be allowed back into heaven, not after letting things get this far. You've passed the point of no return, there was nothing stopping you from letting yourself get consumed by sin, by him.

He notices the change in your eyes, but says nothing, his hand moving back to your head instead, helping guide your movements just like he had promised he would earlier, still keeping his touch light in case you wanted to move back.

“Lick me from base to tip, fuck just like that. Keep your eyes on me.” You do your best to let your body follow his commands without thinking, focusing on the sounds he makes, finding power in knowing you're the reason behind them. “Now suck over the head, swirl your tongue around like I did with your fingers.”

It's hard to know what to expect when you never thought you'd be doing something like this in the first place, but you certainly didn't realize how enjoyable it could be for you. The choked moan he lets out when you suck on the head again without him instructing you to, gathering the liquid leaking from his tip with your tongue brings you more pleasure than anything ever has before.

“Try taking as much into your mouth as you can.” The way his voice is getting breathier motivates you to do better, wanting to make him feel even a bit of the way you did every time he's around. “Just be careful with your teeth and relax your throat, you're doing so good for me.”

He helped you with his grip on your head, pushing himself inside your mouth slowly, pausing for a moment every time you gagged. It was hard to hold his gaze, not only from embarrassment but also from the tears gathering in your eyes, but you did, God you did every little thing he told you to and more, reveling in his reactions.

“What a good little angel.”

This makes you glare up at him, teeth scraping along his skin as a warning, of course he only laughs in response, thumbing at your cheek, entranced by the way his sweet little angel sucks his cock, a little fire in her eyes, just the way he likes it.

A shudder runs through him, and you suspect you know exactly what it means. Fitting all of him inside your mouth would be impossible, it feels surreal that you even made it this far, so you start pumping your hand over the rest of his length in sync with the way your mouth moves over him, having to stop yourself from smiling when it draws out even louder moans from him, his hand tugging at your hair harder, losing himself - it wasn't even close to how far you drifted from your now former self, but it was a start, a small victory of your own even if you won it amidst your defeat.

Even if it happened because of your efforts, you're still surprised when he spills inside your mouth, hips lifting off the chair to thrust in a couple of times as he lets out sick praises and mumbles of your name. When he pulls out of you, the strain in your jaw catches up to you, and you can't help but cough when you take in too much air.

You swallowed everything on instinct, not truly knowing what else to do, but it seemed to please him as he caressed your face, making an even bigger mess of it with a triumphant look in his eyes. This is what he had always wanted, to see you broken at his feet, completely at his mercy.

“What now?”

You were almost scared to ask, afraid he would throw you away now that he's gotten what he wanted. Your voice came out scratchy, a slow ache forming in your abused throat, a reminder of what you had done.

The demon looked confused for a moment, his smile faltering slightly and a crease forming between his brows, almost as if he didn't understand your defeated expression. You had never asked but judging from his body, he had been born a demon so he would never know what it was like to be an angel, and fall in such a shameful way.

He blows air through his nose and looks up for a moment, amusement settling over his face. Grabbing you by your underarms, he lifts you up onto his lap before you even have a chance to react, hands falling over his chest.

“Now I'm going to take you to your new home, my little demon,” he whispers, leaning closer and brushing his lips against yours playfully, unable to hide the chuckle when your eyes widen further at the new pet name, “and I'm going to help you with that little problem between your legs, show you pleasure you never thought possible.”

[redvexillum]

@inuhalfdemon I knew I could count on you to spice things up a bit! Listen, you made @safination a very happy lil gal with this ask, I'll have you know. I'll even change it up from my usual style, and write this purely in Alastor's POV. Not sure if you like human Alastor, but I hope you do after this ☆ ～('▽^人)

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, blood play, ♡ral sex, unhinged!alastor, briefly imply cannibalism, infidelity, alastor has scars, unhinged!alastor, branding with knife, obsessive!alastor, period typical racism, maybe bordering yandare!alastor (?)

Alastor was going to kill you.  

He had no doubt about it. You, with your pristine life – riches, status, and a marriage that looked flawless from the outside. Everything about you seemed perfect, a picture of untouchable elegance.  

But Alastor knew the truth lurking beneath that polished exterior. He knew your husband was nothing more than a filthy, corrupt official – extortion, blackmail, murder of the helpless, especially those of colour. By association, you must have shared in his sins, whether by action or silence.  

For Alastor, his prey was always chosen with care. He wouldn’t dirty his hands with the innocent. His mother had raised him better than that. The streets were crawling with vile creatures, and there was no shortage of filth to cleanse. Killing wasn’t just a necessity – it was a thrill, a ritual he savoured.  

The sweet satisfaction of purging evil from the world, leaving it a little cleaner, a little darker, but always better. It was his art, his craft, and each kill were a masterpiece. You were supposed to be another one.  

He watched you, lurking in the shadows, memorizing every detail. The way your arm draped over your husband’s like a serpent coiling around its prey. That perfect smile – too perfect, like a mask you wore every day, hiding the darkness he knew must linger beneath. Alastor studied you relentlessly, plotting the exact moment to strike, the precise time to drag you into the depths of his bayou and erase that false, disgusting smile forever.  

But something shifted, something he hadn’t foreseen.  

One afternoon, as Alastor sat on a park bench, his lips curling into a grin behind his newspaper, amused at the latest article about the “Bayou Butcher,” he felt the sunlight dim. A shadow fell across the print. He looked up, ready to snarl at the interruption, but his breath caught.  

It was you, standing before him. Your fingers fidgeted nervously, a soft smile playing on your lips, and at that moment, you weren’t the victim he had imagined.  

“May I help you?” Alastor asked, his tone honeyed, concealing the whirlwind of confusion brewing inside. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Why was his prey coming to him? 

You gasped lightly, and then, as if the heavens themselves were laughing in his face, a giggle bubbled up from your throat – sweet, melodic... 

...Intoxicating.  

“Are you the radio broadcaster for station 66.6?” Your eyes sparkled with innocent excitement, that same radiant smile now directed at him.  

His lips twitched, the faintest flicker of amusement and wariness passing through him. How had you recognize him? His voice was the only part of him ever to broadcast.  

Sensing his unspoken question, you raised a hand to your lips in apology, looking shyly to the side before meeting his gaze again. “I’m actually a good friend with Mimzy. When I told her I was a fan of your show, she pointed you out when you were at her speakeasy the other night.” You smiled nervously, twisting your hands together. “I wanted to approach you then, but...I suppose my nerves got the best of me.” 

At that moment, something in Alastor changed. He convinced himself that this was fate. You, his prey, presenting yourself to him so willingly – it had to be a sign. And so, he entertained you, the perfect gentleman. He played his role as he always did, charming, polite, hiding his true intentions behind his ever-present grin. He would lead you into his bayou soon enough. Flesh and blood would be his reward.  

But somehow...the plan never quite happened. The weeks stretched on, one excuse after another.  

Next week, he told himself.  

Then... 

Next month.  

And the next. 

And the next. 

And now? Now, you were in his home – in his bed. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows that danced across the room. Your wedding ring winked at him from the dim light as your fingers reached out to him, your smile – damn that smile – still as enchanting as the first time you’d greeted him in the park. His pulse quickened, a thrum of something dark and dangerous lurking beneath his skin.  

Desire.  

Forbidden and all-consuming. It clung to both of you like second skin, wrapping around his and your hearts and pulled them deeper into its murky depths. The line between predator and prey blurred.  

Sinful.  

Wicked.  

Irresistible.  

You.  

Your soul was stained the same as his at that moment, soaked in the same shade of black, though Alastor’s - oh, his – was far darker. After all, how could yours compare to a man who had murder etched into his very bones? 

His bare skin pressed against yours, both of you entangled in the warmth of each other, every inch of him revelling in the feel of your soft, smooth curves. He inhaled sharply, his breaths unsteady, savouring the heat where your bodies met. His fingers traced along your hips, your thighs, as if memorizing each delicate slope. He could get lost in the feel of you, spend hours worshipping the perfection beneath his touch.  

His lips found yours, a slow, burning kiss that lingered before he dragged his mouth down the tender column of your neck, across your collarbone. Each kiss light, each kiss reverent. He explored the valley between your breasts with deliberate, maddening slowness. Each kiss sent shivers through you as he travelled lower, his breath brushing your skin.

When he reached your hips, he paused, eyes wild with hunger, before hooking your legs over his shoulders. His breath ghosted over your sensitive folds, teasing, tempting.  

How did he get here? 

His fingers tightened around your hips, holding you firmly as he leaned in, his lips pressing a feather-light kiss against the swollen tip of your clit. This wasn’t what he had imagined when he’d thought of indulging in your flesh, not like this. But now, he couldn’t stop.  

He was needy.  

Ravenous.  

Consumed by a hunger that went far beyond flesh.  

“Al...” you breathed, your voice soft and sweet, like the wind whispering through the trees of his bayou. The sound of your voice sent a jolt through him, tugging at something deep inside, something primal. He wanted to drown in that sound, let it wrap around him like the humid air of home.  

His mouth pressed against your slick folds, his tongue sweeping between them with aching slowness. The hitch in your breath, the soft moans that escaped you – they drove him mad. 

More.  

He wanted more.  

He needed it.  

Every reaction, every sound, it wasn’t enough. He craved everything you had to offer.  

But his eyes caught the flash of gold – the wedding band still clinging to your finger like a sick reminder. The sight of it made his chest tighten with rage, his hands twitching with the urge to rip it off and toss it into the swamp. But instead, he closed his eyes, shutting out the thought, focusing on you. He focused on the heat of your body, the taste of you, as his tongue lapped at you, deeper, stroking every part of your trembling core.  

A low moan escaped him as his tongue dipped further, swirling around the most sensitive part of you, eliciting another desperate, breathless sound from your lips. His cock was aching, painfully hard, but all he wanted, all that mattered, was your pleasure. Your moans, your writhing body beneath him, the way your fingers curled into the sheets.  

Your everything.  

More.  

It was the only word echoing in his mind as his mouth worked tirelessly, his tongue gliding, tasting, drinking in every drop of your desire.  

More. More. More.  

Perhaps it was because he knew – deep down – that no matter how much he craved you, you could never truly be his. You would return to your world, leave his bed empty, cold, and desolate once again. And each time, that dark, consuming desire to trap you here, to make you his forever, only grew stronger. Feverish.  

More.  

“Alastor,” your voice came out as a soft, pleading whimper, cutting through the maelstrom of dark thoughts swirling in his mind. That sound, delicate and needy, was never enough to make him stop wanting more of you. His lips parted from your core, a thin, glistening strand of saliva and your slick connecting the two of you before it broke, hanging in the air like the tension between the both of you.  

“I want to please you too,” you murmured, your voice tender, your eyes warm and filled with a quiet devotion. You smiled softly, your hair – usually neat and perfect – now loose and wild, framing your flushed face with strands that had escaped in the heat of the moment. You shifted, the bed creaking beneath you as you leaned forward, pressing your body against him, your warmth melting into his bare chest.  

Alastor’s breath hitched, feeling the press of your soft curves against him. Slowly, deliberately, he guided you down with him until you lay on top of him, bodies entwined in shared heat. His cock throbbed insistently against your belly, but he ignored it for a moment, letting his fingers weave through your messy hair. He gently stroked the strands, savouring the intimacy of the moment, before planting a tender kiss on your forehead. The sound of your giggle – light and sweet – filled the room, sending a rush of satisfaction through him.  

More.  

The thought lingered, twisting like a knife in his chest. He could kill your husband, make him disappear. The idea came easily, a whisper of violence mixed with longing, the dark fantasy taking root in his mind. He chuckled then. Perhaps, it had already taken root and has now blossomed into a beautiful thought of a world where he was drenched in your husband’s blood.  

You shifted, lifting yourself just enough to brush your fingers over one of the many scars that marked his skin. Your eyes sparkled with curiosity and mischief as you traced the rough line with delicate fingers.  

“How did you get this?” you asked, your voice soft and gentle before pressing a kiss to the scar, your lips warm against his skin as you followed the path leading dangerously close to his aching cock.  

Alastor chuckled darkly, his grin sharp as he watched you, mesmerized by your touch. “Got into a little scuffle when I was younger,” he replied, his voice low, filled with amusement. Your lips formed a pout, then softened into a kind smile as you kissed the scar again.  

“It doesn’t hurt anymore?” you asked, running your fingers back and forth across the jagged edge.  

“No,” he whispered, guiding your head with a teasing hand, urging you toward his throbbing length. “Haven’t thought about it in years.” In truth, the only thing burning in his mind was the revenge he had taken, the satisfaction of ending the lives of those who had hurt him once his mother was no longer there to hold him back.  

You hummed softly, and then your warm, soft lips kissed the head of his cock. His breath hitched as your fingers wrapped around him, stroking gently while your tongue flicked out, teasing, tasting him. The sensation was electric, making him shudder as you dragged your wet tongue along the head of his cock, your touch slow and deliberate, designed to drive him mad.  

Could he kill your husband? Would that mean you would finally be his, completely? The thought grew within him, louder and louder, until it was all he could think about – obsess about. His eyes flicked to the golden band still shackled around your finger, a symbol of everything that stood between him and what he truly wanted.  

You closed your eyes, your lashes brushing your cheeks as you took him deeper, your lips forming a tight, wet seal as you began to suck, your mouth hot and exquisite around him. A sharp breath escaped his lips, his hand trembling as he stroked your hair, his other hand gripping the sheets beneath him.  

“Cher...” he groaned, the word a strained whisper as he fought to contain the chaotic storm of emotions swirling within him. His feelings for you were growing, spiralling out of control with each passing moment. He was falling into something dark and dangerous, something that felt too close to obsession – hah! – no, it was already an obsession.  

The wet heat of your mouth, the way you moaned around him, it was driving him wild. He wanted you in every possible way – mind, body, soul. Every inch of you, every whisper, every smile. More. Always more.  

But even then, he knew it would never be enough.  

His eyes roamed over the scars that marred his body, a patchwork of memories etched into his skin. Each one told a story, some of the prey fighting back, others from the cruelty inflicted on him for being born into a world that saw him as lesser. They were his reminders – marks of his survival, of the battles won, and the punishments endured.  

But now, his gaze drifted to you. Your fingers, soft and pristine, wrapped around his cock, your clean cuticles and neatly trimmed nails standing in stark contrast to his scarred body. A thought flickered in his mind – wouldn't it be beautiful if he had something that reminded him of you, something permanent, something he could see on days when you weren’t with him? 

“Cher,” he called out softly, his voice a desperate whisper. “Cher,” he repeated, his tone filled with need, and his breath jumped sharply as your mouth took him deeper, the feel of your throat tightening around him sending a shock of pleasure up his spine.  

You looked up at him, his cock buried deep in your mouth, glistening under the dim flicker of candlelight, and he felt the image burn into his mind. The sight of you like this – lips swollen; eyes glazed with lust – it was a sight he never wanted to forget.  

But then, with a slow and gentle motion, he pulled himself from your mouth, watching as your lips parted, slick and bruised from your ministrations. He leaned over, his hand searching the drawer of his bedside table until he found it – a small wooden handle sheathed in leather. Unsheathing the blade, he held it out to you.  

Your brow furrowed, confused, your head tilting slightly as questions danced in your eyes, though none found their way to your lips.  

“Evidence,” Alastor murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, placing the knife in your hand with reverence. “Proof,” he continued, inching closer, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that felt both tender and tainted with the thrill of something darker. “Anywhere, love,” he whispered, his voice lilting with an almost jovial tone that belied the devilish intent behind his words. “Anywhere you want, to show me how much you love me.”  

Your lips trembled; your hand unsteady as you seemed to process the weight of his request. “It’ll hurt,” you murmured, your voice barely audible as you traced the dull side of the blade along his inner thigh, testing the sharpness of the blade. 

But then, Alastor saw it – the flicker of something dark behind your eyes, the same gleam that had sparked the first time you’d broken your marital vows for him. You were his – his little devil, his wicked temptation, his. 

A slow, wicked grin spread across your lips as you pushed him back onto the bed. “Anywhere?” you cooed, your voice a sultry tease as you bowed your head, your tongue flicking out to lick the base of his cock. The contrast of your warm tongue and the cool blade was intoxicating.  

His heart pounded, each throb sending a pulse of arousal through him, as you pressed the flat edge of the blade against the head of his cock, teasing him with the threat of pain. His cock twitched in response, a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip, and you seemed to sense his desire. You continued your slow, torturous licks, kitten-soft, while pressing the sharp edge of the blade against his inner thigh.   

Alastor hissed as the first slice cut into his skin, sharp pain blooming in his flesh, but it was drowned out by the pleasure of your mouth on him. Your lips enveloped his balls, sucking gently, your tongue tracing delicate patterns that made him groan. The mix of pain and pleasure twisted inside him, creating a heady blend that left him breathless.  

Each stroke of the blade was purposeful, each cut sending a rush of heat through him. His hips rolled instinctively, thrusting into your mouth, seeking more of the pleasure you so expertly provided, even as the blade pierced and dragged across his skin. Blood trickled from the fresh wounds, warm and wet, but your tongue, your lips – they were his salvation amidst the pain.  

Twelve strokes. Twelve precise cuts. With each slice, the pleasure intensified, his groans turning into a melody of pleasure and pain. His body trembled beneath you, surrendering to the exquisite torment you dealt him, his desire swelling.  

More. Always more. And even then, it still wouldn’t be enough.  

The moment the bloody blade fell from your hand onto the bed, your fingers slick with his blood, you gripped his throbbing shaft, working it with slow, teasing strokes. Your lips were wrapped around him, tasting his arousal, his blood, as you bobbed your head up and down, your mouth a wet, heated heaven that he lost himself in.  

The pain from the cuts on his inner thigh faded into a distant, forgotten ache, drowned out by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his body. His head fell back, lips parting as his breath came in ragged gasps, hips pushing forward involuntarily to chase the sensation of your soft, warm mouth. The slick, wet sound of your spit, the sticky remnants of blood on his thighs, the obscene wetness trailing down his cock – it all blurred together in a haze of ecstasy.  

With every thrust, every gurgle and moan, Alastor’s grip on control slipped further. His eyes squeezed shut, lost in the raw, primal swirl of base desires. And the thought – the beautiful, intoxicating thought – that now he had a scar from you, a mark that would outlast everything, including the tarnished band on your finger, that thought was his undoing.  

A deep, guttural groan ripped from his throat as he came hard, releasing in thick, hot spurts into your waiting mouth. You, always so good for him, took him in, swallowing every last drop, your lips and tongue devouring him with a devotion that made him weak. You were perfect for him, always.  

But he needed more – always more of you. He could never have enough.  

And tonight, he made a silent vow. He would kill your husband. No more waiting. No more pretending.  

As you pulled away from him, your lips slow to part from his cock, you licked them clean, flashing him a cheeky grin. “I think we should clean you up,” you teased, your voice soft, breathless, as you glanced at the mess of blood and cum staining the sheets, his thigh soaked in crimson.  

Alastor’s gaze drifted lazily down to the fresh wound on his inner thigh, a scar that would be his forever. He had to fight the urge to pull you under him and take you right then and there, to lose himself in you until morning came. His breath was shallow, his chest heaving, and a high-pitched laugh escaped him, tremors of delight rolling through his body.  

“Oh, cher,” he murmured, fingers tracing the new cut, still warm and raw. His tone was laced with affection, but beneath it, there was the dark swirl of possessiveness. His bloodied fingers caught your face, smearing crimson across your skin as he pushed you down onto the bed. The mattress groaned beneath your combined weight, sinking into the heat of the moment. “Cher, cher, cher,” he repeated, his voice dripping with laughter and madness, each repetition steeped in dark affection.  

His hands, now slick with his own blood, gripped your face with a possessiveness that bordered on feral, marking you with his blood as his lips descended on your skin. His mouth traced you hungrily, tasting, claiming every inch of you. Blood and lust mingled, and his touch, his kisses – they were everywhere, devouring, overwhelming.  

MINE.  

That was what your scar said to him. It screamed it – MINE. 

And at that moment, Alastor knew – this was your permission, your sign. He would kill your husband. He would make sure you were his.  

Forever.  

Mine.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

FUN FACT: Several months ago, I made a poll about what story I should write next. Human!Alastor and ABO was super close, but ABO won in the end. This one shot was actually a snippet of my story. Read this post here, if anyone is interested!

[ccupidzbvnni]

ranch hand

summary: You have your annual bonfire with your closest friends. This time, you give in to sin. warnings: drinking, cursing, pervy!ben again sorry guys, he’s like kinda manipulative, more religious stuff word count: 2.2k authors note: okay i am a very affectionate person and this is so self indulgent so all her friends are like affectionate as well apologies for that babies also i tried to make it obvious that there is an age gap between reader and ben but ultimately it is up to yall to decide like how big it is i dont wanna give reader and age Chapter 1

Your dad was a kind man, always giving into you. Every summer, he let you host a bonfire get-together; your friends always got giddy about it, even if you weren’t fully feeling it. Your phone buzzes, a text from your best friend filling the quiet space of your room.

Clara: bonfire tonight u ready beautiful!!!!!!

Even Clara’s excited energy couldn’t fully pull you out of the fog in your head. Guilt was a slow chokehold. God wasn’t helping you, so fuck it.

You: course i am, you bringing everything?

Biting your lip in shame, you decided to send the message. If you’ve already sinned once, you might as well go the whole way. Clara’s confirmation text makes your heart flutter.

Your dad knew the kind of things your friends got into, but he trusted that you never partook. You never did, not until tonight.

Hours later, you find yourself on your porch, begging your dad to help you with the firewood. “Please?” you beg, leaning over the banister of the porch.

“Chickabiddy, I can’t. Told ya’, got my hands full tonight already,” he laughs, amused at your dramatics. “Have Ben help ya’, he’s strong. Hell, hired ‘im for a reason,” he shrugs and walks inside, not noticing your stiffness.

You huff and then start taking deep breaths, heading for the bunkhouse. You knock once, your pride would rather you stand outside than look desperate, knocking more. One of your dad’s ranch hands opens the door with a fond smile that reaches his eyes, “Hey, kid. What ya’ need?”

“Is Ben around? My daddy wants me to talk to him,” you answer the man whose name coincidentally slips your mind. He nods and disappears inside the bunkhouse. When Ben emerges, he steps outside and closes the door behind him.

He steps out, shirt clinging to his chest and arms like sin. “Sweetheart,” he smiles condescendingly. “Thought ya’ were plannin’ on steerin’ clear of ‘a me?” The way he says it makes your skin prickle.

“My daddy’s makin’ me talk to you. Don’t think you're special,” you sneer, “need you to chop firewood for me.”

He fucking beams, excited that you need his help with something, “Well, shit, darlin', I reckon I'll go on an' chop ya’ some wood.”

“Just set them in the clearing over there,” you vaguely point to a clearing some ways away. He nods and heads off to the piles of wood waiting for him. You take this moment to study him, watching the way he walks and the way his shirt is begging to rip over his big arms.

Clara’s car peeling into your dirt driveway clears your mind of everything you’d been thinking. She takes the key out of the ignition while you walk towards her, but she doesn’t let you get far, jumping out, grabbing her bag, and running to you. “Hi, gorgeous!” she squeals, voice carrying over the ambience of your ranch. You don’t see it, but Ben turns to see who it is, watching the interaction from afar.

You laugh at her, hugging her. “Hi, Clara,” you say, squeezing her excitedly.

She pulls back, looking you up and down. “Babe, you look so hot,” she smirks, shoving your shoulder playfully. Before you can protest, she interrupts, “Got everything in my backseat, plus I asked James and Nick to bring shit. I do have a question though…” She trails off, wrapping her arm around your shoulder.

“Okay, shoot,” you wait for her question, nervous.

“Why now? Like we’ve done this for-fucking-ever, and now you wanna actually participate in our illegal activities?” she asked, mocking you while leading you to your porch. You sigh, and push the door open.

“I’ll tell you when you unpack in my room,” you whisper to her, finally stepping through the door. Inside, she finds your dad, greeting him, before heading up to your room with you. Once you close the door, she’s already standing there, arms crossed, tapping her foot.

“I’m waiting.”

“Okay, okay,” you sigh, running your hand over your face, telling her everything that happened with Ben. By the end, your voice is barely a whisper, dripping with shame.

“Fuck babe. I mean, I guess it makes sense for you to wanna do other things now. You’ll be safe, I promise,” she hugs you again and kisses your cheek.

As the day bleeds into the night, you and Clara catch up. She tells you about how her summer’s going, her eyes lighting up.

Your dad had left hours ago, leaving you and her alone in the house. You grabbed a duffel from the linen closet and stuffed it full of snacks to bring out to the fire. When you exit the house, Clara goes into her car and grabs two bags, hoisting the straps over her shoulder.

While you were helping her with the bags, James’ truck pulls up next to hers, Nick in the passenger seat. “‘Sup hoes,” James laughs out the open window of his truck.

You roll your eyes. “We’re already headed to the clearing,” you call over.

James pulls the key out of the ignition and grabs a bag out of the backseat and Nick gets out to hug you and Clara. The four of you head toward the clearing, laughter and teasing floating like embers in the air. It’s warm, light, almost perfect—if not for the heaviness still curling somewhere in your chest.

“Hey,” Nick says, nodding to the fire, “who’s that?” he asks, pointing–

Ben. Tending the fire like he fucking owns the place. Of-fucking-course.

You twist put from under James’ arm and mutter, “‘Scuse me.” You stomp over to where Ben is, the firelight flickers in his emerald eyes. It’s wrong, they’re too bright, too knowing. “We can do it from here,” you spit, crossing your arms.

“Howdy babydoll,” he drawls, stepping closer so the firelight catches the edge of his smirk. “Didn’t realize ya’ were bringin’ yer’ lil boyfriends along too,” Ben seems upset, his smile turning mean.

“Ben, please,” you plead. The shame’s gone. He’s going to ruin your night if he doesn’t leave. Clara, James, and Nick finally find their way to you, the boys oblivious to the tension in your shoulders. Clara’s eyes narrow. She clocks it instantly.

Ben doesn’t move. Instead, he throws another log into the fire, poking the flames. You watch them grow higher, like their feeding off of your frustration.

“Didn’t mean to crash y’all’s little party,” he says, nodding to all the bags dropped around your group. “Y’all mind if I stay and play with yer’ fire?”

James shrugs, clueless, “More the merrier, man.”

The older man flashes you a grin making himself comfortable in one of the folding chairs. You exhale sharply and drag a chair to the other side of the fire, your friends following without question.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” Nick claps his hands and digs into his bag, pulling out a bottle of bourbon. James and Clara laugh, the former showing off the bottle of whiskey he brought like a trophy. You don’t even realize you’re shaking. The stress of Ben still being here while you willingly delve further into sin is debilitating.

Clara sets her hand on your knee, squeezing softly. “‘S okay babe,” she murmurs. “Brought you something easier for your first time,” she winks, pulling out a bottle of Pink Whitney.

You take the bottle from Clara, fingers trembling. She offers you a soft smile, nodding in encouragement. “Small sip,” she whispers.

You unscrew the cap, breaking the seal, and bring it to your lips. It smells sickeningly sweet.

The first taste is less brutal than expected. It doesn’t burn as horrible as you thought it would. It slides down easy, sweet and sharp. The bloom in your stomach isn’t just from the drink. It’s the weight of being watched.

Ben.

You hear Nick and James laughing over something between them, and you wish more than anything to melt into their conversation, to forget he’s here. You take another sip, larger this time.

“Look at you go, babe!” Clara cheers, the two boys turning to you and whooping. You hand the bottle back and laugh at them, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Clara, you bring your speaker?” Nick leans in asks. She nods, digging through the other bag until she finds it and connects her phone.

James calls your name, “your turn for music.” Clara hands you her phone and you put search for your playlist of old country music. All three of them groan dramatically.

“Listen,” Nick says, shoving your arm, and handing you his bottle of bourbon, “I get that your dad literally owns a ranch, but this country bumpkin, child-of-the-Lord shit is crazy.”

You sip it, this burn way more intense than the previous. Shrugging you say, “The ‘child of the Lord’ thing is a touchy subject right now.” And you take another swig.

As the night goes on, bottles are passed, stories are shared, and still, you feel Ben’s eyes on you the entire time. The liquor is starting to hit; it didn’t take much, not with your lack of experience. Nick and James both eventually make their way to the rooms that they’ve arbitrarily declared as theirs.

It’s you and Clara left by the fire, Ben a quiet pressence in the background of your conversation. “That was so embarrassing, babe, stop!” Clara slurs. The chairs are long forgotten; you’re both sitting in the dirt, shoulders pressed together.

You laugh at her, easygoing attitude fueled by the almost empty bottle shared between you. She decides then that she has to retire as well, before your dad came home. “Comin’ with?” she asks, offering her hand.

You shake your head. “Just wan’ some quiet for awhile,” you whisper back. She nods and stumbles her way back to the house.

Now it’s just you, your thoughts, and the orange flames still licking skyward, thanks to Ben. You’d almost forgotten he was there. He’s been quiet all night, not disrupting your peace.

But, like he knows you’re thinking about him, Ben rises from his chair and comes to sit beside you. He says nothing for a while, just soaking in your drunkenness. “Didn’t know ya’ were like that,” he says eventually, his tone astoundingly soft.

A small laugh escapes you. “Like what?” Your words are slurred, and the world spins around you. The only thing that stays in focus is his piercing green eyes.

“Willin' to cast aside yer’ morals and stance so easily,” he fires back, tilting his head like he’s daring you to argue. “Does yer’ daddy know yer’ drinkin’ like it’s a race, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, vulnerability dripping in your voice, “Don’t tell him, Ben, please don’t tell him.”

He laughs at you, leaning closer. “‘F it means I get to see ya’ like this more? Swear ta’ God himself I won’t tell,” he runs a hand through his hair and you can’t help but watch.

You both sit in silence. It’s weirdly comfortable. Ben still tends to the flames, though he’s letting them die down as the moon dips lower in the sky. You don’t mean to doze off, but the intoxicated warmth, the quiet, and the flicker of firelight make it easy for your guard to slip.

Ben watches as your eyes flutter, your head landing gently on his shoulder. Some twisted part of him thinks: he needs to keep you like this. Soft. Dependent. Not being so fucking difficult about him touching you.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. Your eyes fly open and you turn your head to look at him.

You remember what he did.

You remember how filthy he is.

“‘S okay baby, jus’ close yer’ eyes,” he murmurs, voice low and sweet, like he’s trying to lull you back to sleep.

“You’re a dirty man, Ben Hargrove,” you hiss, though you still don’t pull away.

“I know, baby,” he says, voice syrupy sweet. “But here ya’ are, lettin' me get all handsy with ya’ like this.”

Unfortunately, you can’t argue with him. He’s warm and solid beneath you, and it’s making you feel drunker than you are.

No words are further exchanged between either of you. The fire’s almost out, a low, pulsing glow in the firepit. The smoke curls lazily into the air, like an escape. Everything feels so still, like breathing will interrupt whatever is happening between you and God.

Ben’s arm stays around you, tangible and possessive. His thumb rubs slow, absentminded circles against your arm.

You should leave.

You should scream.

You should tell your dad.

Instead, you stay.

The almost-gone fire flickers. The wind causes the embers to stir. You’d like to pretend it’s the absence of the fire that makes you lean in. Pretend it’s the alcohol that keeps you against him. Pretend you regret the choices you’re making right now.

Then, despite everything, you do one of the worst things you could. You turn to him, “Can you walk me to the house please Ben?”

And he does. He walks you to the porch and pulls you in close. “Ya gettin' all soft on me now, little girl?” he mumbles into your hair. You can’t help but fist his shirt, taking in his scent before you act like this never happened.

“Let me think on that,” you answer quietly, finally making your way into the house and closing the door behind you. Fuck.

ranch hand tag list @suckitands33 @classackles let me know if you want to be tagged when i post another chapter!!

[freakyformula]

Praised

Summary: You, Max and Lewis unwind after a long day.

Warnings: Smut without a plot, MDNI, anal, double penetration, creampie, praise kink.

Word count: 2k

"Are you going to be a good girl for us tonight?" Lewis whispers in your ear as Max holds you, staring at the mirror in the elevator.

You're all too fucked out already to form any full sentences but you manage to utter a short "Yes."

"Good, sweetheart.” They say at the same time while their hands are all over your body.

What if someone came into the lift now? You think. You were basically in the middle of foreplay. Your worst fear doesn't come true though as you get to be alone the whole way up to your floor.

When you reach your shared apartment, you search for the right key on the keychain, not wasting a second. When you get inside and the door closes behind you, the men are all over you, kissing, nibbling, sucking, biting.

"Such a good girl for us…" Lewis coos as you're standing sandwiched between him and Max.

You hold your breath, not knowing what to say. Max, who is standing behind you, grabs your hips and grinds himself against you, clearly just as turned on as you by the whole situation.

Lewis on the other hand stands there, seemingly untouched by what's happening.

You try to find his hands to pull him towards you but he slaps your hands away.

"Lewis, please… Max, tell him." You whine as you look at the man standing behind you.

"Go on, you two. I'm gonna watch you for a bit." Lewis reassures you both as he takes a few steps back and lands on the sofa that overlooks the huge king-size bed.

You and Max gaze at each other for a moment and crash your lips in a searing kiss. His hands are exploring your body, his fingers tracing figures wherever he touches.

You can't help pulling away from Max's lips, earning a grunt from him while he closes his eyes and rests his forehead on yours, while you give the older man a questioning look.

Lewis is sitting on the plush sofa with his legs crossed, watching your makeout session with much interest. He gives you a questioning look and signs with his hands to go on. So, you do.

Max grabs you under your buttocks and pulls you up, leaving you sitting just above his hardening cock. Max grabs your chin with one of his hands, still holding you with the other arm, and leans in, giving you a soft kiss. You feel him walking but you don't care about where he's taking you, putting your soul and body in his hands, feeling safe.

When his legs abruptly stop at the edge of the bed, he lets you down, with him still holding you securely. He helps you onto the bed and follows close behind, not wanting to be away from you more than needed.

"Lewis… Come here, please." You ask.

"Patience, sweetheart. I'm happy sitting here for a little longer. The view is amazing from where I am." He admits, smiling, as he's palming himself through his light-washed oversized jeans.

Max steers your head towards him with his calloused fingers, studying your beautiful eyes and gazing down at you in awe. He leans in and his lips find yours.

As his tongue explores your mouth, his hands move down to your legs, lifting them up around his hips. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer to you, feeling his growing manhood against your clothed heat.

"Max… Need you." You whine as you're unbuttoning your shirt and pulling it off, doing the same to Max as he's busy kissing your soft mouth. When you've unclothed you both down to your underwear, Max parts your kiss and immediately licks a stripe from your chin down to your chest.

"Can I take this off, schatje?" He asks.

"Yes, Max, please." You breathe out, and with that, he unclasps your bra and slides it down your arms. The moan that comes out of him when he sees your naked chest is sinful, and his hands quickly find their way to your naked chest. He leans down to you, sucking and nibbling on your nipples, while he fondles and massages your other breast.

You feel that familiar knot in your stomach starting to build when Max moves down to your heat, pulling your panties down and touching your already soaked pussy. He inserts a finger and the feeling makes you spring your head up at him and yelp while he adds another finger. "Gotta stretch you out for me, lieverd."

You look over at Lewis while Max completely destroys your pussy, pumping in and out at a quick pace. He's still sat at the same place, but now he's got his already hard cock out, with his hand around it, stroking himself up and down.

Your focus comes back to Max as he curls his fingers, hitting your G-spot, making you yell out in delight.

Max and Lewis know you like the back of their hands at this point. They know exactly how to turn you on and they know how to make you cum in a mere couple of minutes.

"Do you think you're ready to take me now, my love?" Max asks while he pulls his own underwear off, giving himself a couple of pumps.

He's painfully hard, his cock sticking up against his stomach. You nod at him, and he falls on his back and guides you to straddle his hips.

When you feel his cock underneath you, you grab it by pure instinct, caressing and fondling it in your hands. His pink cockhead looks absolutely delicious and you bend down to give it a lick, making Max tilt his head back and tense his legs.

"Fuck, Y/N..." Max manages to force out as you place slow licks on his member, teasing him out of his mind.

Max usually enjoyed some light teasing but today he was having none of it. He drags you to him and slams his cock into you. You yelp, not ready for the intrusion. He keeps still for a moment in order for you to adjust.

"So beautiful like this, on top of me." He coos.

When you feel ready, you start to ride him, gripping his dick with your tight walls as you fuck him, sliding up and down on his length.

You feel your orgasm creeping closer with every thrust, chanting his name and profanities out loud.

Then you feel a breath behind you. You catch a whiff of Lewis' cologne and moan out.

"Lewis..." Both you and Max wail. Lewis grasps your breasts in his hands, giving them a good squeeze.

"Are you okay with taking us both today, hmmm?" Lewis coos. Your pending orgasm surprises you when Lewis says those words, and you fall forward, giving him a perfect view of your spread ass. He grunts when he sees his destination, your asshole.

"Breathe, schat…" Max begs as your orgasm washes over you and your breathing pauses. You're practically bending over Max's chest, with his cock in your pulsating cunt. You catch your breath as your peak begins to fade, you experienced one of your strongest orgasms in a long time with this one.

"Please Lewis, take my ass, but please be careful." You manage to moan out.

"Such a sweet girl for us, letting us fuck all your holes." Lewis coos behind you.

As Lewis shuffles over to the nightstand and grabs a condom, and Max quickens his pace again, slamming his cock into you and hitting your cervix, making you moan in pain and pleasure. When Lewis finds his way to you and Max again, you give him a questioning look.

"Bend over to Max, love." Lewis whispers, and you obey, falling down on Max's chest, exposing your end to Lewis perfectly. "Just breathe and relax and this will be easier for you, Max will instruct you, right Max?"

"Y-yeah." Max confirms as he stills inside of you, fully sheathed.

When you feel Lewis' tip against your hole, you do your best to relax, just like he told you.

Tears are threatening to flow down your cheeks as his tip finally goes in with a pop, making all three of you moan out simultaneously.

"Breathe…" Max reminds you. It's harder than you'd expect, the pain is overwhelming and the stretch is way too much to handle. You reach for Lewis' body to prevent him from moving further inside your ass, but he gently takes your hand and places it on the bed, holding it in place.

"Doing so good for us… The tip is in." Lewis assures you as you fill your lungs with air, gasping as you feel him move a few centimeters further.

"So big…" You moan, on the edge of using your safeword, knowing that they'd stop immediately.

Max feels how you're slowly getting filled up too, making you even tighter and you earn a moan from him.

"Good girl… So pretty, taking both of us." Lewis mumbles as he starts giving you small thrusts, his cock finding it's way further into you with each one.

The feeling of him spearing you makes you finally break out into tears, making Lewis pull out fully.

"Shhhh, let's take a break. You're doing so well for us." They both reassure you. You rest your head on Max, with Lewis resting his head on the small of your back, drawing circles on your hips languidly.

"I can't…" You cry, shaking your head. "Yes, you can, sweetheart." Lewis coos in your ear, nibbling on it. You're unsure, but willing to giving it another chance.

You feel his rock hard cock against your hole again, "Ready?" He asks and you nod. This time, his member slides inside easier, the pop can still be heard but it doesn't hurt as much. When he presses his way further into you, the unforgiving stretch comes back, plaguing your chance at pleasure.

"You look so good when you take our cocks like this." Max whispers to you. "Feel so good…"

When Lewis is almost all the way in, the pain changes character and the painful feeling of stretching subsides, now you're left with the pain of feeling completely full. And then, he bottoms out. "Fuck." Lewis swears, "Taking all of me in your ass… Such a good fucking minx for us.”

"She's so tight…" Max comments to Lewis, earning a loud moan from you.

When Lewis starts pumping in and out, Max takes the hint and does the same. The feeling of being filled up both in your pussy and ass couldn't be explained, you felt... Complete with both their cocks in you.

You quickly feel your second orgasm building in the pit of your stomach and can't hold back, letting it wash over you. As you're convulsing and breathing heavily with your back against Lewis' chest, they both pause, knowing you're easily overstimulated after cumming.

"Please, move…" You plead. And sure do they move, filling you up fully, fucking into your pussy and asshole.

When you feel Max' cock twitching you know he's close, and he confirms it. "I'm close." He breathes out, clearly out of breath after the workout of thrusting into you for what felt like an hour. And then, with a few particularly rough thrusts, he paints your fluttering walls with his cum, and Lewis follows.

When Lewis pulls out, he stops in his tracks to observe your gaping asshole, and spreads your cheeks further to watch your hole trying to close itself but failing.

Max turns you around so that you end up on your back, leaving you lying there with his cum dripping out of you.

"So beautiful." They take a moment to admire you and look at each other, both in awe. They help you up and into the bathroom, cleaning you up, not letting you do anything by yourself.

When you're clean and back in bed, Max and Lewis scoot in beside you, holding you while you're lulled off to a comfortable sleep.

[puggnugget]

Honey & Gold

PART TWELVE

WARNING: NSFW!!! Smut, oral, 18 & Over

Word Count: 1,627

Streams of light began to filter in from underneath the curtains, soft rays of gold chasing away the darkness of the room. A beam of light dancing over your eyelids, causes them to flutter open softly. The sudden warmth on your face confusing you as you begin to stir.

Gale's arm is wrapped over your waist, holding you close to him as he sleeps peacefully behind you. Soft breaths caressing the nape of your neck as he dreams, his face buried deep into your hair.

You watch the particles of dust lift and dance in the streams of light, as if roused by the morning sun itself. It takes you a few moments to realize, you are seeing light - the sun, for the first time in weeks.

"Gale!" you whisper excitedly, your hand reaching to greet the warmth filtering in. Gale groans in his sleep, pulling you closer to him.

"Gale, look - the sun!" Your eyes are wide with wonder at the sight, the morning sun rising to glory in the shadow cursed lands. Gale stirs briefly, yawning as he opens his eyes.

"It's so beautiful," you smile, your heart swelling at the sight.

"Yes, you are." He mumbles into the back of your neck, kissing you softly. A soft laugh escapes you at his groggy reply.

"Let's go see," you whisper, reaching for the curtains, unable to contain your excitement. The room fills with golden streams as you pull the curtain back, colors you forgot existed in these dark lands now present before you.

"I forgot just how beautiful you look in the suns embrace," he said, a smile pulling at his lips as he kissed your shoulder.

You turned to face him, his deep brown eyes swirled with flecks of gold and honey in the mornings light. Your breath caught in your throat at the site of him.

Before you could speak, his lips were pressed against yours firmly as he melted into you, sealing your words, pulling you as close as possible - as if he couldn't stand the idea of space taking residence between you. His fingers coiled into your hair as he deepened his kiss, a soft groan entering through your parted lips.

He began to trail blazing hot kisses down your cheek, to your jaw. You stifled a laugh as the roughness of his beard began to tickle you.

"I cannot help myself when you look so beautiful," he whispered into your neck, tracing you with his tongue. You shivered at the sensation, his rough hands searching the hem of your nightgown until his hands were grasping your inner thighs.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" he whispered, lips trailing along your collarbone as he continued to explore.

"Many times," you let out a laugh as he nipped at your skin playfully.

He carefully lifted your nightgown, up and over - casting it to the side as he drank the sight of you in beneath him.

"To have you hidden in darkness should be considered a sin," he spoke in a low husky tone, moving from your collarbone to your chest as his tongue swirled at your peak. You whimpered at the sensation of his warm tongue caressing you.

His mouth enveloped you, tongue dancing, as his hand grasped your other breast gently - a thumb tracing over your nipple with light, teasing strokes.

"Gods," you moaned breathlessly, your slit growing hotter and more slick with every agonizing touch.

He took his time with you, savoring every moan and whimper as he studied you through lidded eyes, his touch gentle yet methodical. His tongue dragging and tracing along your sensitive peak, worshipping you.

He started to work his way down once more, kissing and nipping at your navel as his hunger for you only grew. You squirmed with every touch, panting as your face and chest flushed. You began to shake with excitement, knowing full well what was coming next. You couldn't stifle the moan that rolled off of your tongue when his lips met your center. His fingers digging into the flesh of your waist, holding you firm in his grasp. His tongue trailed lazily along your folds, lapping up your wetness, before settling at your bundle of nerves.

The coarseness of his beard but gentleness of his tongue and lips two conflicting sensations that made you writhe with every movement. His tongue was pressed firm against you, holding your hips still as he continued to focus on you.

Your fingers coiled into the linen fabric, balling your fists - your knuckles a burning white. He continued to lap you up, tongue tracing over your cluster with the intent of being your undoing once again.

Your hips tried to buck, but his grasp was unrelenting and held you firm to the bed as he continued. It was clear from his moans he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

Your whimpering and panting filled the room, reverberating off the old stone walls. You couldn't look away from his gaze as he worked your center diligently, watching him through lidded eyes, his face flushed and sweat beading at his brow. Your whole body began to shake, every stroke of his tongue intense and firm against your sex. The heat of your longing for him growing and burning throughout your nerves.

The sight of him, his gaze, the way his tongue felt against you - it was all too much as you burst. Erupting with his name escaping your lips over and over, you could feel his mouth pull upwards into a smile against your dripping sex. Pleased with his work once again.

You couldn't even catch your breath, his lips pressed against yours once more - your sweetness on the tip of his tongue as you moaned into his mouth. His beard slick with your wetness.

His hardness pressed against your dripping and messy slit, begging to feel you wrapped around him. You lifted your hips up slightly, your lust undeniable.

He paused for a moment, taking the time to gaze lovingly into your eyes between kisses than began to soften. He positioned himself, and slowly began to push his hips forward. The head of his length hard and pulsating as it slid between your slit with little resistance. Your breath caught in your throat, your body quivering, begging to feel every inch of him.

His tongue traced yours as he slowly buried himself to the hilt within you, your warmth wrapping around him, he twitched eagerly against the walls of your womb.

"I don't know when we will get to be alone like this again," he spoke softly into your ear.

"I want to cherish this time with you, my Goddess," he smiled coyly as he began to kiss you again, your arms draped over his shoulders.

His body pressed against yours, pinning you to the bed as he slowly retracted halfway, only to fill you up once more. You moaned together at the sensation, ecstasy laced with agony at his slow and purposeful movements.

There was something different about this time, his touch soft and his movements slow - he was savoring you.

He found a rhythm, slow and steady, ensuring you were taking every last inch of him as he throbbed within you. Your breasts dragged against his bare chest, his skin teasing your peaks as your gaze intertwined with his. It was apparent he was holding back, attempting to make the moment last for as long as possible. He kissed you tenderly, moaning your name softly as he pulsed within your walls.

His strokes deepened with unyielding need, but maintained the same slow pace. Each pump ensuring you wrapped tightly around his base, his head prodding at the entrance of your womb.

"Dammit," he hissed under his breath as he began to shake. He was close to his end, trying to maintain his focus so that he could hold on just a little longer.

"It's okay," you whispered into his skin as you kissed his cheek.

"I want it," your tone was light as your hips stirred, encouraging him to keep going. The apple in his throat bobbed nervously as he gulped, your admission driving him to the edge of madness.

"I'm certain that I can last a bit longer if I try," he was nearly pleading, focusing on anything but his longing to fill you up with his seed.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, locking him in place, pushing him into your depths once again. He let out a moan as his eyes widened, your suddenness a surprise.

"Gods, T-tav, I..." he trailed off, his cheeks flushed with a scarlet hue as his body continued to shake.

"Will you cum for me?" you begged, biting your lip as you observed him, a quivering mess fighting his carnal urges. He continued to move his hips once again, every stroke more eager as he plunged further into your depths. You moaned his name through parted lips, grazing his neck.

"Gods, I-I .." he groaned, sweat cascading down his temple. His urges taking over as his pace began to quicken, each dip sending an electric shock of pleasure coursing through your body.

'"That's it, cum for me," you begged, kissing his chest. Your final demand his unraveling, his head tilted back as he unleashed a trilling moan that carried your name. A warm burst filling you as he pulsated and twitched at your furthest depths, unable to control himself. His hips bucked again without his direction, as he continued to release his seed.

"Gods, the things you do to me," he laughed through his panting, as he slowly unsheathed his length from your hungry walls. A mixture of him and you pooled onto the linen fabric, seeping from your slit.