#look at how smarmy my baby looks

[wander-over-the-words]

Have I ever told y'all how much I love Benny's concept art?

cause I fuckin love Benny's concept art

[luveline]

hiii jade!! are you planning to do any pregnant!reader x sirius

don't mind me i'm a sucker for sirius fluff 🤭

Sirius blows into your ear gently. “You’re falling asleep.” 

You’ve moved into his lap like a cheap tent badly pitched. Your neck hurts, your face against your own shoulder, but the brunt of your weight held up by your antagoniser. Sirius doesn’t complain about your elbow in his stomach or your cheek on his chest, but his embrace isn’t free, clearly. It comes with teasing. 

“I’m not.” 

“You are, my love.” 

You tamp down a full body shiver. How nice it is to be so warm and be held so closely. His arms encircle your front firmly but casual all the same. He never seems shy about anything.

“Do I look bulbous?” you question.

James hears it from the kitchen table. “Afraid so!” 

“No,” Sirius says, ignoring his cruel friend. He brings his hand to your stomach and covers as much of your bump as he can, which isn’t much. “Stupid question.” 

“Are you going to come and help at any point, mate?” James calls. “Or shall I install your cabinets by myself?” 

“In a minute, Prongs!” He kisses your cheek. “My girl needs a minute, don’t you?” 

“I’m okay.” 

Sirius hums and shifts you closer to his chest. He’s been even sweeter than usual lately. You worried it might freak you out if he was going to keep treating you like a fragile, breakable thing, even give you a smarmy feeling —you’re pregnant, not incapable. But it’s all been well-received. Honestly, you could do with more moments like this, but you won’t tell him that, and he won’t hold it over your head that he knows. 

“He can do it himself anyways. I just hold the screws.” Sirius touches your stomach. “How’s the kicking?” 

“You can feel it if you go a little higher.” 

“Yeah?” His hand climbs slowly upward, waiting for the little kicks. He presses down firmly, the only sign he’s felt your baby’s movements a catch in his breath. “There he is. Oh, fuck, he’s really going for it tonight. Jesus Christ.” 

“It’s fine. I like him kicking like that. Less pressure on everything else.” 

Sirius grins and draws a line under the kicks with a proud hand. “You need anything before I go help the nuisance?” he asks. 

You tip your head back, pouting for a kiss you receive in less than a second. He’s rough in his way, gentle as he moves back and chucks you under the chin. “Get off me, then,” he says. 

You laugh and flop onto your side. He pats your hip as he goes, not going far.

[hgfictionwriter]

Teasing

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie's not a particularly jealous person, but when it comes to you, well, things are different. You and Jessie are missing each other while Jessie's out with the team and you're at an event.

A/N / Warning: Inspiration finally struck again. The usual warnings still apply - smut, language, etc.. Hope you all enjoy! Oh, and I defaulted back to Jessie being with Chelsea. I'll switch over eventually!

gif credit to @glimmerofawesome

"How's your night going, beautiful?" Jessie blocked out the din of the bar she and the team were in as she sent you a text.

"It's fine. Missing you, wish you were here. How's your night?"

"It's okay. Pretty boring, but I've still gotta stay for a while longer. You know, fulfill my social duty and all."

"Too bad. I'm heading out soon. I hate these networking events. I've dealt with enough drunk flirting for one night."

Jessie sat up a bit in her seat, eyes narrowing at her phone. "Sorry, what?" She typed out.

"You know. Smarmy partners from out of town getting a bit too confident after a few drinks. I'm okay - please don't worry, but yeah, promises of dancing and a good time despite me explicitly saying I have a girlfriend. A gorgeous and wonderful one, at that."

Jessie's chest tightened and burned as she read the message. You were beautiful and charming, so it was really no surprised that someone would hit on you. Still, she didn't have to like it.

"Well, I'm glad you're leaving. I'm sorry you had to deal with that. Hopefully it hasn't been too bad."

"As if you're a stranger to being flirt with lol. I've seen the way the girls look at you ;) I mean, I should know, I'm one of them. But no, it's all good. Like I said, just makes me miss you."

"Well, text me when you're home so I know you made it safe. And get away from all those lecherous girls (and guys?). I don't like hearing about them looking at my girl ;)"

"I know, baby. Believe me, when their eyes were raking over me, all I thought about was you and the way you look at me when you're on top of me."

Jessie's eyes widened momentarily as her head snapped up to look around, suddenly very aware of everyone around her. Thankfully, everyone seemed mostly preoccupied. Before she could think beyond the visual of pinning you to the bed beneath her, her phone buzzed again.

"They don't know how good you fuck me. They don't know how good you make me feel."

"Fuck," Jessie whispered before she could stop herself. The feeling that went through her was instantaneous. She fidgeted in her seat, eyes darting around self-consciously before tapping out a reply.

"Jesus christ, baby girl." Send. "What are you trying to do to me?" She exhaled shakily and tried to ignore the heat she felt rising to her cheeks.

"What do you mean?"

She smirked. You knew damn well what you were doing.

"Babe."

"I mean, I guess it wouldn't hurt to stay out longer. Go dancing."

Jessie's grip tightened subconsciously on her phone as her eyes bore into the characters on the screen.

"Well then I'm coming there." Jessie rapidly typed out her reply, holding back the desire to write "Not without me, you're not." Jessie didn't consider herself a controlling person, she trusted you and you were both secure in your relationship together, but well, you just had a way of working her up. The thought of someone else wanting you, touching you, having you - she knew it was all harmless, but it drove her crazy nonetheless.

"Yeah? And what?"

Jessie looked around again before responding.

"And I'll make sure the only person who's grinding on you is me."

"Mm, baby. I love when you get like this."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Jessie's mouth.

"Your hips against mine. I'll move your hair to the side and kiss down your neck, my hand on your back and pulling you close to me." Jessie bit her lip briefly. "And if you're good, I'll lead you by the hand to the bathroom and fuck you. Your cum pooling in my hand as you tighten around me."

"Oh my fucking God, Jess. You're so hot. You've nearly got me touching myself in the back of this cab. I can picture you next to me, your hand moving up my thigh. I'd give anything to have your fingers inside of me."

Jessie exhaled again, looking around the room as she steeled herself. She checked the time on her phone.

"Baby, please. I need you so bad already. I want you on top of me."

Jessie's eyes scanned the text before she locked her screen again. This was getting out of hand. It buzzed once more.

"Show me I'm yours. I wanna scream your name."

"Hey, you okay?"

Jessie startled, nearly jumping out of her seat as her head snapped up to see Niamh looking at her with concern.

"Oh! Yeah, yeah," she nodded, doing her damnedest to seem nonchalant. She grimaced a bit. "I'm just not feeling that good. My head's pounding." She really should try to stay longer...but fuck it. "I think I'm gonna go."

"Oh okay, well, feel better. I'll see you at practice tomorrow?" Niamh asked as she gave Jessie's shoulder a squeeze.

"Yeah, for sure. I'm gonna go - you can let people know if they ask, right?"

"Don't worry. Rest up."

Jessie gave a half-hearted smile and wave and was out the door.

"Where are you?"

"On my way home. I'm so wet for you. I need to do something about it."

"Fuck," Jess breathed again. She typed, "I'm headed home, too. My baby needs me to take care of her."

"You have no idea. No one makes me feel like you do."

"They better not." She replied simply, biting her tongue on the matter as she climbed into the back of the car.

"Well, I guess you better get home soon and show me who this pussy belongs to."

Jessie exhaled sharply before readjusting her position. The tension that was mounting between her legs kept her from sitting still. Her mind was racing with thoughts and images of the two of you together. She needed you. She wanted to take you. And even with how much she loved and respected you, she wanted to claim you.

She rolled out her shoulders and gripped her knee tightly as she tried to relax.

Time went by achingly slowly as you sent teasing message after teasing message. Your messages were exhilarating, but taunting at times. It only made matters worse when her phone buzzed showing a phone call from you. She swallowed as she picked up.

"Hi, my love," your voice came through from the other end of the line. Jessie gulped once more as her nails dug into her leg again. "Don't say anything. I just got home. I'm getting undressed and I'm getting ready for you. Here - listen." Jessie's eyes fluttered shut and her jaw dropped as sounds of your wetness filled her head. Her eyes only opened again when your voice filtered back in. "That's how much I need you. It's all for you."

"I love you so much," Jessie said as she bundled her shirt in a fist, loss for words otherwise and desperate for some kind of release.

"I love you too, baby," you replied softly. "I can't wait until you fill me up."

Jessie's mouth fell agape once more. The craziest part of it all is that you were nearly as reserved as she was in day to day life. The fact that you were like this with her and her alone made her feel like she was on top of the world. She'd allowed you into a special place in her heart, in her being, and you'd done the same for her. Nothing could be better.

By the time the cab pulled up in front of your apartment, Jessie felt like she might burst out of her skin.

She took the stairs two at a time as she ascended the stairwell up to where you were waiting. She grunted in frustration as she fumbled with the keys before the lock turned and she threw the door open. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the light coming from your room down the hall. She'd taken off her shirt and thrown it aside and was already undoing her jeans by the time she rounded the doorframe to see you lying on the bed, head thrown back, fingers massaging your clit.

"Fuck, babe," Jessie breathed as she quickly finished undressing and climbed up onto the bed, immediately grasping your hand and giving you a kiss on the back of it before pushing your legs back and tasting you.

You let out a cry at the touch and placed your hand on the back of Jessie's head as she began to lap up your juices.

"Oh my god, baby," you moaned, hips gyrating up into her mouth. "I love you. I needed you so bad. Oh my god."

She moaned in appreciation as her lips closed around your clit and she sucked hard at the sensitive bud. She smiled as your hips jerked at the action.

"You taste so good," she mumbled as her tongue trailed up and down between your folds. "And you're all mine." She grinned again as your fingers tightened in her hair.

"No one else's," you affirmed in a breathy voice, followed up by another moan as she flicked her tongue across your clit. She continued to devour you and it wasn't long before your cries filled the room. "Don't stop," you pleaded as you gripped her hair tightly and began to cum. She moaned deeply as your legs flexed around her head and she continued to lap up your juices like it was the only thing that mattered in this world.

When your legs finally relaxed and your hips fell back down to the bed, she laid one more kiss on your lips before wiping her chin and climbing up your body. As she did, ran two fingers along your folds and grinned at the small cry you let out as your hands gripped her biceps. She leaned down and whispered in your ear as her fingers traced around your entrance.

"You still want me to fill you up, baby?" She nipped at your earlobe. "Make your pussy mine all over again? Make sure you keep thinking of me and only me anytime someone else wants you?"

"Oh god," you moaned in need as you writhed beneath her.

"Do you want me, baby?" She asked softly as her fingers continued to tease you.

"Always," you whimpered. "Oh god, Jess. Please, I need you inside me."

She wrapped her free arm around your back and leaned down to tenderly kiss your jawline.

"You're the only one for me," she said before sinking her fingers deep inside of you. Your breath caught in your throat and she bit down on your collarbone, stopping herself before it got to be too much.

"Fuck, you feel so amazing," she breathed in reverie. "You feel incredible every time." She shook her head as she slowly pulled out and moved back in. "God, so tight."

You didn't hold back, your moans filling the room as Jessie began to pick up her pace. "You feel so good inside me, Jess." You clutched her to you. "You fill me perfectly."

Jessie growled in approval as she began to fuck you harder. Even if you hadn't laid a finger on her, she was dizzy with pleasure from knowing how good she made you feel and to know it was because of her - no one else - her.

"Baby, you're perfect for me," she praised as she took you in.

A night out with her team, fan adoring her and flirting with her, she didn't need it - all she wanted was to be with you right now. To be the one to take you high and over the edge. To fall asleep with you, wake up with you and breathe you in.

Your grip tightened on her and your cries rose in pitch. She kissed your neck tenderly.

"Go ahead, baby. I'm here, I won't let go," she coaxed you as your sounds echoed off the walls and you began to tighten around her fingers.

Her name fell from your lips as your whole body tensed up and all the pleasure building inside of you released. You were vaguely aware of the whimpers that came from her as she bucked against you and pulled you ever closer.

As you drifted down from your orgasm, she slowly and gently kissed up your neck and face. Your mind and body finally calmed and she reached your lips. She gave you a soft kiss coupled with a sly grin.

"Hi," she said. You were still catching your breath, but managed to nod and return a lazy smile.

"Hi," you chuckled. You brought your hands up to cup her face and kissed her again, deeper this time. She returned it earnestly, grazing a thumb across your cheekbone. You smiled once more and gave her a soft peck. "Thanks for coming home. I missed you."

She laughed and kissed your cheek. "I missed you, too. Could you tell?"

[cosmal]

okay tasm!peter parker thought!!! he’s obsessed with touching your face. like, when you’re talking about something he’ll just randomly grab your face and smoosh your cheeks. he’ll boop or kiss your nose at random times. most importantly, when he’s kissing you he’ll be holding your face, his big hands on your cheeks guiding your head so he can kiss you better. omg

doughnuts

summary you're really excited about doughnuts. peter really wants to kiss you.

content tasm!peterparker x fem!afab!reader

note this is my first time writing for tasm!peter please forgive me if it sucks.

For the first time in a while, you come home after work with enough excitement to light up the entire flat.

Peter's sitting up in his bed reading when you find him. All things soft with rumpled hair, his clothes even worse, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. You're not sure if he really needs them anymore, but he likes to wear them to keep an ounce of normalcy.

"Hi," you chirp when he notices you. He dog-ears his book and puts it down almost immediately. You beam.

"Hi, baby," he seems just as happy to see you as you do him. Though, there's a buzz to you that Pete lacks. You think if you got home twenty minutes later he would've been napping.

You move across his room while pushing your work skirt down your legs. Peter's heart skips when it looks like you might trip and he tries to keep his eyes off your soft thighs. You rifle through his draws to find one of his shirts to wear, unbuttoning your own blouse in the process.

"How was your day?" you ask, holding up a shirt to your nose. You choose it because it smells more like your boyfriend than the others.

Peter crumples his face, trying not to laugh. "It was good. Didn't do much - you?"

You say something while pulling the shirt over your face that Pete can't discern. You all but jump into his lap when you reach him. Hooking your thighs over his lap until you're face to face.

He allows you to get comfy, pushing your knees into his side while he sits up, hands finding their place on your hips. "Hello," he says again, much quieter now that you're in his space. You look adorable in his shirt and your work tights.

"Did you hear me?" you ask, basically pulsing with giddy energy. You push your fingers under the hem of his shirt and he short-circuits for a moment.

He blinks. "You had your face in your shirt."

"Right," you giggle, a girlish sound that Peter wants seared in his brain, "I said, you know the food truck around the block?"

"You'll have to be more specific," he says, squeezing at your hips.

"The one that shut down."

"Oh, right. The Jam Van," he laughs knowingly. You'd moped for almost a month when they closed. You were inconsolable.

"Yeah," you grin, poking his chest, "yeah, they reopened!"

You're smiling so hard Peter worries that you'll get stuck like that. With your eyebrows raised and your cheeks appled. He thinks he needs to hold your face like right now.

He lets his hands leave your hips and raises them to hold your cheeks. Your skin is warm under his touch like he expected. "That's great, baby."

You ignore his hands. "Right? It's amazing."

Peter pushes your cheeks together until your lips pout outwards. He thinks you look extremely cute. Even worse when you try to frown and it just looks like a smooshed mess. He wants to laugh but you look peeved.

"Pete," you try to say. It comes out all mumbled.

"Yeah?" he says, distracted by your puffy face.

You pull your face from his hands and struggle a bit. Holding his arms to his chest you say, "Are you even listening to me?"

"The Jam Van," he says nodding. Smarmy.

"Right," you say, still mildly upset, "they're open right now if you wanna..."

"You wanna go get doughnuts?" he asks with his arms still pinned to his body. His hands wriggle to touch you.

"Can we?" you ask, eyes wide with hope. Peter wishes he had his camera with him.

"Can I kiss you first?" he grins boyishly. You wish you had a better resolve. He's awfully pretty and you really want doughnuts.

You let his arms go, huffing like kissing him is a difficult task. "If you really want." You have to hold back a laugh.

He reaches his hands back up to your cheeks and gives them another squeeze, "Of course, I want to."

You let him guide your face down to meet his lips, huffing into his mouth once they meet. You go lax in his lap when he presses firmer, spreading his fingers over your warming cheeks. He tilts your face upwards so he has better access to slip his tongue in your mouth. You whine when he has you exactly where he wants. Putty in his hold, holding you close by your soft cheeks.

You pull away from his lips, blinking away the dizziness. "Pete," you say panting.

Peter licks his lips, "Yeah?"

You push your face into his neck to hide the way he so obviously makes you feel, holding onto his sleep shirt for dear life. You try to even out your breathing and fail.

"You okay, love?" he asks. There's a hint of smartassery you don't miss. He's awful.

"Yeah," you say a tad breathlessly. "Yeah."

He kisses your shoulder and you shudder. His ego swells tenfold. "You sure?"

You take a moment to compose yourself, hating yourself for being so pliable. You sit back to look him in the eye. "So," you say with a confidence you lack, "Jam Van?"

Peter laughs and catches your face again. You like it much more than the first time. "That felt like coercion ."

"You asked to kiss me!" you say bewildered, pushing at his chest with not enough force than you feel is deserved.

"You tricked me," he laughs with you, letting you paw at his chest. It's quite adorable, really.

"Whatever," you say with more heat than you mean, a smile tugging at your red lips. You untangle yourself from his lap and stand to walk away. "I'll get my own jam doughnuts."

Peter smacks your ass before you can get away and you gasp. "Peter Parker!"

"You can't go out like that."

"I'll do what I like!" you call from the other end of the hallway.

Peter chases you around the flat until he gets you in his arms. The doughnuts wait for a few more hours.

[cordyce]

"i don’t like the way they keep staring at you." w/ peeta 'if it weren't for the baby' mellark? :3

truthfully, your hands are beginning to grow a little shaky from doing this for so long. the minor tremble is smudging your paint strokes, causing a few swipes to stray from the imaginary lines you have mapped out in your head. but no one can fault you for that; not rightfully. you're not the skilled painter here.

and as if on cue the man who's art you adore so much is sliding up next to you. painfully close–abnormally close, more like. you are not a stranger to his affection but something about how a calloused hand finds the divot in the small of your back so swiftly has you tipping your head to address him. in such a public venue, no less.

"yes?" you adhere as you turn to peeta with a smile. but a smile is not what you're greeted with in return. no, this upturn of lips is a little too slanted for that, a little too suave.

"nothing, just came to admire the expert at work." it's all he says, all he gives, and you know it cannot be all there is because he has that glint in his eye he only gets when he is being smarmy.

"right, well, we both know i'm not the expert here, so," you blow through a chuckle as you drop your paintbrush into a murky cup of water. "what is it you really came over here for, mr. mellark?"

you turn to face him properly and expect this to be where he drops his hands, looses his hold on you. but he does exactly the opposite. instead of feigning, his fingers simply shift–down to your belt loops. there's a single tug; harsh and surging enough you can now feel the heat of his thighs radiating against yours.

"i don't like the way they keep staring at you." and it's jolting; how he says it with such a sickeningly sweet tongue and cherry pressed lips, as if his eyes aren't glinting like the blades of daggers in moonlight.

you lick your lips, force a laugh as you pat at his chest to stave off the turn of your stomach. "please, they're probably just admiring my expert painting skills. this is a dog and pony show, you know."

it's meant to be a jab, a taunt. throwing peeta's own words back in his face to throw him off and maybe turn his grin a little more genuine and a little less guileful. yet all it does is seem to cause his lips to twitch ever deeper, carve their way up to the dimple in his cheek.

"i know what they're admiring, and it isn't your canvas."

he side steps you, picks your brush back up and in one swift motion tosses it behind him in such a way it looks like a mere accidental dropping. an accident, that seems to have splattered the red stain directly on that of a capital patron who is positioned a little closer than you thought they were allowed to be to the.. entertainment.

eyes slightly widened, there is no denying the skip of your heart now as peeta's lip brush against the shell of your ear. "you belong in a gallery all of my own. a stunning, private collection," he whispers.

then with no more than an innocent kiss to your temple and a squeeze to your hip, he's gone. rushing to retrieve your brush and usher out apologies through his golden boy personage, his charm winning as it always does in favor of the capitol. and you are left dazed, wanting nothing more than to shrink into your skin. not because of the peering and prying eyes of the entire nation; but because of the yearning and burning eyes of your lover.

[tropes-and-tales]

Lieutenant Steal-Your-Girl

Day 8: Cuckolding (Bob Floyd x F!Reader; Jake Seresin x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Light angst (relationship woes); open relationships; cuckolding, but not really, I think I did this one wrong but got too deep to turn back; Jake is a bad boyfriend; smut (Oral, F!receiving; PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count:  5536

AN:  This was requested for Kinktober by an anon!

AN2: This might not be for everyone. People feel A Certain Way about open relationships, and this is very much a Reddit revenge version of that. Cuckolding? Maybe if you squint. I dunno. It got away from me and my original intention for this. Also, if you're a Jake fan, this won't be for you. Read at your own peril.

The sentence makes Bob Floyd short-circuit.  A question, in English, uttered by Jake with his smarmy grin, but it’s so incongruous, Bob’s mind cannot grasp it.

“You wanna fuck my girl, Baby on Board?”

Bob sputters at the question.  He feels his cheeks heat up as blood floods his face in a furious blush.  He wonders if it’s a joke, a put-on by the other pilots.  He glances around—to the piano where Rooster is perched, to the bar where Nat and Javi wait patiently for a fresh pitcher—and finds himself without backup.  It’s just him and Bagman by the pool tables. 

Bob can’t help but glance out the windows of the Hard Deck to see where you’re sitting.

Where you’re waiting patiently for Jake to rejoin you.  Where you often sit alone while Jake flirts with the local girls.  Where the other members of the Dagger Squad often sit with you, an apology of sorts, a paltry way of making up for your boyfriend’s inattention.  Where Bob, more than any other Dagger, often sits with you, distracts you from your wayward boyfriend, makes you laugh with his corny jokes. 

You explain to him one night how you and Jake are trying an open thing, an open relationship, a way of spicing up your long-term thing—but Bob hears the misery in your voice, and he sees the hurt look in your eyes when you see your boyfriend openly flirting with his next conquest—

Jake snapping his fingers brings Bob back to focus.  He opens his mouth, manages to answer Jake (“of course not, she’s your girl, Bagman”), but it’s the flimsiest of lies.  Bob knows it.  Jake knows it. 

Bob has wanted you from the moment he clapped his eyes on you.

-----

Another night, another moment where Bob finds himself alone with Jake.

The same question posed to him.  “You wanna fuck my girl, Bob?”

This time, Jake doesn’t let Bob sputter out a lie.  The man shakes his head, offers a rueful grin, then claps Bob on the back hard enough to nearly jolt him off his stool. 

“It isn’t an accusation,” Jake clarifies.  “It’s a question.  An offer.  You interested?”

Another lie when he stammers out, “no, I wouldn’t…I mean, I don’t think—”

Jake cuts him off with another hard clap on the back.  “Let’s take a walk, huh?  Me and you.  We’ll talk.”

-----

That’s the night Bob learns that his understanding of kinks is incomplete.  He always thought of kinks as things like role-playing or handcuffs or outrageous lingerie.  He never knew of cuckolding beyond, perhaps, a vague memory of reading the word in high school when they read Shakespeare in English class.

That’s the night Bob learns that beyond opening up your relationship, Jake has a thing for cuckolding.  It’s only theoretical; you haven’t slept with anyone but Jake, but Jake has taken full advantage of the open relationship and has had many lovers beyond you. 

And Jake finds the idea of you with another man intoxicating.  However, when he’s broached the subject with you, urged you to go out and find yourself a one-night stand, you’ve balked.

Hence, the need for Bob.

“She is comfortable with you,” Jake explains, and it sounds so commonplace, so everyday that he’s offering his girlfriend up as a potential one-night stand for his fellow Dagger.  “And I know you like her.”

Bob ends up declining.  Of course he likes you.  He’s wanted you for as long as he’s known you.  He lies awake at night, plagued by insomnia that has its origin in you. Evenings cheering you up at the Hard Deck haunt him—your sad eyes that always track Jake around the bar, but the way you laugh at Bob’s jokes, the way you chat with him earnestly about books and movies, about hiking trails you want to conquer, places you want to travel to.  You’re Bob’s dream girl but you’re taken, whether your relationship is open or not. 

Bob declines Jake’s offer.  Besides, it feels too close to a business deal, edging too close to something akin to sex work, albeit without money changing hands.  Jake and his smarmy grin feels too close to being a pimp.  Just two men making a deal about a woman without her input.

So Bob declines, but when you make a similar offer weeks later, that’s something else entirely.

-----

It happens at the Hard Deck.  You’re outside nursing a drink, separating yourself from where Jake chats up a local woman.  Bob sits beside you, and he tells you a story from when he was stationed in Pensacola, but you’re not really listening.

You cut him off halfway through his story, turn to face him.  Your eyes, usually so sad, have a fire in them he’s never seen before, and it pulls his up short, strikes him mute.

“Do you want to go out with me sometime?” you ask, and if Bob stammered his way through Jake’s offer, he doesn’t hesitate a single second when you ask.

“Yes,” he replies.  “Absolutely.”

-----

Bob has no idea what the rules are.  Jake made it sound like a tawdry hook-up, a late-night meeting with sex and nothing else.

You?  You ask him if he wants to go out with you, and Bob interprets that as a date night.  He gets your number, texts you throughout the week, and makes plans.

A proper date night.  Bob can’t tell if Jake knows or not.  He’s unclear if there’s a don’t-ask, don’t-tell policy in place, despite how open Jake seems to be with his own dalliances.  Bob keeps it hush-hush, and late Saturday afternoon, Bob finds himself at your apartment.

-----

Years later, Bob will be able to admit to himself:  this isn’t just a date for him. 

It’s an audition.  It’s a job interview.  It’s Lieutenant Robert Floyd doing his damnedest to show you that he’s a better bet than Jake. 

Bob sees how unhappy you are with Jake, how miserable you are to be in an open relationship you didn’t want.  It’s Bob trying to show you that Jake isn’t the only man in the world; that there are other proverbial fish in the proverbial sea, and that maybe another man (Bob, specifically) would cherish you, would love you, would never offer you up to other men.  Cuckolding isn’t Bob’s kink at all, so he misinterprets Jake’s insistence as guilt.  Jake must feel guilty, Bob reasons, and offering you up feels like a twisted version of atonement—a chance for you to explore other men.

It occurs to Bob that Jake chose him because he doesn’t feel threatened.  Bob Floyd—quiet Bob with his terrible, Navy-issued glasses, with his quiet voice and lack of braggadocio—is no threat to the handsome, cocky pilot.

Years later, it will only demonstrate:  Jake Seresin doesn’t know Bob Floyd at all, but more to the point—Jake Seresin doesn’t really know you.

*****

As far as first dates go, Bob knocks it out of the park.

Not that you have a lot of experience.  You’ve only ever had one first date—all the way back in sophomore year of high school—when Jake took you out to Sonic and then felt you up in the cab of his truck.

You try not to compare Adult Bob against Adolescent Jake.  It wouldn’t be fair.

It doesn’t stop you from comparing Adult Bob to Adult Jake, and the differences are stunning.

Bob greets you at your door with a bouquet of flowers, cheerful daises that nod their fat little heads as you invite him in to put them in water.  Bob does his usual Bob-stammer, a faint pink tinge to his cheeks as he tells you how beautiful you look.

When was the last time Jake got you flowers?  When was the last time Jake complimented your looks?

You often feel invisible with your boyfriend, and it’s always been that way.  Star running back Jake, hometown hero, dating the perfectly average, perfectly middle-of-the-road girl.  Jake with his good looks, his perfect smile, his perfect tan, his perfect muscles…and you. 

Jake’s idea of a date night is typically the Hard Deck, and since the two of you have opened up your relationship, date night has ceded to hunting for new prospects.  You dread it every time; you sit outside and listen to the ceaseless roll of the waves, and you wait with a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach to see if you’ll go home alone or if your boyfriend will turn up at last call, disappointed to have struck out, disappointed to go home to boring old you.

You are desperately unhappy.  Your emotions veer wildly.  You swing between extremes:  manic periods where you work out, get your hair styled, where you scrub and polish and pluck yourself as near to perfect as you can get.  Depressive periods where you can barely summon the strength to shower, ground down by the thought of your boyfriend fucking other women.

You know you should end it.  When Jake sat you down all those months ago, your stomach had fluttered with butterflies.  This is it, you thought.  He’s going to ask me to marry him.  You’d waited so long, patient and unswerving in your devotion.  Through college and flight school, bouncing around in his wake as his assignments and deployments dictated.

Instead, Jake told you he was bored.  That he read up on it, and he thought opening the relationship would be good for him.  For you, too.

“As long as we always come home to each other, I don’t see it as a bad thing,” he had told you, and you—always invisible, always trailing behind him like a lost puppy—had hated yourself when you nodded in agreement.

-----

Bob takes you first to an independent bookstore, a tucked-away little gem, and you realize immediately that he isn’t playing fair.  When you tell him so, shaking your forefinger with a mock-frown, he only gives you his soft Bob Floyd smile.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he claims, and he holds his palms up in surrender.  “We just have a little time to kill before our reservations.”

Bad enough he’s brought you here.  The two of you talk books all the time, and it’s a thoughtful date idea.  But what makes it worse is when he sidles up to you as you read the book jacket of a new release and says, low near your ear, “get whatever you want.  My treat.”

It’s the moment the bottom falls out for you.  It’s like you’ve been wading around in the shallow end of the pool, and Bob’s sweet date paired with Bob’s surprisingly low, grumbling voice near your ear is your foot slipping into the deep end.  You find yourself treading water.  You find yourself fighting off the panicky urge to flail.

-----

Dinner is at a restaurant overlooking the ocean, and you wonder if Bob timed it so that you’d be there during sunset.

You suspect he did.  You’re starting to suspect that this isn’t just some prelude to fucking, the crude reality of this open relationship you and Jake are doing, the cuckolding fetish that Jake seems to have.  Bob could have just invited you over to his place, but he’s planned such a lovely first date.

You are out of your depth, but when the panic starts to grip you, you only look across the table to see Bob:  his bright blue eyes, his gentle smile, the tips of his ears pink underneath the soft wave of his hair.  You look at him and it feels natural, and the panic ebbs away but it’s replaced by something else.

Doubt.  This date with Bob is a crack in the foundation of your relationship with Jake.  A tiny little trickle of doubt slips through.

Why does this feel so easy, you think as you pick at your meal.  Why does this feel so easy but everything with Jake feels so fraught?

It feels easy because Bob talks to you, not at you.  He’s endlessly curious about you:  your history, your likes, your dislikes.  What your job is like, what your childhood was like.  Where you see yourself in five years, in ten, in twenty?  Do you like the country or the city?  The ocean or the mountains?  Do you like dogs or cats or both?  What’s your favorite book, what’s the last movie you saw? 

Jakes doesn’t ask you those questions, and you half-convince yourself that it’s because you’ve been together for so long.  Jake knows everything there is to know about you.

But you know that’s not true.  Bob pays for dinner, then takes your hand in his.  He walks you to a nearby gelato place for dessert, and it’s nearly perfect.  This second first date with Bob Floyd while your boyfriend is out doing god know what (or who). 

It’s nearly perfect but not entirely because you admit to yourself that Jake doesn’t know everything about you at all.  He’s never asked what you’re reading, who your favorite author is, and it hits you suddenly that Bob—who you’ve known for a handful of months, if that—might know parts of you better than your boyfriend.

At Bob’s truck, he puts the key in the ignition but doesn’t turn it yet.  He turns to face you, and his face is a furious red.  He’s blushing, you realize.  Something is making him blush.

“Take you home?” he asks, and his voice has a strange tension in it that you’ve never heard before.  You think of this date, all the effort he put into it to make it perfect.  You think of all the times he’s kept you company at the Hard Deck, how sometimes he sits in front of you, makes his body block your line of sight so you can’t see Jake leaning in on some girl who is prettier than you, more adventuresome than you—

“No.”  You shake your head, then smile at Bob.  You don’t care about Jake and his stupid cuckolding kink; you’ve been on a low-simmer of growing desire ever since the bookshop when Bob leaned in and growled in your ear.  You want Bob for Bob’s own sake.

 “Take me to your place,” you say.

*****

It’s a dangerous thing, how Jake never once crosses Bob’s mind once he gets you to his apartment.  Bob forgets the reality of this situation:  that you’re taken, that this is a one-time thing, that it’s actually feeding into Jake’s kink, not yours or Bob’s.

Bob forgets all of that.  He’s only focused on you:  lovely, perfect you.  The best date he’s ever been on, and Bob feels like a million bucks at how surprised you’d been with each part of it.  The way your face lit up at the flowers, at his compliments.  The squeal of surprise at the book store, the shy way you only chose one book for him to buy you—he would have bought you the whole store if you’d asked.  The content sigh each time you looked at the sun setting over the ocean, and how natural it felt to hold your hand as he walked you back to his truck.

Bob doesn’t think of Jake until afterwards, and it’s dangerous because Bob instead thinks about second dates, third dates.  He forgets that you’re spoken for, and instead he spins out an entire future where he meets your family and you meet his, where he cleans off a shelf in his bathroom for you, where the two of you move in together…

Who could blame him, though?  Once he gets you inside his apartment, he turns to ask if you want a drink, but you’re right there, standing so close to him that he can see the little amber flecks in your eyes and the question is only halfway out of his mouth when you kiss him.

Of course Bob doesn’t think of Jake.  He’s wanted you since he first saw you, and here you finally are:  your hands on him, holding him steady as you press your lips to his, as you bump against his glasses and knock them askew, then break the kiss to gently reach up and set them right again.

“Sorry,” you mumble, and Bob doesn’t link your sudden reticence—you avoid his eyeline—to Jake.  He doesn’t make the connection between your bashful expression and how you’ve only ever kissed Jake, slept with Jake, and how monumental this all must feel.

“Don’t apologize.”  Bob cups his hands on your bare shoulders, pulls you in for a hug.  “Nothin’ to be sorry for.”

“I’m not very good at this.”  It comes out muffled, your face pressed against his shoulder.

Bob has always guessed that your rocky relationship with Jake has shaken your confidence, but he doesn’t think of that now.  He only feels you sigh against him, embarrassed, so he pushes you away gently, touches his forehead to yours.

“You’re fine,” he assures you.  “You’re perfect.”  Then he leans in, kisses you this time, and when his glasses get knocked off-kilter again, he just takes them off, folds them into his pocket, then leads you into his bedroom.

*****

You’ve spent a lot of time on the internet researching cuckolding as a kink, and you had settled on the belief that Jake was into it because he was turned on by the idea of another man using you.

Or maybe he just feels guilty that he’s the only one taking advantage of the open relationship.

Who can say?  When you try to talk about it, Jake brushes you off, tells you not to worry about it too much, so you never are quite clear on what motivates the man you thought you’d marry one day.

But as far as being used goes, nothing about your dalliance with Bob says used:  the man worships you.  He kneels in front of your body like a penitent, and his hands are so gentle, his voice so soft as he asks permission every step of the way.

“Can I kiss you here?”

“Can I touch you here?”

Is this okay?  Does this feel good?  Tell me what you like.  Tell me what you need.  I’ll do anything.  Let me make you feel good.

Is this what Jake wanted—a change from the usual?  Because being with Bob feels like a revelation:  you’ve never been loved like this.  He kisses his way down your naked body, then reverses course until he’s between your legs, his broad shoulders holding your thighs open.  His mouth on you, the shy little swipes of his tongue until he gets a taste of you—then he devours you like a starved man, completely unabashed at the groans leaving him, at the way he grinds into the bedding at how turned on he is to feast on you.

You open your mouth to tell him not to bother, that you’ve never come from oral alone, but then you feel how your body is responding, the answering arousal to Bob’s skilled tongue, and when he slides a finger inside you, you’re reminded of that too-deep feeling from earlier.

But instead of feeling panicky, you feel a sharp throb of arousal.  You aren’t afraid of being in too deep now.  You aren’t straining to return to shore. 

You want to be swept out to sea, and you want Bob to be the one to do it.  When your orgasm approaches, you reach down and tangle your fingers in Bob’s hair—it’s as soft as it looks, just as silky—and Bob looses a groan that vibrates up from your pussy to the very top of your head.  He reaches up and holds your hand against his head, mumbles against you to use him, to grind against him, so you do.  You lift your hips and press against his mouth, feel the bump of his nose against your clit, and you realize that you’re about to come from oral for the first time in your life and that it’s not your boyfriend who’s done it.

When you come against Bob’s mouth, every single thought of Jake is erased from your head, and you won’t think of him again afterwards.

*****

Bob takes a long beat to get control of himself.  He was dangerously close to coming as he ate you out, and he waits for his own orgasm to fade into the background before he continues.

Instead, he props himself on one elbow and just watches you.  If you looked beautiful before, you look even more so now:  all of the tension is gone from your face, and blink up at him sleepily, dreamily.  Your smile is lazy, and when you sigh, it’s nothing but content.

“Good?” he asks, grinning down at you.

You nod, just as lazy as your smile.  “The best.”  You purse your lips, pout up at him.  “Kiss me?”

How can he resist?  He leans down to kiss you, and you wrap your arm around his shoulders, pull him closer to you.  Eating you out has relaxed you, banished whatever doubts you had from earlier, and you kiss him now with a passion he’s never experienced before:  you part your lips, you slide your tongue into his mouth, you lick against him.  You must taste yourself on him because you make the cutest damned whimper, and it goes straight to his dick, hearing how undone you are.

Then you do this cute little wriggling move underneath him, and Bob’s body moves independently of his brain:  he slots himself between your thighs, slick from his earlier attention, and his erection bumps against your hip, your belly before you reach down and guide him to where you want him most.

Bob breaks the kiss long enough to mumble his question about protection, and it won’t occur to him until much later—what it means when you say you’re on birth control but also that you’re clean, that there’s no risk.

It won’t occur to Bob until later, what it means for you to say you’re clean.  It won’t occur to him that you’re in a committed relationship, that your boyfriend has regular hookups but you remain STD-free since your last checkup.

It’ll hit Bob in the middle of his workday at Miramar, what you are telling him now:  that your bedroom with Jake is dead and has been for a while, and that this moment with Bob is the first time you’ve had sex in months.

He’ll realize that later.  Now, there’s only the feeling of your pussy—warm, wet, perfect—as he pushes into you.  There’s only the sound of your sharp inhale, your whine as you tell him to go slow, to be gentle, but you don’t need to tell him that.  He’d never hurt you, and he can feel how tight you are, so he goes slow.  He works himself into you carefully, watches your face for any sign of pain. 

He sees none.  He goes so slowly that he only sees your expression go from worried to stunned:  the lines in your brow smooth out and your lips part as you gaze up at him, a perfect oh of surprise. 

When he’s fully seated in you, buried in the silky depths of your pussy, Bob stills—and he realizes that you are trembling underneath him.

“Honey,” he breathes out, the sweet nickname falling from his mouth without thought.  “You okay?  You want me to—”

“No.”  You cut him off, gift him with a shaky smile.  “Stay with me, okay?  Just stay with me a minute.”

“’Course.”  He leans down, bumps his nose against yours until your smile firms up, seems steadier.  “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Bob only moves enough to settle more of his weight on you, and then he takes the time to kiss you:  he trails featherlight kisses across your face, your forehead, your flushed cheeks.  He kisses the tip of your nose—it pulls a giggle from you, and the sound makes him smile.  He kisses along your jaw.  He dips his head near your ear, whispers how gorgeous you are, how good you feel, how he’d happily stay like this forever.  He doesn’t miss the little shudder you give at his praise.

Bob doesn’t realize that he’s shifted your worldview entirely.  Just this simple liaison—not even complete, and nothing extreme—has rearranged everything you thought you knew.  You aren’t actively thinking of Jake at all—he’s been banished until afterwards—but you’re considering the balance of your entire erotic history against this single moment with Bob.

You’re realizing that sex can be so much more than just an act…and with Bob, a man you haven’t known that long.

You eventually stop trembling.  Bob feels it when you relax; the tight clench of your cunt slackens a bit.  He feels your hands on him, shy at first and then bolder as you run your warm palms over the planes of his back, along his shoulders and arms.  As you thread your fingers through his hair, comb out the tangles there.  As you rest your palm along the back of his head and lead his face back to yours.

“Thank you.”  You whisper it, and your eyes are wide.  Earnest.  Bob isn’t sure what you’re thanking him for, so he just kisses you again.

“I’m ready,” you mumble against his searching lips.

“You sure?”

A nod, a purposeful roll of your hips that makes Bob see stars, makes the edges of his vision turn hazy with desire. 

“Take me, Bob,” you tell him, and he’s never heard you so assured.  “I’m yours.”

So he does.  He takes you in small movements, focused on your pleasure.  He is used to sitting in the backseat of a billion dollar plane, all those systems to keep track of, so focusing on you is an easy, wondrous thing:  the expression on your face, the moans he manages to pull from you.  The way your eyes flutter shut or roll back or fix on him like he’s responsible for setting the sun in the sky.  The way your hands touch him or hold him, sometimes soft and stroking, sometimes clinging to him like he’s your life preserver.  The way your cunt feels, slick and warm and gripping him, obscenely wet as he fucks into you harder, the sound of skin on skin, the heady scent of sex filling his room, and he hopes it lingers for days afterwards, he wants the moment to never end.

He focuses on your pleasure as it rises, crests around you:  the way you tighten up, bear down harder on him until he loses some of his rhythm.  He reaches a shaky hand down to touch you there, the slick, swollen place where he disappears into the confines of your body, and he rubs a tight circle against you.  He begs you to come for him; he’s so close, he feels his balls tightening against his body, and he needs you to come for him first, needs to feel you before—

When you come, you say his name.  You breathe it out, a hot pant against his ear, and Bob is grateful for it because it pushes him over the edge.  He groans out your name too, chokes out a curse, and you come together—your pussy pulsing around him as he buries himself in you, comes inside you.

Marks you as his.

-----

Afterwards, Bob remembers Jake and feels a sting of conscience—but not enough to send you home.  That had been integral to the cuckolding thing, Bob sending you home thoroughly fucked, to sleep beside Jake, for Jake to know you’d been with another man and to be turned on by it.

A mean little part of Bob wants to.  He wants to send you home satisfied, his cum dripping out of you.  Part of him sees the allure of it from his side; Jake doesn’t consider Bob a threat, so it’d hit the smug bastard hard to see you satisfied, happy from your dalliance with the back-seater.

But Bob doesn’t give a shit about Jake.  Not when you’re sitting in his bed with the sheets wrapped around you, uncertain all of a sudden, and Bob kisses you on the forehead and tells you to stay.

“Just stay the night,” he says.  “Please.  I’d love for you to stay.”

He sees the doubt on your face.  He knows you’re thinking of Jake, and Bob feels a flare of something—anger, protectiveness, whatever.  It gives him the courage to speak up.  He takes your hand in his, settles on the bed beside you.

“Honey, is this even what you wanted?  I had a fun time with you, but would you have asked me out if Jake hadn’t wanted it?”

Your expression turns from uncertain to surprise in an instant.  “No!  I mean, I asked you out because I like you.  And because I’m in an open thing.  I thought…”  You trail off, stare at him as you try to assemble your words.  “Did you only agree to take me about because of Jake?”

Bob shakes his head.  “No.  I took you out because I wanted to.  I brought you here because I want you.”

Your surprise turns to a shy smile.  “Really?”

He squeezes your hand.  “Really.”

Your smile fades away by degrees, and your eyes shine with unshed tears.  “I never wanted any of this, you know.  I…I wanted to get married, have kids, all that, but he…”  You sigh, drop your head.  “I don’t like the open relationship.  It makes me feel like I’m not enough, you know?”

“Honey—”

“Like if I were better somehow, he wouldn’t have to go out and find other women—”

“Hey, no, don’t—”

“Like, what is wrong with me?  Why aren’t I enough? Why—”

“Stop.”  Bob places a finger over your mouth to silence you.  He hates all this doubt, hates how little you think of yourself, so he stills your words.  “You’re enough,” he tells you.  “Hell, honey, you’re everything.”

You blink at him, surprised.  The shimmering tears shake loose, start to course down your cheeks, and Bob pulls you to him, holds you as you cry.  He wraps you in his arms as you sob against him, gasp out that you don’t know what to do, that you’ve felt lost for months now—

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” he murmurs against your head.  “You just need a good night’s rest.  That’s all you need to do tonight.”

Your tears taper off.  You push away from him gently and swipe at where your tears have made his bare chest wet.

“Stop being so wise, Lieutenant,” you grumble, but there’s a teasing quality there that makes Bob smile.  You sniffle and glance up at him, and he’s struck how beautiful you are even with swollen, teary eyes.

Maybe you’ve rearranged his world too.

No, there’s no maybe to it.  You’ve definitely rearranged his world.

“Stay with me tonight,” he says, and he keeps his voice low and even, tries to keep the excitement out of it.  He can sense that a sea-change is coming, and he doesn’t want to jinx it.

“Stay tonight,” he repeats.  “Things are always clearer in the morning, I find.”

So you do.  You nod at him, and you wave off his offers to get you clothes to sleep in.  The two of you fall asleep in record time—the cure for Bob’s you-induced insomnia is you, both the cause and the cure, your warm, naked body curled up alongside him as he fades into sleep. 

And you were right:  Bob is wise.  You’ll wake in the morning to an empty bed, a room full of sunlight, the lingering scent of sex.  You’ll pad out into Bob’s kitchen and find the man putting the finishing touches on breakfast, and you’ll let him feed you before you let him fuck you again—this time on his kitchen counter, the room full of light so you can see the blatant love in his expression as he claims you again.  And then a third time, together in the shower, a slow moment so full of feeling that you’ll cry when you come, and Bob will hold you, will choke back words as he comes too, and you’ll wonder later why those bitten-back words sound so much like I love you.

And then you’ll let Bob drive you home where Jake will be waiting for you.  His smug smile will fall as you breeze past him, his cuckolding fantasy falling apart in front of him because he was the only one turned on by it, the only one turned on by opening your relationship.  Jake will realize too late that he only opened the door for someone else to come and steal you away, and that the thief will be Robert Floyd, who taught you that love should never be such a fraught, painful thing, and that you may not be enough for Jake, but for the right man, you are everything.

[mintmatcha]

-ownership

cw: cisfem reader. it's smut, but a little sad if you squint, but still smut. piv sex, biting, bruising. Just a lil drabble i reworked lol.

He smells like someone else's soap, a bleak reminder that, even when he's under you, Togame Jo is never truly yours.

His glasses are tossed aside on to the floor, open and face down, so there is nothing to obstruct his heavy lidded gaze and it's deep, green grasp. His sweatshirt is pushed up just enough for you to get a glimpse of where his happy trail ends and his pants are still around one leg, planted on the floor. The other leg is tucked up on the couch behind you, pressed against your ass to keep you in place. You're just far enough above him that he can't quite sink his cock in, instead just clumsily fisting it through your petals, through the mixture of your wetness and his precum.

"Come on now," he says. "Don't make me beg."

But he is begging. His body betrays his nonchalant attitude. His free hand digs into the flesh of your thigh, his downward turned lips part with a want laden breath. You swear there's even the hint of a wrinkle between his brows, the ghost of agony-

"Come on-" Togame's hands both travel up, tracing over your lower back is short, desperate movements. They settle on the small of your waist, squeezing in tiny, rough bursts. "Babe."

You shake your head and he groans, slamming his head back into the arm of the couch. The still wet tendrils of his hair are starting to curl around the base of his neck. His desperation fuels you. You curve your spin and cup your tits, putting on as pretty a show as you can muster, just for him.

"Maybe I want you to beg for it."

"Fuckin', god, come'ere."

You expect him to pull you down, to force you to sit on to his cock, but instead, he jerks you forward. The surprise knocks you on to your hands, and he scoops forward, catching your lips against his. The kiss is deep, breathless, and feral, teeth bumping against your bottom lip as he dips in for more. The hot press of tongue against yours steals your resistance; you fumble below you, fingers closing around his cock as you guide it inside you.

He open-mouth moans into the kiss when the resistance gives and he sinks inside. Togame reflexively bucks up into you, deep enough that you squeal from the sensation.

"That's it." He falls back, still gripping your waist. He uses the connection to guide how you move; he likes a little bounce, just enough that your tits jiggle, not enough that his cock falls out. His eyes flicker between your chest and face, always looking down his hooked nose with a soft, smarmy satisfaction. "That's my fuckin' girl."

The strain on 'my' makes your chest ache-- and your pussy clench around him.

"Yeah, you like being my girl." Togame says, relaxed despite how his cock twitches. "My girl, my pretty fuckin' thing, dripping down my balls, take what you need-"

The grey of his sweatshirt is damped with sweat: yours and his. You ride until your thighs quiver from the effort, until your core is molten and tight with want and the squeeze of his palms somehow burns hotter-

"Slow down, lemme enjoy this." Jo grits out, even though he's the one who's been urging you faster and faster. "Wanna enjoy my baby all night."

You lean back against his thigh again and catch your breath. "Do you say sweet things to all of your girls?"

The humor drains from Jo's face.

"Oi." He sits up too, pressing on to his elbows. He's quick to snatch your chin in his grasp. "The fuck does that mean?"

Those green, green eyes find yours.

"Hurts my feelings, yeah?" He tilts his head to the side when you look away. "When I say my baby, I mean it. My baby. Just one."

His voice is soft enough that you believe him.

But when he dips in to kiss you again, he still smells like someone else's shampoo. You try to focus on anything else: how he ruts up into you lazily, how his breath still tastes of oranges from earlier, how he hums a happy little note when you kiss back.

You want him. Sexually. Obsessively. Solely. You pull away from him and drag your lips down to his neck. His adam's apple bobs against your cheek as you suck a hickey into the side of his neck.

"Aw, shit." Jo's back arches up at the pain and you only suck harder, adding the hint of teeth along with it. "Haaa, okaaay-"

When you inspect your work, the skin is mottled and red, broken capillaries are blossoming: proof that you're been there. The muscles below are tensed as he sucks in jagged breath after jagged breath. Your teeth ache to sink in again, so you do, leaning into the other side of his neck greedily.

"Yeah, do it again. Make it fuckin' trashy." His voice is is low and airy. "Mark me up good, own me."

When you hollow your cheeks, he whines high, arms crossing around your back to hold you tight.

"Yeah, that's my fuckin' girl."

[apomaro-mellow]

Steve's parents compete to matchmake him with someone 1/?

Jonas and Diane Harrington sat in silence as their son's confession hung in the air. They'd met homosexuals before. You didn't travel as much as they did and not meet different people. But it had never occurred to them that someone so close to them - that their own son might be...

"Can you guys say something? Please?", Steve begged.

"Oh honey...", his mom started. "...Was Tommy?"

"What?", Steve pulled back at that. "Tommy? And me? Me and Tommy? No. We were never like that. Ever."

"Well, good for you son. You can do better", his father said, leaning back in his chair a little.

"He was so smarmy. You deserve someone who'll actually take care of you", Diane said, putting her hand on top of Steve's.

He looked down at the point of contact. "What's happening here?"

"Well, you being, you know, in your way, doesn't change our conversation", Jonas said. "We still think you need to stop sleeping around and find someone to be a little more serious with."

Diane nodded. "It's not good when all the gossip at the hairdresser's is about who your son is messing around with. Oh! What about Matthew?"

Steve raised a brow. "Your hairdresser?"

"Not mine, but he did fix me up when we were in New York, you remember the gala? He's nice, worldly-"

"I'm sorry", Steve interrupted. "I just told you guys for the first time ever that I'm gay, and you immediately try to set me up with someone?"

"Your love life is getting out of hand", Jonas said. He leaned forward and tented his hands on the table. "There's bets down at the bar. On who you're gonna knock up first."

"But if you're gay, we don't need to worry about surprise babies, right hon?", Diane smiled.

"Actually, I have a question about that now", Jonas started before his wife sent him a glare. "But we can save that for later. Point is, you need to hold on to someone for longer than a week."

Steve shook his head. "I can't believe my parents are talking to me about dating. What makes you think I can even get a guy? Can't exactly put the moves on them like I normally would."

His parents looked to each other, proving that neither of them really had an answer. With a sigh, Steve asked to be excused and when they granted permission, he went up to his room.

"Our Steve...a...a queer", Diane whispered.

"You think it's because I made him play football when he was a kid?", Jonas asked.

Diane shrugged. "If anything it's because of all those musicals we watched together. Then she released a heavy breath. It couldn't have been easy for Steve to tell them. And it couldn't have been easy for him to go on all those dates with those girls.

And if the rumors were true, he'd done more than date them. Jonas reached out and grabbed his wife's hand. From the moment their son had been born, all they had wanted was for him to be happy and healthy. Sometimes the healthy part meant leaving him for extended periods of time. Clearly, he'd been left on his own for too long. Surely they would have caught onto this sooner if they'd been around more, been involved more.

"What are we going to do?", Diane asked.

"You and I knew what we were going to do when we started this conversation", Jonas said, standing up from the table and putting his hands on his hips as he paced about the kitchen.

"Jonas, we can't give him Noelle's number now."

"Not Noelle, we just switch gears. Find a...a Nolan instead", Jonas decided, nodding as if to convince himself.

"Jonas, even if we can find another gay guy in this town, how do we know Steve will like him?"

"I know my son, I've got a decent idea what he likes."

Diane shook her head. “You just don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?”, Jonas questioned. “What, I can’t see what makes a man attractive?”

“Not the way Steven would. I think I understand this a little better than you.”

Jonas’ hands went to his hips. “Oh you do? You think I can’t find our son a date? You don’t think I know a handsome man when I see one?”

“Name one then”, she challenged.

“….Robert Redford.”

She crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Easy shot. Now name five that are actually our son's age."

Jonas looked put out and rolled his eyes. There was...there had to be some rock star, who was Steve listening to nowadays? Did he have a poster of someone? Who was in the movies? Maybe he had mentioned a boy at school at some point?

"Well, the bar is very high Diane. Steven is obviously the best looking boy at his school."

Diane grinned and stood up. "Was. He graduated, remember?"

"How can I forget? The grays won't stop coming."

Steve's graduation had been what had sparked this evening. Not getting into college, their son had seemed directionless. And messing around with too many girls had been the cherry on top. They had agreed to a gap year for him if he could use the time to get his relationships in check.

If he was into men, that made it slightly more challenging, but they wanted to give Steve the freedom to find himself. It was more than either of them had ever had. And what good was all the money if they couldn't spoil him a little.

"So, maybe I don't know what he's into. Doesn't mean I can't find him a good guy", Jonas said.

Diane wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "You do know a good thing when you see one."

They went upstairs to check in on their son only to find him halfway out the window with a packed duffle bag.

"I'm sorry", he said, leg hanging out. "There's just no way you guys were this cool about this."

"For god's sakes Steve, get back in here", Jonas grumbled, grabbing his son before he cracked his head on the ground.

"Believe it or not, your parents are capable of higher brain functioning", Diane said, already setting to unpacking the bag and putting the clothes away. "Some of this stuff doesn't even fit you anymore", she noted as she looked through his closet.

"Hey, how's about we all take a trip to the mall tomorrow?", Jonas suggested. "Refresh our wardrobes for the summer!"

"Oh that sounds perfect!", Diane agreed. "It's been a while since we Harringtons turned heads as a group."

Steve sat on the edge of his bed, looking tense, yet hopeful. "You guys don't...you don't think I'm any different? You don't...", his voice got small, "hate me?"

"Oh Steven!", his mother wailed and sat next to him in a rush, holding onto him tightly as she cried.

Jonas cleared his throat. "Di, there's no need for tears. There's nothing sad happening."

"I'm not crying because of Steve", she said defensively. "I was thinking about Matthew. I really hope he and Otis worked it out. And that he knows he always has family who love him. And that even if the world beats him black and blue he can always come home, okay? Always, you can always come home."

"Yeah mom, I know", Steve said, eyes wet as he got her thinly veiled meaning.

Jonas sniffed and patted Steve's shoulder. "And if the world does decide to put its hands on you, remember your old man's got mob connections."

Steve gave a watery laugh at that but thanked him anyway when his mom lit up in recognition.

"Oh! What about Ricci?"

"Ricci? For Steve? Get outta here", Jonas waved her off.

"Who is Ricci?", Steve asked.

"He's a nice boy", Diane answered.

"He's a numbskull is what he is. I'll do business with the mob, but I'm not giving them my son", Jonas said as he walked towards the door.

"Who said anything about giving? His family's well off, he can take Steve nice places", Diane said as she followed him.

Jonas threw his hands up in derision. "Mobsters are like five year olds with their dames. Once they lick it, it's theirs."

"OKAY good night!", Steve closed his door to shut out the rest of their talk.

"We're going to the mall at ten, honey! Be ready for breakfast", his mother called out, then continued her conversation with his dad. Probably debating whether or not to set him up with a closeted senator's son.

Steve rubbed his face and let out a sigh. He'd confessed tonight to get any talk of girls out of the way for the summer.

Mission accomplished?

Part 2 coming soon

[liesmyth]

locked tomb characters ranked by how cringe they are

because this post by @wifegideonnav reminded me that they’re all losers, but some are even more losers than the others

Hot Sauce: 1/10. This girl is cool in all possible ways and definitely future lead researcher material. No cringe, zero notes.

Pyrrha: 2/10. By far the least cringe of The Olds. Yes her nicknames for Nona have dad joke energy but she’s very earnest about it and it’s cute.

Juno Zeta: 2/10. Total MILF. Very smart and should know better than to get flirty with We Suffer, but I get it.

Marta Dyas: 3/10. A complete badass with a very sensible outlook on avoiding unnecessary forms. Call me Judith because I would also make a pass at her at the first possible chance.

Commander Wake: 3/10. She made Pyrrha fall in love with her, seduced ever-loyal G1deon into hatefucking and galvanized a dying resistance movement. She was genuinely nice to Gideon those 3 seconds they interacted in passing! Then she had to go and hide under the bed of a mentally ill teenager.

Dulcinea: 4/10. Her horniness for revenge is epic. Let down Pal as nicely as she could and managed to outwit Cytherea when it mattered. Not cringe at all.

Camilla: 4/10. Yes, she could kill you in seconds but she did once sell cigarettes, her most liquid asset, for about a third of their market value.

Alecto: 4/10. Scary eldritch woman-shaped creature with a sword, comes highly recommended by Pyrrha Dve. Loses points for confusing Middle English and thinking John was the best possible Sailor Earth when he was clearly the worst.

G1deon: 5/10. Utterly willing to burn for what he believes in. Yes, he probably needs some perspective but he made sure the baby had enough air before kicking Wake out of the airlock and Matthias Nonius thinks he’s an okay dude.

Pash: 5/10. She has that freedom fighter swag and the cool hair but she is a terrible bodyguard coasting on nepotism, sorry to say.

Palamedes: 6/10. He didn’t clock the serial killer pretending to be his ex because he was too busy going to painfully extreme lengths to avoid interacting with her.

Naberius: 6/10. My controversial opinion is that Babs is the least cringe of the Third House throuple. Yes he looks and acts like a peacock but he puts up with Corona snacking on him for no reason and is still nice to her, and gives Ianthe solid romantic advice.  

Nona: 6/10. Cringe in the unselfconscious way of a young teenager, and put this ability to use making Pal fess up to his nurse kink. She will never be cool but it’s part of her appeal.

Mercymorn: 7/10. Speaks in onomatopoeias. She knows she is insufferable so she’s gonna do her best to make sure to be the most insufferable person in every room. Once called John Gaius “the best man I who ever lived” to his smug face and not even blowing him up later makes up for that.

Ianthe: 7/10. Looks like a wet rat. Hopelessly dramatic but she pulls it off. Declares her love for Harrow at every turn in the most transparent possible way then pretends she’s just being snarky. Some cool points for actually getting shit done

Coronabeth: 7/10. Terrible taste in love interests. Her freedom fighter era was hot but she thinks pompadour hair is a good look? Also, the way she spent her whole life lying about necromancy speaks of extreme conflict avoidance. Cringe move.

Judith: 7/10. She deserved to suffer and has suffered more than she deserves. It’s cringe how she clings to her imperialist brainwashing but she gets a point for rightfully understanding she should be wary of Corona, something Ianthe still can’t even grasp.

Ortus: 7/10. Yes he quotes his own epic poetry WIP at people but he also had to grow up on the Ninth with nothing better to do. Genuinely a very nice guy.

Cytherea: 8/10. Her unhinged vibes are very hot but she killed a couple of nerds and two teenagers instead of anyone who was actually dangerous. Cringe of her!

Silas: 8/10. Smarmy cloud-looking motherfucker. He is a child Pope and I guess he can’t help the inherent cringe of the Eight. But that’s still no excuse for bringing a portrait of John all the way to Canaan House just to hang it in your bedroom, dude.

Gideon: 8/10. Babygirl is a horny virgin with the vocabulary of a nerd. Harrow is bones over tit in love with her and she fails to notice after living in Harrow’s brain for eight months. Gets points for managing to maintain impressive biceps on a diet with no protein.

Augustine: 9/10. Extremely cringe because of how hard he tries to pretend he’s not cringe. Cigarettes on a space station and effectively performing swag don’t make up for how much he clearly wants to suck John’s dick. Which he did at least twice.

Harrow: 10/10. Spent most of her life being mean to Gideon because she was too hot to deal with and lobotomized a coffee shop AU into existence. Thinks Ianthe Tridentarius is beautiful. Once built a bone cocoon to sleep in after not drinking water for two days. Should’ve told God months ago that she just didn’t want to eat his fucking biscuits and stop offering.

John: 10/10. Unfortunately, this scale only goes up to 10 but we all know it’s not enough. Deeply cringe in a myriad of ways, chiefly among them the way he inflicts his barely veiled incest kink on all his friends. That one dad joke was gold, though.

This was getting too long but for the record: Aiglamene is cool and so is Abigail Pent. Magnus is not cool but he’s a fun time. The Terrible Teens are exempt from judgement on account of being 14.

[katakaluptastrophy]

So, it's the last days and a weird-looking guy called John is yelling about the end of the world.

AKA, it's Advent and we've reached the stage of Alectopause where I'm apparently writing Bible studies for the weird goth teens that hang out in graveyards... So let's talk about portentious guys called John and why a nun might have joined a necromancy cult.

Anyway, you know Advent, the cheerful and cozy time when we all think about cute baby Jesus as we get ready for Christmas, right?

WRONG

It's currently the second Sunday of Advent, and in lots of churches that follow the liturgical year, people will have been hearing about John the Baptist today (Me: "John". My phone: "Gaius?". Me: "John the-". My phone: "Necromancer?").

Without going into too much detail, John the Baptist is important because he's a prophet that points to the coming of Jesus. He first does this rather impressively in utero, but is probably best known for wandering the wilderness wearing camel hide and eating locusts, shouting about how the end is nigh and, hence the name, baptising people to cleanse them from their sins. People are pretty impressed by all this and start asking him if he is the promised messiah or one of the great prophets come again. He answers no, his job is to point towards one greater than him. He baptises Jesus, the heavens open, and not long afterwards John annoys the authorities and ends up with his head on an ornamental platter.

Now John the Baptist obviously isn't the main Biblical John evoked by John Gaius. That dubious honour probably goes to the beloved disciple John the Apostle, also known for The Gospel According To and The Apocalypse Of, aka the Book of Revelation, the Bible's account of the end of the world.

But John the Baptist (no, autocorrect, not "John the Necromancer") is relevant too, and not just because he's a guy called John, chosen by a higher power to lay the groundwork for better things to come and who falls afoul of the authorities with dramatic consequences.

Let's cycle back round to Advent for a moment. The reason Advent can both be aww cute little baby Jesus and also WHERE ARE YOU GOING WHEN YOU DIE?! is because in Christian theology, Jesus' birth and the end of the world are linked: the first and the second coming of Christ.

In Nona The Ninth, we learn that John and his friends are living in a world on the edge. Without some incredible plan - the cryo ships, the promise of FTL - everyone is going to die. Humanity has rendered the world uninhabitable. Although we get very few details of the broader geopolitical situation, we have to assume it's one rife with natural disasters and conflict.

In the Bible, Jesus talks about a world with famines and earthquakes, wars and rumours of wars, where to find yourself in those days with children would be a tragedy and to be pregnant even worse (maternity problem, anyone?). Specifically, this is when he talks about the signs of the end of the world and his second coming.

So what about M-'s nun? The first time we meet her is when she's advising John against his all-day Jesus Christ Superstar healing ministry.

And John's anxiety about meeting her is pretty apt. He says: "I was worried I was going to get the Antichrist bit from her too". Note the "too" - by this point, John has already been accused of being the Antichrist. Why? Because alongside those rumours of wars and earthquakes, Jesus gives another sign to watch out for: false prophets.

But M-'s nun saw John and his powers and - for reasons we never learn - believed they were miraculous, a gift from God. She appealed to the Vatican to investigate and recognise this. And her presence and this campaign apparently made a significant impact in reducing some of the issues they were facing. Somehow, she met awful, smarmy John and his corpse buddies and thought she was seeing the hand of God miraculously at work in the last days.

This bears repeating, because I've seen suggestions that she believed he was God, or was somehow converted to the cause of necromancy, but at least by John's narrative it's much simpler than that: right to the end she's praying for him in very Catholic terms to find clarity in his purpose.

This is the last we see of her:

She just smiled at me. She said, John, don’t misunderstand. I want to help you. I truly believe that in our most terrible hours we don’t instinctively reach out to God; we push ourselves away from Him. Don’t feel bad for not rising heroically to the occasion right now. Fear doesn’t help us achieve a state of grace; it deafens the heart. John, I truly believe you can save everyone. So concentrate, please. She said, Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. And she shot herself.

While obviously you are probably not walking a straightforwardly orthodox path if you're shooting yourself to help the leader of a self-proclaimed necromancy cult locate the soul, her language here is very focused on the Catholic understanding of sin and death. A "state of grace" refers to the condition of your soul when it's not burdened with serious sins. It's the state you're in after you're baptised or after you've been to confession. Being in a state of grace is one's soul being on a wavelength with God; it's the necessary state to enter heaven.

And the Hail Mary? Catholics believe that Mary has the power to intercede for them with God. And the most important moment at which she could intercede would be at the point of death where the state of your soul determines your eternal destination. This isn't a wacky necromancy cultist talking. I suspect she sees this less as a suicide (which the Catholic Church has historically not had the most nuanced views on...) than a fulfilment of Jesus' teaching to keep his commandments and that there is no greater love than to lay down your life for your friends.

We're not privy to exactly what she thought, and I don't think anyone's suggesting her approach was entirely orthodox, but if he's not the Second Coming, and he's not the Antichrist, and there are wars and rumours of wars and floods and earthquakes...did she see him as a prophet of the apocalypse? A sort of John the Baptist of the end times, who in demonstrating the reality of the soul would bring people to Christ before He came again?

Unfortunately for M-'s nun, John was not what she fervently believed him to be. And unlike John the Baptist, who said no when asked if he was something he was not, John used M-'s nun's death as a springboard to claim the trappings of both divinity and Catholicism for himself.

Unfortunately for John, judgement is coming in the form of an angry teenager Harrowing Hell and the very power he usurped, armed with a very big sword.

[bruciemilf]

Okay so civilian AU where the batkids don't want their dad dating Clark (not because they hate Clark, they love him, they just don't want their dad Dating) but they don't outright say it because Clark makes Bruce happy, so they just. Commit micro aggressions.

Clark gets turned around in the Manor? Jason has a snarky comment about how "if you can't even find your way around a house, how do you expect to find your way around Gotham?"

There's a bomb threat while they're out at the mall (it's Gotham) and Clark’s slightly panicking. Dick helps calm him down, but not without the patronizing comment of, "the first bomb threat's always the hardest. You're not going to last long here if you still get so freaked out about bomb threats—it's best if you just go back to Metropolis."

Clark asks why Cass resorts to sign language only when around him, like stops mid-sentence and switches to sign when he enters the room. Cass looks innocently at him and signs, "I only speak around people I'm comfortable with and I know will stay."

Damian just flat-out ignores him. Clark can't even say anything because Damian’s just Like That. Titus chews up all Clark’s clothes? "I'm not responsible for my dog's habits, Kent."

Clark tries and fails to articulate a business proposal on the behalf of WE Tim comes to rescue him with a sympathetic but pointed comment about how, "it's okay, not everyone knows how to pitch proposals. In upper-class society, it's a necessary skill—even Steph knows, and I doubt she's ever set foot in WE, but it's fine you don't know, really! Just...stay away from my company, will you? It's a family affair."

Clark Knows they don't like him, but the comments are isolated and innocent enough that he can't point anything out without it seeming like he's nitpicking.

- batposts (on anon because I'd rather you didn't see my main)

WHEEZE POOR CLARK - this tastes so much like the bitterness I had for my mom's first boyfriend. Let me tell you me and my brother invented a new layer of hell for that man.

OH OH OH - Clark thinks the batkids are invincible, they're Bruce's perfect baby angels (quoted from the titan dad himself) but he quickly realizes that's not the case at all.

Like, maybe Tim says something snarky during dinner, something intentionally smarmy about the class difference between clark and Bruce and isn't it wonderful they lasted so long despite being so different?

And Clark doesn't even blink at that, he's used to Tim being Tim, but Bruce? " What did you say, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne?"

An ivory red lits Tim's ghostly pale painted face on fire. " Um. Jay-"

" Don't look at me, man."

" Dick-"

" Eşti pe cont propriu, cretinule. (You're on your own, moron - I like to think Dick only ever insults his siblings in Romanian)

" Steph?"

" No habla little bitch."

" Dami?"

Damian stares at him, silently squishing his cheek againts a fuming Bruce's forearm. Needless to say Tim doesn't have desert or coffee for a WEEK and Bruce has a long talk with his kids.

Counterattack: Clark's kids do the exact opposite. They just snatch Bruce, OUR DAD NOW, CHUCKLEFUCKS, and dip straight up.

When they actually DO meet, let Jon look at Dami glowering at him, because NEW BABIES? IN THE NEST? NO- and just laugh.

He laughs. That's it. " Okay, first of all, you're adorable and I love everything about you. "

Conner is straight up like,

hey Jason, right? You don't have to worry about Bruce anymore, dude. I'm kinda planning on moving in? So you can move back out. I know for a fact you have the best room in this overpriced box and I plan on taking it. Haha, just messing! Seriously though, move out. I got this.

[dbnightingale24]

You Didn't Have To Say Yes...

A Pete Brenner Love Story

~~

My first Patreon story!! I decided that Pete needs a love story, cause I feel like he gets shit on a lot. He's not a bad guy, he just has some...bad habits.

Thank you to everyone for your patience (once again), and I hope you all enjoy! As always, thank you to @fuckingbye for my amazing moldboard! I love it and I love you! I wrote this in a week (I don't know what's going on with my brain as of late), and I'm really excited for it!

Word Count: 49,380

Warnings: Pete Brenner, Smut, MINORS DNI 18+, Swearing, Daddy Kink, Drinking, Smoking, Drug Use, Angst, Self Hate, Semi-Public Sex (fingering), Open Marriage (Toxic Relationship), Abuse, Fluff, Family Drama, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Abortion ...I think that's it? I'm pretty sure I covered all the bases...yeah

Songs That Inspired This Chapter: If You're Feeling Down, I Just Wanna Make You Happier Baby

Summary: Pete Brenner is perfectly fine with everyone continuing he's a selfish piece of shit. That is, until you walked into his life, and turned everything upside down.

~~

I do not give consent/permission for my stories/works to be posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of behavior, this is for entertainment purposes only.

~~

~~

“C’mon, give me a smile,” Pete beams, his words tailing a slight slur as you make someone else’s Manhattan.

“I think it’s time for you to go, Mr. Brenner,” you giggle dismissively, flipping your hair and shaking up the cocktail mixer.

“I wonder how much sweeter my name would sound if you were underneath me,” he grins and lifts his eyes at you. You ignore the heat in the pit of your stomach, not wanting to surrender to his smarmy charm.

Pete Brenner doesn’t give up easily, you’ll give him that. 

“I’m sure your wife is happy that you’re always here, trying to bring me home instead of spending time with her,” you nod with a glance towards his left hand. A waitress comes over, picking up the next round of drinks.

“I’ve told ya, she has her fun and I have mine.”

“Cause that’s what every woman loves to hear. Woo me even more, Brenner,” you laugh, turning around and getting started on the next drink.

“Your ass looks amazing in those shorts.”

You laugh as you call over your shoulder, “I’m ordering you a cab.”

“I can take myself,” he mutters with an exasperated sigh. You know he’s pulling out his wallet, frustrated that you’re not leaving with him again.

“We go through the same motions every time, Pete. I don’t want you driving home drunk.”

“You refuse to sleep with me, but you care about my well being? I think you’re finally startin’ to warm up to me.”

“I don’t sleep with married men, Pete. Find a new dream to chase. You know the drill, the cab will be here in ten.”

Pete Brenner came stumbling into your life about a year and a half ago, and he’s been a character since day one. He was down on his luck, drinking until he could barely stand, refusing help from anyone, always ending with the same mantra every night:

“I’ve made this fucking far on my own, I can make it to my own fucking house!”

No matter how much you pushed, he wouldn’t accept help from you. He always refused service from everyone except you. At first he didn’t say anything, he just watched you and let his eyes roam over your body. He never said out loud that he wanted you, but he didn’t exactly go out of his way to hide it either. He was so obvious he never needed to say it explicitly. The glint of his gold wedding band always caught your attention under the sparkling lights of the nightclub, but seeing as he spent every night there until closing, you didn’t think it made much of a difference.

Until one night, eight months ago.

“There she is! My favorite girl!” he beamed, a cocky smile cemented on his lips.

The woman sauntering next to him didn’t seem to think too highly of the nickname he called you. 

“I’ll take a bourbon, and this sweet little thing next to me will have a Strawberry Daiquiri,” he told you, though his eyes never left your chest.

“Oh? Wedding anniversary?” you half smiled as you tried to put on your workplace happy face even though you mentally thought to yourself ‘he can’t be that sleazy to bring her to this dump on their wedding anniversary.’

“Got a new job, sweetheart,” he smirked. You didn’t miss the mischievous shine in his eyes in the club’s half light.

He was a bold mother fucker to bring his wife along just to flirt with you in plain view of her. Not many men had that much audacity when it came to you. 

“I’m Y/N,” you offered with a smile.

You genuinely pitied the woman.

“Tina,” she responded with a plastic smile.

Big boobs, micro-waist, big fake blonde hair, and Pete had ordered her a strawberry daiquiri. She fit the description of most “Tina’s” that came into the club. However, the large rock on her ring finger was nothing to scoff at.

“Oh, don’t pout, honey,” Pete taunted her. “This is what you wanted, right? Me to get a brand new important job and show you off? That’s what you’ve been bitchin about for months, isn’t it? So smile, would ya? You got ya wish.”

Someone was feeling prickly that night.

“First round of drinks are on the house. Congrats, Pete,” you smiled as you set both drinks down.

“Keep ‘em comin’, sweetheart,” he winked at you, handing you a hundred.

While it may have not been anything new to you (Pete always tipped generously), Tina’s eyes went wide and you didn’t miss the way her cheeks burned and blushed with anger.

You wanted to stay as far away from them as the night allowed.

You happily took shots with some of your regulars as the night went on and evened out. Your friends started showing up for their shifts, which helped your sour mood from earlier in the day (even though your ex-fiancee showed up outside of your apartment to harass you yet again). The more you drank, the more you started to dance along with the music; which meant Pete couldn’t keep his gaze off you.

“Why are you single?” Pete asked once his wife got up to go to the bathroom.

“You don’t strike me as the cruel type, Mr. Brenner,” you grinned as you made him another drink.

“Curiosity doesn’t equate to cruelty.”“You’re still here with your wife.”

“She’s in the bathroom.”

“Why’d you bring her tonight?”

“You heard me, this is what she wanted,” he cynically scoffed.

“They’re a lot nicer clubs than this one.”

“Can’t all be that nice if you don’t work there, sweetie.”

You both looked at each other for a moment before you heard, “Darlin’!” coming from the other end of the bar.

“Comin’ Charlie,” you laughed, breaking the stare with him, and shook your head. You used the bar to push yourself off away, down to it’s other end while Pete sipped the last of his remaining drink.

You didn’t need glasses to see that Pete Brenner was an attractive man, and he was important...well, he did his best to imply his importance (as if it would get him far with you). You’d be a liar if you said you hadn’t thought about going a few rounds with him in the bedroom, but you didn’t sleep with married men. 

No matter how hard they tried, you had a set of both personal and professional rules that you abided by.

For the rest of the night, you stayed away from Pete and his wife unless they needed a refill. It was almost as if Tina was trying to make him regret his choice of celebration because she was throwing back her drinks like they were water. The night went smoothly enough, nevertheless, until you went outside for a smoke break.

“You should really quit those things,” came the voice of the last man you wanted to see or hear from.

“What do you want, Mark?”

“I come in peace, Sweet Thing,” he laughed, putting his hands up.

You’d always hated the nickname.

“Didn’t get enough arguing this morning? What else could you possibly have to say?” you questioned while you exhaled your frustration.

“You know you miss me, baby.”

“I miss the peace I had in my life before I met you.”

“You’re still working at this dump?”

“I have bills to pay.”

“You know I’d be more than happy to take care of you.”“Don’t want it. Nor do I want anything from you,” you snapped with a growl.

“Yet you drove yourself here in the car I bought for you,” he sneered, nodding in the direction of where the car was parked.

“Take the fucking car back then, Mark. If it means you’ll leave me the fuck alone, take back every single thing you ever gave me.”

Snickering, he made his way to you and grabbed your arm saying,“don’t be bitter when I know just how sweet you’re capable of being.”

With a scoff, you threw down your cigarette and bludgeoned it, “fuck this.”

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Enough with the goddamn attitude, Sweet Thing-”

“Let me go!”

“You’re coming with me-”

“Let her go!” you heard Pete yell as he quickly made his way over to you, leaving his wife to stumble to their car all alone.

She looked slack jawed from Pete to you, before her stare turned venomous and settled on you. It’s just what you needed on top of everything else; his prized Barbie play-toy thinking you were fucking her husband. 

Great.

~~

Read the rest of the story here

[luveline]

Could you write some more steve fluff literally anything I love your writing so much.

omg i def can tysm for reading

Steve loves the feeling of your naked knee against his thigh, that tiny press of warmth. You’re cross-legged to his slouched, sideways to his forwards. Your open nail polish balances precariously on your foot, the smell sharp in his nose. 

“So Cindy-”

“Who’s Cindy?” he asks, pulling his gaze from your knee to your face, the tip of your tongue poking between your lips in concentration as you paint your index fingernail with careful strokes.

“She was in Algebra 02 with us.”

Steve makes a noise of realisation and you dip the brush back in the small glass bottle, careful not to tip it over. Steve sighs, taking it between his fingers and you smile gratefully, continuing, “So Cindy gets all sulky and of course her boyfriend doesn’t notice ‘cos he’s a total deadbeat.”

“Of course.”

You grin at him. “Anyways, Warren turns up and he’s doing his ‘I’m so handsome and nice’ thing that he does and asks her what’s wrong. She tells him and she’s crying, and oh, Stevie, isn’t it something straight out of a teenie boppers movie?” Your voice goes all high and dreamy, your hand thrown carefully against your head in theatrics. “They share a kiss and go home together.”

“He’s handsome?” Steve asks, bemused. 

“Not as handsome as you,” you say without missing a beat. 

He grins and he knows he looks smarmy but he doesn’t care as he leans in, trying to catch a kiss any way he can. You seem like you might let him have one when you turn your face and his lips land on your cheek. He reaches out, mock furious, hands at your neck and holding you firmly still as he kisses a path from your cheek to the corner of your lips, then finally atop your giggling mouth. 

“You can’t go to these stupid parties without me if you’re going to tell me how handsome the dudes are when you get back,” he complains into your skin. 

Steve thinks this might be when you look your prettiest, after the party with your make up all smudged up and your lip gloss kissed off by no one other than himself, in ratty soft pajamas a half hour from passing out for the night. Your tiredness shows in the rasp of your voice and the half-lidded nature of your eyes. 

“You should’ve come to the party with me,” you say lightly, hands scrunching in the neckline of his shirt. 

“Dustin needed supervision,” he says apologetically. 

“I know, baby,” you say, kissing him again. “I don’t really mind, but I do miss you when you can’t come with me, and- oh, fuck.”

Steve follows your eyes down, your fingers bunched in his shirt. You pull away and there’s polish all over his collar, dark and definitely permanent. 

“Your shirt,” you say worriedly. 

“Your nails!” Steve says, taking your wrist into his hand. “They took so long.”

“Steve, I’ve ruined your shirt.”

He hardly cares. Anything for a kiss. 

“And your nails. Want me to do them for you?” he asks.

You smile at him, a soft, fond tilt of the lips. “You want to?”

“Of course I do, I bet I can do them faster, too. I’m good at everything. This’ll be a piece of cake, then my girl can finally get some shut eye.”

You roll your eyes but extend your hand obligingly when he takes it. Steve wipes the ruined polish off of your nails and skin with one of your q-tips and begins to paint your nails again, clumsy though exceedingly careful strokes. He’s trying hard enough to have broken a sweat by the time he’s finished, long minutes later full of your yawns. 

“Shit,” he says, pulling back to look at his work from afar. 

“Thanks, Stevie,” you say, holding your wet hand away from your bodies as you dump yourself onto his shoulder. You kiss his ruined shirt, his bicep through fabric. “You’re the nicest.”

“They’re awful. Here, I’ll do them again.”

“You will not,” you murmur, sounding dangerously close to sleep. He watches you lose the battle with your tired eyes, lashes fluttering uselessly until they stay closed. 

“Sorry about your shirt,” you whisper.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. He’s not sure if you’ve heard him. You draw silent and he watches your hand slowly fall, threading his fingers through yours cautiously, hoping to stop from another ruinous nail polish incident. 

Something in you must be awake. You squeeze his hand, your cheek rubbing into his arm slowly. He ducks down to kiss your forehead, wondering fondly why your nails couldn’t have waited until morning. 

[bunji-enthusiast]

Today was a good day — Yuuta Okkotsu

• Sypnosis || He can’t help but just recall all the things about you that made today a good one.

• warnings || sfw, first attempt at writing this boy, fluffy to the MAX.

• pairing || Yuuta/GN!Reader

• Note || I got inspired by Ice Cube’s song It was a Good Day, sue me.

He can’t help but just smile at the way you can talk, hold yourself accountable or simply just even do things for people. Even if it was something you didn’t realize you did. He notices all of it.

Your hair, even if you didn’t have any. He’d still see you line your body was the very things sculpted by the god of the sun. Made so perfectly he felt like he’d taint you with his touch.

Yuuta can’t help but crack up whenever you think, having a very cute and certain expression ingrained into his brain when he prefaces that very expression whether on missions or even on regular occasions.

Oh goodness, even your mannerisms are so adorable. He can’t get enough of you, even in ways he didn’t realize… you really do make his day a little better.

To be a little more truthful, Yuuta does feel somewhat embarrassed if he is unwillfully a little obvious about his tiny crush on you. Sometimes even Panda or Inumaki would point out the barely visible blush dusting the shell of his ears to the front of his cheeks.

In a way, Yuuta finds comfort in your presence. Sometimes going out of his way to help you with errands or even just to go shopping if that had been a thing of yours.

If you had a particular thing for taking pictures, even of yourself or scenery. He’d be happy to partake in your hobby! Yuuta thinks it’s pretty neat how photography can be a form of art, divulged with messages you can interpret yourself at first look.

Yuuta loves your hands, no matter the size. His own hands are unfortunately calloused to the touch, not as smooth as to the touch they had used to be. He doesn’t exactly know how to take care of his hands properly.

He loves your voice, the dulcet and varied tones it can carry depending on the time of the day. Yuuta can simply listen to your voice for hours on end if he had the chance to.

“You alright?” You spoke, waving your hand for a few moments to gain Yuuta’s attention once more if it was possible. “You kinda been staring off into the distance my dude.” You snorted with a smarmy grin.

Yuuta looked up and gained eye contact with you, blinking for a second to get the blurried traces of the sleep he had been ripped away from before. “Ah, sorry.. just thinking about something.” He smiled gently, rubbing the nape of his neck as he would. At times you have seen Yuuta be so particularly serious and poised in combat and even out of combat. This was a rare occurrence where he had been so shy, reminiscent of when he had first joined Jujustu High.

You nodded and crossed your legs, thinking of what else to say as you had forgotten what you had been talking about before when you had noticed Yuuta not paying attention. “Man, what was it I was talking about?” With a groan you facepalmed your head.

“I think you were talking about how you had liked those.. videos that had made you laugh so much.” Yuuta spoke, within a bit of a nod that had indicated he was trying to spark an idea as he wasn’t too sure of what it was himself. His own fault, he had thought.

“AH! That was it,” With a snap of your finger, your lips curled into an enlightened smile. “Thank you.” Yuuta had nodded, somewhat in a way to encourage you to keep going. Then you perked up again, and took out your phone teeming with a sort of laughter when you remembered what the video you were thinking of specifically was called.

“Aha.. all the keywords baby.” Yuuta raised a brow at this, waiting for your elaboration. “One sec, I almost have it. I swear.” He looked at you with a curious smile, his brows flattened and curved. His eyes just teeming with a type of joy that could never truly be explained, never described.

You then turned the screen of your phone to the raven-haired boy, the video now playing on screen. “Ple-pfft.” It was a clip from a stream displaying Fanum and his friends, trying to keep themselves from losing it which in turn had failed at the near end of the clip. The clip was ridiculously popular, in its own right of course.

Yuuta let out a chuckle, then erupted into laughter. Causing you to laugh as well, you simply couldn’t help it. Too good!

“Thank you, you find some pretty interesting stuff.” Yuuta said, still chuckling a little bit from the post-high euphoria. You nodded with your very iconic grin, being the proudest best friend that you were. Sometimes you just liked to be a little dramatic.

“What can I say?” You laid a hand on your chest, wiggling your finger slightly with your other hand as you displayed a dramatic scene, “I live to be the best.”

Yuuta let out another breathy laugh, leaning back on his rear slightly as he let out a hum.

Yeah, this was a damn good day.

[callsignthirsty]

"I bet you think you're real cute letting them put their hands all over you. We'll see how cute you look later when I get you home." with Hangman! Happy celebration!

Hey Gigi —

I know it looks like I forgot about this, but I promise I didn’t (writer’s block’s a bitch, amiright?). I hope that it doesn’t disappoint. This is the first time I’ve written anything Hangman on my own, so hopefully, he’s recognizable.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x F!Reader Word Count: 677 Warnings: N/A (who is she?)

Smut Prompt #11

It’s an ordinary night at the Hard Deck. Nothing for the books. Just drinks and good company. Even the fact that Hangman’s eyes have been on you all night isn’t something to write home about. The intensity with which he’s watching you, however, is.

Glance. Glare. Glower.

Phoenix’s fingers feather over your exposed collarbone as she tucks loose hairs over your shoulder. Rooster’s broad hand light against your lower back as he squeezes behind you to line up for his next shot—it isn’t even a good one. Payback’s fingers linger as he passes you a fresh bottle. Bob’s arm winds around your hip to pull you out of Coyote’s way and subsequently into himself when Coyote circles the table after Rooster scratches.

None of this stops you from laughing along with your friends as the night sails on. Despite what it may look like to outsiders, you know these are innocent touches. Well, not innocent. You know what they’re up to, and you’d put money on it that Jake does, too. Practically everyone is in on the joke. But that doesn’t mean he likes it. But, you think as Rooster wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you in close to ask for your advice on his next shot—not that it matters, Coyote’s going to win on his next turn—, their touches are nothing compared to the electricity that crackles through you when Jakes looks your way.

You haven’t reacted to a single touch that night, but that hardly matters. Not to green eyes. Not when the entire team has spent the night repositioning you at the pool table, brushing against you. Touching you. Small, inconsequential, intentional touches that are designed to crawl under Hangman’s skin. A taste of his own medicine.

“There you are, darlin’,” Hangman drawls, catching you around the waist as you try to skirt his game of darts. He reels you in until your back is pressed firmly against his chest, away from the sticky, lingering touches of his squadmates. “Sorry, Bobby, but I’m going to have to wrap this up.” He lines up his first shot. Bullseye. “It’s past baby’s bedtime.”

You guffaw, Jake’s arm tightening around you before he throws another bullseye. “Okay, Caveman.” The quip earns you a snicker from the peanut gallery.

“I bet you think you’re real cute,” he grumbles under his breath so only you can hear, “letting them put their hands all over you.” He hooks his index finger through the belt loop on your pants, his thumb sneaking beneath your shirt to rub teasingly at the sensitive skin around your hipbones. A touch that has the little hairs on your lower back standing at attention, the smooth skin beneath his thumb breaking out in goosebumps. He stands up to his full height to line up his last shot as he says: “We’ll see how cute you look later when I get you home.”

Before you can drag him out of the bar, Bob snorts.

“You got somethin’ to say, baby on board?”

Bob’s eyes widen a bit at being called out. He reaches up with the same hand that’s holding his Coke to adjust the glasses on his nose. “No– ah– well,” he clears his throat, eyes flicking to Phoenix, “just that she’d probably still look cute, you know–”

“Bob,” Payback tries to help out by cutting him off.

“–when you, uh, get her home. She’d– I mean, she’s always cute, right?” Closer to the pool table, Omaha is shaking his head while Fanboy groans an ‘oh my god.’ “So I don’t know why that’d stop.”

A smarmy, shit-eating grin slowly twists Hangman’s lips up until Phoenix is rolling her eyes. “That’s a mighty fine theory, Bobby,” he says, linking his fingers. He turns you in his arms, leaning in close enough that his breath tickles your ear. “How about we get out of here and test it out?”

Phoenix and Coyote boo you out of the bar.

A couple of hours later, Bob receives a photo that has him sputtering, his cheeks flaming.

[sin-sidejob]

hello ghostJR anon here!!, If you want to of course, can you EHEM- got me all nervous now uhhh- ghost JR window sex with mc pressed against one of the windows and him just loving the vieww 👀👀

Ghost!JR Scheimpough x GN AFAB Reader

A Haunting Display

warnings: smut, NSFW, minors DNI, p-in-v smut, ghost sex, monsterfucking I guess?? Specter sex?? Heh. Anyways, porn. AFAB Reader who wears a dress and has "tits", non-descript. Use of pet names and terms of endearment such as baby, pretty little thing, peach, and bunny. Here, he's a mid-century man and speaks + fucks like it

contents: smut, against a window smut, it’s just smut and you fuck a smarmy ghost. Can I tell you it’s smut again?? here’s the link to my Halloween fic with ghost JR Scheimpough + here’s the link to the art that started it all from Skoshibuns on Instagram + tag list: @damnitkyla + 💤 anon honorable mentions lol — can be read independently of the work this is based on or together, whatever gets your rocks off length: 2.7k note: anon, I got VERY carried away with the concept — many thanks to you, little sinner ;)

Having a ghostly roommate didn’t turn out so bad, especially now that you have company and companionship and a partner that knows he’s lucky to have you. You’re quite fortunate that JR’s got a tendency to show you just how appreciative and grateful he is for your presence.

Including now, as he interrupted your Sunday cleaning when you tried to wipe down the windows to coming up from behind and helping you make a mess of them.

“What’re you up to here?”

You turn back from where you stand before the upstairs hallway window, spray bottle of glass cleaner in one hand and an old rag in the other.

“Just cleaning! Saw from outside when I got back from work yesterday that the window looked a bit smudged,” smiling up at him, brows raised, face innocent, “just figured I could clean it up before it started to bother me.”

JR hums, noncommittal, and you go back to cleaning the window and humming along to the song stuck in your head idly and moving along as you wipe the glass, hearing the warping noise as you go along.

As you try and clean the bottom half of the floor to ceiling length window, you kneel and send the skirt of your dress pooling around your thighs as you wipe the glass clean, revealing more clarity. By the time you stand after setting down the cleaner and rag, you feel the air shift and know JR’s hovering.

“Hello again.”

About to turn, you feel his cold hands wrap around your waist and settle low on your belly, head near yours. “Hi there.”

You purse your lips and try to look at him from the angle, brows furrowed but amused nonetheless. “What’re you up to? You’re a bit clingy today.”

“What, is there something wrong with holding onto you?” JR sends back, speaking into the skin of your neck and sending a chill up your spine with the icy touch. “Why don’t you take a break so you can warm me up?”

“C’mon JR,” You whine, pouting yourself, “I need to clean, I just got this window done and I should do the others.” His eyes flicker with something you don't necessarily recognize and before you know it, he’s got you against the window, encircled by the chill of the glass and of him.

“Look too good to pass up,” he mutters low and hollow in your ear, “shame that you’ll have to clean this window again.” JR grins brightly into the column of your throat, more felt than seen, while his hands drift to your dress and undo the little button on the side and the tied bow, letting it fall and pool at your ankles and does the same to your panties.

He's stripped you bare before the window, the risk that met the proposed reward fleeting as he smooths a hand down your now bare belly to splay across your mons and lower stomach, rubbing at the flushed skin there and feeling you twitch at the chill he always brings, even to the most heated parts of yourself.

You hiss as your nipples pebble against the cool of the glass, chills raise across your body, standing your hair on edge, biting your lip as he soothes you in soft praise, nearly warmed by it as he cups your sex while you stand bare.

He's clothed this time, not like it matters because if your neighbors walk down the street or stare a bit too hard at the third floor of the house, they'll just get a view of you alone with your tits out and squished against the window pane.

"C'mon baby, let me have a chance to show you off'a little, you know how quiet it can be in this house," JR murmurs, nosing at your jaw and breathing shakily once you mewl as his fingers finally curl in the heat of your cunt, the warmth felt in his spine as yours does, feeding off the fire you produce, licking the flames like he does the sweat off your neck. "There's my pretty thing, cooing all sweet for me, taking my fingers so well. So fuckin' pretty," JR comments, kissing your cheek as the other presses to the glass, watching the puffs of your panting breath fogging the glass.

"JR, p-please," you whine, lifting your leg against the glass a bit for him to get the message, his hand lowering from your waist to curl on the underside of your knee, raising it against the window to expose your cunt to the cool of the air. He whistles when he catches the reflection, spotting the shine of your slick from the smears between your thighs and the way it glosses the puffy lips of your pussy, drenched and gleaming for him all on display.

"Looking mighty fine there peach, wish I had a camera," JR croons as he smooths your hair back to nestle his head on your shoulder, wrapping an arm around your torso to squeeze at your tit while the other slides from your walls with a lewd, resounding squelch that makes you moan aloud, brokenly, allowing JR to watch your throat bob in the reflection.

"Maybe a — ah, fuuck — a-another time, baby," you mutter, rocking your hips back and whining once you feel his erection against your ass, wanting him deep like yesterday, like last year. It's promising, the idea of having him documented and real as he pumps your cunt with abandon, and it sends your belly clenching taut with the concept. JR seems to like your reaction, because he makes a noise of approval, guttural and from deep in his chest, sounding it out in a groan of your name as he presses against your back as he cages you in.

“I’ll hold you to it,” 

He punctuates his words with grinds against your backside, a hand cupping the cleft of your ass cheek to widen between your legs so he can slide himself in the pooling slick of your sex. “God, sound so good — ya’hear that?” 

And how could you not? As JR slicks himself in your arousal, you hear it, lewd and raunchy and utterly debauched as you gush for him, thighs sticky and letting him fluidly shift back and forth, drawing in and out until the cockhead catches at your clit. You nod, unable to not hear how wet you are for him in the quiet of the house. 

“Pretty pussy’s practically cryin’ for me baby, and you didn’t want to take a break,” he chides, pointed teeth precariously draping over vital veins, grazing with mirth rather than malice, “want me to let you go back to cleaning?” 

Shaking your head, you sigh breathily and give a weak “Nuh uh” in disagreement, leaning your weight back onto him with his chest supporting your lax spine, easing the burden of standing as he toys with you like a doll. 

“Gonna’ have to speak up, peach,” JR shoots back, tone of voice making it sound like a suggestion, but even when cock-drunk, you know better, “wanna’ have you earn it, right pretty baby?” 

“Yessir,” you slur, tongue heavy as he drags his cock between your lips and covers the sound of your moan with a hand he brings to your lips from your cunt, saturated in your desire as you swallow it down eagerly, hollowing your cheeks as you peer back at him through the glass at his eyes, nearly translucent beyond the glint in them. It always reminds you that he’s not truly a good man, never was one. 

It’s a good thing you don’t care. And besides, he more than makes up for it in how he lays you down. 

“Wanna’ be good f’you, take everything you give me.” 

“That’s right, such a good little bunny. Now breathe for me, I’ve got you,” he gives as a brief warning, shifting your ass and thigh up so he can lean his cock back to sink it deep into your cunt, slowly bottoming out as he hears your cunt suck him in, taking every inch of him. 

You shudder when you feel him knock at your cervix, fat cockhead rubbing deep enough for you to feel it when you inhale, noting the base of him that never fits anyhow as he rocks back and forth slowly, balls patting at your ass as he speeds up. With one hand pressed in support to the window surface, you lean the other back around his neck to nestle in his hair and tug approvingly when his strokes hit just right. 

“Fuck, right there, give it to me please baby,” you beg outright, uncaring about anything other than cumming around his cock and getting stuffed full, certainly forgetting about the window and the whole voyeur thing JR has going on. However, he hadn’t and fulfills your wishes by snapping his hips faster as requested with a dual purpose, especially since he’s got the attention of that pesky neighbor of yours, the one who can’t seem to get the hint and continues to flirt with you. 

By now, seeing you getting fucked against the glass and literally drooling against it by him, using a little flair to make sure he seems as real as possible and nearly human, and how he fucks the breath and sanity from you, JR assumes that your neighbor will leave you the fuck alone. 

He’d also admit he’s gotten quite a bit closer to cumming from having someone see you as fucked-out as you are when it's all because of him. 

The hand that tugs taut at his hair gets him to focus more of his attention on you instead of grinning through the glass, even if he is pleased as punch. “About to cum?” 

You nod, eyes watery in the weight of overwhelmed tears, lip puffy and slick in your spit from you gnawing on it as you gasp and cry for him as he splits you open on his cock, the sound of him colliding in smacks of his hips against your ass have your lids fluttering even as you try and shift your hips back. 

“That’s it baby, fuck yourself on me, nearly there with’ya,” JR groans, snaking a hand from your waist down to your clit again, collecting some slick where it pools at your lips, raising it back up to roll his fingertips over your bundle of nerves in smooth strokes and start spelling out his name, the full one he’s only whispered to you once you’ve fallen asleep most nights. 

Even though you don’t know what he’s spelling, or even what he’s doing beyond piping you well and sending your belly taut as you feel your orgasm building, clenching around him and hearing him stifle a nearly pained sounding groan against the skin of your shoulder. The nosy neighbor is no longer his concern. Rather, getting you to cum around him as soon as possible becomes the highest goal and his one priority. 

His other hand guides your faltering hips back and forth as he slows his pace to go deeper, kissing at your cervix with his cockhead every time he bottoms out, loving the wet splurching noise your cunt makes every time he slides in and out thoroughly. 

With a few more swipes of your clit, you’re nearly there, mewling incoherent words to him as he fucks you dumb against the window, any thoughts emerging as pants against now-heated glass that fog the surface. “Atta’ babe, m’almost there, just gotta’ give me a second, okay?” 

You coo in response, pleased and a bit drowsy with your eyes half-lidded, tits squished between yourself and the window panes. JR’s grip on your fleshy hip tightens, squeezing the dough of your side in his hand as he rubs at your clit. You’re glad you’ve got him standing you up, your knees had given out long ago. 

“Wanna’ cum, c’mon JR, baby please, fuck, fuck — need it.” 

“Need, oh f-fuck, need wha’ peach?” he falters as your cunt clenches taut, feeling himself nearly cum then and there, getting back to his pace as he kisses at your neck. 

“Need your cum, need it s’bad,” whining, you tell him, shifting your hips back with his guidance as you jut your lip out in a pout, tugging on his hair and eliciting another groan from him. 

The admission gets him going, pinching at your clit as he releases deep into your cunt with a cry of your name, deeply uttered into the salt of your skin. The cool of him within your cunt sends you gushing not a whole moment later, neck craned back as you cry aloud open-mouthed, arching against him as he holds onto you, fucking the both of you through your climaxes in short, stuttery thrusts. 

He weakens after a while, slowing to a stop where he locks his knees back to support you, feeling himself flicker from solid to semi-transparent. JR’s eyes are closed shut, head knelt to your shoulder as if in prayer, meanwhile you’ve got your head leaned atop his, meagerly blinking your eyes open to catch a glimpse of the ceiling. 

You falter, setting your weight onto your own feet before catching yourself and leaning back, letting JR’s hand shift to wrap his arm around your waist, easing you to remain still as his other hand guides his now-soft cock out from you, making him hiss once the air greets him as you whine, clenching around nothing due to his absence. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up then into bed for a nap, peach,” JR suggests, exhaustion lacing his tone as he tucks himself back into his pants before reaching for your clothes on the floor, leaving the cleaning products behind for him to take care of later. It’s the least he can do anyhow. 

You hum, turning around and leaning against his side as he walks you to your bedroom, his shoes clacking against the hardwood as your bare feet softly tread. 

JR eases you into the en suite bathroom so he can wipe you down between your thighs, letting you sit at the edge of the tub as he does so, smiling a tad as he realizes that he finally addresses you here in a nearly similar condition. 

“Doing so well for me, almost done,” he praises, kissing at the swells of your cheeks, his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb smooths over the indent of the glass against your face. He guides you back to bed after, tossing the rag in the dirty clothes bin on the way out as he snags a shirt and a pair of baggy shorts for you, helping you into them and then under the covers. 

JR watches as you nestle into bed, a dopey and freshly-fucked smile upon your face meeting his own, unable to not match the joy you radiate. A beat passes and he goes to leave and let you sleep before you break the silence. 

“So, Hank saw?” 

He blinks, tilting his head and feigning confusion, hiding the bob of his throat.. “Hank?” 

“The neighbor that keeps bothering me that you want to kill, the one who took a good look at my tits while you were plowing me like a workman’s horse,” you offer as you smooth the covers over your waist, curling up against the pillows and staring up at him from where he sits at the edge of the bed. 

He hesitates before muttering out a quiet “maybe” that makes you snicker, nose upturning as you nearly giggle, wriggling deeper into the bed and its comfort. 

“Eh, fuck him. I don’t think he’ll be messing with me anymore.” murmuring, you shut your eyes as you continue to giggle, dark and devilish as you grin against the pillows, peeking at him between little fits of laughter. 

He heads out, fading more and more as he heads to the door, nearly glassy in how the sharpest features are his eyes, glinting beneath his metal-edged frames. JR falters though, lingering by the door as you whisper his name, getting his head to turn just as you smile soft, adoringly, and it nearly breaks his heart how perfect you look in this moment. 

“Thank you JR.” 

He smiles and it wrinkles the lines in his face, making him look like a happier man. 

“Anytime peach.”