#he has a ringer mouth.

[fandomstuckportal]

((scarface eats soda cans to assert dominance))

[bubble-tea-blossom]

Hear me out fellow Joel sluts, the demon of horny hath possessed me.

Jackson era. Pure smut. Age gap. Frantic fucking on a couch. 18+ only.

Desperate not to cum, Joel thinks about what a terrible person he is.

I mean, he knows her parents for fuck’s sake. He’s over at their house on the regular. How the hell he’s supposed to look them in the eye now? Now after fucking their pretty little daughter like an animal on their own couch.

Joel has her on her back, her legs bouncing in the air while he fucks her in a mating press.

He likes it best this way. When he can get deep, grinding his pelvis against hers. He likes watching her cute face screw up in pleasure, her eyes and mouth popping open when he knocks on her cervix.

She claws at him, arching her back when he grinds even deeper,

“Fuck!” She cries. Joel stares at her lips, puffy and wet from when she sucked on his dick. She’s trembling now when Joel slides his cock in and out. In and out, he fucks her tight channel open with every thrust.

The girl is whining now, tears brimming in her big eyes as all she can do is lie there and take the brutal pounding from a man older than her father.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” she whispers, and indeed Joel can feel the walls of her tight little pussy start to flutter. Poor thing’s been put through the ringer tonight.

His mouth falls open in a groan. She feels heavenly, wrapped around his dick and pinned underneath him.

Shit this girl’s gonna drain his balls soon if he’s not careful. And Joel has no plan on this ending anytime soon.

So Joel thinks about what people would say if they found out. What they’d call him behind his back.

Dirty old man. Shit like that.

Joel’s finding it very hard to care when she finally cums. Her cunt squeezes around him like he tasered her. Her back arches as much as it can with all of his bulk pressing down on her.

Joel doesn’t let up his thrusts. No, he fucks her through her orgasm, pummeling her pussy with his cock, his balls slapping against the soaked skin of her asshole.

“Fuck pretty girl, you got a great pussy.” Joel grunts, feeling her tremble underneath him.

She gives a tired laugh, “Thanks.”

“Little thing takes me so well, stretches out nice for me.” He purrs, feeling his own orgasm pull low in his gut.

He slows his thrusts, wanting to savour this. The feeling of her warmth wrapped around him, her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. The smell of her neck when he sucks and licks.

Her little cunt, warm and wet and all for his taking.

Its too much. Without any further warning, Joel feels a familiar jolt in the base of his spine. He instinctually slams himself as deep as he can while his balls tighten and he pumps shot after shot of cum deep inside her.

The girl doesn’t react how Joel thought she would. She lies there, letting out a little moan at the feeling of his cock throbbing against her walls. It takes a few seconds until she looks up at him, her eyes wide,

“Wait what was that? Did you just cum?” She asks, her voice wavering.

Joel knew he was a bad man when the realization that he was the first man to paint her insides with his seed, makes him rut into her again. Giving short little thrusts, getting the last dregs of his cum inside her walls.

The girl gasps when Joel finally pulls out. He does so slowly, he knows he can be a lot to handle. Especially now that he’s rethinking how experienced she might be.

Breathing heavily, Joel rests with the tip of his cock still pressed against the girl’s seam. She sits up, trying to shift to better see herself. Joel watches with a soft groan when the pearly white fluid pools at the girl’s entrance, before spilling down.

Its thick. And there’s a lot. Joel’s not even sure when the last time he’d had an orgasm was but he must’ve been pretty backed up because now its at risk of staining her parent’s couch.

Joel gathers it with two fingertips, dragging his fingers up her slit before pushing back inside.

Her lip quivers and the shudder that passes through her is one of pleasure, especially when Joel starts to finger her with more rhythm. Pulling her libido back up of the floor, up and running again.

“I am sorry about that. Kinda came outta nowhere. I can get you anything you need.” Joel promises. His sentances are short, but the girl nods, the look on her face showing she understands.

“I might take you up on that,” she says with a sigh at the ministrations Joel’s laying on her.

“But first,” she moans, her knees falling wider, “my parent’s don’t get back til Monday.”

[arminslovurrr]

ummm thinking abt big beefy men who eat you thru ur panties,you don't know why he's in such a hurry, as soon as the both of you got thru the door he dragged you thru the house all the way to the living room, pushing you on the couch and kneeling between your legs.

it's almost pathetic how this big burly man whines "i-im sorry" he'd stumble over his words "please- just needa taste you baby" he flips up your white frilly mini skirt and pushes your knees to your chest. ur so confused? where do this come from? after a long day of running errands and now he's so erratic and pent up for what? he takes a moment to admire how chubby ur pussy looks in ur baby pink panties n the obvious darker hue in the center of ur panties from arousal seeping thru the fabric.

then it snaps in him, he pushes his head into ur lower region messily licking your clothed slit, ur body's first reaction is to grab onto his hair and force his head to stay where it's at. he's kissing and sucking on your slit before making his way up to the swollen bud, he suckles on the fabric covering the bud causing all types of pornographic sounds to come out of you. you don't even know who's louder with the way that he's groaning and panting like a dog in heat.

he'd shake his head from side to side using his big beefy forearms to keep you still, "mmhah.. stay still girl." he said breathlessly but sternly before lowering his head again. at this point ur panties are soaked with his saliva and ur arousal but he plans to get them wetter, he presses his thumb to your entrance and speeds up his attack on your clit. not once did his low lusted eyes leave ur pretty face, i mean how could they when you were making the cutest expressions all at his expense! Ur eyebrows pinched together with ur bruised lips slightly parted letting out the prettiest sounds he has ever heard.

you can't help but arch ur back off of the bed when he slaps ur pussy

"ohmygoshh .. don't stopp" you embarrassingly whined, "who knew i had such a dirty girl, hm?" he chuckled before placing another firm slap on your puffy clit. you threw ur head back and gripped his forearm tightly, he knew you were almost there, that's the only reason he tugged your drenched panties to the side n slid his middle and ringer finger inside of ur wet cunny. pumping his fingers in and out at a animalistic pace, "fuuckkk's too muchhh" you'd scream looking down to watch "y'er a good girl, you can take it, you always do." he mumbles against your clit, curling his fingers inside of you trying to find that spot that makes you pop.

"dont stop 'm cumminggg fuuuckk !!" you squealed as ur climax came crashing down on you, gripping onto his forearm for dear life while moaning his name. he'd smirk but his fingers never stopped, his mouth never stopped. he kept going. maybe even going faster. you quickly become overstimulated trying to pry and push his head, but he was much stronger than you.

the orgasm came quicker than the last, it felt .. different? it felt hotter and wetter. his fingers grazed against ur sweet spot one more time and you let go, "nngghh, noo more it feels 's weirddd" you pleaded with a now raspy voice as clear fluid splashed again your stomach and his face, causing your eyes and his to widen in surprise.

"damn ur so messy." he says slapping ur clit to see ur release splash even more. he finally let's go of ur legs after licking you clean, all you can do is lay there with ur brain all hazy n ur legs all sore. "you still with me baby?" he teases as he puts ur panties back in place.

"need you to return the favor." was the last thing he said before standing up and placing ur hand on his bulge.

toji … nanami … zoro … reiner …KATSUKIII + any of ur fav burly men !!

an: i trying to write more, i really am but i cant write short lil paragraphs i always turn them into novels so i’m workin on that ! but anyways my bday is in 5 days >0< not proof read

[lovelettersforthedamned]

just thinking about asking nerdy!peter parker just casual asking for a whimpering audio

Missing You

--genre: fluff & SMUT

--pairing: nerdy!tasm!peter parker x gn!reader

--word count: 0.8k

--warnings: language, mutual masturbation, sexting, i think that's it???

this gif...my godddd

Peter has started to travel for work more often, leaving you at home without him. Along with your loneliness, Peter finds himself aching for you more often than not. His company doesn’t have him working late nights when he’s on these work trips, and he doesn’t really do well in new environments, especially when you’re not there, so he finds himself in his hotel room flipping through shitty channels on the TV. 

It was early when he decided to ditch the local news broadcast and scroll through his phone. It must’ve been only 5 minutes of jumping back and forth through his apps, even opening the weather app a few times out of sheer boredom. Looking at the time, he did the math in his head, figuring out what time it was back in New York. You should be home by now. 

Pete: Hi bug, how was work?

You: it was good! nothing out of the ordinary…you already done with your day, baby?

Pete: Yeah, I'm just lounging at the hotel. 

Pete: I miss you, so so much. 

You: i miss you always, pete. 

You: miss the way you touch me…

This makes Peter flush with warmth, he suddenly feels very vulnerable in a room with no one but him. He didn’t know how much he missed kissing you, touching you, and especially hearing you until he was forced to leave. God, he missed the sound of your voice. 

Without thinking about it, he slowly slipped his hand into his work pants and boxers, slowly stroking his soft cock. With his phone in his other hand, he texts you back. 

Pete: Fuck (Y/N), I wish you were here. I need you. 

Back in New York, you’re lying on your stomach giggling at your boyfriend’s texts. You know exactly what he’s doing, and you know exactly how desperate he is for anything from you right now. You’ve always loved to tease Peter, especially when you two haven’t had sex in a while. But you know that he’s needed this for a while now and that you being a couple hundred miles away from him was taking a toll on him. Rolling over to your back, you text him back.

You: if i was there, what would we be doing? 

You: maybe we would go out to eat, or check out the area? what do you think, baby? 

Pete: I think we’d stay in, and have some fun in the hotel. 

You: aww petey…you still touching yourself right now?

And for the second time, Peter’s flustered. His now hard cock twitches in his hand at the thought of you knowing he was pumping himself to your texts. It somehow turns him on even more, a low groan leaves his mouth. Now that the secret is out, his filter is gone. 

Pete: Yeah, I am. 

You: good.

You: Attachment: Voice Memo

The minute-long voice recording intrigues Peter as he clicks on the play button, setting his phone down. As soon as it started to play, the sound of your moans filled his hotel room. You started soft, with a couple of whines as the seconds went on. He can picture you in your shared bed, touching yourself to the thought of him. 

His hand starts to pump faster as he closes his eyes and listens closely to your recording. He starts to hear a soft hum in the background, it’s very faint but it’s definitely there. He realizes that you’re using the vibrator he gifted you for your birthday, and his head spins. He’s so close when your moans grow louder. 

His warm seed spilled all over his hand, a wet spot forming on his pants, but he didn’t care. He slowly pumps his cock as he starts to come down from his high, the only thing on his mind is you. 

Peter is still in a state of bliss when your moans come to a stop, he thinks the recording ends until you speak, “I love you, Peter. I can’t wait for you to come home.”

He sighs as a grin spreads across his features. He starts to sit up when his phone buzzes, and his ringer screams at him. Looking at his phone next to him, he realizes that you’re Facetiming him. With his clean hand, he picks up his phone and answers it, your smiling face looking at him. You giggle, “You look kinda crazy right now, baby.”

You weren’t wrong, his hair was tousled from laying in bed, and his glasses were crooked. “You do not want to see my bottom half if you think I look crazy,” he replies half laughing half speaking. 

You can’t help but smile at Peter, thinking about everything you two will do when he’s back home in the comfort of your apartment. 

--authors's note: THIS REQUEST IS GOLD!!!! thank you anon for this, it's so delicious. my asks/inbox is open, so keep sending in requests!!! thank you so much for all the support, and don't forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed. ok, ily bye<3333

[coloursflyaway]

i'm finally going through the comments on heaven to no one else but me (i'm so sorry for the delay, btw, but i was gone over the weekend and you guys were SO sweet that i wanted to take the time to reread everything and make sure i'd respond properly) and i just had A Thought.

i've been putting charles through the ringer lately, which i love doing, because that boy suffers so prettily. but how about a fic in which through magical hijinks charles loses his memory, and edwin is the one left behind?

and charles is like he always is, which is bright and happy and clever and wonderful, and he takes to edwin like he did last time ("so we're best friends? that's pretty cool, i never thought i'd get a best friend this clever! how do you put up with me?") and he's the same, but also, he's not.

because all the time they had together changed charles, just like they changed edwin, and there is something impossibly nostalgic about seeing charles like this, like a snapshot of thirty years ago, but at the same time, it's the most painful experience of edwin's life, because charles has forgotten everything about what made them them.

the synergy isn't there anymore, the ease they usually move with together, the references to older cases and the inside jokes they have.

one time, edwin holds out his hand on instinct; charles asks, "huh? what do you need?" instead of putting their magic screwdriver into it.

edwin doesn't do it a second time.

and there is a beauty, maybe, in watching charles get to know him again, but god, it breaks edwin's heart every second of the way.

and they go through remedy after remedy and nothing works, and edwin has to face the possibility that he might still have a best friend, but he'll never get His Best Friend back, and it's not enough to destroy him, because charles is still there, but god, it is close.

(charles, at the same time, is baffled by everything edwin knows about him and how close they must have been and is this really everything, is edwin keeping something from him? did they - he can hardly think it, because surely it can't be true, this doesn't happen to him, he's not worth of this happening to him - kiss? is this why edwin looks at him so dejectedly when he thinks charles doesn't notice?)

and charles keeps asking questions, like he is trying to figure something out, until one day, he kisses edwin. straight on the lips, a hint of a question in the curve of his mouth, and edwin is both overwhelmed and devastated, because this is what he had been hoping for before charles had lost his memory, and yet he cannot enjoy it now, because it's not His Charles; and yet he cannot pull away, because it is Still Charles and edwin loves him in any way he can.

it feels like cheating somehow, but what if he'll never get charles back, what if this is all that is left of their friendship now?

so he kisses back anyway, and when charles smiles against his lips, edwin thinks maybe, just maybe, it could be okay.

only that a few days, or maybe a few weeks later, something happens and charles suddenly looks at him and he's Back, edwin can see it in his eyes, and -

-and how can he explain this to charles now, that he let himself be kissed by charles when he was not himself, how can he look charles in the eyes when he knows that he has taken advantage of him like this, has he gotten his best friend back now only to lose him again because he couldn't control himself around charles and-

-and charles smiles at him, says, "hi. good to be back. i missed you."

and he takes edwin's hand, who still cannot speak, cannot think, and presses a kiss to the back of it.

"guess i just had to start all over again to realise i could absolutely fall in love with you, huh?" he says, and he looks at edwin like he used to a week ago, like he used to a decade ago, and edwin is crying before he knows it, fingers curling around charles' to hold onto him.

"did you?", he asks, and charles just laughs, sweet and happy and safe.

"oh absolutely. although i think i might have started thirty-odd years ago."

[xlatiwritesx]

For Good | LN4

Genre: angst

Words: 1.5K

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: after four months of healing, you think you’re finally over the love of your life. But when he randomly shows up heartbroken at your doorstep late at night, you start questioning everything.

…

If someone asked what was one of the greatest luxuries that life offers, you'd immediately say the ability to forget. The ability of time to mend broken hearts and stitch up wounds. Even if not entirely.

You think of this as you wave goodbye to your friends whom were still talking around a small, round coffee table at a cafe downtown you've been planning to go to for weeks. You don't realize it until you were leaving that Lando was the one that had recommended this place to you. Your smile widens at your progress as you get in your car to drive home.

You stop at a red light, watching as the people pooled into the street to cross it, going on with their day. You smiled at a couple holding hands. You smiled at another holding each other close. You think back to the earlier days after your break up. How these scenes would've sent you over the edge. How these scenes kept you locked up in your apartment because it was easier to be a prisoner to isolation and loneliness than to endless heartbreak.

As you take the elevator up to your floor, you can't help but think of how it would’ve been if things were different. If he was different. No. If his life and what he was was different.

Would your heart have been torn apart into shreds and just barely brought back together?

You shake your head as if it would shake off the thought and unlock your door. You hang your coat behind it and drop your keys on the kitchen island.

Throwing yourself on your living room couch and kicking off your shoes, you can't help but think of how many nights you've woken up in the middle of, lonely and choking on nothing but a lump caused by loss and heartache. You shiver, feeling grateful that part of your life was over. That you've grown since then.

You focus on whatever was on the TV to stop you from thinking of the worst period of your life. You take a deep breath and force it out, getting comfortable by pulling a throw blanket over your cold body.

You get lost in the many ads and all their flashing colors, almost missing the ringing doorbell. You frown, wondering who could show up at that hour. You check your phone clock and it reads 11 pm. Your frown deepens as you sit up, giving the ringer one last chance before you went to open.

It rings again.

You finally get up, walk to the door and open it. Suddenly, it made sense why someone would visit you at that hour.

You look at him, his curls messier than you remember them to be, his eyes darker than you do as well. His athletic physique seems weak and beat up by something only you would know so well. He looks at you the same way you looked at his pictures when you left him that night.

"I can't do it, y/n" he whispers, barely having the strength to shrug. You open your mouth slightly, but nothing comes out.

You just open the door farther, moving out of the way so he could come into the place he has memorized by heart. He drags his feet along your wooden floors to the living room you had danced around in for many nights. Where you've shared words for only both of you to hear, confessions of admiration, and jokes no one else would laugh about but the both of you.

He drops on your couch and his head falls back. You shut the door and stand there, your hands behind you and your brows furrowed. So many emotions run through your body. Longing. Worry. Panic.

You didn't know how to act. Because the only way you knew how was to run into his arms and hold on to him forever. But you shut your eyes and pierce your lips. You couldn't do it to yourself. Not again.

You slowly walk closer to where he was, yet still stand far enough to be out of reach. You take a closer look at him. You've never seen him like this and it killed you.

"Lando" your shaky voice echos. He opens his eyes and look at you. You didn't think it was possible for more pain to find its way to his eyes. But somehow it did.

"Don't call me that" he frowns, standing up and walking closer to you. You keep your eyes on his, not able to move any inch of your body.

"You never call me that" he whispers, his face finally just inches away from yours.

Your heart squeezes. Squeezes so tightly that your eyes are forced shut and your tear ducts are suddenly full. His scent. His face. His voice. His mere existence. You missed it. You missed him. So much that you were barely standing on your feet still.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is barely audible when you finally speak, your eyes still shut to keep your uninvited tears from exposing your tortured soul.

“Look at me” he begs, voice desperate. Way too desperate for you not to listen. Your eyes meet his again, except it’s a blurry version of them this time.

“Why are you here, Lan?” You promise yourself to call him by his nickname once. Just once more. He smiles through the storm of his emotions when you say it and you immediately question your integrity for already wanting to break the promise you’ve just made.

“What is it?” You pressure and his faint smile fades. He opens his mouth to answer, but no words come out immediately.

“I can’t do it. Being away from you-“ you turn around before he could finish, pressing the bottoms of your palms against your eyes to hopefully keep the tears in, but even dams fail to keep raging rivers.

His hands find your waist, his forehead resting inbetween your shoulder and neck. You both stay like that for a while. It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep yourself from sobbing. Whaling, even.

You thought it was over. You thought you were okay. That time did heal. And that you broken heart was mending. But it took one look at him to get you right back to that night. And one touch to make it all worse.

“No, Lan” you shake your head, unable to keep yourself from crying anymore.

“We already talked about it. This won’t work and-“

“No! We didn’t! We never talked about how every night it feels like bricks are piling over my heart, crushing me into pieces because I can’t reach out and feel you by my side!” Lando’s voice fills every inch of your apartment. You keep your back to him, hunched over as tears streamed down your face.

“I can’t do this anymore! I’ll do anything. Anything you want, just name it and I’ll do it. I’ll buy it. I’ll be it!” He continues. You feel him coming back to hold you and you don’t move. Instead, you anticipate it. Hoping, praying, begging for it.

“Just please come back to me” he wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his temple on your wet cheek. You keep crying silently, hoping for a moment of strength so you could reply.

You slowly turn in his arms to face him, holding his face and pressing your forehead to his. You both close your eyes and for a moment it’s like nothing changed. It felt like the many nights you spent loving him over and over again until you were incapable of loving anything else.

“I believe we tried everything, Lan. It’s time to let this go. For good” you somehow manage to say that. He somehow heard you, because he shakes his head slowly, disapproving.

“Yes” you whisper against your wishes. Against all your deepest desires and dreams to be with him forever. To hold his hand and never let go.

“No” his voice breaks and you break beyond breaking with it.

“Please” you breath shakily.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is, Lan” you beg. His arms find their way around you again, his head buries in the crook of your neck. You feel him shake against you. You wrap your arms around him too. Taking him in as if you didn’t have him memorized already.

You both stand there, in each other’s arms, listening, watching, feeling your hearts shatter for the millionth time, cursing your circumstances for tearing you apart. For being too drastically different.

“I love you” Lando mumbles and you smile lightly through your tears, holding him tighter.

“I love you, too”

[wraithdance]

Stray Dogs | GHOAP x Reader

Synopsis: You never had a problem with strays, but you should have been wary of the rabid dogs begging to be leashed.

Note: AFAB!Reader, No phys. description but reader has background story, no y/n use or gender terms for reader, Reader is LGBTQ (Bi/Pan) w/ Avoidant attachment issues. Content warning: Mature | domestic partner violence and harassment, avoidant attachment traits, mentions of sickness/vomiting, sexually explicit content, mentions of p in v sex, alcohol consumption/misuse & physical violence.

Chapter One: Soap Comes Over

Foxy won’t stop calling you.

The first attempt to reach you after the breakup started two weeks after dead silence. You’d been in the middle of a presentation at work when the phone rang. Thankfully you had the foresight to keep the ringer on silent, but you’d been checking your email when her contact lights up the screen. 

You freeze. 

“Do you need to get that?” Your boss Marc had interrupted the poor intern going over the quarter projections. His startling gray eyes bore into you as he looks down his nose. He raises a thick brow when you forget to answer, it’s mocking and layered. 

It pulls you out of your stupor long enough to put your cell on do not disturb. You flip the offending object face down on the table before giving Marc an apologetic half smile.

“No sir, sorry about that, it can wait.”

He looks at you for a beat longer than polite then signals the nervous intern to go on.

From the corner of your eye you can see your assistant Eric cutting eyes at you from beside you at the conference table. You meet his look head on with a deadpan expression of your own. It doesn’t deter him from mouthing ‘what the hell?’

You ignore him. 

It’s not like you had an answer yourself. You’d been dealing with the impending episode that came with a doomed relationship as best you could. So, you didn’t know why she was calling you when she’d made it clear she wanted nothing to do with you. Your mind was unfocused throughout the rest of the meeting. 

You accept the call that comes in when you’re walking to your office.

“Why wouldn’t you pick up the fucking phone?!” She screams into your ear as soon as the call connects. It makes you pause in your trek.

What the hell?

“Fox-" you clear your throat and cover the slip up. “Taylor, I’m at work. I can’t just pick up whenever, you called me during an important meet-”

She screams into the receiver loud enough you need to bring the speaker away from your ear. Margarita from accounting gives you a startled look as she passes, having heard.

Shit.

You flash your coworker a disarming smile and placing the phone at the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Hi Margs, are we still on for happy hour next week?” 

Margarita laughs, swatting you with the manila folder in her hand.

“Of course someone’s got to keep you from climbing onto the tabletops.” she winks.

That causes you to wince in embarrassment. The after effects of the impromptu tequila shot contest during the last happy hour had not been your finest moment. (You couldn’t turn down a double dog dare though, you weren’t a coward.)

“Okay, I’ll see you there Margs, I have to wrap up this call.” You return her retreating wave and press the phone back to your ear. 

You frown in confusion.

“Foxy?” A glance at the screen shows you that she’d hung up. Strange. You don’t have to wonder what happened for long before the texts start flooding in.

> you never fucking cared about me did you.

You know it’s meant to be a statement not a question. You’re typing a response when the next texts come in rapid succession. 

> How have you already moved on so soon??? you’re such a fucking bitch!! >I hate you >I HATE YOU

You’d barely made it to a restroom before vomiting. 

You meet your dead eyes in the executive bathroom mirror, rinsing cold water in your mouth and spitting into the ornate sink. Your mascara is smudged from the tears prickling the corner of your lashes. Worse is the full body shaking and gut churning panic that takes over your limbs.

Double shit.

You text Marc that you’d be working from home the rest of the day. He asks why and you cite a family emergency taking priority. You’re not sure if he believes you but you chance it nonetheless.

You answer Foxy’s calls the first days after. Reasoning with her on the validity of her claims of you never having cared for her is met with more screaming and hysterical crying on her end.

When you finally block her you’re riddled with guilt and anxiety so intense it zings through you. Foxy starts calling from an unknown number after that.

You spend the rest of the day in bed with your phone off. Your muscles hurt from staying in the fetal position, you’re sweating profusely under the comforter despite the freezing temperatures in your flat. It’s almost a blessing when you lose track of time and falter in and out of restless sleep.

Until Duckie calls your work phone when you don’t respond about her dinner thing to meet her new boyfriend. You’d done your best to skirt around the topic but your usually laissez-faire friend is irritated at your noncommittal answers. 

She snaps at you and you know it’s warranted. You’d already had a talk about pushing past your anxieties and being more forthcoming with her.

Still you panic and hang up on her.

This time you don’t make it to the bathroom when you’re suddenly sick. Your left leg is on fire where you’d landed on it in your hurry to get out of bed. You’re frantically scrubbing puke out of your good throw rug on the bathroom floor, waiting for Duckie to pick up your Video call.

Her ocean blue glasses fill up the screen before she sits back enough for you to see her scowling round face. You’re sobbing before she can say a word.

“She won’t stop fucking calling me!”

Duckie blinks in confusion, anger momentarily forgotten.

“What? Darling I can barely understand you, who won’t stop calling?”

“Foxy!” You cry out, “She’s called me 48 times since this morning, I haven’t slept through the night since last Thursday and there’s puke on my new rug!” 

Duckie comes over and helps you change your phone number. 

Your teeth chatter on the line with the overly cheery agent at your phone company. Duckie rubs soothing circles on your trembling back, a frown unnatural on her usually smiling face. It takes several hours of promises and consuming everything Duckie sets in front of you before she’s willing to leave you alone again.

“Darling, call me if anything else happens okay? I’m serious. I’m still pissed at you for not telling me she was harassing you like that. You really need to talk to me.”

You’d like to object to that.

The threads of self loathing already tighten around your body with the fact that you needed her support already. You don’t tell her that though. You kiss her cheeks and follow her to the door. Swearing you’d call her the second anything else happened and confirm the day you’d be free for dinner.

The second the door closes behind her the energy saps out of your body. You slink to the floor in your foyer in a boneless heap. 

Triple shit.

Foxy starts showing up to your house.

She hadn’t taken being ignored very well and had banged on your door, demanding you come out and speak to her.

You’d finally opened the door when your neighbor texted that they would be calling the police if you didn’t get her under control. Foxy launched at you the second you came into view.

Your cheek still sports from the slap she’d managed to half connect before you shifted your face. 

You’d managed to push her out of your home and lock the door to your apartment, dodging her clawed fingers as best you could. She kicked and screamed obscenities at the door while you’d called the police yourself. Unsurprisingly by the time the police showed up she’d gone. You write a report nonetheless.

After another week you’d been hopeful she’d gotten the hint and would leave you alone for good. Your sweet neighbor Mrs. Henderly had stopped you on the way to work whispering that a woman had been digging through your planter.

The planter where you kept your spare key.

Despite having the locks changed you’re still paranoid. It’s why you’re currently in a bar near your home, sipping on ginger ale and watching a fight break out.

After some thought you come to the conclusion that Johnny MacTavish is like a rooster. 

You watch him puff out his chest to strut around like the biggest cock in the yard in the overcrowded space. From where you’re sitting at the bar you can tell the restraint he has over his muscles, it’s in his carefully controlled motions and showy posturing. His choice of hair is just a laughable coincidence when you think about it.

If Duckie were here you’d know she’d agree with you.

She’d nervously giggle and make some terrible joke about wondering if he was overcompensating that you’d scoff at. Your gaze runs down the firm expanse of his broad shoulders in his blank t-shirt and his jean covered thighs. You take a sip of your drink and shudder. He was the size of a tank, it would be a cruel twist of fate for him to be a lousy fuck.

Still, watching him beat a man to a pulp with single minded focus makes you think of your grandfather's prized cock fighting rooster. The bird was the center of a terrible memory and you hadn’t thought about him or your late maternal grandfather in years. Until now, in the dingy bar nearly a decade later. 

Johnny circles his downed prey like a bloodthirsty game fowl, the drunken crowd jeers in excitement while a waitress screams for help stopping the brawl.

There’s a startling unhinged quality to Johnny’s eyes as he lays a succession of blows on the man who’d called you a cunt for denying his advances.

The drunk had been loud and getting more and more aggressive with you when you told him to leave you alone. You’d been at your breaking point preparing to smash your glass in his face when Johnny's right hook came out of nowhere to connect to the bastard's face.

Johnny's pupils are blown out and his smile bright as he takes fists and returns them with triple the fervor. Occasionally his glacial blue eyes bore into yours, making sure that you’re still watching. 

A knight, waging war in your honor. 

You’d never been a damsel before, it’s something you mull over as you watch the bartender and other patrons wrestle Johnny from atop the now unconscious man on the floor. 

You close your tab and follow where they manhandle him outside.

Johnny’s knuckles are raw and split. He doesn’t seem to notice or care as he takes out a cigarette and attempts to ignite it with a cheap lighter. When the blood from his knuckles causes his thumb to slip on the spark wheel he curses into the night. You step forward from your place just inside the bar door and he watches your approach with lidded interest.

Taking the lighter from his hands you wipe it on the side of your black jeans, before holding the lighter to his mouth.

He was definitely far from a knight, you think, observing him from under your lashes. He stares back openly without blinking as he puffs the cigarette to fire. His focus makes your heart beat thunderously in your chest.

“Do ye smoke?” He tilts the cigarette in an offer. You shake your head with a smile. 

“No, bad habit.”

He laughs, it’s humorless, layered with something more. “Ar’nt most things?” 

You make a noncommittal sound, not really caring to consider it. You’re content to watch him, watch you. It’s a game of chicken you’re used to playing with most men, testing their resolve. Johnny doesn’t flinch or look away and you like that.

The eye contact is broken by the sound of the bar door opening. The noise from inside spills out in the night as two men struggle to carry the limp form between them. The man Johnny pummeled into a pulp is barely conscious, stumbling on his unsteady feet. 

His head lolls to the side and you watch the eye that isn’t blackened widen when he takes in Johnny and you. 

‘Fockin’ bastard I’m gonna fockin’ kill ya!” He slurs out.

The man thrashes, kicking his feet and all in an attempt to escape the two hand carry. Johnny just laughs meanly puffing on the cigarette without a fuck to give. 

“I’m gonna fuck your slag too, see how she likes taking real cock you Irish fuck!”

The crazed look in Johnny's eyes is back as he flicks the still smoking cigarette into the bushes.

“Ya mam is the only one who wants a turn on yer howlin’ cock!” Johnny barks out darkly “c’mere I’ll black your other eye for ya, ye fuckin’ bawbag!”

You’re smiling when you place a hand on his chest stopping him from charging forward. 

No, he’s definitely not a knight at all.

But you won’t be satisfied until you’ve ridden his cock nonetheless.

He sees it in your expression when he looks at you. A muscle in his jaw jumps when his eyes dart between your parted mouth and the man who’d insulted you both, weighing out the desire to war or kiss it better. 

You know he chooses the latter when he cups a hand on the back of your neck, tilting your head back to force your face close to his. 

“What’s yer name hen?”

You tell him. He gives you his (you know it, you’ve been watching him at the bar since you'd come in.) He tells you to call him Soap if you want, you raise a brow at that but shrug. It wasn’t your business you’ll never see him again after tonight.

“Okay, my place or yours?”

You have to pass the bruised and drunken man to get to the path of your apartment. Despite his previous bravado he flinches when Johnny crowds him, silently daring him to say a word. 

“I’m nae Irish, I’m Scottish ya daft fucker. I see ya even pissin’ distance near here again and I’ll put ye down like a fuckin’ dog.” 

One of the other men puts a hand out to Johnny's chest to put some distance between the two. Johnny brushes it off with a sneer but takes the hand you offer him. He follows you silently through the darkened night and you laugh to yourself.

Definitely not a knight at all.

Johnny takes up space in your apartment like he pays bills in it. His big legs spread out on the couch, one hand tapping rhythmically on his bouncing thigh while the other holds your remote with your floral throw pillow tucked under his arm. He's clicking through channels with half attention.

Your mouth twitches when he lands on Planet Earth with a grunt. While he’s engrossed in the mating instincts of primates you top off your drinks with ice, juice for you and leftover wine for Johnny.

He pulls you into his lap when you go to hand him his cup, you allow it with a breathy laugh. Johnny takes a sip of the red wine before wrinkling his nose and taking a sniff of your cup instead.

“Are ye trying to get me drunk bonnie? Why’re ye nae drinking too?”

“I don't drink anymore.” you reply with a shrug that’s meant to be unceremonious.

You hadn’t had a drink since Duckie threatened you with an intervention after finding you blacked out one too many days in a row. Your breakup with your ex-girlfriend had opened up old wounds already, but the constant harassment stressed you out enough. 

Regrettably, you’d exhausted all of your therapy options, so drinking was the only thing you could think of to self medicate. Now, you didn’t have anything harder than a mocktail. Simple as that. 

“Here we can share mine.”

You take quick sips of your juice and hand the cup to Johnny, taking his mug in hand and placing it on the coffee table. He thanks you and gulps some down and passing the cup back to you. This goes on for a while until the cup is empty. Johnny palms your ass through your jeans when you set the empty glass aside. You roll your hips against his crotch slowly, bracing your hands on his knees to rock and swirl into his hardening cock with added pressure.

He groans and slides his big palms up to your waist gripping tight and thrusting up into your covered core. 

“Och, hen keep movin’ like that and I’ll give ye somethin’ to sit on.” You snort out a laugh. 

That’s the point. 

You look at the time displayed on the screensaver of the television. It was 3am on a Saturday. Which means you had about seven hours until your support group and the rest of the day to prepare for Duckie’s ‘meet the man’ dinner. So, technically you had less than 2 hours to milk Johnny of all the cum in his body and send him on his way so you could sleep.  

Tight turn around but you’ve worked with less.

With that in mind you climb out of Johnny’s lap standing in front of him, ignoring his protests. He doesn’t pout for long as he watches you lift your shirt and toss it aside. His blue eyes glaze over with want as you reach for the buttons of your jeans and slide them down your thighs along with your panties. He makes a guttural noise between a groan and a curse when you unhook your bra last, dropping it to the floor beside you.

The poor man is conflicted between looking between your legs at your soaked thighs and making eyes at your hardening nipples with the cute jewelry that decorates them. He finally settles on palming his cock under his pants and reaching out to palm your belly moving to cup your cunt. You stop him, tapping your foot against his shoe (which makes you scrunch your nose up, he should have taken them off at the door.)

“Pretty boy, eyes up here and take your clothes off.”

Leaning back on the couch, Johnny scoffs with petulant indignation, “Ye dinnae have to sweeten me up just to ask to see my prick hen.”

That gets you laughing outright, “Not trying to sweeten you up, you are very pretty, baby.”

You reach over to card your fingers through his short mohawk and down the sides, scratching his scalp as you go. “Besides, If you didn’t want me to see your ‘prick’ you wouldn’t be here now would you?” 

Johnny’s ears turn flame red as he leans back to accept more of your gentle stroking, his dark lashes flutter concealing the vibrant blue of his eyes from view. It’s cute. You’d been so sure he’d be the type to preen under compliments but his boyish embarrassment and openness is refreshing. 

“C’mere bonnie thing let me get a look at ye.”

You aren’t expecting it when he wraps his big hands around the curve of your ass, swinging your body down to the couch beneath him in seconds.

Your muscles lock up under the sudden shift and the feel of his heavy mass pressed against your body. His arms cage around your head and his face is close for you to smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and his cologne. It brings memories of another time and place you fight to keep buried. 

The effort makes your stomach churn violently.

Your hands press against the wall of Johnny’s chest frantically pushing him back, struggling to stay calm. Johnny sees the unconcealed panic on your face and the shallow breaths you take in. He immediately lifts off to lean back on his haunches on the couch cushions, giving you space. Still, you scoot as far back as you can to the other end of the couch to try and steady your racing heartbeat. The sudden whiplash of memories and fear makes you light headed.

“Lass are ye a’right?"

You blink trying to clear the sudden brain fog.

A wide eyes Johnny rubs soothing hands on the sides of your calves watching your face for any sign of discomfort. Your throat is tight and you miss the opportunity to answer him in a timely fashion. It causes him to reach a hand up to your face which you flinch from, his dark brows furrow. The sudden concern in his expression makes the palms of your hand sweat in discomfort.

Fuck.

“Are ye a’right?” Johnny asks again, this time not allowing you to back away from his touch. His calloused hands leave warmth in their wake as he rubs down your arm.

“Yes I’m sorry, I’m good.” You wave him off not looking at him directly. “I just prefer to be on top. I should have said something earlier.”

“Hen are ye sure? Ye look like ye were having a momen- creepin’ Jesus!” Johnny jerks when you dart forward to reach inside his pants and stroke his softening cock back to life.

You didn’t have time for him to ask daunting  questions that would freak you out to answer. You had approximately -you glance at the clock- an hour and sixteen minutes to ride this pony and put him out to pasture. 

You were on a mission so you bring out the big guns.

“I’m good Johnny, I just got a little overwhelmed, I promise. I still want you if you want me.” You pout, pumping his rigid cock with one hand and trailing a manicured finger down his bicep with the other (why the hell they were so large, only the universe knows). The angle is a bit awkward but it successfully overwhelms his senses by the way his breathing catches.

You’re able to shimmy on to your knees to press  chaste kisses along his jawline and throat, watching his eyes cloud over completely.

“You still want me Johnny?” You whisper in his ear.

Johnny answers your teasing by grasping the back of your neck and pressing your mouth open with a demanding kiss. His tongue tastes sweet with the remnants of the juice, he shudders when you suck on his tongue pulling back and forth like you were taking his cock. He groans deep and loud in your mouth when you squeeze the base of his cock in a tight grip.

“Fuck- aye I want ye hen, 

Hook. Line. Sinker. 

You try not to smile when he pushes you back to hurry and discard his clothing in record time. He was pretty everywhere it seemed. Down to the thick patch of dark hair on his belly that transitioned to his trimmed pubes. His tanned body is riddled with scars that add to the roguish appeal that caught your eyes in the bar.

You let out an appreciative sound when his cock finally comes into view. He was girthy and uncut, the veins along his shaft prominent in a way that made your mouth water. The head leaked pre-cum out of the pinked tip like a faucet. 

“Ye like what you see I ken?” Johnny smiles wolfishly, showing teeth.

“Yeah,” you snort, “that’s not even a question, I like it a lot.”

He stops you from reaching for him again with a hand to your wrist. His eyes are searching and you know he’s going to ask if you were lying about being okay, so you beat him to the punch.

“I’m okay, I swear I just panicked a little, it's no big deal. If you want to make it up to me you can give me a kiss right here.” You take his hand and guide it to your drenched cunt, spreading his fingers to glide through the slick from your entrance to your clit, as you roll your hips.

‘Fuck’ you both whisper in tandem. Johnny doesn’t waste another minute and pushes you back against the couch, diving to lap at your folds with a flat tongue.

Your head lays back on the arm of the couch and you sigh. Another look at the clock shows you have at least a full hour left. It’s not ideal, but you think you can work with it. With that in mind you stroke Johnny’s head in encouragement, whispering how good he made you feel and gasping at the sensations pulsating through you.

Finally, the muscles that had been taut for weeks relaxed. This was good. You’ll get the itch scratched after an orgasm or two and blissfully slumbering in no time.

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[cherryredstars]

Hello Cherry, I hope you are doing well and not tired of us requesting our delusion love of fictional men 💕

I have an idea that makes my heart explode with cuteness 🥰

Reader and Miguel are new parents of adorable twins! Though reader will do anything for her babies, momma needs a break. Miguel, the ever so doting husband and father, gives reader an all expense paid spa day. Miguel ensures his lovely wife he can handle the babies by himself and not to worry about anything…. Then chaos ensues ha ha ha!

Pairing: dad!Miguel O’Hara x mom!reader

Warnings: Fluff, SFW, Parenthood

Unedited

You instantly knew something was wrong.

Your fingers tapped against the chairs handles, brow arched as you stared at your silent phone. Despite having the ringer on, you haven’t had any notifications besides a random spam email. There wasn’t a single Are you enjoying yourself, mi vida? or Me and the kids miss you, mi amor text from Miguel. You tapped the screen of your phone, the device instantly lighting up. Glancing at the time, you mentally counted two hours. You’ve been gone for two hours and no text from Miguel.

Best case scenario, you only have to rebuild the kitchen.

You thinned your lips, leaning back in the chair and trying to relax. You close your eyes, taking a deep, calming breath as you try to focus on the feeling of the face mask slowly tightening around your face. You squirm slightly, taking another breath.

You groan as you tear your eyes open, giving an apologetic look to the esthetician tending to you. You grab your phone, quickly calling your husband. The phone rings. Once. Twice. Thr-

“Hello?” There’s a strained quality to his voice, and you smile knowingly.

“Hello, my love.” You reply, smiling at the technician as she lowers the chair to remove the face mask. You place your phone on speaker and rest it on your chest.

“Mi vida?” Miguel questions, a slight lift in his speech. “Are you okay? Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Of course.” You reply, closing your eyes as the employee starts gently scrubbing away at the mask. You pause as she starts around your mouth, making it easier for you to speak. “How are you and the twins?”

Miguel stays silent on the phone, but you can hear muffled noises in the background. You fight the urge to furrow your brows, keeping your face as still as possible. “Miguel?”

“Yes?” Miguel returns hurriedly, the sound in the background fading in and out.

“The twins? How are they?” You repeat, opening your eyes again as the last of the mask is washed away. The worker slowly massages your face, and your eyes flutter shut again.

“Um…” Miguel says absentmindedly, obviously preoccupied with something else. You hear a slight whooshing sound down the mic, and then a loud crash.

The technician stops what she’s doing, waits a beat, and starts to do a quick finishing up routine. Both you and her know your spa day is over.

“Baby?” You hum, smiling widely. “Do you need me to come home?”

The other end of the phone is silent once again, and your face scrunches up in concern. You open your mouth to speak, but Miguel’s defeated voice stops you.

“…please.”

[slvttyplum]

do you take requests?? If you do, can I request Satoru corrupting virgin reader...? If you don't that's fine you don't have to write it.

‧˚��ɞ˚‧｡i’m in | satoru gojo

short version

satoru watched you from afar for a couple of weeks before making his moves, seeing how you operated and if he was next to get shut down.

every person he knew got shut down and kicked out by you every time they tried to get in your pants, and he took that as a challenge.

when he first approached you, he knew that he couldn’t be outright flirtatious; he had to do it low-key, and that’s what he did.

you were all smiles when talking to him, your eyes sparkling through him, and a sly smirk was worn on his face whenever he saw you giggle.

even getting you gifts and a job recommendation for you.

he was in.

you finally invited him over, and he was going to make sure he was in your bed hearing you beg for him by the end of the night.

the night was slow, with little talking and laughter, then he made his move, slowly sliding towards you, giving a small peck on your lips to see how'd you'd react.

your eyes getting wider and your cheeks getting warmer, satoru could do nothing but smile at your reaction.

leaning closer, he whispers something in your ear that you'll never forget. those words make your heart beat faster and faster.

“remember everything i did for you... you can do this for me, right?” his words trickle down your spine like water.

the next thing you knew, you were in bed with your legs wide open and his body over yours as he stared at you.

“you shouldn’t be giving anyone your pure love.” he whispers loud enough for you to hear, leaning down and placing a kiss on your forehead.

his hand sliding down in between your legs, rubbing a ringer up and down your slit, the action causing you to jolt.

“it’s okay, i’ll be gentle.” he whispers, sliding his finger to your entrance and taking his other hand, pushing your thigh out more.

slowly sliding his finger inside, a wince slipping past your lips, satoru’s eyes flickering up to yours.

“you’ve never touched yourself before?” your cheeks are running hot, not wanting to answer the question. you have but...

his fingers are too big.

your hand runs to the side, grips the sheets, and closes your eyes, taking a few breaths every second.

satoru can only laugh; he can’t help but feel honored that he’s the one who’s going to be giving you pleasure and no one else.

after what feels like eternity, satoru slips his fingers out of you and straightens himself up, taking off his sweatpants.

your eyes open and land on his big length, your eyes bulging out of your head and sitting up.

"no, no i can’t!” you whine; his length is intimidating, and you don’t know if you can even get through this.

satoru takes both your wrists, pins them above your head, and slides in between your legs all the way.

his length sliding back and forth on top of your warm cunt, the feeling giving you tingles—it was new.

“just trust me; stay still; you’ll feel good.” his voice was reassuring. closing your eyes, you take a few deep breaths and open your eyes again.

when you open your eyes back up, he has just one hand gripping your wrist and the other gripping his length, lining himself up.

your blood is running cold when you see him sliding it closer towards your entrance; the saliva that once lied in your throat is now gone.

his eyes flicker up, startling you, and a laugh comes out of his mouth as he pushes himself closer, feeling his tip on your entrance.

before you could wince or even think, satoru takes his hand and puts it on your cheek, running his thumb in circles.

“baby… it’s okay, just look at me.” his words once again comfort you as he pushes himself inch by inch inside of you.

your thighs shivering with fear and pain; the sharp pain in your lower half was agony, and you almost couldn’t bear it.

satoru’s coos and whispers, telling you how good you’re going to feel once you get past this part.

his hand, taking your hand that was gripping the sheet and putting it above your head with your other hand, sliding his fingers in between yours.

tears after tears fall from your eyes as the pain starts running all throughout your body. your throat is so dry that it's uncomfortable.

satoru still cooing and whispering to you, saying how it's okay and you have to get through this to get to the pleasure and how other people wouldn’t be so gentle with you.

after some time, he feels himself sliding in and out of you easier, with no more whines or crying coming out of you.

the pain was getting bearable, and instead of agony, you just felt full, like something was entering your stomach and then coming back out.

“how does it feel?” his voice low and husky as he tries to keep a steady pace, your head softly hitting the pillows behind you.

“it’s okay; it doesn’t really feel like anything anymore.” you whisper out, your eyes on him as he looks down at you.

“hm…that won’t do.” and with that, he slips his hand out of yours and slides down in between your legs, positioning himself so he can touch your clit.

his thumb pressing down on your clit, tingles erupting in between your thighs, satoru noticing your body reacting differently.

“there we go.” he coos out, looking at you as he keeps going, his pace getting faster as he feels your walls clench.

your back arching from the pleasure, your hand gripping his shoulder, your head moving to the side, and pleasure exploding throughout you.

"please, please, please more!” you yell out, satoru takes that and pushes into you faster, rubbing your clit faster.

the clit stimulation sending you over the moon, your cunt clenching onto him, and a grunt coming out of his mouth.

a loud moan erupting out of yours as your back arches more, fireworks can be heard, and satoru pushes into you one final time, collapsing on top of you.

“… good job.”

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

PLEASE can you imagine Leon having a younger girlfriend (like 24ish) who can sleep everywhere. Imagine him coming home and freaking out because he can’t find her while she is literally sleeping in the bathtub.

HELP OKAY WAIT

gender neutral reader x older grumpy leon

no smut just somewhat domestic Leon

older leon has a stay at home artistic partner it’s canon it is.

I LOVE DOMESTIC LEONNNNN

Everytime he comes home you’re by the door. Waiting for him with that wide smile on your pretty face. It always calms him even after the most stressful day in the office. The sound of the door unlocking echos the apartment and when he swings open the door it’s pitch black almost, the hallway dimly lit by a burnt out candle that is going to die out in minutes. Leon’s eyebrows raise in confusion as he turns his body looking to see if maybe you fell asleep in the living room.

He even peaks into your office, his hand reaching for the light switch just to see it extremely messy, paint all over the paper bags on the ground and your canvas still drying. The sounds of his steps echoed through the hallway as he stepped on the hardwood floor before he pushed open the bedroom door, expecting you to either be awake reading a book or asleep on your shared bed. To his surprise the bed is perfectly made, the pillows still intact. He reached for his phone in his back pocket, scrolling for your contact then pressing the phone to his ear. His whole body turns as he hears the noise of your ringer going off in the bathroom, his eyes glancing over to see the bathroom door shut but the light on.

His hand pulls down at the door knob, opening it slowly in case you were changing or something, his eyes looking in the mirror hoping to see your reflection but- nothing. He swung open the door in a now panicked state because he couldn’t find you anywhere at all but his eyes look down, a loud sigh leaving his lips as you lay in a tub of dying bubbles and cold water

“What?”

He mumbled rubbing his temple before he leaned down, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck as he scooped your legs up, groaning as he lifted you into his arms. And of course it didn’t phase you, your head leaning back, mouth wide open.

“To old for this..”

He grumbles moodily as he walks towards the bed, sitting you up, your hands reaching for your eyes as you rub them.

“Le?”

You mumble the nickname he loves so much as he nods his head, walking back to you with some underwear and one of shirts.

“Hey sleepy head, arms up.”

You yawn, confused as you put your arms up, Leon tugging his shirt onto you. You looked so cute, half asleep looking around all lost.

“Cmon’ stand up for me.”

Leon speaks as he helps you stand, lifting your legs one by one before tugging the underwear up your legs.

“Shit.. so sorry baby, was gonna make you dinner after my bath..”

You frown up at him, eyes hazy. Leon shakes his head as he allows you to sit back down. His lips press against the top of your head as he pulls back the comforter, watching you crawl into the bed. He steps out of his shoes, still in his work clothes but he doesn’t care. He crawls into the bed lying next to you, nuzzling his face in your hair, smiling at the slight wetness of it.

“Make me breakfast when we wake up to make it up to me.”

[alchemistc]

chisme 1/1

read on ao3

“I still don’t know the guy under the engine, Hank.” “But...you could find out.” “Didn’t you date one of the paramedics on the B shift over there? You were always yapping about how your schedules never lined up.” Thomas’ face goes a little pale. “Yeah, uh... that didn’t work out.” “Yeah, don’t shit where you eat, Henry.” ___ The LAFD likes to gossip. They all take advantage of the fact that Tommy knows their favorite subject to gossip about.

“You see that kid on the news?”

Jones shoots him a raised brow, and Tommy shrugs. “Captain Nash will sort him out.”

“Or he’ll wash out in a month,” Jones singsongs, and Tommy bites back on the defensiveness he feels bubbling up.

They’d been growing towards something, when he left. Even he knows that whatever Bobby Nash was doing was rare. He... misses it, some days.

He’s still getting used to this new crew. They’re... there’s nothing wrong with them, it’s just that Tommy’d been at the 118 for years, and even though he doesn’t look back fondly on most of it, or the person he’d been, that had been home for a long fucking time. He’d made a decision, the moment Bobby slid the LAFD pilot certification paperwork across the desk to him, his last review, that he wasn’t gonna hide himself anymore.

It’s fucking work, being genuine. Honest. Open.

“You got any plans for the night?”

Tommy takes a deep breath through his nose, stretches his shoulders back. Tilts his head a little, tips his chin down so he doesn’t look so fucking tense. “Does trawling the horrific depths of LA Grindr until I fall asleep count?”

Jones goes still. There’s a terrible, horrible moment where every shitty thing Gerrard, his father, his CO’s, his high school buddies ever said washes over him. And then Jones’ face does something strange. Pursed lips, raised brows, scrunched nose, like the surprise is washing over him uncontrollably, and then — “Well shit, Kinard, that’s just depressing. Let me and my man take you out tonight.”

Tommy blows the breath back out, feels the corner of his mouth tilting uncontrollably up, has to roll his tongue over his teeth to keep it from going too wide. That — he hadn’t known that. Everyone here uses ‘partner’ to describe their significant others, he figured it was just some initiative they’d all taken to be inclusive. “As long as you’re not looking for a third. No offense, Jones, you’re not my type.”

Jones smirks. “Who says you’re mine?”

Tommy slaps a hand over his heart, really plays up the hurt expression. “I’m everyone’s type.”

Jones’ eyeroll is a thing of beauty. “You’re too pretty for me, Kinard. And I’m too mean for you. You need a nice boy with a heart of gold to keep you humble.”

Tommy thinks, fleetingly, of the lost little look in that kids blue, blue eyes, camera shoved in his face and the flashing lights of a tilt-a-whirl behind him.

“I’d eat him alive,” Tommy says, and Jones’ laugh follows them both out of the lockers.

---

“What a fucking day,” Gatlin says, laid out across the length of the bench, one arm over his face,

It’s been a series of days, actually, but Tommy doesn’t feel like being pedantic about it.

Tommy just hums, and does his best not to be annoyed about having to juggle his duffle in one hand while he shifts the sad, unused basketball out of his locker to stuff it in the open neck of his bag. They’ve all been through the ringer, Tommy’s gonna give the new guy a moment to regroup.

“Hey, did the 136 ever find their captain? In all the chaos I don’t remember anyone radioing it in.”

Tommy nods an affirmative. He’s so fucking tired from calling out locations of trapped survivors that he’s sure his voice sounds like sandpaper. “Swept up in it like all the rest. Someone on patrol found him pinned under debris. An officer had to saw off his arm, poor bastard.”

Gatlin sits up like he’s rising from the dead. “You’re making shit up. This is a hazing ritual.”

Tommy slides him the most serious face he can manage around the yawn threatening to escape. His phone is blowing up — texts from dozens of people who’d been working the same shit as him, and it’s the first time in a while he’s regretted deleting Facebook. The marked safe function would have saved him about sixty texts so far.

“Heard from Waters that one of the 118’s kids was on the pier when the wave hit,” Gatlin tells him, finally groaning and rising to gather his own shit.

Tommy’s gut drops even as he’s opening up Hen’s contact in his phone, gratefully dumping the duffle onto the bench, now that Gatlin’s legs aren’t taking up the entire thing.

“Kid has CB or something, some lady found him and carried him around for like half a fuckin’ day until she found the old VA popup.”

“Mr. Rogers would have been proud,” Tommy says, and stares at the unsent text he’d typed out with shaky hands. Is Denny okay?

“Huh?”

Jesus, he’s young. “Look for the helpers?” Gatlin blinks at him. “Never mind. Change your clothes. Drink some water. Go the fuck home and get some shut eye, Gatlin.”

“You too, Kinard.”

He deletes the text the moment he’s in his truck, but scrolls back to her contact about twenty times, lying in bed that night, trying to get some sleep.

When he wakes up there’s a text from Hen.

Tommy scrolls up to find a keyboard smash he’d somehow managed to send at 2 in the morning.

Hen 3:27 AM: ???

Hen 3:28 AM: You good?

Hen 3:31 AM: We’re fine. If you were wondering. I assume you fell asleep talking yourself in circles about whether or not to reach out.

Hen 3:42 AM: One of our guys was at the pier with the probies kid. They’re both fine. Tell your crew to stop gossiping so much.

Hen 5:53 AM: Call me if you need anything

Tommy ignores the ache behind his ribcage.

Tommy 7:33 AM: Glad you’re okay. Tell Karen I said hi.

Hen 8:24 AM: Karen and Denny send their love.

---

Tommy’s elbow deep in wiring when Thomas sidles up to the cockpit. He’s got a look on his face that Tommy would normally like to entertain, but there’d been something fiddly with the altimeter his last flight out and he wants to check this before they get called out again — better to ground her until someone can take a real look, if he finds anything, than wave it off ‘til the end of the day.

Thomas shifts closer, tips his head in so he can duck under the open door.

“So, you still know a couple of the guys over at the 118, right?”

Tommy grimaces.

The fact of the matter is, Tommy knows a few guys from all over the city. He’s been around a while, has made many an appearance at the bars first responders like to flock to, has seen enough people come and go from stations to know a guy here and there everywhere. He’s thinking of setting up a pick-up game for whichever LAFD members want to show, maybe seeing if he can wrangle enough people for at least a bi-weekly trivia night.

The breakup with Jason sucked and he’s definitely trying to avoid going home to his empty apartment. Maybe he should get a dog.

“I still don’t know the guy under the engine, Hank.”

“But...you could find out.”

“Didn’t you date one of the paramedics on the B shift over there? You were always yapping about how your schedules never lined up.”

Thomas’ face goes a little pale. “Yeah, uh... that didn’t work out.”

“Yeah, don’t shit where you eat, Henry.”

And now he’s thinking about Jason, again. Christ. Don’t date anyone you meet on calls, Sal had told him, five years in, when everyone still thought his flirting with every hot chick they ran into meant anything other than him desperately trying to cover for the way his eyes were always drawing to the wide stretch of shirts across broad shoulders and the tight fit of a pair of classic 501s.

How he’d managed to convince himself Jason would be the exception is beyond him.

And the guy pinned under the engine had only made things worse, so he’s not particularly in the mood to gossip about him when Jason had used the whole ordeal as an excuse to start a massive fucking fight about the risks of the job for the fifth time in as many months.

“Yeah, I get it, oh wise one. Are you wise enough to figure out why the fuck the guy is suing the department?’

Tommy’s interest is piqued.

God damnit.

It hasn’t even been that long since Chim called him last, Tommy rationalizes as he tips the flashlight in his mouth with his bottom teeth.

“Give me ten minutes to figure out if there’s a short and I’ll make a call.”

---

Tommy’s got one eye on the television and another on the pool table. Brody’s got a pool cue tipped under her chin, and he can already see the chalk shifting onto her skin.

“So, we all agree they’re fucking cursed, right?”

Tommy takes a sip of his beer while a few of the guys make noises of agreement.

“Like, I’m thinking of starting a pool to decide what disaster they’re gonna have a starring role in next. But I don’t want repeats, and at this point I’m not sure how to list them all.”

“Rebar through the brainpan,” Trent says, shaking his head. Tommy feels a flash of guilt for never calling Chim after the initial text he’d sent.

“Plane crash,” lists Jones, eyes still on the reporter being drenched in the downpour as she recites the same tired story about the boy down the well.

“Bath salt werewolves.”

“Earthquake high rise rescue,” Tommy tosses out. He’s still a little annoyed he’d missed that one.

“Unwitting bank heist,” Brody says, phone out and typing furiously. “Oh, do we count ‘targets of teenage Unabomber’ and ‘pinned under a fire engine’ as two separate events?”

“This is getting a little morbid,” Trent says. Still no updates about the guy who’s been buried alive with the kid down the well.

“Armed chicken,” Tommy contributes, hoping to lighten the mood, and grins when they all turn to him with incredulous looks. “Maurice. Knives for feet. He introduced Nash and Grant, technically.”

Brody rolls her eyes. He never should have let her in on his secret love of love stories, she’s such a cynic, she hates when they all gossip about each others love lives.

“This is life or death situations, not dangerous fowl turned rom-com moments. C’mon, what else have we got? I’m including tsunami. Wasn’t your buddy’s girlfriend at dispatch when it got taken hostage? I’m counting it.”

Christ, he really needs to do a better job of keeping in touch.

Tommy’s eyes flit back to the screen. He can see the NASH dashed across the back of one set of turnouts, the end of a name, just ‘LEY” on the set next to his. He’s suddenly not feeling great.

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” he tells them, and Jones raises a brow at his half-full beer.

Tommy chugs it and tries to ignore Brody continuing to list things off.

---

Tommy’s getting a little tired of the argument about his job. There’s always a fucking argument, and he’s always somehow the bad guy for being the one saving lives day in and day out.

At least Peter hadn’t lasted long enough for Tommy to really get all that invested.

The house is too quiet, though.

And the dating scene is hell. He’d never —

The whole landscape of dating had been a shit show from the moment he’d decided he was done fucking around with hookups and lies, and it’s only gotten worse. He feels old, and he hates that he’d never let himself try when everything wasn’t app based and fraught with weird expectations.

He shoots off a message to Chim before he heads in to work. He needs a break, maybe. He’s got half an empty drawer and one less toothbrush in his bathroom and there’s an ache, in his bones, for the easy way he’d always been able to let loose with Chim and Hen.

(He’s not sure they even know he came out, and the superficial relationships in his life just keep smacking him right in the face.)

The pileup on the freeway provides a nice distraction, for most of the day, and he tries not to feel too disappointed when the message he sent to Chim goes unanswered.

It’s three days later before he gets a slightly blurry picture back. It’s — it’s a baby, and Tommy is unprepared for the wave of longing that threatens to crush him.

Howie 4:35 AM: I’m a dad!

Howie 4:35 AM: I made that!

Howie 4:36 AM: Sorry, man, I’ll be tied to this pooping, crying creature for the foreseeable future. But we should grab a beer sometime

Tommy 4:45 AM: Congratulations. She’s beautiful. You get out in, what, 18-20?

Brody pokes her head over his shoulder when he pulls up the picture again. “Cute baby.”

“Chim’s,” he tells her, and her expression shifts.

“Wasn’t his brother in the pileup last week?”

Tommy keeps his eye on the picture, wets his tongue against the top of his mouth before he speaks. “He didn’t say.”

---

They’ve all been on edge for days, now. Technically most of them aren’t in much danger, eyes in the skies that they are, but there’s not a single one of them who doesn’t have a friend or two outside of Harbor that wears the uniform.

They’re already two men down. And they’re all going a bit crazy.

So of course, when Tommy lands the bird and steps into the hangar, it’s to find everyone huddled around the TV set up in their little rec area, murmuring to themselves. Tommy runs a hand through his hair and makes his way across to them.

“Is he —?”

The guy’s insane. He’s got a vest and a helmet and no cover at all beyond the metal bars encasing the ladders of the crane tower. He’s surrounded on three sides by high rises, with wide windows and balconies just ripe for someone to set up an easy fucking shot.

The news crew pans to the witnesses on the ground, and there’s 118’s engine.

“Didn’t his partner just get shot? What is the 118 even doing out there?”

Someone hums. There’s a line of tension in every single set of shoulders huddled around the TV, watching, waiting. If Tommy was a praying man, he’d send something up to the big guy. Too bad they don’t believe in each other.

He’s still climbing. Three points of contact always, Tommy thinks, watching, holding his fucking breath the higher he climbs.

The camera cuts away once he’s out on the arm.

“Did anyone see who it was?” Remy asks, and they all shake their heads, but Tommy’s got a mental list from his sparse contact with Chim. Diaz is in the hospital. Bobby’s on the ground. This is Buckley, the kid he’d missed meeting by the skin of his teeth, when Bobby fast tracked his transfer.

In another life, under a different set of circumstances, the idiot making himself a target for a psycho would have been Tommy.

Tommy watches with bated breath until they switch back to the desk, both anchors looking a little wide-eyed as they report that the guy on the crane has been successfully freed from the cable that had had his arm pinned, and both him and the firefighter are fine. On the ground. Out of danger.

For now.

---

“Pay up, dickheads. Prison riot officially made it on the list.”

Tommy shakes his head, amused more than anything else. He pulls a five from his wallet, and Brody stares at it.

“It was twenty. A piece.”

“This is a gesture of goodwill, Youngs. You never paid me for the mudslide.”

“We worked the mudslide, it doesn’t count.”

“Oh now you’re creating arbitrary rules after the fact? Give me my five back.”

---

Brent smiles with his whole body, and kisses Tommy like he’s proving a point, and he doesn’t care that Tommy’s job is dangerous. The problem is that Tommy would like him a little more if he wasn’t so obsessed with the job.

“He worked out of your old house, didn’t he?” Brent asks, legs up on Tommy’s coffee table and a gleam in his eyes as Taylor Kelly reports on some Angel of Death wannabe who’s been shuffled from station to station, city to city, state to state for years with no real oversight, and Tommy — Tommy is tired of talking about work.

He hums, and takes a drink. Brent’s a Heineken man, and for some reason takes real offense to Tommy’s inability to drink them without making faces. Tommy stopped drinking them a month ago.

He’s not sure what he’s doing, anymore.

“Isn’t Taylor Kelly dating one of the guys from the 118?”

Tommy hums again.

“Feels like a quick turnaround on that news story. You think she’s getting an inside scoop?”

“I think we should break up,” Tommy says, and Brent blinks once, twice.

“Yeah. Probably for the best.”

Brent sees himself out. Tommy throws out the lone bottle of Heineken left in his fridge.

---

Donato is a breath of fresh air. She’s brash, and kind of an asshole, and dead set on proving herself a better pool player than he is.

She’s also a newer source of information for the gossip mongers of Harbor station.

“No, that’s the same guy,” she’s saying, biting her lip as she tries to beat Jones’ high score in Asteroids. She’s got a choking grip on the joystick and Tommy can already tell she’s gonna miss it by a mile.

“I — sorry, the guy who got pinned is the same guy who climbed the tower before the sniper was in custody?”

“Same guy. Also the same guy who hopped into that Speed style runaway truck with me. He’s kind of a badass. I mean, they sort of treat him like the station dalmation, over there, but that’s because if you rub behind his ears he wags his tail.”

“He’s not the same one Bosko accidentally got into Fight Club, is he?”

Lucy laughs. “Uh, no, Buck is absolutely a lover, not a fighter.”

“So which one —?”

“Probably the one I was filling in for.”

“The one who got shot, you mean.”

Lucy hums.

None of them have brought up Greenway, which Lucy seems to be marginally grateful for, but Tommy knows she’d worked with him. He hasn’t worked out why she’d worked with him — he’s pretty sure she’d been on the same rotation as Chim and Hen.

Tommy doesn’t feel like touching that with a ten foot pole, if he’s being honest. “So how are Chim and Hen?”

Lucy looks a little cagey. She curses up a storm when she collides with a pixelated flying saucer. “They’re — chugging along.”

“Oh, there’s a story there,” says Lemming, and Lucy shoots Tommy a look between her lashes, something fierce and vulnerable that tells him she’d throw down to protect the open wounds of the 118, same as him. He tips his chin, raises his bottle.

“Boring story,” Lucy says, eyes gleaming. “I bet you’ve got plenty of more interesting stories, Lemming. Weren’t you the one who had to rescue the UFO guy?”

Lemming is easily distracted, and happy to toot his own horn.

Tommy thinks of text sitting unsent on the blank conversation history with Chim.

---

“That wasn’t on the list,” Tommy says, trying for levity and failing miserably. His throat feels tight, and there’s an ache somewhere in his torso that feels like it’s spreading.

“Man, any time you think things are gonna stop happening to that house, they gotta go do something to prove you wrong.”

Tommy’s phone buzzes against his hip. It’s Lucy.

Donato 6:30 AM: Hen says he was down for three minutes.

Tommy 6:31 AM: He good?

Donato 6:33 AM: Inconclusive. He’s got a pulse, but he’s not breathing on his own.

Tommy 6:37 AM: You good?

Donato 6:55 AM: I worked with them for five minutes, Kinard

Donato 6:57 AM: Buck’s a good guy, though. I know you’re not a praying man, but maybe we could all send some good vibes the 118’s way

Tommy 7:01 AM: Jones’ is doing his mindfulness shit in a few. We’ll all be thinking of them.

Tommy hasn’t prayed since he was seventeen, but when Young ducks his head a few minutes later, eyes closed like he does every time they get news of one of their own going down, Tommy lets his own mind drift to his old house, and the people there who’d made him brave enough to live an actual life. Jones’ little meditation practice turns the hanger quiet, and Tommy listens to them all breathe, and breathe, and breathe.

He tries not to think too hard on it when they get the news, days later, that Buckley’s expected to make a full recovery.

---

Tommy’s been eyeing the guy at the bar through his lashes for the past fifteen minutes, and he knows Donato has clocked it. But there’s something — there’s something that keeps drawing his attention.

He’s — objectively attractive. Tall, broad shouldered, jeans that fit nice. Full pink lips and a flirty smile aimed at the woman he’s with.

Tommy’s always refused to bring dates to a ladder bar, even when his crew gives him shit for it. Mostly it’s because the conversation always eventually turns to all the crazy shit they’ve all pulled, all the risky maneuvers, all the scars. It’s always a pissing contest, and Tommy’s been burned a few too many times by guys who like the look of him, and not the reality of his career.

Tommy loses sight of Lucy for half a second only to find her approaching the couple as they move from the foosball table to the bartop.

He shakes his head. She’s spent weeks trying to squirrel information out of him about his love life, which is distinctly lacking at the moment. He doesn’t expect that to change any time soon.

Maybe he’ll hit up Brian once he’s had a few more beers. See if he’s seeing anyone. See if he’s still as flexible as Tommy remembers.

She doesn’t linger when Thomas calls her back for her turn, but by the smirk on her face she’s managed to put her foot in it exactly how she meant to. The couple are closing out, the guys head tilted to stare at his tab, color high on his cheeks. Tommy takes a deep pull off his drink and rolls his jaw when Lucy sinks three in a row, and then the eight ball too.

He gets a full thirty second reprieve before she’s sidling in to the seat beside him, a knowing look on her face.

“Look, I get it,” she starts, and Tommy takes another drink as Young starts a to rerack. “When the bar light hits just right on those broad ass shoulders, you really can’t help but wanna see if his lips taste as sweet as they look.”

Tommy knows his expression is long suffering.

“They are, just in case you were wondering.”

“Donato,” he warns, and she grins, playing with the pool cue with her free hand.

“Got it, Kinard. Backing off. But you know, I’ve got a cousin...”

“Not interested,” he tells her, already swinging out of his seat to break for his round.

He barely even notices he couple leaving. He breaks clean, a few stripes finding their way into pockets, and doesn’t pay a lick of attention to the way the guys flustered laugh sounds as he guides his date out the door.

---

Donato still looks a little shell-shocked.

“They — uh — they’re all good?”

“They’re all pretty banged up. But yeah, from what I heard, they all made it out.”

“Cap — Captain Nash. They found him?”

“Pinned at the bottom of the rubble, but he got lucky. No serious injuries.”

Lucy slumps. She looks exhausted, minutes out from crashing. Tommy’s flown away from enough disasters moments before they get worse to know exactly how she’s feeling.

“Go change, Donato. I’ll drive you home.”

“I’m fine,” she argues, and Tommy’s gaze catches hers. Holds.

“Yeah, okay, fine. I’m gonna cry all over your nice leather seats, though.”

He doesn’t point out that they’ve seen his tears plenty, but from the look in her eyes he figures she kind of knows, anyway.

She’s quiet, for most of the drive. It’s a longer one than he’s used to, and the detour caused by the bridge collapse makes it longer.

“I don’t know what it is about them that makes me feel like I’m losing a limb every time one of those stupid assholes gets hurt. They’re a magnet for disaster, you think I’d be used to it. I didn’t even work with them that long.”

They’re still ten minutes out. Tommy had thought she’d passed out with her face plastered to the passenger window.

“You miss it?”

“Do you?” she asks, defensiveness creeping in to her voice.

Tommy flips his indicator as the light goes red in the turn lane. “I missed the bulk of the Bobby Nash Experience. Mostly I’m just bitterly resentful that I never got to experience the turnaround of my old house.”

He can feel her eyes sliding to him, the curious stare. “Is this what it takes for Tommy Kinard Honesty Hour? I witness something traumatic and you finally open up a little?”

Tommy shrugs, thumb tapping along to the sound of his blinker. “I’m old school, Donato. Usually you gotta save my life for a glimpse up here.” He taps to fingers to his temple.

She takes that in in silence. There’s always been a kinship there, between them, some part of Tommy that sees a lot of himself in the way Lucy conducts herself, the brash way she pushes past the rough days, the spark in her eyes when she’s seconds away from doing something ill-advised.

“Chim’s getting married,” she says into the silence, and Tommy hums. “I’m pretending not to be upset I didn’t get an invite.”

She’s the only one who gets being jealous of that tight-knit little group of psychos.

“So yours got lost in the mail too, huh?”

“Been a long time since I’ve been close to anyone there. I didn’t expect one.”

Lucy tips her head back against the headrest. Sighs. “Yeah. I guess eventually I’ll get there too.”

---

Jones levels him with an incredulous look.

“They should fire your ass.”

Tommy raises both hands in supplication, but he can’t quite keep the grin off his face as Diaz and Buckley both round the side of the chopper, both of them looking like they’ve been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. It’d been an uphill battle, trying to figure out the logistics of who was going where, after the fact. Chim and Hen had gotten stuck in the back of buses to the hospital.

Diaz and Buckley had ro-sham-bo’ed for shotgun to get back to Diaz’ truck, and Tommy had spent the short flight back from the rescue ship trying not to notice the pouty tilt of Evan’s lip from the back, or pay attention to the back and forth over the headset as Diaz reminded him he’d already had his chance.

There’s a thrum, under Tommy’s skin — the thrill of being reckless is fading, a little, but beneath that there’s a possibility opening wide — Eddie Diaz in the seat beside him pumping him for information on his army days, Evan Buckley shifting restlessly at his side as he comes to stand beside him, arms crossed and staring at Jones like he’s about to go guard dog mode.

All this time he’s been getting second-hand gossip about these people, listening to the wild and sometimes exaggerated rumors that follow them around the LAFD. This time he got to play a part, and neither one of these virtual strangers seems keen to let the moment pass.

Evan’s shoulder glances off of Tommy’s, and he fights the urge to dart his gaze to the side, to check out his profile, to see how ridiculous he looks when those puppy-dog eyes get defensive.

Eddie claps a hand to his shoulder on the other side. “They should give you medal,” he says, pointedly aiming the comment in Jones’ direction, and Jones huffs, eyes rolling.

“Get the hell out of my hangar before I find a reason to be anything other than jealous.”

Tommy laughs, cheeks aching as he waves his passengers out through the open bay door to guide them back to the spot he’d had them hide their truck.

---

Tommy rolls up to the court and watches as some ten-odd firefighters clam up completely.

Well, shit.

This is the first time he’s ever been on the other side of this.

Price is the first one to break. “You’re not bringing anyone from the 118 this time, are you? Seriously, Kinard, one was already pushing it, you’re tempting fate. I don’t want to catch the curse.”

Tommy rolls his eyes good naturedly, doesn’t mention that if the curse were contagious he’d be neck deep in it by now.

“Tommy’s the one we need to be worried about, Price. He’s lucky he wasn’t collateral damage in that lovers quarrel, last time.”

It’s been two weeks.

Tommy has to remind himself. It’s been two weeks. Since he’d gone to make it clear he had no intention of stepping into whatever shit was between Eddie and Evan, to make it clear that he planned to keep spending time with Eddie but he’d never meant to get between them. Two weeks since he’d taken a leap, hedged his bets, kissed a beautiful boy in the orange light of his kitchen.

Less than a week since he’d taken a sip of a terrible coffee concoction and leapt right back into the chaos.

“Are we playing, or do you all want to crack open a bottle of red back at my place and play at being Dan Humphrey?”

Tommy dribbles the ball, raises an eyebrow, watches them all shift guilty looks between themselves as they grumble and move to stand.

---

Lucy spins the metal chair across from him, settles with a leg over each side, arms crossed over the back of it, shit eating grin on her face.

“So. I heard a rumor.”

Tommy’s not sure what his face does. He’s hoping for disinterested, but more likely than not his lips are twitching bashfully.

“The nurses at PIH are incredibly easy to pump for intel,” she continues, and Tommy can feel his ears burning. Donato’s grin goes wide. “I can’t believe you didn’t get me a last minuet invite, too.”

Tommy recovers in time to avoid the full-body blush. “Well, the next time you No Homo me in front of a mutual friend and make up for it with a grand gesture, I’ll think about it.”

Lucy tilts her head. Her grin goes soft, eyes taking him in. “Shit, Kinard, you like him. Damn it. I can’t tease you about that.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

The expression goes mischievous again. “He really didn’t even wipe the soot off his face before he hard launched you?”

Tommy ducks his head, failing miserably at hiding the grin on his face.

[romanarose]

Happy New Year, Mr. Miller

DBF!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Join my taglist : Masterlist

Summary: It's almost midnight, and you aren't sure you're getting a new years kiss. Joel is a little preoccupied with your mouth.

Warnings: Throat fucking, blowjob while on the phone with your father, cumming in mouth, cum swapping, gagging. Reader attempts to move away from his dick, not because she doesn't want it but she assumes he wants her to stop, but Joel pushes her head backdown. Reader and Joel have an establish system for checking in and whats okay and what isn't. If reader wanted to stop, she could let Joel know and he'd stop. Reader's dad hears her gag on Joel but doesn't know Joel is getting a bj

Immersbility: Reader is fem, has grabable hair longenough to put in pigtails.

A/N THATS IT! DBF Holiday Joel is a series now. Have fun. Previous part here with Tommy

**************

After Joel shared you with his brother, you are surprised and relieved to find him acting normal around you. Sure, sometimes you'd see him wink after you and Joel interacted nonchallantly at a family event, all of you keeping the secret of your relationship with your dads best friend. Luckily, it didn't seem that Tommy had any expectation of having you again. You would love to be shared, Tommy fuck well, the 'uncle Tommy' bit was hot, and Tommy was beautiful to look at... but you didn't want to just be something the Miller brothers used.

Unfortunately for you, you're little trysts with Joel were developing into real feelings.

"You're gonna kiss me at midnight, right?" You asked Joel, on your knees in Tommy's spare bedroom. Joel had not so subtly carted you off into privacy 5 minuets before midnight at Tommy's New Years Eve party. Being here was a little risky, but Tommy promised no one your dad new would be here.

Joel loved the way you looked on your knees for him, pretty eyes looking up as you jerked him off. "Now baby, is that any way to speak to me?" He chided you.

You frown, a little disappointed in yourself. "Sorry, daddy."

Taking his cock in his hand, Joel guided your mouth to his length. "Better make it up to me, only got a few minuets before midnight, and if you're gonna have your mouth free, you're gonna need to hurry."

He was so frustrating sometimes, but you were a good girl and you would do what you were told. You went to work, taking him down your throat slowly before picking up speed. Gagging a bit, you let the drool drip down your chin. Joel liked it messy.

If you weren't acutely aware that Joel was twice your age, you were when he got a phone call, with his ringer on, and it played that old country default ringer Walmart phones come with. Absolutely insane. Your blood runs cold when Joel answers, he fucking answers the phone with your mouth around his cock. And greets your dad.

Assuming Joel wants you to stop, you begin to pull yourself away but a large hand goes to the back of your head between your pigtails into your hair and thrusts you down, making you gag up saliva.

You can hear your dad over the phone asking if he's okay. Fuck, he heard you.

"Yeah I'm good, just a bit of a cold. Got all that mucus."

2 minuets to midnight. Joel's not going to kiss you, and he's gonna ring in the new year with his dick in your mouth on the phone with your dad. Great.

Desperate to please, desperate to make him cum, you move quicker, hands moving to his heavy balls hoping to speed up the process. It seemed to work. The clock just hit 11:59 when Joel announces. "Well, happy new year, see yuh next week!" And when your dad hangs up, Joel throws the phone at the couch, gripping both of your half-up pigtails

"Teasing little slut." He grunts, taking control of the pace. 30 seconds left, and Joel fucking your throat, snapping his hips into your mouth as you continue to play with his balls. "Couldn't even wait a few minuets to suck on your daddy?"

10

Drool dribbles down your face, Joels public hair thrust up against your nose.

9

"You wore this hair just because you wanted daddy to control you, didn't you?"

8

You did, he was right.

7

"Fucking drink it up, drink daddy's milk, make daddy proud"

6

Joel's cock flooded your mouth, overflowing you. As he continued to thrust, his cum spilled out around the corners of your mouth.

5

"Little baby needs a bib, doesn't she?"

4

Joel pulls out, allowing you to finally breath, feeling dizzy from excitment.

3

Maybe if he didn't kiss you, he'd at least make it up to you by making you cum multiple times

2

Joel swoops down, taking your chin in his hands tightly, making it known who you belong to.

1!

His lips on yours, hungrily devouring you whole. With his tongue claiming you, Joel was not deterred by the taste of his cum in your mouth, in fact he early lapped it up, exploring the corners of you and licking up every drop. You, however, were preoccupied. You loved the feeling of your daddy's mouth on yours his soft lips, warm his, strong and dominating presence. You didn't have to worry about a thing when he was around, it was just a shame it wasn't all that often.

When he finaly pulled away, fireworks from the window illuminating his brown skin making Joel look downright angelic. "Happy New Year, baby girl."

You nuzzle up against his cheek. "Happy new year, Mr. Miller."

***************

Up next, Valentines day!

Or should I do something for presidents day XD

EDIT. Embarrassing. Realized Presidents’ Day is after Valentine’s Day. Rip. Keeping it up bc that’s a funny thing for me to forget

Anyways, HAPPY NEW YEAR YALL!!!

I adore you!

Im not getting rid of my tag list, but im adding an update blog, @romana-updates ! come follow and/or turn on notifications so you dont miss a thing!

But if being tagged is more your style, comment on the tag list linked above!

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @k-ra @whatthefishh @ahookedheroespureheart @mikaelak @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @harriedandharassed @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @milly-louise @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @casa-boiardi @mrs-oharaxx @pedge-page

[theemporium]

hiii!! would u be able to write something for remus where ur in a secret relationship and he’s your brothers best friend? maybe sirius or james sister? ty!!

here ya go, love🖤

.

The problem with being related to James Potter was that he was incredibly protective. 

He had good intentions and you knew he truly meant well, that he just cared for you and saw it as his duty as an older brother to look out for you. But Merlin, that boy would push his limits sometimes. 

That was why you decided to keep your shift in relationship a secret from him at first. You didn’t need James moseying into something that wasn’t his business so early on in the relationship. 

But weeks passed and the thrill of sneaking around was still at a high—and yeah, there was just something really fucking hot knowing you were fucking one of your brother’s best friends and he had no clue. 

Ironically enough, you didn’t like Remus Lupin very much the first time you met him.

His quiet nature came of as rude, he never really made an effort with you and anyone beyond your brother and his other friends didn’t seem worth a second glance to young Remus Lupin. 

Not that James ever agreed with you. He was very insistent that the young werewolf was a brilliant man that you just hadn’t given a chance. 

You could only laugh if James saw you now. 

“Are you sure no one saw you?” you murmured against his lips as you tugged your boyfriend into your bedroom, a spell muttered under your breath to lock the door behind him. The small perks of James inviting his friends to stay with him over the course of summer. 

“Positive, love,” Remus reassured you before he ducked his head down to the crook of your neck, letting out a small groan. “I’ve missed you.”

“You saw me less than two hours ago,” you mused playfully, fingers tangled in his hair. 

“Yeah, but I couldn’t do this,” he grumbled as he pressed kisses along the column of your throat, teeth dragging across sensitive skin. 

“Remember not to leave—“ 

“I know, baby. I’ll be careful.” 

But Remus Lupin was, in fact, not careful. He wasn’t careful in the slightest and you blame your lack of less-than-murderous thoughts in the morning for the fact you didn’t notice anything either before you headed downstairs the next day. 

“What is that?” 

You didn’t bother looking up from plate, blinking away the sleepiness in your eyes. “Hm?” 

“What’s that on your neck?” James repeated, his tone a little snappier and his words a little heavier. 

Your whole body froze for a moment as you resisted the urge to cover your neck with your hands. “What’s what, Jamie?” 

“No, don’t Jamie me,” James’ chair scraped across the wooden floor before he was beside you, tilting your head to the side. “This is a hickey! You have a hickey!” 

You pulled your head from his grasp and glared at him. “Stop making a big deal out of nothing.” 

“My baby sister has a hickey!” James cried out, hand on his chest like he was moments away from passing out. 

“Who’s the lucky wizard?” Sirius asked from his spot at the table, smirk on his lips. “Or witch. We would never judge.” 

“You’re too young to have a hickey!” James interrupted. 

“That,” you said as you pointed to your brother. “Is exactly why I’m telling neither of you anything.” 

Sirius pouted. “I thought we were closer than that, baby Potter.” 

“You have a big mouth, Black,” you stated simply with a shrug. 

Sirius grinned. “So does the bloke who gave you that ringer on your neck.” 

“BLEH!” James gagged as you rolled your eyes. 

“C’mon, tell us!” Sirius prodded. 

James turned to you, eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” he said in his ‘big brother’ voice. “Tell us. Right now. I need to know who’s head I’m ripping off their body.” 

“Stop being so dramatic!” You sighed and shook your head. “Like I said, I’m telling neither of you two anything.” 

“Just us?” Sirius questioned before nodding to Remus who had been fairly quiet during the ordeal. “So you’d tell Moony and not us?” 

Your eyes met his from across the table and you could’ve sworn something smug glimmered in his eyes. You could’ve sworn you could see semblances of a smirk tugging on his lips as he lifted his cup for a sip. 

“I know how to keep a secret, Pads,” Remus answered casually. “Japan would know by dinner time if she told you.” 

“I’m waiting on a name,” James said with a huff. 

“Keep waiting then,” you said with a shrug. “I’m not telling you anything. I’m a big girl, I can have a boyfriend.” 

“BOYFRIEND?!” James spluttered. 

“Sit down, Prongs, before you hurt yourself,” Remus muttered. 

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Was he here last night?”

There was a pause. 

“Is he still here?”

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, both boys were bolting towards the staircase, already racing towards your bedroom that you knew very well they’d find empty because the culprit they were looking for was currently grinning at you. 

“You said you’d be careful,” you grumbled to your boyfriend who could only let out a small chuckle. 

“Can’t help myself, baby, you’re irresistible.” 

Your eyes narrowed. “Sweet talk me all you like, Lupin, but you’re on thin ice.” 

His eyes glimmered with a dark promise. “You gonna punish me, sweetheart?” 

“Maybe I will. Guess you gotta sneak back into my room tonight to find out.” 

“I’ll be there.” 

You snorted. “Yeah, good luck getting past James and Sirius tonight.”

.

[tokyo-debunkers-headcanons]

can I get a frostiem boys with a super shy ™️ mc!?!? I really enjoy your hcs btw ^^!!

Thank you so much! Thank you all for reading them! I'm gonna take these hcs in more of a romantic context just be aware!

JIN KAMURAI

Jin is used to people, typically girls, acting all shy around him. He never expected his partner to be shy as well.

He himself isn't really a shy guy. He keeps to himself sure, but he's got too much cash money and charisma to be shy.

He doesn't mind doing the talking for his partner as well if they need it, but there are times when his patience is a little shorter than other days, so watch out.

He doesn't really like PDA so don't expect any gossip about that, he's more affectionate behind closed doors when its just him and them. What can I say, man likes his privacy.

TOHMA ISHIBASHI

Tohma finds his partners shyness quite cute actually. It brings out a protectiveness in him.

Seeing as he does most things for Jin, he doesn't mind adding his partners wishes onto that playe but please, give this mans a break every now and then.

He will 100% tease them and make them turn tomato red for the hell of it, let's be fair.

Here's another one that isn't necessarily into PDA but he's fine with hand holding while they both walk somewhere or carrying things for his partner.

KAITO FUJI

This is one that clashes a little bit. We all know Kaito is a loud mouth so as soon as he found himself a partner, we all know he's screaming it from the rooftops. If his partner asked him to knock it off however....let's just say he'd do his best.

Kaito thinks he wants like a Disney Channel movie type of romance. Big gestures, matching outfits, pet names, etc. So I think a shy partner would be a bit of a challenge.

There would need to be a LOT of communication for him to finally tone it down to suit his partners pace. He will however listen to their criticism, doing his best not to take it to heart, and actually take their concerns seriously.

He may be a goof, but I'm sure his granny made sure he knew how to respect someone's boundaries. But when his partner isn't there, he will sing their praises, no matter what.

LUCAS ERRANT "LUCA"

I think Luca would be one of the easier ones to adjust to having a shy partner. He's not really an attention seeker. He's more focused on his brother than anything else.

If anything, i think he'd be even more protective of his partner than normal. Making sure that they're okay and that they'll be okay of he's not there.

He always has his phone ringer on in case their partner needs something, even if it's small. If his partner needs help then he's gonna help damnit! Even of it's just ordering food at the cafeteria!

As for PDA, he's too proper, and I'm sure that DA has some kind of rule against PDA, so he wouldn't want to risk it. He will however hold their hand with a smile. At the end of the day he'd do anything if it meant the safety and happiness of his partner.

[thankyouivy]

MORE JEALOUS REID!!! MORE!!!!

i think ive re-read your last blurb like 10 times I NEED MORE

R’s ex wont stop texting her so Spencer finds a way to let him know she’s doing alright (def more then alright ;) ) without him

OK THANKS ILY

YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND! I LOVE YOU AND I LOVE THIS PROMPT!!!

OOPS ITS BEEN A SEC. I’ve been super busy with finals and family stuff this holiday season!!! (merry Christmas and New Years if you celebrate!!) I'm trying to feed you heathens before I start working on the alphabet blurbs, prepare yourselves!!! this might be my fav blurb I've done so far….

Warnings: Smut (18+), exhibitionism, harassment from an ex, revenge in the form of recording good sex, oral sex [f rec], fingering, exobitionism, piv sex, marking/hickies, spencer says “good girl”, possessiveness, spence being a thigh man, vocal sex, dirty talk, praise, begging, riding, squirting.

!!the link with this colouring is to a p0rnographic image depicting a scene in the fic, be warned!!

———

Show Off - Spencer Reid X Fem!reader

You’ve been laying on his chest with your hands carding and tugging through his hair while since he got home.

Spencer’s hands caress your sides as you lazily make out, hands running over the soft cotton of your underwear and the warmth of your smooth skin. The only sounds in the room are the quiet, content hums and whines coming from your mouth, and the wet smacking of mouths licking into each other, but suddenly there’s a buzzing from under the sheets, which startles you.

You know it’s your phone, Spence always keeps his ringer on, so you both ignore it the first time, letting it go to voicemail. But when it rings again, you huff and fish for your phone under the covers, flipping your hair out of your face while using one arm to hold yourself above Spencer as you decline the call and place your phone on the bedside table. You look back to Spencer with a lust-filled gaze, leaning down to finish what you started, desperate to have some uninterrupted alone time with him after he’s been away for a few days.

Two minutes later, it’s buzzing again. You groan in annoyance, grabbing your phone off the nightstand to turn your ringtone off before, again, going back to Spencer.

Not even a minute later a series of ding’s are coming from the nightstand. You let out a frustrated whine, burying your head in the crook of his neck as you grumble.

“Work?” Spencer asks, voice raw and breathy from the previous heated moment. You shake your head and mumble something incoherent about “the jackass” into his neck. “He’s still calling?” Spencer asks, chuckling lightly at your nickname for your ex-boyfriend.

“Mhm” you groan, pulling your face out of his neck, the notifications still coming from your phone. He smiles sympathetically at you as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and places a kiss on your jaw. “No matter what I do I can’t get him to stop! I considered changing my number, but my boss said I can’t ‘cause all my files and data are listed under this one. It’s gotten worse since I started posting photos of us on Instagram.”

“I can ask Garcia to blacklist his number from your phone?” Spencer breathes, rubbing your back in an attempt to relax you and try to think of a solution. “Penny already tried... it worked for a little, but you know you can’t blacklist disposable cells,” you frown.

your phone dings again, and before Spencer can stop you, you’re snatching your phone off the bedside table and frantically typing something before tossing it off the bed, and onto the carpeted floor in frustration.

Spencer chuckles at your dramatics before climbing out of bed to grab your phone off the floor, looking down at the screen. “‘Trying to fuck my FBI boyfriend who has a gun.’ really, sugar?” He huffs out a laugh, sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand soothingly over your leg.

“Worth a try,” you shrug with a giggle. “It’s honestly just getting inconvenient, every time I get a notification I don’t know if it’s something important, or this dumbass,” you sigh.

“Remind me why you ever dated him?” Spencer teases, receiving a shove to his shoulder as he looks down at the phone again. “huh.”

You peek over his shoulder at the screen, draping yourself over his back, intrigued at his intrigue, “What is it?”

—

22:23 - Missed call from ‘Fucker’

22:24 - Missed call from ‘Fucker’

22:27 - Missed call from ‘Fucker’

22:29 - Fucker: hey babe

22:29 - Fucker: miss you ;)

22:29 - Fucker: and those tits of yourss

22:31 - Fucker: wyd?

22:33 - You: Trying to fuck my fbi bf who has a gun

22:33 - You: Stop calling.

22:34 - Fucker: ur dating a fed?

22:34 - Fucker: he fuck like one 2? know u miss this d

22:35 - Fucker:u know u want me

22:36 - Fucker: u miss how i make you feel he dont make u feel like that and u know it

22:36 - Fucker: admit it

—

“Well- he’s got clear narcissistic tendencies and incredibly high ego…” Spencer mumbles to himself. “And a tiny dick,” you add with a giggle, kissing at his neck.

Spencer frowns at that, and you can practically hear the cogs turning in his head. He’s half upset at the knowledge that you ever had sex with this guy, and half upset that it was clearly not pleasurable for you, at all.

“You know… even though pathological narcissists often portray themselves as shameless, that is part of the act, they are extremely self-conscious. Humiliating them often results in them losing control of the image they've built, which causes avoidance and denial. So… theoretically, if I were to out-do him in the area that seems to boost his ego the most, which is clearly sex, he would back off.” Spencer explains, pulling you into his lap.

“Baby, even though we both know its true, if I told him you’re better in bed, he’d just deny it and get more aggressive.” You smile at him, kissing his cheek and wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands fall to your waist.

“That’s true, so what if we had some… evidence... to back it up?” Spencer asks, blush appearing on his cheeks as you let out an exaggerated gasp. “Doctor Spencer Reid! Are you suggesting we film ourselves having sex to scare off my ex?!” You playfully hit his chest in mock-shock.

“I- yeah- yes-, b- but only if you’re comfortable with it- there’s no way he would share it, so there’s no risk o-” he stutters before you cut him off with a kiss.

“Yeah?… You wanna prove you can fuck me better? Got a big dick, long fingers, a good ass tongue, and know how to use ‘em, huh?” You ask seductively, slowly grinding yourself onto him in slow, teasing circles.

Mouth open in a silent groan, he looks down at your hips grinding on him before looking back up to you, open mouth turning into a smirk. “Worth a try,” He breathes, pushing his hips up into yours, swallowing your whimpers with a kiss, pulling you in by the the back of your neck.

Not breaking the kiss, he undoes your bra and pulls it off, running his hands up your sides to your chest. “Well he got one thing right; these ‘tits of yours’ are gorgeous.” He gropes your chest with his large hands as you giggle.

He stands up with you in his arms and flips you around, tossing you on the bed and climbing over you, sucking on the pulse point of your neck. “Can’t believe you used to let him touch you like I do,” Spencer growls into you, kissing over the mark he’s made.

“trust me, baby, he never touched me like you do- ah!”

You’re breathing heavy and whining as he teases you, no doubt trying to get you all worked up so you’ll show off just how desperate he makes you.

His hand traces shapes along your hip bone while moving lower down your body. He begins kissing along your chest, sucking and nipping as one of his hands dips beneath the band of your panties.

He teases you, laying his large hand flat over your lower stomach, applying a bit of pressure as his slender fingers dip into the crease of your inner thigh, touching you everywhere but where you need him.

You whine and wiggle your hips, desperate for some sort of relief from the swirling need in your core, but to your dismay he just continues teasing, pulling his hand out from your panties and running his middle and ring fingers over the mound of your clothed pussy.

You gasp as his fingers run down to the damp spot over your entrance. A groan muffled by your chest falls from his mouth as he attempts to press into you through the fabric before his fingers come back up to your clothed clit, moving in slow circles, pressing hard against you as your hips buck into the friction of the fabric.

“Spencer,” You moan, but it’s more like a plea, a plea for him to do something more, anything, really.

He chuckles at you, deciding that he’s done teasing (for now). He hooks his fingers in the band of your panties and pulls them off your hips and down your legs with a little help from you.

He moves down your body, sitting in between your thighs, torso hovering over your pelvis to get a good view of his work.

You let out a whine at the lack of touch. “Mm, impatient are we?” He mutters, running his hands over your upper thighs and spreading them wider. He grabs your phone off the bed and swipes over to the camera, keeping the camera flipped to the sheets, and hits record.

Humming in delight, he spreads you open with this thumbs, “Always so fucking wet for me,” he praises, gently rubbing up your pussy with his middle and ring fingers, pressing against your clit.

“Baby,” You gasp into a moan as your opening clenches around nothing and your clit pulses at the sudden touch. Spencer’s pupils are blown wide with lust as he gazes at you letting out little gasps and moans, completely enamoured by your body, bottom lip stuck beneath his teeth. “Fuck, sugar.”

One of his hands pulls your folds open while the other one plays with you. His middle finger runs up and down your folds, collecting your slick and rubbing it over your clit before teasing your entrance.

You whimper and push back against his digits, desperately trying to get his long, thick, skilled fingers inside you.

Slowly, he dips his middle and ring fingers into you, curling them slightly as he pushes them as far as they will go inside you, making you cry and writhe against him. His other hand works slow circles over your clit as he begins thrusting his fingers in and out of you faster and faster.

Little uh, uh, uh's fall from your lips as he pumps in and out of you. He bites his lip in concentration and lust, the wet sounds of your pussy reverberating around the room only heightening his arousal.

"That feel good, baby?"

"Mhm!" you cry out, eyes clamping shut in pleasure.

“Yeah?” he teases, smirking as he watches your eyes flutter shut once he starts rubbing that spot inside inside you that makes your vision turn white. Your jaw hangs open as strained moans leave your mouth, your hips arch off the bed, and your hands grip the sheets as you reach your first orgasm.

Spencer groans as he feels your muscles clench around him and your release gush around his digits, his hard cock twitching and leaking in his boxers. He slows his pace, helping you through your high with the consistent stimulation his gentle touches bring you.

“Good girl,” He whispers in that sexy grainy voice of his. You giggle breathlessly as you reach to stop the recording, looking down at him just when he pulls his fingers out of you.

Bringing them up to his mouth, he lets his tongue fall out, moaning in delight at your taste as sucks your arousal off his fingers, “Fuck, baby, I need to taste you.”

You wiggle your hips in anticipation as he hooks his forearms under your thighs and grabs your waist, his large hands almost covering the entirety of your abdomen. He lowers himself down, kissing and nibbling from your knee to the base of your thigh.

He roughly sucks and bites at your inner thighs, wanting to make marks that last for at least a week, marks that you’ll feel whenever your plush thighs brush together. He switches thighs while absentmindedly rubbing at your clit; too softly to get you off, but just enough to make you needy.

Just as predicted, you become a whiney, needy mess in a matter of minutes. You’re only knocked out of the pleasure-filled haze when Spencer pauses his attack to lean his smug face against your abused thigh and mumble, “He never went down on you, did he, sugar? ‘s that why you were so confused the first time I told you I wanted to?”

He phrases it like a question, but you know he already knows the answer. You avert his eyes when you nod your head, blush appearing on your cheeks as he coo’s.

“Awe, poor baby… ‘should show him what he was missing, yeah?” He mumbles, nipping the flesh of your thigh, his fingers still working gently over your clit. You whine, bucking into the sensation as you nod your head. “Go on, sugar, set up the camera,"

He goes back to sucking bruises onto your thighs as you prop the camera up on the plant pot that lives on your bedside table, angling it so the focus is on Spencer, and hit record.

Once you lay back down, he tightens his grip on your waist, keeping you in place as he licks a fat stripe up your pussy.

You let out a startled moan, slipping a hand into his messy curls and tugging, earning a groan from him. He kitten licks around your clit and down to your entrance, pulling away momentarily as your back arches off the bed to mutter, “god, you taste fucking incredible.”

He switches between flicking his tongue over your clit and lapping at the slick pouring from your opening, listening to your sweet cries. His tongue increasing its pace as wet, lewd, sounds from his mouth lapping at your pussy fill your hot bedroom.

Spencer watches from between your thighs as your eyes roll back, fluttering shut as your pretty lips part, letting out a strangled cry of pleasure as he suckles on your swollen clit.

Your squeezing your thighs around his head as you rock your hips into his face as you yank on his hair. Spencer groans, holding you in place as your thighs tremble, never stopping his attack on your cunt as your orgasm courses through your body.

He takes his time working you through your high and then cleaning you up, savouring the taste of your arousal as if it's not permanently stored in his mind through his eidetic memory and the sheer amount of times he's used his mouth on you.

He licks at you until your whimpering and physically can't take the overstimulation anymore, pushing his head away from your sopping cunt. He grins at you, lips and chin wet with a mix of your slick and his saliva as he licks his lips and pants, still catching his breath.

He crawls up your body, licking up your neck to your jaw, placing a sloppy kiss on your lips before throwing a smug look at the camera and stopping the recording, tossing the phone into the sheets as he goes back to kissing you, his soft lips mixing with yours.

You whine when you taste yourself on his tongue, that warm feeling in your core returning, and you know only one thing will calm your needy body.

You reach down, fingers tracing the lines of Spencer's toned stomach, dipping into his boxers, and gripping his cock.

He hisses at your touch, "fu-uck- we- we don't have to, sugar, you don't need to- I can ju-"

"I wanna. I want you..."

You hook your heel around his hip and flip the two of you over, so you're on top, biting your lip and moving so you're straddling his upper thighs.

You pull his rock hard cock out, stroking it as you watch Spencer's head fall back against the pillows, mouth open in a silent moan.

You fish for your phone in the covers while you continue stroking him, loving the way his eyebrows knit together and his chest rises and falls sporadically.

You grab your phone and move up further, so your pussy is right at the base of your boyfriends dick, his hard cock resting on your tummy, the tip hitting just below your belly button.

You snap the photo, and grin when you see the filthy image. Your perfectly manicured hand is placed delicately over the base of his cock, his tip is an angry red, and has a bead of precum collecting and threatening to spill against your stomach as you show off his length.

It's perfectly sinful, and you can feel yourself getting wet just looking at it. You can't stand to wait any longer, lifting your hips off him and grabbing Spencer to direct his tip to your core.

You rub his tip through your folds to lubricate it, just like Spencer always does before entering you, with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth, and he swears he could cum just at the sight.

Your hands find purchase on his pelvis, bracing yourself as your eyebrows knit together and your eyes flutter shut as you sink down onto him.

Finally bottoming out, you feel perfectly full, the light stretch his thickness brings you feels incredible. His hands find their place on your defined hip-bones as you breathe, getting used to the sensation.

Once you know you're ready, you flex your thigh muscles and lift your hips slightly, and with the help of Spencers hands on your hips you start to create a steady rhythm, fucking yourself down on to your boyfriends fat dick.

"Baby," Spencer gasps, sounding like he's had the breath punched out of him. You manage to smirk at him, despite the moans falling from your mouth as you start to thrust your hips down faster and faster.

"So beautiful like this, sugar- god, look at you, fucking desperate for it, taking what you need from me- fuck-" He goans, dilated pupils gazing at you with nothing but lust. You feel to tight and warm around him, Spencer can't help himself; he begins thrusting his hips up to meet yours, hitting that one spot inside you perfectly over and over again.

You yelp out a moan and twitch as your orgasm flows through your whole body, like giant waves rolling over you. Your toes curl and your nails scratch even marks down his toned chest, earning a hiss from him.

Your thighs stutter and begin losing the rhythm you created, hunching forward over his chest. Spencer takes the hint and plants his feet firmly on the bed before he begins thrusting up into you at a quick pace, forcing a yelp out of you as you fall onto his chest.

You can hear his whimpers and groans in your ear as he chases his orgasm, biting his shoulder to hold back your screams.

"Ah! hng- harder, please...," You moan into his neck, and Spencer's resolve finally cracks. He grips your hips harder and forces your hips down onto him, forcing his cock fully into you every time.

You gasp brokenly and surge forward to kiss him sloppily, moaning absurdly loudly in between kisses, scratching and yanking at his scalp.

"I- I'm so close! Spence- please-," You moan into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red crescent moons in their wake.

"Shit- me too sugar-"

"please! please... wanna feel it in me..."

He groans, looking down at where he's thrusting into you, reaching down to toy with your clit as you attempt to fuck yourself down onto him, despite how Spencer's caged you in.

"Spencer-," you cry out as you cum for the final time, completely at his mercy. Your pussy clenching and fluttering around him as you gush around him.

His hips lift off the mattress, pulling you flush against him and rubbing your clit impossibly faster as he pumps you full of his cum, jaw hanging open in ecstasy as his high washes over him. You all but scream in pure pleasure, your body spasming as more liquid spurts out of you.

When you come down, you feel the steady rise and fall of Spencers chest as he pants under you, not even daring to move off him. Spencer's hand cards through your messy curls, as you catch your breath, grinning down at him.

Once the two of you catch your breath, he pulls out of you with a choked breath and you roll off him with a whine. He quickly pads over to the bathroom to grab a damp cloth to clean you up and some water for the both of you.

Before he can even start to clean you up, you stop him. He gives you a quizzical look when you hand him your phone, but you just bite your lip nervously. "I- um- I never let him fuck me without a condom, he'll hate it..." You mumble, and you swear you can see his cock twitch when his eyes widen.

Without another comment, he blushes and snaps a picture of your fucked out body on top of the wrinkled sheets. You body is shining with a thin layer of sweat, your hair flowing across your shoulders and the pillow under your head, Spencer's cum dripping slowly out of your sopping pussy.

He cleans you up and makes sure you drink water, changing the sheets while you get ready for bed in the bathroom, and then happily holding you as you fall asleep in his arms.

Before falling asleep himself, he opens your phone and sends your ex a message.

—

23:25 - You: *Attachment: 2 images, 2 videos*

23:25 - You: She is doing just fine without you.

More of my stuff can be found here.

~ Ivy 🪴

[aloysiavirgata]

I discovered XF in '93 and Tumblr 5 minutes ago. Positively giddy to find the inbox for which the series is named. You write so beautifully!

A prompt: at the hospital, a deck of cards.

Thank you and thank you and thank you. I am, truthfully, a LiveJournal girl at heart, but I’m so appreciative for everyone who stops by my little Elder Millennial encampment here.

***

The baby is asleep. He makes soft snuffling sounds in the plastic bassinet, cotton wrapped. He purses his gorgeous rosebud mouth.

Mulder will thank Monica later, of course he will, but look at Scully just now.

Scully, pale as Selene. Her eyes are bracketed in purple, her cheeks sunken and dry. She is an angel, she is a goddess. She has an IV full of Ringer’s and antibiotics.

The baby is asleep, so plump and rosy; of course she did this as well as anything else she’s attempted. If he were a medieval king, some ancient warlord, he’d stack her slender arms with golden bands for his fine, strong son.

Scully fans her cards out; she stacks and sorts.

“I win,” she says, smirking.

He doesn’t do the math. He writes SCULLY WINS on the hospital notepad.

He kisses her like he should have when she was dying.