#the need to rip his shirt open from the side

[vaginalvr]

Okay I don’t know if you’d be up to writing this, and I totally get if you wouldn’t want to so please don’t feel presssured to at all!

I just See a lot of smut for Spencer with more rough sex, and I have chronic pain so sometimes it’s hard to Picture that. I was wondering if you could write some smut for a reader with chronic pain, and Spencer being mindful of that. Just some gentle smut please I cannot be getting thrown about💔 anyway thank you❤️❤️

content warning: Soft dom!Spencer, chronic pain, gentle sex, praise, emotional intimacy, mindful partner behavior, lots of lube, oral (f receiving), aftercare

a/n: this is me after writing 10 requests in one day💔 rip my eyes it 3 am

word count ~ 1k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You didn’t realize how long you’d been zoning out until Spencer’s soft voice pulled you back.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You blinked and found him watching you from the other end of the couch, his legs tucked under him, a worn copy of Crime and Punishment resting in his lap. He looked at you over the top of his glasses, brows pinched in quiet concern. It wasn’t an unusual question—Spencer asked you that often. Not in a performative way. Not like some people who asked and didn’t really want to hear the answer. He meant it.

“Just sore,” you admitted softly, shifting a little under the blanket. “Flare’s been creeping in since this morning.”

Spencer set the book down right away, scooting a little closer without overwhelming your space. “Do you want anything? Heat pack? Tea? Massage?”

Your lips twitched in a soft smile. “You.”

He stilled for a second, his eyes softening as his hand found yours under the blanket. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I miss you.” Your voice cracked a little at the end.

Spencer’s gaze dropped to your joined hands, his thumb brushing slowly across your knuckles. “You never have to miss me. I’m yours. However you need me.”

He kissed your fingers first, then your wrist, before shifting onto his knees, only when he saw you nod in permission.

“You’ll tell me if something hurts,” he murmured, kneeling between your legs on the couch as you leaned back, the cushions soft behind you. “Even if it’s just a little uncomfortable, I want to know. Promise?”

You nodded. “Promise.”

“I’ll go slow,” he said, brushing his knuckles down the side of your cheek, then lower—across your collarbone, over your shirt, resting right where your ribs met your stomach. “Can I take this off?”

You lifted your arms carefully, and he helped you out of it like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever done. There was no fumbling, no rush—just those gentle fingers and those big, brown eyes drinking you in like you were art.

When he kissed you, it was deep and sweet and unhurried. The kind of kiss that said I love you, not just I want you. His hands stayed planted on your sides, barely moving, just warm and steady pressure grounding you in the soft hush of the room.

He kissed down your neck, pausing every few inches to check in. “Still okay?” he whispered against your pulse.

“Yes, Spence,” you sighed, relaxing into the cushions as he undid your bra next, helping you lay back without straining. You were so used to guarding your body—against jolts, against pain, against people who didn’t get it. But Spencer… Spencer treated you like something valuable, not fragile.

His mouth traveled lower, kissing over your sternum, then the curve of your breast, then lower, kneeling off the couch now as he helped slide your pajama bottoms down—slowly, carefully, until you were bare and soft and stretched out in front of him.

He kissed the inside of your knee.

“I love your body,” he whispered like a secret. “All of it. The parts that ache, the parts that don’t. All of it is yours, and I love every inch.”

Your eyes welled with emotion before he even touched you. He pressed a kiss to your hip bone, and then reached into the drawer beside the couch for the bottle of lube you both kept there now—because he was thoughtful like that.

“I’m going to use a lot,” he said gently, his voice practically a whisper, like you were something holy. “I want it to feel good, not just bearable.”

He kissed your inner thigh as he warmed the lube in his hands, and when his fingers finally touched you, they were slick and slow and so careful. He worked in soft circles, not going deep, not adding pressure—just moving like he had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be.

When his mouth joined in, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped you.

“Too much?” he asked instantly, pulling back.

“No,” you breathed. “Not even close.”

He made you come with his mouth and fingers, slow and melting, your thighs shaking just a little, your fingers curled tight in his curls. But even when you came, he didn’t pull away. He just kept kissing, licking, easing you through it like a wave, whispering soft praises against your skin.

“You’re amazing. So perfect. So good for me.”

When he finally came back up, he kissed your temple and let you rest a minute, stroking your side with the backs of his fingers.

“Still want more?”

You smiled sleepily. “I always want more of you.”

He helped you roll slightly onto your side, arranging pillows under your hip and between your knees. You were spooned in the softest way, your back against his chest, one of his arms tucked under your head while the other trailed down your stomach, careful not to jostle your spine or shift your hips too much.

“Tell me if I need to adjust,” he murmured, nuzzling the back of your neck as you felt his cock press against the crease of your ass. He was hard—so hard—but still holding back, waiting for the go-ahead.

“I’m ready,” you whispered, already slick and stretched from earlier. “Please.”

He guided himself in slowly, steadily, inch by inch, stopping when you inhaled a little too sharply, waiting until you nodded. And then he was fully seated inside you, both of you breathing into the warmth, the closeness.

“Good?” he asked softly, kissing the top of your shoulder.

You nodded. “So good.”

He moved in the tiniest thrusts—gentle, rhythmic, shallow—nothing jarring, just his body against yours, slow and safe and grounding. You could hear how wet you were with every shift of his hips, his breath coming in soft, uneven huffs against your neck.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmured, holding your hand with the one not guiding your hip. “You’re doing so well.”

It wasn’t hard or fast. It didn’t need to be.

It was deep. Intimate. A joining of something far more sacred than bodies.

You came again like that—quiet and overwhelmed, just from the way he held you, the way he filled you, the way he loved you. He came not long after, whispering your name into the space behind your ear, holding you like a prayer.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away. He helped you stay where you were, tucked against his chest, wrapped in blankets, his hand stroking softly over your belly, then your thigh, then your arm.

“Did I hurt you at all?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head, a little choked up. “You made me feel… like a person. Not a problem.”

Spencer held you tighter at that, kissing your temple again. “You are never a problem. You’re everything.”

And in the hush that followed, you finally let yourself drift—safe in his arms, your pain soothed not just by touch, but by love.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Weaponized | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part Eighteen

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Words: ~4,100

Series Tags/Warnings: Violence, Trauma, No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Auror!Sebastian, Auror!MC, Modern AU, Female Reader Insert, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Forced Proximity, Ancient Magic, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Betrayal, Reconciliation, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Divergent

Beta:@dreamy-gal-30 <3<3<3

Auror Division Headquarters, Medical Wing – London

The healers said you were ready to be discharged.

It had been a couple of days and your body still ached—muscle-deep and bone-weary—but the worst had passed. The bandages had been changed, the risk of infection mitigated, your vitals stabilized. A crisp parchment with your release notes sat on the side table, bearing a neat little signature that felt far too clinical for what you'd just survived. Like the kind of signature meant for a sprained wrist, not a magical backlash that nearly ripped you apart from the inside out.

You sat quietly at the edge of the bed, elbows on your knees, boots half-laced and fingers still curled around the laces. You’d stopped trying to finish the knot ten minutes ago. Just sat there, staring at the door like it might open if you willed it hard enough.

It didn’t.

You swallowed against the tightness that had been building in your throat since dawn.

Sebastian hadn’t returned since that first visit—the one the healer mentioned, when he sat silently at your bedside, just watching. After that, nothing. No note. No message. Nothing. And you’d spent every moment since trying not to spiral, trying to keep yourself grounded. 

But the longer the silence stretched, the harder it became.

What if Dominion had gotten to him and that’s why he hadn’t visited? What if he’d been pulled from duty? What if he’d been detained—gagged, discredited, disappeared—all to keep what you’d found buried?

You stood slowly, one hand braced on the bedframe, and steadied yourself against the ache still humming through your limbs. The healer had said you were clear for light activity, but your magic still felt volatile, like lightning trapped under your skin.

It didn’t matter. You couldn’t stay here. Not in this sterile room with too-white sheets and the echo of what you’d nearly lost.

You tried to steel yourself for what came next.

You’d assumed—hoped—you’d leave with Sebastian. That he’d be waiting just outside the door, that he’d help you out of the infirmary and back to his flat, to the place that had started to feel a little like home. But that fantasy had long since thinned, and reality said you’d be heading back to your Ministry quarters. Alone. Back to a room that still smelled like industrial cleaner, a flickering lamp and no sign of Moon.

Your sighed. Told yourself you’d just go back, take your leave, lay low. Regroup. You didn’t need him to—

Then the door flew open.

Sebastian stood on the threshold, chest heaving like he’d run the entire way here. His hair was a wreck, windblown and unstyled, and there were shadows under his eyes like bruises. His jaw was dark with stubble, and his shirt was only halfway buttoned, clearly thrown on in a rush. He looked exhausted. Disheveled. A little wild. But his eyes found you instantly, wide and full of something you didn’t dare name, and for a second, neither of you moved. You just stared.

Then your bag hit the floor. Your feet moved of their own accord. And you collided with him, throwing your arms around his shoulders, face pressing into the space between his neck and collar. He caught you with one arm around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head.

You didn’t realize you were crying until the fabric beneath your cheek started growing damp.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m here, I’m here—”

You couldn’t speak. Just nodded against him, breath hitching as your fingers curled into the fabric at his back.

He was shaking just slightly, like he didn’t mean to, like he was trying to hold it together. And though he didn’t make a sound, you felt it in the way he clung to you.

He was crying, too.

He pulled back after a long minute, just enough to look at you.

His eyes were rimmed in red, lashes damp, expression cracked around the edges like he was barely holding it together. But when he looked at you, it was like everything else faded.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice raw. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve been here when you woke up.”

You shook your head. “You’re here now.”

He exhaled shakily. “I wanted to come. I did. I just—” he glanced away, jaw flexing, “—things got complicated.”

“Complicated?” you echoed.

He hesitated, then gave a small nod. “There’s a lot to explain, and I will, I promise. Just… not here.” He reached down, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “Come home.”

The word caught in your chest.

You blinked, stunned. “Home?”

“My flat,” he clarified gently. "Moon's there too." A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “She’s going to throw a fit when she sees you.”

Your breath caught on a half-laugh, half-sob. “She’s okay?”

“She’s fine. Been glaring at me like it’s my fault you weren’t there.” He leaned in just enough that his forehead brushed yours. “You’ve got a few days off. Come stay with me.”

You didn’t hesitate.

“Okay,” you whispered.

He didn’t say anything, just kissed your temple like it was instinct and bent down to grab your bag, adjusting the strap over his shoulder. His fingers brushed yours as he straightened, and neither of you let go right away.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

The walk through the Ministry corridors was mostly silent. You leaned into him just slightly, and Sebastian slowed his steps to match yours.

A few Aurors passed by and glanced in your direction, but no one stopped. No one asked questions. Maybe they knew better. Maybe Sebastian’s expression told them everything they needed to know.

He got you through the floo with minimal fuss, arm braced tight around you as you stepped through the emerald flames, eyes closing against the nauseating spin of travel. You stumbled as you landed in the familiar warmth of his flat.

Moon greeted you immediately.

She bolted from the windowsill, let out a loud, indignant meow, and began pacing frantic little circles around your feet.

You dropped to your knees before you even shrugged off your coat, fingers burying themselves in her fur. She purred, loudly and ungracefully, as if scolding you and comforting you all at once.

“She’s been sleeping on the hoodie you left here,” Sebastian said softly, setting your bag down by the couch. “Refused the blanket I gave her.”

You laughed quietly, tears prickling again at the corners of your eyes. “She knows who her mom is.”

Sebastian smiled, small and a little worn around the edges. “She also nearly bit me when I tried to move said hoodie, so I’d say her loyalty’s firmly established.”

You scooped the little calico into your arms, pressing your face into her fur, breathing her in like she could ground you. She smelled faintly like his laundry detergent. 

“She missed you,” he added, softer now. “So did I.”

Your chest tightened, and you couldn’t answer right away—just rose slowly to your feet, Moon still cradled against you. When you wobbled, Sebastian stepped forward instinctively, steadying you with a hand on your elbow.

“Still a little dizzy,” you admitted.

“I’ve got you,” he said

He guided you to the couch, pulling a blanket over your lap and sliding a pillow behind your back without asking. Moon curled into your side the second you were seated, purring like a motor engine.

Sebastian crouched to undo your boots, pausing only to glance up. “Okay?”

You nodded, brushing a thumb over Moon’s ear. “You really don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said, voice firmer than before. “Let me.”

You let him.

“I… god, I was so worried about you,” he said eventually, fingers slowing as he tugged at the laces.

You looked down at him, at the way his brow furrowed like the worry had etched itself into the lines of his face and decided to stay.

“I know,” you murmured. “I was worried too. About you.”

He sat back, hands dropping loosely into his lap. “When I saw you fall—” He stopped, jaw working. “I’ve never felt so fucking helpless.”

You nodded slowly. “Me neither.”

He shook his head slowly, like he couldn’t believe you’d say that. “No. No, you were anything but helpless.”

You met his gaze again, and the intensity in it made your breath catch.

“You saved my bloody life,” he said, voice rough. “There wasn’t time to cast anything, and I didn’t even see it coming, and then—” He exhaled hard. “I don’t know how you did it, but… you did. Thank you.”

You watched him for a moment, your heart twisting at the way his shoulders hunched under the weight of it all. You shifted slightly, careful of Moon still curled against your leg, and reached out to cradle his cheek.

“You were worth protecting,” you said softly. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

His expression cracked again, that small tremble returning to the corners of his mouth.

You scooted over slightly, shifting Moon with a grumble and a soft thump of her tail, and patted the cushion beside you.

“Come sit,” you said gently. “Before you give yourself a back cramp sitting down there.”

Sebastian let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh, and stood. Then he lowered himself onto the couch beside you slowly, his thigh warm against yours, fingers toying absentmindedly with the edge of the blanket over your lap. He looked like he wanted to say something. Maybe ten things. But none of them made it past his lips.

So you reached for his hand.

His fingers curled around yours.

“I meant what I said.” He murmured.

You turned your head to look at him.

“About missing you,” he said. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “About how scared I was.”

You nodded. “I know.”

He hesitated. “I didn’t know if you’d wake up, didn’t know if I’d get another chance to—”

You didn’t let him finish. “I’m fine. I’m right here.”

He nodded, but his expression darkened, jaw tightening like the words tasted bitter before they even left his mouth.

“...They’ll pay for what they did,” he said, voice low. 

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. One he’d carve into the earth if he had to.

“Sebastian…”

“They used you,” he continued, eyes fixed ahead now, voice edged with something dangerous. “They knew your magic would react to the artifacts in Cornwall. Maybe not the exact outcome, but enough. They were testing you.”

You were quiet for a beat.

“...I know.”

“They’ve been tracking you since before you even got to Britain,” he continued. “We’ve been going through all the paperwork you saved, and it’s all there. Field memos, clearance notes, assignment records. They’ve had eyes on you since your first international deployment.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just let the words fall like lead across your chest.

“Japan, Morocco, Germany. Every incident where you used your magic, there’s a Dominion notation next to it.” He continued.

You swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry. “...So that’s why you didn’t come visit me in the infirmary.”

His expression softened. “I’m sorry. I wanted to be there so badly. It’s just… I didn’t want to risk your safety. They’re onto us. Hale, McDonald, all of them. Garreth and I were pulled into a meeting with the bloody Auror General.”

You stared at him. “What did they say?”

“Nothing, really,” he said, voice clipped. “They didn’t accuse us. Just asked us to recount exactly what happened. Asked if we recovered anything from the site. They were just giving us enough rope to hang ourselves.”

You stared at him, pulse picking up again. “And you said—?”

“That we didn’t take anything.” His jaw tightened. “That everything was destroyed in the collapse.”

“...They believe you?”

Sebastian snorted, glancing down at you, tired and wry. “No. Not for a second.”

You leaned back slightly, the blanket bunching around your waist. “So what now?”

“We stay ahead of them.”

You watched his profile, the way the tension gathered again at the corners of his mouth, the furrow between his brows returning. 

“Garreth and Ominis are putting together a full report,” Sebastian explained. “Evidence, citations, timeline, the works.”

You were quiet for a beat, absorbing it.

“We’ll need more than a report,” you said finally.

Sebastian nodded. “That’s where you come in.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“You’ve got contacts in Canada,” he reminded you gently. “Ones you trust. Ones who trust you. We can’t push this all the way up to the Minister here without support. Dominion’s too entrenched—hell, they’ve probably got people stationed in the Department of Records and Internal Compliance. If we go loud before we’re ready, they’ll discredit us. Or worse.”

You swallowed. “You think they’ll have us killed.”

“They already tried once,” Sebastian muttered grimly. “They sent us into that manor knowing exactly what would happen.”

You rubbed your palm against your thigh, trying to steady the pulse in your fingertips. “Okay. I’ll reach out tonight. There’s a secure channel through the embassy I can access. I’ll have to—”

Sebastian rested a hand over yours, firm but gentle. “Not tonight.”

You looked up at him, startled. “But—”

“You’re medically cleared, yes,” he said, thumb brushing across your knuckles, “but you’re not ready to be planning missions or calling in favors. You’re barely holding yourself upright.”

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped. Because he was right. Your ribs still ached with every breath, and your magic still flickered unpredictably beneath your skin, like a live wire struggling to settle.

You sighed and let your head fall back against the couch. “So what, I’m under house arrest now?”

“Something like that,” he said, lips twitching into a small smile.

You arched an eyebrow. “Sebastian Sallow, are you holding me hostage in your flat?”

He leaned in, grin widening just a fraction. “Well, if I was—purely hypothetically—it would be on medical grounds. Doctor’s orders.”

You snorted. “Sounds like this is all just a very elaborate kidnapping.”

Sebastian smirked, the edge of tension in his expression easing. “Obviously.”

“Possessive,” you teased.

“Absolutely,” he said without missing a beat.

You glanced up at him then, and the lightness in your chest wobbled, because the way he was looking at you wasn’t teasing anymore. It was soft. Open. Unflinching.

Sebastian didn’t look away. “I could’ve lost you,” he said quietly. “And I’ve been trying not to think about what would’ve happened if I had. But I can’t stop.”

“Sebastian…”

“I don’t want to waste time pretending I don’t feel this,” he said quietly. “The second we left the flat for base on Saturday… all I could think about was how much I wanted to stay. With you.”

You stared at him, utterly speechless.

You’d known all of this on some level. Of course you had. You’d kissed for god’s sake. You knew what was growing between you. But still, hearing it. Feeling it. Having it named with no hesitation, no guarded sarcasm or careful deflection... It knocked the air from your lungs.

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. You just looked at him, heart thudding, lips parted like your body was trying to catch up to the truth blooming behind your ribs.

And then you blurted it.

“I love you.”

The words escaped before you could second-guess them. Before your fear could sink its claws in and whisper that it was too soon, too much, too dangerous to want something this good.

“I… I get that this is probably too much,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I mean, we haven’t known each other that long, not really, not by normal standards—whatever normal even means in the middle of this mess—”

You broke off for a breath, but your brain didn’t stop racing.

“—but I don’t trust people easily, I can’t, not with who I am and what I am, and I didn’t want to trust you, but I do, and I know it’s a stupid risk, and it’s frowned on in about ten different ways in the Ministry handbook, but I mean it, and I know it’s messy and fast and all tangled up in adrenaline and trauma and whatever this mission’s turning into, but when I shielded you—when I chose to—”

Your breath caught.

“That wasn’t just my magic. That was… that was because of you.”

Your words kept tumbling out in a desperate, breathless flood. “You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel safe enough to try, to stay. And I didn’t mean to say it like this, I know I sound ridiculous right now but—”

“Hey—”

“—I just needed you to know, because I couldn’t keep it in anymore and I’m not expecting anything from you, I promise, you don’t have to say anything or do anything, I just needed to—"

And then he kissed you.

One hand found your cheek, the other cupped the back of your neck

His lips were warm. Steady. Unapologetic.

You made a small, startled noise, and then you were kissing him back, fingers curling in the front of his shirt, the whole world narrowing to the pressure of his mouth and the taste of lips.

He pulled back just far enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing a little harder than before.

“I love you too.”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“...you do?”

His breath caught on a soft laugh, like he couldn’t quite believe you didn’t already know.

“Of course I do.”

You blinked, dazed and disoriented in the best way. “...this is insane.”

“Completely,” he agreed.

“We’re in the middle of a conspiracy.”

Sebastian gave a soft huff of laughter. “I know.”

“We’re under surveillance.”

“Definitely.”

“I nearly died.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you fully, something fierce and tender flickering in his eyes. “And I’ve never been more terrified in my life.”

You exhaled shakily, your hand still fisted in his shirt. “This is a terrible time for this.”

“Worst timing imaginable,” he agreed. “And I still love you.”

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Sebastian smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Please don’t. I just got you out of the infirmary.”

You laughed again—real, if a little watery—and leaned your forehead back against his. “Okay. Fine. You win.”

He brushed his thumb over your cheek. “Didn’t know we were playing.”

Another beat passed between you. You smiled.

“I really do love you, Sebastian.”

“I really do love you, too.”

You blinked up at him, eyes wide, heart pounding like it couldn’t quite catch up to the moment.

It was real. It was him. It was you. It was this.

You exhaled, breath catching a little at the edges. “What the hell do we do now?”

Sebastian looked at you for a long moment, like he was memorizing the way you looked when you said you loved him, like this was something he wanted to carry with him for the rest of his life.

Then, with a soft smile and a teasing glint in his eyes, he said, “Now? I’m going to make you dinner. And by make, I mean I’m going to order takeout from a little Thai place down the block and pretend I made it.”

Your mouth twitched, a smile threatening even through the exhaustion. “You gonna at least plate it nicely first? Light a candle? Make it romantic?”

Sebastian scoffed, rising from the couch and stretching his back with a theatrical groan. “I’ll have you know I’m incredibly romantic. You just haven’t seen the full extent of it yet.”

You watched him cross to the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, already rummaging for the menu stashed in his drawer.

You snorted. “Right, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“It’s all about setting expectations low so I can impress you later.” He called back. “It’s a long-con strategy. Very advanced.”

You laughed, curling back into the couch as Moon reclaimed your lap. “I’ll be judging your fake cooking on presentation,” you warned. “If there’s no garnish, I’m reporting you to Magical Meals Weekly.”

Sebastian’s voice floated back, full of mock indignation. “Rude. I was this close to ordering you dessert.”

You grinned. “That better not be a bluff.”

He peeked around the corner, smirking. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

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[hesawifebeaterdanusethegun]

Original Sin Chapter One - Honor Thy Father And Mother

“The great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him.” – Revelation 12:9

A cool breeze blew through the parking lot of St. Raphael the Archangel Catholic Church. It was September, and a chill was threatening to cut through the warmth of the sun in the clear blue sky. A very well-kept yellow 1980 Buick Regal pulled carefully into a reserved parking spot near the front of the church. The woman behind the wheel made sure to remember to hang the little blue placard with a stick figure in a wheelchair printed on it from her rearview mirror before opening her door and stepping out of the car. Chloe stood about 5’4”, just the slightest bit stocky, wearing ripped jeans and a flannel shirt over a faded black band t-shirt, her usual “uniform”. She was in her mid-30s at a guess, but seemed younger somehow, and not just because of how she dressed.

Chloe took off her Ray-Ban sunglasses revealing striking blue-green eyes, and hung them from the collar of her shirt, taking a deep breath and puffing her cheeks out as she exhaled before walking around to the passenger side of the car. She opened the back door, pulling out a folded wheelchair from the backseat. She set up the chair, locking the wheels in place so that it wouldn’t roll anywhere on the uneven, slightly slanted parking lot. She moved to the front door and pulled up the lever. Nothing happened. She looked through the window at her mother who sat scowling ahead while Chloe tried to get her attention by knocking on the window.

Eventually the older woman looked at her daughter. Janet had short, grey, curly hair, and wore a blue and white floral print housedress and entirely too much makeup on her aged face. Chloe had always secretly thought she looked like a circus clown as a child, but if the thought crossed her mind, she’d always been careful not to laugh, as her mother would inevitably ask her what was so funny. Chloe couldn’t lie, she’d never been able to, and she would have told her mother the truth, earning her who knows what sort of punishment, especially if her father were home and happened to overhear.

“You need to open the door,” Chloe said loudly, a little irritated. She wasn’t in the mood for her mother’s bitchy little games today. Her mother smiled and pulled up the lock on the door, allowing Chloe to swing it open. She offered an arm and her mother took it, using Chloe to steady herself as she got out of the car and hobbled the few steps to the wheelchair and sat down. Chloe’s mother had suffered a stroke a few months ago, and had had trouble getting around since, frequently falling when she attempted to do things on her own that she ought to get help for. After the third fall she’d suffered, Chloe had made up her mind to move back to her hometown from her apartment in New York City to help her parents and particularly to take care of her mother.

That had been three months ago. Chloe swung the passenger side door closed, trying not to slam it in her anger and only partially succeeding.

“You know what you’re wearing is completely inappropriate,” her mother griped at her. “I don’t know why you insist on embarrassing me every time we go out anywhere.”

“I’m wearing what I usually wear, mother, it’s fine,” Chloe told her through gritted teeth. They went through this every week.

“And you could have done something with your hair, make a little effort, dear,” continued her mother in a tone that indicated she thought she was doing Chloe a great favor by bestowing such wisdom on her. Chloe wished she could tell her to shove that wisdom up her ass. But she kept her mouth shut and nodded as her mother looked up at her from the chair, waiting for a response.

Chloe kept her hair in a dark brown shaggy pixie cut, not to make any kind of fashion statement, more because she couldn’t stand when her hair got in her way or held her up when getting ready in the morning. She’d had it cut this way since she was old enough to choose her own haircut, with very little variation. She ran her fingers through it now before putting her hands back on the handles of the wheelchair. Chloe continued pushing the chair up the sidewalk to the front doors of the church, which were propped open, saving Chloe the struggle of getting her mother to push the chair through the door on her own without making too much of a dramatic spectacle of herself. They’d been propped open every Sunday since the second week she’d brought her mother to mass, when Father Joseph had introduced himself and held open the door for them. She’d thanked him with relief on her face. The following week and every week after, regardless of the weather (it rained here quite a bit), the doors had been propped open when they got there, she suspected at the direction of Father Joseph.

She took her mother into the church, dipping two fingers into the small bowl of holy water at the door and making the sign of the cross, her mother doing the same. They took their usual spots in the back corner pew, Chloe on the end seat and her mother’s chair next to her on the deep red carpet of the aisle. Father Joseph took his place at the pulpit, delivering a sermon that Chloe admittedly barely heard a word of. She may as well have been drooling while she watched Father Joseph speak. She knew this was stupid. She was too old for stupid crushes, and on a priest no less. But she couldn’t help it. She felt a little tug inside her towards him every time they were near each other. He was about six feet tall; with short thick dark hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. She almost lost her breath when she first met those eyes and hadn’t stopped thinking about him since.

Father Joseph stood at the head of the church, ready to speak, but he hesitated. He scanned the crowd filling the pews quickly, his eyes flicking to the back corner of the room. She was there. He nearly sighed in relief. Father Joseph looked forward to seeing Chloe, for he’d found that was her name the Sunday morning they met, when he’d helped her and her mother through the front doors of the church. Every Sunday, their short talks after mass as the assembled parishioners were leaving the building were one of the highlights of his week. They left him in a good mood for the rest of the day.

After mass, Chloe wheeled her mother toward the front door, veering right towards the bathroom. She always had to pee after sitting for so long, she’d told her mother more than once. The real reason she stalled leaving the church wasn’t even obvious to herself, but when she stopped to use the bathroom, it gave everyone else time to leave the church, giving her Father Joseph’s undivided attention when they spoke outside the church on Chloe and her mother’s way to the parking lot.

Chloe had been thinking a lot lately about her faith and about her place in life. She needed someone she could talk to. She hoped Father Joseph could be that someone, not least because she was eager to spend more time with him. She finished in the bathroom, washing her hands and drying them with a barely absorbent paper towel that felt only a little less rough than the bark of the tree it had been made from. She crumpled the paper towel and tossed it in the trashcan on the way out of the room, shutting out the light as she went. The church wasn’t especially large, and so only had a single bathroom labeled “MEN” and another small one labeled “WOMEN” containing a toilet and a small counter against the wall surrounding a round sink basin with a mirror above it. Consequently, only two people could use the bathroom at any one time during mass, a bit of an inconvenience on major holidays when the church was especially crowded.

She took the handles of her mother’s wheelchair in hand and started to push her toward the front doors of the church, propped open as they always were. She wheeled her mother outside to find Father Joseph standing just outside, hands folded behind his back, seemingly in thought. She stopped in front of him and greeted him warmly. He took her hand in his and shook it, a wide smile spreading on his face and a warmth spreading to his cheeks at her touch. Chloe thanked him for a lovely sermon (even if she heard zero percent of it) and he thanked her sincerely. They spoke a little about the weather, neither wanting to part ways just yet. Father Joseph realized he still held her hand between his and let go, clearing his throat.

“Listen, Father, I wanted to ask you something, and I understand if you’re too busy, I’m sure you are,” she started.

“What is it, Chloe?” he asked, leaning in so that Chloe’s mother couldn’t hear them.

“Would you… I mean, would you meet me for lunch at Nat’s later today? If you have the time,” she finished quickly, nervously trying to spit out the invitation before she lost her nerve.

“I… Sure, I can do that,” he said quietly, trying to hide his elation at the prospect of seeing her again without having to wait until next Sunday, and of having some time alone with her. The relief on her face was obvious.

“How’s three?” she asked.

“Three’s perfect,” he answered with a smile.

“Thank you, Father,” she said, genuine gratitude in her face. Chloe turned to leave, sensing that her mother was getting antsy. She was honestly surprised she’d behaved herself this long, but was thankful she had. Apologizing for her mother’s behavior and words had become a part-time job in itself since Chloe had moved back home, though it hardly felt like home compared to New York. She missed the city every day.

She thought about calling her best friend Becca when she got home, after getting mom settled at her house, and making sure she had dinner prepared for her father to put into the oven when the pair got hungry. Chloe usually spent Mondays preparing easy to cook meals for her parents to defrost and put into the oven for dinner throughout the week. She came over a couple of times a week to cook something other than casseroles and pasta dishes. She’d gotten pretty good at coming up with easy-to-freeze-and-reheat meals that were actually nutritious while she’d lived on her own.

Chloe was an artist, “though not a very good one” she always told people when the subject came up, and she hated being interrupted by having to cook a meal when she was in the middle of a new project, so she’d gotten good at meal prep to prevent that irritation. If asked, Chloe would probably say that her art was “just a hobby” and leave it at that, but the truth was she’d had a decent amount of success selling her work just through word of mouth after some friends of Becca’s had bought from her, and was even featured in a gallery or two in the city (she hadn’t sold anything then, but she’d been thrilled to be there either way).

Chloe left her mother at the end of the sidewalk and walked across the parking lot alone just to get away from the constant stream of consciousness pouring out of her mouth, most of it negative and often hurtful to Chloe, though she’d grown quite a thick skin over the years of dealing with her parents. She breathed deeply and focused on the concrete beneath her as she walked across the parking lot to their spot. Not a far walk but she needed the respite. She unlocked the door and climbed into the car. She checked her mirrors and flicked the small Alf bobblehead she kept glued to the dashboard.

“You ready for her, buddy?” she asked the bobblehead. She flicked it again to make it shake its head “no”. “Yeah, me neither. Fuck it,” she said as she jammed the car into gear and pulled out of the parking spot, speeding up to the curb where her mother waited, tires squealing when she braked hard in front of her. She smiled widely as she got out of the car, tuning out the loud bitching coming in a steady stream from Janet’s mouth. Lately Chloe had gotten into the strange habit (but not surprising really, given the childhood they’d given her) of calling her parents by their first names, at least in her head. She wouldn’t dare do it out loud, dreading the headache that would ensue, the lectures about disrespect, the “honor thy mother and thy father” bullshit would start, and it would just go downhill from there. Not worth the temporary satisfaction.

Chloe tried to be a good daughter, she really did. She tried so hard. But it had never been enough. She had never been enough for them. She’d called them dutifully every week like clockwork while she’d lived in New York, she’d come home for the holidays, made sure to send gifts for Father’s Day and Mother’s Day, had done everything she thought she was “supposed” to do. She loved them, she always had and always would, but she resented them. Though a bit of a lapsed Catholic, Chloe had still always somewhat believed, and had at least gone to church on the major holidays with her mother (her father never attended, he barely left the house since he’d retired). She had tried to adhere to the teachings of the church, when it came to most things anyway, but she couldn’t help how she felt, and she’d long ago given up trying to.

Chloe opened the passenger side door to the Buick and helped her mother up from her chair. Janet snatched her arm away from Chloe when she tried to help her into the car, muttering something about her being “some kind of maniac” under her breath. Chloe smirked at that and closed the door behind her, cutting off her mumbling with a mechanical clunk and a click. She opened the back door, collapsing and stowing the wheelchair between the back of the driver’s seat and the back seat where it couldn’t slide around when she inevitably took a turn too sharply for Janet’s liking, maybe accidentally, maybe not. Once it was secured, she closed the back door and walked around the back of the car to the other side, climbing into the driver’s seat and inserting the key into the ignition. A neon keychain reading “Foxy Grandma” hung from her keyring. The only other keys on the ring being the one to the house she was renting at the end of her parents’ block and a spare key to her parents' house.

Chloe drove her mother home, taking it easy on her this time, taking the corners slowly and obeying the speed limit for once. They arrived at her childhood home in about five minutes (if she hadn’t needed to drive her mother, Chloe would have walked to church every Sunday) and Chloe climbed out, admiring the shady, oak tree-lined street she and her parents both lived on. She helped her mother once again into her wheelchair, closing the doors to the Buick and wheeling her down the sidewalk to the large red front door of the house. The house was eggshell white with red trim and a red wraparound porch with a swing Chloe had spent many hours reading on as a child. She pulled out her key and let them into the house, wheeling her mother into the living room where her father sat in the dark, the only light in the room reflecting from the television, playing some black and white western or other, feet up in his La-Z-Boy recliner, beer in hand.

Chloe didn’t bother greeting him.

“Hello, Harold,” said Janet to her husband, who appeared not to hear her. After a much too long pause, he took a sip of his beer and grunted in response. Chloe wheeled her mother across the rug so that she could sit next to Harold. He was a short stout man, wearing grey chinos and a white t-shirt with red suspenders. He had house slippers on his feet and sported a thick white mustache below a bulbous red nose and bald pate.

“I’ll go get dinner in the oven, okay, mom?” asked Chloe. Her mother nodded, looking up at her with a grateful smile.

“Thank you, dear. You take such good care of us,” her mother answered, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. Chloe had learned to take her mother’s rare good moods in stride, though they threatened to cause whiplash at times, and just enjoyed the ride until her regular sour disposition showed itself once again. Chloe smiled down at her mother, a smile she hoped looked more genuine than it felt, and left the room to make her way down the hall from the large, high-ceilinged living room to the even larger kitchen (though her mother had always been a terrible cook, half the time during her childhood Chloe was afraid whatever concoction her mother served her for dinner might get up and walk across the table to escape being eaten, it often looked so alien). She looked at her reflection in the stainless-steel surface of the restaurant sized refrigerator for a moment, making a face and sticking her tongue out at herself before opening the door and looking inside.

She found what she was looking for after a minute of searching through the cavernous fucking fridge that for some reason her parents thought they, two elderly people who barely ate, needed. She pulled the casserole off the center shelf of the fridge and kicked the door shut on her way across the room to the convection oven, turning it on to heat up and waiting the few minutes it took before putting the pan inside and setting the timer that sat on top of the oven. Chloe walked back down the hall to the living room and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, telling her father that dinner would be done when the buzzer in the kitchen went off. He grunted again to show he heard her, not looking away from the television. Chloe turned on a couple of lights in the room on her way out of the house so her mother could read while Harold lost himself in a John Wayne marathon on TNT.

She left through the front door of the house, letting herself out quietly, closing the door behind her and making sure it was locked. She put her hands in her pockets as she walked down the sidewalk to her car. She got in and drove to the end of the block, parking in her driveway (she used the garage as an art studio, and so parked the Buick outside under a large carport to protect it from the weather, and from falling acorns). She got out of her car and walked to her own front door, hers painted a bright blue with white accents, the rest of the house matching, white siding with blue windows and shutters and a deep blue-grey shingled roof. Chloe let herself in with a sigh and put her bag down next to the door beneath the coat rack. She went to the kitchen and took a seat at the kitchen island on one of the dark polished wooden stools that surrounded it.

She reached across to the wall behind her and grabbed the cordless phone from its cradle, dialing Becca’s number. Becca answered after three rings.

“Hello?” Becca asked into the phone after a second of silence.

“Hey, it’s me,” said Chloe, knowing Becca would recognize her voice.

“Hey, bitch what are you up to?” Becca greeted her with the usual grace she saved only for her closest friends. “You enjoying the night life out there in Bumfuck, Nowhere?” she laughed.

“What are you doing tonight? I have to live vicariously through you because there is nothing to do in this town, I swear everyone’s dead after eight p.m.”

“Going to a show,” said Becca.

“What show?” asked Chloe suspiciously. Becca sounded cagey. Becca coughed something into the phone that vaguely sounded like a human language, though which one Chloe could only guess at.

“What show, Becca?” asked Chloe again.

“The Fisted Nuns,” said Becca louder, this time clear enough to understand.

“WHAT THE FUCK BEC?” asked Chloe loudly. “Why the fuck are you going to see my ex’s band?”

“I didn’t know they were playing until after I bought the tickets, we wanted to see Sludge Enema and Pierced Foreskin was supposed to open but they had to drop out at the last minute! I literally had no idea, I swear Chlo!”

“Just please don’t talk to him, okay? Don’t tell him anything about me, okay? I really don’t need another headache to deal with here,” said Chloe.

“I won’t, I swear, I probably won’t even see him because Cam and Derek aren’t meeting me for drinks until seven and—

“Bec, I have to go, I have a meeting with somebody,” Chloe interrupted her. Knowing Becca, that was ramping up to be the longest story ever told in one long, run-on sentence.

“Who do you have a meeting with? Is this a date? Did you meet a guy down there?” asked Becca, curiosity and a bit of teasing in her voice. “What’s he like? Better than the last one, I hope. Not another drummer at least, right? Is he tall? I bet he’s tall. Where did you—

“BEC I HAVE TO GO I’ll call you later, I promise, okay?”

“Okay but you better be ready to spill, bitch, I’ll be home until seven,” said Becca.

“I thought you said Derek and Cam were meeting you at the bar at seven?”

“Always keep ‘em waiting, Chlo,” said Becca, laughing. Chloe laughed too.

“Kay, bye,” she said into the receiver.

“Kisses,” said Becca, hanging up with a click.

Chloe looked at her watch and realized she’d stayed on the phone with Becca too long and she was about to keep Father Joseph waiting unless she forewent a shower, so she ran upstairs, washed her face and threw on some eyeliner before heading out the door. It was a nice day so she decided to walk, Nat’s Diner wasn’t that far from her house, and she could make it in time since she’d decided to shower after she got home. It was getting a little colder and some clouds were starting to creep in at the edges of the sky, occasionally blotting out the warm early autumn sun. She pulled her flannel shirt a little tighter and thought about how she should have brought an umbrella, but it was too late to go back and still be on time to the diner.

Chloe made it to the corner unmolested by any neighbors, a frequent occurrence when she decided to take a walk around the neighborhood to get some air and do some thinking. The parents of the neighborhood kids she grew up with always recognized her and wanted to catch up as if she had been close to any of their children. Chloe had been a loner growing up and still kept her friend circle small now that she was older. She’d occasionally played with the other kids, but eventually she’d been labeled the “weird” girl and thus, untouchable, by the time they’d reached high school. That had been fine with Chloe, as far as she was concerned, she didn’t belong with any of these people anyway, and why should a round peg try to fit into a square hole? She was content doing her own thing and being left alone.

Then her father had decided to retire when she graduated high school and leave her the concrete business, Harold’s, with the caveat that she not change the name, her father didn’t want a “girl’s name” taking over his business’ title too. The business essentially ran itself, and had only grown since she’d become the owner, making sure that her employees were paid and treated extremely well, with full benefits paid by the company, a pension plan, paid vacation and parental leave. Those were her demands for the business; beyond that, she left the running of day-to-day operations to Robert, the man that her father had always wished were his son, and who he had trained to take his place in all but ownership of the business, which went to Chloe. She’d heard the fight her parents had had over that decision from her bedroom. Her mother tearfully telling her father that if he left his business to a stranger over his own daughter, she would leave him. He’d hit her that night for the first and last time, but he’d also changed his mind and decided that it was only right that his blood inherited the business, even if she wasn’t the right gender.

As soon as the ink was dry on the paperwork she had everything she needed packed into a duffel bag and was on a bus to New York City. She found a cheap apartment until the business had the opportunity to start garnering her a steady income (which turned out to be much more than she’d expected) at which point she rented a larger apartment with a much better view, in Gramercy Park, near Union Square. That’s where she’d met Becca, who lived in the same pre-war building, a floor below her. They met several times on the elevator and had eventually struck up a conversation. They found they got along quite well, and Becca started inviting Chloe to concerts and parties. The two had been best friends ever since, over 15 years.

Becca wrote for fashion magazines, mainly doing freelance work that allowed her almost as much freedom in her everyday life as Chloe had. Though Chloe enjoyed and needed quiet time at home, she loved the experiences she got hanging out with Becca, who was knee-deep in the goth and punk scenes of the city, meeting members of bands she’d never heard of and likely never would again, learning names like Spike, and Iggy Ooze, and even one guy who, I shit you not, went by “Snake”.

Chloe was in the middle of her reverie, barely looking where she was going, when she found herself standing outside Nat’s Diner. She checked her watch. She was a few minutes early and couldn’t see Father Joseph inside waiting for her, so that was good. She went inside to escape the nip in the air and sat at the booth in the far back next to the window, enjoying the afternoon rays of sun shining through the glass whenever the clouds allowed it to peek through. The server, a middle-aged curly-haired woman named Mel, approached the table, and took Chloe’s drink order, a black coffee.

She settled herself in the booth, both hands wrapped around the cup of coffee Mel had brought her, occasionally sipping the rich black liquid that warmed her from the inside as she waited for Father Joseph to show up.

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My writing master post (Father Joseph is at the bottom):

[nochepsicodelica]

"Really?" Toji asks, nudging your shoulder to wake you up, when he gets a good look at your back turned to him. His voice is slightly raspy with sleep, low in volume from its lack of use.

"Mm..." you hum in response, eyes shut as you try to ease back into slumber. You're in a curled position, your limbs wrapped around one of your extra pillows.

"Really?" Toji repeats, pawing at your shoulder, again.

"Yes, Toji," you say, quietly, not understanding what he's talking about, but agreeing just so that you can get back to sleep.

"Be serious, ma. Really?"

"What?" You ask, your tone somewhat laced with irritation, now.

It goes quiet for a few seconds, and then out of nowhere you hear the sheets rustling and the bed feels lighter. You're thinking there's no way he's so upset that he's leaving the room to sleep on the couch. He's the one who seemingly didn't want to cuddle, so you made do with what you had and grabbed a pillow.

You're snapped out of your attempt to go back to sleep when you feel your pillow trying to be yanked out of your arms.

"Let go of it," Toji mutters.

"What-" you grunt as you pull back and attempt to keep the pillow in your grasp. "What are you doing? Get back in bed, Toji." You hold on as tight as you can to the pillow that is slowly being torn out of your hands. "You're not gonna like when I let go and you're flung towards the wall."

"And you're not gonna like the punishment you earn if that happens. Let go of the pillow. Now."

You stare Toji down, holding your own against him. You know this isn't all of his strength and that he can easily rip the pillow out of your clutches, if he really wanted to, but like a dog with something it shouldn't have in its mouth, you're unwilling to do what he says.

"Listen up, doll, if you don't let go in the next five seconds, you're in for it."

"You're the one who pushed me away."

"Five."

"I need to hug something to sleep comfortably."

"Four."

"It's a pillow, Toji," you say, incredulously.

"Three."

"You're gonna take away my source of comfort?"

"Two."

"Toji."

"One. Let go."

"Oh my god," you groan, irritatedly. "Fine." You release the pillow, allowing Toji to take it away. You watch in disbelief as he throws it at the door so you can't get it without leaving the bed. You huff and scoot as close as you comfortably can to your end of the bed without falling off, before he returns to his side.

"Geeet back here." An arm is thrown over your waist, dragging you closer towards the center of the bed, until your back meets his front and his legs are tangled with yours. "Where are you going, huh? Still chasing after that pillow?"

"All of a sudden you wanna be close to me?" You scoff, in disbelief.

"So much attitude," he murmurs. His hand goes under your shirt, gliding up your warm skin to rest on your tummy. "Need me to give it to you all seven days, now?"

"No," you grumble.

"Well, that's what it's sounding like, to me." A kiss is planted on your shoulder. "Fix that tone, mama."

"You're so unfair. You're the one who didn't want to be held, but as soon as you noticed that I wasn't holding you, you took away my source of comfort. What did you want me to do, Toji?"

"I didn't even push you away, I rolled away in my sleep. It doesn't count."

You just hum in response, no longer in the mood to bicker about something so trivial when you could be working on getting back to sleep. A few seconds of silence go by, a spark of tension formed due to your lack of words.

"Ma?" He calls, barely pinching your soft, warm skin.

You sigh, blinking your eyes open. "What?"

"You mad?" His hand flattens on your tummy, rubbing slowly, as he waits for you to respond.

"No," you say, quiet and icy, even in its subtlety.

"That's a lie," Toji says, chuckling. "Come on, doll. What's got you all hot?"

It's hard not to melt into his touch. The kisses he presses to your shoulder only add on to the difficulty.

"Doesn't matter," you say, still trying to remain stoic.

"Yeah, it does. Now, tell me," he insists. "You're really gonna make me beg at almost two in the morning?"

"I was sleeping, and you woke me up 'cause you were butthurt over me hugging a pillow. There. Does that satisfy you?" You respond, and Toji has the audacity to laugh. You want to laugh too, but your stubbornness and pride will not easily allow you to.

"Poor baby," he coos, a mocking lilt to his tone. "You wanna tell me how to make it better?"

"You're an ass," you bite, no sharpness in your tone whatsoever.

"Ooh, I can hear that pout. You want a kiss? 'Cause I can give you one," he whispers, in your ear.

"Shut up," you mumble, trying not to give away the curling of your lips.

"You want a baby in here?" He asks, gently pressing into your stomach with his index finger.

"No! What?" You say, your giggles finally beginning to surface.

"Gotcha. Made you laugh," he says, pressing his face into the nape of your neck. He presses a kiss to the area before squeezing you in his arms, tight enough to make you groan until he eases up. "Now, tell me how to make it better. Come on, ma. It's not good to go to sleep mad."

You sigh, not wanting to argue with this annoying, yet, charming man, anymore. "Just help me get back to sleep," you mumble.

"Oh, I can do that," he says, a low chuckle homing into your ears. His hand lifts your shirt up more, aiming to get more access to your chest.

"Not like that, you perv!" You chide, pinning his hand on your mid-center. "Can you do that thing you always do?" You guide his hand down, until it rests just above your navel. He knows what you mean, and if this is what it takes for you to not be mad at him, he'll do it.

"You're like a baby that needs to be soothed to sleep," Toji murmurs, as he begins caressing your tummy, drawing little shapes on your skin that fuel your tiredness.

You huff out a laugh. "Acting like you don't drool and snore the second I start playing with your hair when you lay your head on my chest."

[g-k444]

okayy so what about free-use trains? free-use Ubers? free-use transport?

You order your uber and it comes to you with a freshly needy slut on her knees with a collar around her neck and chain binding her to the backseat where you can do as you please to her as you commute from place to place.

Perfect, right?

Well, perfect for you at least - not for me. I'm a working woman. I have a job I need to get to and when it just so happens to be an early 7am morning, so what if I accidentally type the last number of the cab service wrong?

the line should go dead, i should look down and reread the number and realise that ive typed it out wrong and correct it and properly order my transport.

what shouldn't happen, is for an uber to be placed regardless - and for when i enter the vehicle, there to be a chain and collar snapped open on the floor of the uber.

i realise my mistake as soon as i step in - i accidentally ordered one of those horny fuck-taxis instead of my normal cab to work - but it's too late to back out and reorder my cab as the driver speeds off without asking for my destination. S'pose he just remembered it from the phone call.

but no.

instead he pulled up outside a block of flats, and the door i sat besides was opened as a man entered and frowned.

why's she sat on the seat? that's not very obedient - is your quality dropping? And why is she not collared up?

my own look of confusion was slowly replaced with horror as i realised that both the driver and passenger thought that i was a... worker.

i stuttered to correct the man's misinterpretation, but before i could get the words out, he had slapped me around my face, shocking the words out of my mouth as i was dropped to the larger-than-average footwell.

and then all control was out of my hands as the man's hand wrapped around my neck and forced me onto the ground, struggling against my wriggling and helpless body that screamed for help as he snapped the collar around my neck - binding me to the godforsaken taxi as a slut for his helping

my breaths came out fragmented and i could feel tears pooling in my eyes in horror at what was happening - what he was doing.

His arms wrestled with my blouse, not caring to undo the buttons of my delicate white dress shirt - instead ripping them open like a box of biscuits, pulling my decency away from me and leaving my heaving breasts in nothing but a bra that swayed to accustom my bust as the car turned a corner.

his cock came out then, as he used my neck to push me and hold me on my back, his fingers pushing against my clit through a pair of tights and panties - pulling the both of them off and to the side before plunging his cock into my pussy without any lube - forcing a scream from my throat as me began shagging me against the car floor, nudging my nipple into view from behind my bra before his cold breath enveloped the bud and began playing with it

he leaves almost perfectly in time for him to reach his release - cumming inside my pussy whilst i still cried and covered my face with hands - however i felt no relief as another man entered the back of the car, with his cock already released and swinging like a weapon between his two legs as he shut the door behind him with a wide grin at the "office worker themed wear" i seemed to kinkily sport.

and this man seemed to think that my cries and pleads for helps and screams and weak pushes to get him off me were-

Wow! You really like cnc huh, more of your sluts should do this gig!

After multiple men - multiple rounds - multiple cumshots that left my skirt wet and stomach twisted, the car stopped and no man entered the car... and even the collar unlatched from around my neck!

i couldn't believe it... was i free?

i didn't give myself a chance to second doubt myself.

i pushed myself out of the car despite my weakness, my eyes adjusting to the brightness of the world i was thrust into outside of the cab- realising i was outside my work building!

a shiver ran through my body as the cool wind seemed to illuminate the hot trickle of liquid down my leg, and as i looked down i realised that there was cum leaking from my pussy.

blushing and realising i was in public like a wreck, i hurried into the building just as i heard the bell going off - indicating the midday break...

i ran to find the nearest toilet as the rumble of feet comign down stairs became louder - finally finding a WC sign on a door and launching myself through it - breathing a sigh of relief as i found a safeplace to open my eyes and look into the mirror to see....

fuck. i looked like a fucked out mess. my bra had been flipped on one side so that teh cup was squashed beneath my tit that was free and lay like a pillow against my chest, free of its material constraints - my stomach with white stripes of cum that lead to a wet skirt and more cumstreaks that fell down my thighs and tights.

the door squeaked and i whipped my head around, freezing in shock as i made eye contact with a...

a man. multiple men. coming to use the toilet during their break and freezing in shock at the cum-soaked girl stook half-naked in the middle of the men's toilets

their eyes raked up adn down me and i felt myself turn fearful once more as i noticed their expressions of... hunger.

A squeak left my mouth in shock and pain as both of my tits were grabbed in handfuls by a pair of hands from behind me, pressing up my tits and squeezing them, presenting them to the men that stood in the doorway before i heart a-

"i think we got our lunchtime treat right here, huh?"

[illou-sainte]

Pussy can be so facetious.

pairings: colonel!caleb x nurse!reader

cw: unprotected sex, rough sex, stomach bulge, cosplay kink, dom!caleb, sub!reader, overstimulation, cockdrunk!reader, crying, power imbalance

"ngh- hah-- t-too much--!" You cried out, hands gripping on the colonel's wrist that is holding your thighs tightly while slamming his gritty cock inside your plush tight pussy.

Oh, how foolish you were, knocking out a nurse just so you could take her uniform and pretend to be a nurse on the fleet to escape from Caleb.

He's been pounding deep inside of you relentlessly for an hour or so. The way your pussy sucks his hardened cock so good inside makes Caleb be in full bliss.

You'd be begging and pleading for him to take a break but your pussy says otherwise:((

The colonel is disappointed of knowing that you tried to escape again but at the same time he can't help but chuckle in amusement seeing you fail again and again.

He's determined to keep you forever by his side.

"hah- it's sad...to know you're planning to escape me again...." He coos, brushing the strands of your hair away from your face as he caress your cheek, you can only moan and whimper in return while he continues drilling his aching cock inside your throbbing pussy.

"but... you.. ngh... just k-kept on, putting fuel to the fire, sweetie... "

Adoring the sight of you being dicked down by the colonel-- seeing you like that aroused Caleb-- you look so vulnerable and submissive towards him. He can't help but abuse the power he has against you, dominating you everytime he gets the chance because he knows you'll always submit yourself to him:(

He always uses the "pull it out whole and.... slam!" method--which makes your eyes roll to the back, legs trembling as you stick out your tongue. Feeling a euphoric climax rising to your aching pussy.

This man fucks like a dog in heat--acting like he haven't been balls deep fucking you countless times in every place of the fleet headquarters.

And what aroused him the most, is how you look so hot with that nurse's uniform. How the buttons that were once in place were now all gone because he was too impatient he ripped the shirt open with his hands-- leaving you just with your bare tits, filled with his saliva in display. The way the pencil skirt fits you perfectly-- riding up to your plush thighs. He can't help but want to bite and leave marks on the flesh:((

Caleb will always be a thighs man.

"-shit- I s-should dress..you-- hah-- up in... different uniforms n-next time..." He pants heavily, pressing his thumb against your stomach as he can feel his cock forming a bulge against your stomach while pounding inside of your tight entrance.

His angry red tip kissing and greeting your womb while he pumps it in and out-- stretching you out so good. With how big his cock is, it never leaves any space inside your warm tight pussy. You're always full of his gritty cock.

"heh- m-might need another hah--.. pussy appointment soon, Nurse.."

No worries, he's just a man who's into women in uniform.

masterlist

[m-ayo-o]

thinking of husband nanami kento who is really into playing with your pussy through your panties!

so much so, that he often asks you to wear his favourite pair.

"which pair are you wearing tonight, darling?" he would ask during your evening out.

"the pretty white pair, just like you asked, kento~" you chime back, adoring this more sexually perverted side to your usually sweet and caring husband.

and with the way he's thinking, it is getting so perverse he needs to take you home immediately.

spreading his legs on the couch, he gets you comfortable on top, and feels up your inner thighs until he finds what he wants.

"that's it, sweetheart," he encourages you to open your legs wider for him and expose the sweet spot nestled in your core.

which is where his thumb rests, right at your centre, rubbing up and down.

the gentle motion, paired with the heat coming from his body and his voice in your ear, is enough to get you wet through the material.

and that's just how he likes it; seeping through the thin fabric of those pretty white panties.

"soaked already, honey?" the timbre of his voice makes you quiver on his lap. your thighs clench and he knows you're already close.

"just teasing, baby," he kisses your cheek from his position behind you, his golden hair tickling your neck, "let me get on my knees."

those words alone are enough to get you dripping down your thighs.

"y-yes, kento~"

you find yourself sitting above him with your legs being spread by large, masculine, familiar hands.

the gold band of his ring glistens in the low light, accentuating the beauty of the man below you.

"yes, just like that, good girl," he purrs and settles between your legs. his thighs bulge as he kneels, drawing your attention further down to the tent in his tight pants.

it's throbbing, getting harder the closer his lips get to your wet, messy panties.

his tongue reaches out, connecting to your core, and his throat forces out a guttural grunt.

his teeth find the saturated material, and he only just restrains himself from ripping them to shreds.

sliding his tongue out, he returns to his original mission; making you cum through your panties.

he pleasures you, licking you up and down your barely clothed labia, focusing on the sweet spot of your clit.

the relentless licking and restrained groans coming from his chest make you whimper. your breath falters, your hands gripping tight to the chair below you as you let out a shrill cry.

"ken..to- ahh-- fuckk..!!"

your legs are shaking. he can taste the liquid you're spilling through your panties.

but he's not satisfied.

taking you to bed, he lays you down with care and unbuckles his tight, restrictive pants.

releasing his cock from his shorts he arches over your body that's dewy with sweat, glistening from the aftermath of your first orgasm.

pumping himself a few times, he nestles his lips into your neck and mutters something.

"sorry.. sweetheart.." he's embarrassed, "i need to.."

and he slides his cock into your soaking wet panties.

he pumps his dick in and out of the tight material, giving him enough lubrication and friction to get off.

you look down, seeing the way his dick pushes into your panties, pulling them tight over the smooth head, all covered in your wet mess, combining with his precum, and you moan at the sight.

"uhh.." he groans as he starts coming undone- your composed and elegant husband is moaning profanities into your ear from fucking your soaking wet panties.

he rubs the head of his cock over your pussy. but not in.

he's not even penetrating you and he's getting breathless.

his moaning soon falls off, into heated panting as he presses kiss after kiss to your tender neck.

and the way the smooth head of his cock is teasing your puffy clit is sending you spiralling out of control as you clutch onto the shirt that you've nearly ripped off his back.

"ken-- kentoo..." you whimper for him, through the relentless pleasure.

"sweet-- heart.." his hands pin your hips to the bed and he pulls away in the peak of this heated moment to look down.

the sight of his cock, pulling tight against the material of your panties makes his abs clench up with pleasure.

"c-close.." he murmurs, giving your clit a few final touches before his cock starts pulsing, squirting ropes of cum through the lacy material.

"uh.. aah--" he groans, his brow squeezed together in pleasure as he looks down at you.

"god, i've made a mess.." he mutters, slipping his cock out of your panties and dragging them down your legs.

"let me clean you up, darling.."

kento

[whenstarsundress]

Can you write the “left on read” scenario for Caleb? Thank you so much, u are SO talented 🤎

the fight had been bad. you hadn’t even been yelling or screaming at each other. it was worse. it was cold and calculated, like two strangers standing at opposite ends of a battlefield.

in the end you had told him you needed space and caleb, ever the soldier, nodded once like he was taking orders. but you saw how his jaw clenched and how his hands had curled into fists at his sides.

when you walked out you had ridiculously thought he’d chase you. he didn’t. he never did.

hours passed. then days. then almost two weeks. and you came to a point where you felt like this was the end.

until he sent a message.

we need to talk.

you saw it. you didn’t reply. you left him on read. just for now. just to give yourself a breather and think about everything.

caleb didn’t even granted you five minutes before the next message came.

don’t leave me on fucking read.

your shaking fingers hovered over the keyboard. a minute, then another until a knock echoed through your apartment. a heavy, gloved fist hitting your door like a warning. you barely had time to open it before caleb walked in.

his uniform was soaked from the rain and he carried a storm behind his eyes.

“don’t ever do that again,” he said quietly, deadly.

“do what?” you asked, heart pounding.

he didn’t answer. just stared at you like you’d ripped out his spine and he was somehow still standing. “you left and i let you. that was a mistake.”

your breath caught. “caleb—”

“no.” he stepped closer. “you don’t get to shut me out. not after everything. you don’t get to leave me on read like i’m just some name in your phone.”

the air between you crackled. he looked like he was seconds from falling apart or snapping you in half. maybe both.

you wanted to take a step back, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his chest. he held your face like it was fragile glass, when he breathed. “you’re not walking away. not again.”

his mouth crashed onto yours and nothing about the kiss was sweet. it was war. teeth clashed. gloves still on. he pulled you closer, hands roamed over your body like he staked claim.

his voice broke only once, “i can’t lose you.”

and when you whispered, “then don’t”, he let go.

not of control, but of everything else. the fear. the pride. the silence.

your back hit the wall hard, but caleb didn’t even blink. one gloved hand wrapped around your throat, holding it possessively. as a warning.

“you think i’m going to let you go without a fight?” his breath was hot under the controlled rage. “you don’t get to leave me on read and walk away like i’m nothing.”

his thigh slid between yours, forcing you open. you gasped, but he was already on you as he kissed you again, his tongue invading like he was conquering territory. he tasted like rain, heat and that unmistakable metallic edge of danger.

“you’re mine,” he whispered against your mouth. “say it.”

“i’m yours,” you whispered dizzy.

he smiled cruelly and satisfied. his gloved hand slid down your body, trailing heat over your shirt, your stomach, between your thighs. the leather rubbed against your clothed core and you whimpered.

“i should punish you for ignoring me,” caleb said darkly. “but that’d mean not touching you. and i’m too fucking weak for that.”

you barely had time to blink before he had your pants halfway down and your leg hitched around his waist. “condom?” you managed breathlessly.

his eyes met yours, black storms behind them. “not today. today i need you raw.”

you had no time to protest as he pressed into you in one hard, brutal thrust. you cried out and clawed at his soaked jacket, your spine arching off the wall. he didn’t pause or gave you the time to adjust.

he knew his good girl could take it.

“you’re tight,” he muttered, hips slamming into you. “tighter than i remember. did you think about me while you were gone? did you touch yourself and cry into your pillow?”

your only answer was a sob. he groaned, “fuck. i missed that sound.”

he gripped your ass with both hands and lifted you higher, pinned you harder. you could feel the tension in every muscle. how close he was to snapping. but caleb didn’t lose control—he held it like a weapon.

his thrusts stayed steady and devastatingly deep. every time he bottomed out, you swore you saw stars. every time he pulled back, you begged for more.

“you gonna come for me?” he whispered, dragging his gloved fingers up your neck again. “or should i keep fucking you until you forget why you walked away?”

“caleb—!”

“say it.”

“i’m yours,” you moaned, head falling back. “i won’t walk away again—please. caleb, please!”

and that was it.

he growled—actually growled—and snapped his hips faster and harder. you came around him like a tidal wave, screaming his name as your nails raked down his back. he followed seconds later, panting and biting into your shoulder.

but even after? he didn’t let go. didn’t pull out and didn’t soften. he held you against him like a man who knew how easily he could lose everything.

and in the silence he allowed his voice to crack, to show that even a man like him can break.

“don’t leave me again.”

[jobean12-blog]

In Your Arms

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: ~900

Summary: Bucky's been away on a mission and when he returns, you're all he wants.

Author's Note: There are NO spoilers here. Just was so happy to see Bucky and enjoyed Thunderbolts and his beefiness! Those arms...my god. 🫠🔥Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: soft sweetness, kisses, mentions of minor injuries

The silence in the room is broken only by the soft pitter patter of rain on the large window that overlooks the gray skies blanketing the city. Your book lays limp in your hand as you stare out through the mottled glass, Alpine curled in your lap, warm against your stomach.

You reach for your phone but stop yourself with a sigh. How many minutes could have passed since the last time you checked? Instead, you lift your book and open to your book-marked page, the note he left you sliding down onto Alpine’s fur. You brush your fingers over his scrawled handwriting, smiling at his little doodles and sweet words. Settling back into the couch you start to read again.

“If I didn’t need to kiss you so badly I’d stand here and stare at you forever.”

Your head shoots up and you turn toward the sound of his deep and raspy voice. He leans against the doorframe casually, still in full gear and looking deadly but for the soft smile that pulls at his lips.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The book is discarded in seconds and much to Alpine’s displeasure you hastily remove him from your lap, walking straight toward Bucky.

“Hi.”

“Hiya doll face,” he replies, wrapping his arms around your waist and dragging you against him.

Your pulse skitters as you soak in every detail of him. Only one minor cut on his forehead and nothing else, but who knows what’s beneath his gear.

“You’re ok?”

“I am now.” His voice softens to the tone he only ever uses with you as he lowers his mouth.

He kisses you slowly and gently and you lean up to get closer, taking his stubbled cheeks between your palms. With more pressure from his lips, he slides his hand up your back, grabbing the nape of your neck and angling your face to claim more of your mouth. Your fingers slide higher and into his hair.

You feel his abs tense when you press yourself closer and you reluctantly pull back. He frowns, his eyes holding enough promise to make your entire body heat.

“Are you hurt?”

Your hands fall from his face, and you start to work open the buckles of his tack vest. He doesn’t stop you, keeping his hands settled firmly on your waist. You tug it open and rip his black shirt from his pants, lifting it until you can see his skin. There’s a large bruise just under his ribs and you dig your teeth into your bottom lip to stop your gasp, pressing your fingertips softly to the spot.

“Looks worse than it is,” he says softly.

You bend at the waist and kiss his stomach, feeling the muscles shift and flex. As you stand you grab the knife at this waist and pull it free, setting it behind him on the counter. Your hands slide behind his back, fingers curling around the hilt of a second knife that you remove and place down next to the first.

A slow, beautiful smile curves his mouth as he watches you. “Three more.”

Your fingers dance down his thighs, stopping at the hidden pocket on the left side. You carefully reach inside and pull out the third knife. Knowing there must be one in his boot you fall to your knees, your eyes lifting to meet his just in time to see them grow darker.

“I love you like this,” he murmurs.

You lift your shoulder demurely and pluck out the fourth knife in his right boot, sliding slowly back up his body.

“One more,” he whispers, running his knuckles along your cheek.

His gaze drops to your mouth, then skims over your features before his head dips and he brushes his lips to yours.

“No fair,” you whisper against them. “No distractions.”

He smiles but kisses you anyway. It’s soft and quick but still steals your breath.

You recover enough to slip your hands inside his tack vest, feeling around for the handle of the last knife. His own hands begin to wander, one cool and smooth, and the other grazing over your skin in a way that you can feel every callous he’s built from mastering the very blades you’re removing. You shiver in his arms but continue your search, a triumphant smile pulling your lips upward when you find the hidden spot near his ribs where his last knife is safely tucked away.

With practiced deftness you pull it free and set it down with the others then push his vest from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Your lips part to tell him exactly what you want to remove next, but his mouth is on yours before a word gets out.

A gasp catches in your throat at the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his clothing and then again when he deepens the kiss, like doing it is more vital than his next breath. Your hands slide over his biceps, fingernails digging into the bulging muscles as his lips slip down your throat, and he whispers, “fuck, I’ve missed the taste of you…the feel of you in my arms.”

[justwinginglife]

The LADS Men Catch You Masturbating To A Photo Of Them

Yall can read the title but this is mature content. Big thanks to @tbaluver my lovely beta reader who helped me not rip my hair out as I was writing and editing and editing and editing again.

Xavier

Xavier was frustrated again.

He knew it was his own damn fault for sending you a photo of him with his shirt slightly unbuttoned but it was two damn buttons. He didn’t think you’d be so hot and bothered by a single photo of him that you’d hide yourself away in your room and jack off to it. If he’d known you’d neglect him like this, opting to pleasure yourself to a photo of him instead, he never would’ve sent it in the first place. Sure, you hadn’t known he was awake, and sure you hadn’t known he’d been dying to see you, but you could’ve sent him a message saying you were horny. You could’ve asked for help. 

Now he was sulking outside of your bedroom door, listening to you whimper and whine, and it was driving him crazy. Finally, he’d had enough, and without warning, he charged into the room. 

You yelped and reflexively yanked the blanket over yourself. “Xavier! Wh-what are you doing here? I th-thought you were at home asleep.”

“So you figured you’d quietly get off to him and let me continue sleeping, is that it? Do you think I can’t satisfy your needs like he can?” His eyes darkened as he made his way towards you. 

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Xavier. What do you mean ‘he’? It’s literally you. I’m getting off to you.”

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above you, allowing your phone to fall to the side. “No, if you were getting off to me, it would be my cock getting soaked and not your fingers. Wanna try that again?”

You swallowed. “Please… please Xavier. Help me. Please, I wanna come on your cock.”

“That’s much better.” He growled.

He wasted no time at all in yanking down his pants and positioning himself over you. He dragged the tip of his swollen cock along your slicked entrance, allowing your arousal to drizzle down his impressive length. He slapped it against your clit a couple times in a teasing manner, but then finally just jammed himself inside you. Maybe if you’d approached him from the very beginning, asked for his help nicely, he would’ve been gentle with you. Would’ve taken his time to coax you open, would’ve eased his way into your warmth. 

But you hadn’t even considered him as an option and it drove him mad. So he slammed his hips forward and drilled himself deep inside you, thrusting against your tightening walls with a punishing tenacity. When you whined, he silenced you with a devastating kiss, tongue invading you with overwhelming force. You’d remember him next time you were in the mood- that he would make sure of. 

He spent the remainder of the night bullying his way through your pussy until you were cum drunk and sky high, shuddering through multiple orgasms, and slurring the words he made you repeat after him, “I promise I will only come on Xavier’s cock… I promise I will only come on Xavier’s cock… I promise…”

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

Sylus

It was almost like Sylus sent you the photo on purpose. 

He was half naked on top of a motorcycle, grease dripping down his toned abs, and smirking like a sinner; what girl wouldn’t come to that?

So when you suddenly found yourself tugging off your soaked panties, and settling into a comfortable position on your bed before beginning to tease circles onto your clit, you felt it was only the most reasonable of ways to respond to his photo. If he didn’t want you to touch yourself, he should’ve been there in person to let you touch him. 

Little did you know, he’d come home early, and had begun to watch you from the doorway, eyes alight with both amusement and arousal. He’d intended for the photo to get a reaction out of you, but he hadn’t intended for the reaction to be quite so… primal. He continued to watch intently as you slid your slicked up fingers in and out of you, lust-filled eyes laser-focused on his photo. You imagined his abs were wet because you’d come all over them and it nearly sent your orgasm crashing into you. You bit your lip to stall its arrival, prolong your pleasure for a moment more. 

Sylus watched as you sunk your teeth into your plush lips and god did he want to sink his teeth right into them next. But he stayed still, he stayed silent. Waited for the opportune moment to show his hand. 

It wasn’t until you moaned, “Fuck- Sylus, I need you,” that he made his entrance, sliding onto the bed beside you. Before you’d even had time to properly be shocked, he was spreading your legs open wider. 

“I think you can do better than that, sweetie.” His fingers guided your fingers deeper inside you, slamming up against your sweet spot.

You gasped and dropped your phone in surprise. 

He watched as it fell to the floor with a smirk. “Looks like you’ll have to rely on me now.”

He spent the next few, agonizing minutes summoning your release with every deliberate stroke of his fingers, only to let it sink back inside you, before bringing it to your forefront again and repeating the cycle over and over. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you throbbed around him, desperate for one, single orgasm.

“Sylus!” You exclaimed in anguish, “Please. Let me come.”

“How badly do you want to come, kitten?” He grinned as he flexed his fingers, flicking them against your eager core once more. 

“Badly.” You groaned.

“Ah, so not that bad then,” He smirked.

You attempted to glare at him but he cut you off with a sharp flick of his fingers. You cried out in pleasure and pain. “PLEASE- Sylus, I wanna come so badly. I NEED to come.”

He nuzzled against your ear, nibbling on your earlobe before purring, “So come for me then. Don’t hold back a single sound.”

A spark of heat flashed through you when you heard his words. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you clenched around both of your fingers, dancing on the edge of ecstasy. Then, your orgasm finally found you. You cried out his name as the warmth spread through your veins. 

When your eyes eventually blinked open again, you were met with the sight of him licking his fingers clean. His wild eyes held your gaze and he smirked. 

“That’s my good girl.”

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

Rafayel

“You could’ve just told me you missed me, cutie.” Rafayel smirked as he stood with his arms crossed in the doorway.

Just an hour ago, Rafayel had sent you a photo of him shirtless on the beach and now you’d been caught red handed, masturbating to it. Embarrassing. If pressed, you’d argue that it was simply impossible not to touch yourself when faced with such a photo. You’d noticed he’d taken a dip in the ocean just before taking the shot because a tantalizing trail of water was trickling down his abs, and it was enough to get you dripping as well. Honestly, it was a wonder you hadn’t come already with how furiously you’d fingered yourself after receiving his photo. Anyway, he’d come home from his beach trip earlier than you thought and that led to your current predicament. 

You bit down on your lip, blushing slightly. “I, uh… I missed you. Help me?” 

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

In an instant, he was spreading your legs apart. You’d assumed he’d take over fingering you and were, instead, pleasantly surprised when his head dipped down to lick a stripe up your glistening folds. 

“Raf!” You gasped.

“Sorry… my lips are chapped from all that salt water and I’m just so… thirsty. I was hoping you could give me something to drink, cutie.” He grinned up at you before delving back inside you with his tongue. He wasn’t kidding about being thirsty. You felt him collect every drop of arousal from your quaking walls with each hungry flick of his tongue. You thought he might just drown himself inside you if he continued.

You attempted to pull away slightly, just to allow him air to breathe, to allow him a moment of respite from your suffocating warmth, but he pinned your legs in place before you could get too far. 

“You think the God of the Sea is in need of air?” His voice dropped to a low growl. He looked up at you with dark eyes, as though offended at your underestimation of him. 

“I think Rafayel is in need of air.”

His eyes softened slightly at your concern. Then his lips curled into a smirk. “Lemurians can survive the darkest depths of the ocean; I’m pretty sure I can survive the depths of my love.” He swirled his tongue around your sensitive bud teasingly. “But the real question is- can you survive me?”

He didn’t need your answer. He already had it the moment he buried his tongue back inside you and you responded with choked whimpers. He reveled in the sounds he drew from your mouth with every drag of his tongue here and there but what he relished even more was the moment you were convulsing against his tongue and coming down his throat. As you shuddered through your release, he thought to himself that he could honestly get drunk on the taste of you. One orgasm wasn’t enough. He’d have you emptying all evidence of your arousal into his mouth until he couldn’t taste anything else, until he’d forgotten the taste of anything else. 

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

Caleb

You had just sent him the most innocent looking photo of you. You were walking in the park, wearing a white sundress, the sunlight had caught your eyes just right, and your hair was blowing in the wind. You couldn’t have looked more perfect.

But you weren’t wearing a bra.

His first instinct was to look away, ashamed. But then he realized you weren’t here to scold him. So he took another peek. His pants quickly tightened around him as his eyes followed the curves of your breast through your nearly-see-through dress. And when his eyes settled on the peaks of your nipples poking through the sheer fabric, he bit down on his lip to keep the precum from trickling down his pants. He stained them anyway. He couldn’t help himself; he was hard as fuck. 

You were still strolling through the park; he was sure he had time to relieve himself. So he made his way to the bathroom. 

One hand gripped his phone tightly; he didn’t dare to drop it. The other stroked his aching length aggressively. He imagined the way your perky tits would bounce as he drilled himself deeper into you, imagined the way he’d stain your dress with his cum. He was so lost in his thoughts that even after he’d come down the toilet, he didn’t notice that you’d come home and made yourself comfortable in the bedroom. It wasn’t until he opened the bathroom door that he heard just how comfortable you were.

“Caleb!” 

At first, he thought you needed him. He quickly rushed to find the source of your voice, worried you were hurt. Then he realized you were in the bedroom with the door slightly ajar, and his footsteps slowed. 

There it was again. “Caleb!” You moaned.

His recently emptied erection flickered back to life. He thought you were calling his name because you needed him. He didn’t realize you were calling his name because you… needed him. Well, that was an easy fix.

He slipped through the doorway, ready to be at your service. What he was not ready for was just how debilitating the sight of you touching yourself to him would be. You had a shirtless photo of him propped up in one hand, fingers curled inside you with the other, thrumming at your insides with an ever increasing rhythm. Moments ago, he’d been more than prepared to assist, but now all he could do was stand and stare, mouth slightly agape.

“Caleb!” You exclaimed again. But this time, your voice was tinged with embarrassment instead of pleasure. His eyes found yours and he realized you’d caught him staring. 

“Sorry, sorry! Just comin’ in to see if you needed some help.”

Your cheeks burned bright. If you’d had more pride, maybe you would’ve kicked him out. Closed the door in his face, made him promise to forget he ever saw you like this. But you’d been desperately chasing the high that was always just a fingertip out of reach, and you’d begun to get frustrated. “My…” You cleared your throat awkwardly, “My fingers aren’t long enough.”

He took a couple cautious steps towards you. “I…I can help with that.”

You swallowed as he settled onto the bed beside you. Caleb was always helping you. Helping you reach the nice glasses on the top shelf, helping you jumpstart your car when the battery died, helping you set up the wi-fi in your new apartment. You just never imagined he’d be helping you with… this.

You held your breath as he spit on his fingers, and released the breath in a low moan when he slid them inside you. In no time at all, he’d already found the sweet spot you’d been straining to reach. 

“Fuuuuck.” You hissed, eyes rolling back as he caressed your wet heat. 

He tried to focus on pleasuring you, on lavishing his attention on every spot that made you gasp and groan. But as you grew tighter around his fingers, clenching as the ecstasy built up in your core, he felt his pants grow tighter around him again. He bit down on his lip and tried to ignore his own selfish desires.

“You know…I can help with that.” You murmured, voice seeped in lust, as you laid eyes on the bulge in his pants. Your fingers danced around his belt, waiting for his permission. 

He nodded a little too quickly and soon, he was fucking himself into your hand. It almost became competition, the way you’d stroke him faster and he’d finger you deeper. 

He wasn’t sure who came first in the end, but he was sure he’d stained your dress. He’d have to buy you a new one. Maybe he’d stain that one too.

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

Zayne

Zayne cleared his throat from the doorway. 

Shit.

“You know…” He stepped closer to your bed, where you’d shrunken under the covers, away from his prying eyes. “When I said physical activity was good for you, I didn’t mean…masturbation.”

You swallowed. “I’m just… blowing off some steam?” You offered weakly. 

If he had any witty remarks to make about your current situation, they quickly stuttered to a stop when he realized that you’d been holding a picture of him in your hand (and to his surprise, it was a picture of him fully clothed, in…surgical gear??) while you touched yourself. Crimson seeped into his cheeks and his ears soon followed. He started to talk but when no words came out, he cleared his throat again, sweat rolling down his Adam's apple.

“Would you…like some help with your… activities?”

Your eyes widened. Here he was, avoiding all eye contact with you like it was the plague, and he was offering to help?

He swallowed when you tugged the blanket off of you and spread your legs in response. “I… I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Yes…I… I want you to touch me, Zayne.”

His lips found yours in an instant. At first, his kisses were soft, tender. Then they grew increasingly more passionate as his fingers found their target. He moaned against your lips, heat enveloping him as you clenched around him. He didn’t dare pull away from your lips, partly because he was happy just to be kissing you, and partly because if he pulled away long enough to watch himself fuck you wide open with his fingers, he might just come all over his pants and his dignity. 

Somehow, touching you was just as arousing for him as being touched himself. Somehow, every time you squeezed or squirmed, he felt your pleasure as if it was his own. Somehow, every torturous trail that his fingers teased into your walls was a torment to him too. Somehow, he needed your release as badly as you did. He needed you to come all over his fingers. He needed you to cry out his name. He needed you to arch your head back and let him devour the length of your neck as you rode out your orgasm. And he needed it like he needed air. 

It was this ravenous tenacity that brought not one but two orgasms flooding through your core in a matter of minutes. Zayne completely missed the first one, still focused on wanting to take care of you, and you were too breathless to tell him you’d already come so he continued vigorously pumping away until you were overwhelmed by your second release of the night. It wasn’t until he began thumbing at your clit that you finally choked out a protest, tears in your eyes.

“Z-Zayne! F-Fuck… I’ve… I’ve already come t-twice… don’t you think you should give me a minute to…to breathe?” You begged in between panted breaths. 

His eyes widened. “Twice?”

You let out an exhausted laugh. “So Doctor Zayne can find the g-spot just fine, but he can’t tell when it’s overloaded? A+ for anatomy, Doc, but maybe like a C for observational skills.”

He blinked at you. “You’re giving me a C? I’ve never gotten a C in my entire life.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” You shook your head, laughing again. “Well, as your professor, I’m afraid I can’t award you anything higher than a C.”

“Surely there’s something I could do to make you… reconsider?” Suddenly Zayne’s slow, agonizing circles resumed on your clit.

You bit back another moan. Oh god, he was at it again. 

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

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @minasfwoopyponytail @inkytypewriter

[buckybarnesluvr]

Trigger Point

//Pairing// Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

//Summary// Someone tries to trigger Bucky’s Winter Soldier programming—and it nearly works.

//Word Count// ~1.4k

//Warnings// Rough sex, PIV (use protection!!!), m&f orgasm, metal arm kink, breeding kink, overstimulation, dominance/submission dynamics, PTSD implications, possessive behavior, consensual power imbalance

You knew something was wrong the second he stalked off the jet.

Bucky didn’t say a word during debriefing—barely looked at anyone. You caught the tremor in his jaw, the tightness in his fists, the way he kept flexing his left hand like it was burning through his wrist.

You didn’t speak until you found him in the dimmed corridor below deck, near the emergency equipment lockers, pacing like a caged animal.

“Bucky—”

“Don’t,” he snapped, turning toward you, wild-eyed.

You froze. His pupils were blown, sweat beading at his temples. His face looked like a war zone—gritted teeth, flared nostrils, storm in his chest.

“They tried it,” he growled, voice gravel. “They tried to use the words.”

Your stomach dropped.

The trigger words.

You closed the distance carefully, like you were approaching a lit fuse. “But they didn’t work, right?”

His silence was the answer. Not because they succeeded—but because they almost had.

He stepped in close, breathing hard. His metal hand clenched and unclenched at his side, the plates groaning with tension.

“I need something else to take over,” he said, voice low and shaking. “Before the memories eat me alive.”

You met his eyes and nodded, barely whispering, “Take it.”

Then his mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t a kiss—it was a claim. His flesh hand grabbed the back of your neck, the cold press of vibranium pushing up under your shirt like it needed to mark you, own you. He backed you up into the wall with a growl, mouth devouring, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth.

“You’re mine,” he snarled, voice rough. “You hear me?”

“Yes,” you gasped, fingers already tearing at the straps of his tac vest. “Always.”

His metal hand tore your shirt open like paper. No finesse—just need. You moaned at the cold glide over your breasts, the sharp contrast against your heated skin.

“You gonna let me fuck the Winter Soldier out of me?” he hissed, rutting his hips against yours, already hard and straining in his combat pants. “Remind me who I really am?”

“Please.”

That’s all he needed.

Your pants were ripped off you and thrown somewhere you couldn't see. He shoved his down quickly, not wasting another second. He lifted you against the wall, metal fingers digging into your thighs as he lined up and slammed into you in one brutal thrust.

You screamed—not from pain, but from the shock of fullness, the way he filled you so deep it felt like he reached your soul.

“Fuck—this pussy,” he grunted, snapping his hips up. “Always so fucking tight. Like you were made for me.”

You clung to him, fingers fisting in his hair as he fucked into you, rough and relentless. The metal arm held you effortlessly, locked in place like a vise while his flesh hand slid between your bodies, thumb circling your clit with no mercy.

“You like this?” he growled. “You like me losing control on you?”

You whimpered, already close, already unraveling from the brutal pace. “Yes, Bucky—don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

“You’re gonna come,” he ordered, thrusts picking up speed. “You’re gonna come, and then I’m gonna fill you up. Fuck a baby into you, make sure nobody ever fucking forgets you belong to me.”

You shattered.

Your orgasm slammed into you, sharp and overwhelming, and Bucky didn’t slow down. He kept thrusting through it, chasing his own high, whispering broken things in your ear:

“Mine.” “No one else touches you.” “Need you. Only you.” “Can’t lose myself—not with you here—”

Then with a final deep thrust and a guttural growl, he buried himself to the hilt and came—hot, thick, pulsing inside you in waves. His hips jerked with each spurt, and he held you so tight it felt like he was trying to mold your body to his.

But he wasn’t done.

You were still shaking when he pulled back just enough to watch your pussy flutter around him. He slid out halfway, then slammed back in—again. And again.

“Bucky—” you whimpered, overwhelmed.

“One more,” he said, lips brushing your ear. “Give me one more. I know you can.”

His thumb found your clit again—faster this time, rougher. Your legs trembled. His cock throbbed inside you.

“I need to see you fall apart,” he whispered. “Need to know I didn’t hurt you. That I didn’t become him again.”

The second orgasm hit like lightning—your body arching, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry as you clenched down on him like a vice. He grunted, hips faltering, spilling into you again with a broken moan.

You sagged against him, completely spent.

His hold on you loosened, just enough to let you breathe. His forehead rested against yours, sweat dripping onto your cheeks as his breath came in ragged gasps.

“I didn’t mean to be that rough,” he murmured, shame already creeping in.

You cupped his cheek, pulling him in for a soft kiss.

“You needed it. And I needed you.”

For a second, the Helicarrier didn’t exist. The mission, the words, the war—it all faded. Just him. Just you. Still here. Still whole.

“I don’t know what I’d be without you,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“You’ll never have to find out.”

[invoncible]

Mark was pissed when you got a date for the first time. MDNI. mark grayson & f! reader

Being friends since childhood, he grew up as your gatekeeper—no one could play with you on the playground turned into no one could ask you out to the school dance turned into no one could date you, period. His excuse? No one was good enough for you. He was your best friend, after all.

Mark already buys you stuff (as friends), takes you out to eat (cuz he was a good friend), and listens whenever you want to yap (he was just a nice guy!). And in his humble opinion, he was tall. His mom always says he's handsome. And he was ripped! Why would you need anyone else if he hit all the boxes?

That was all a cover up for the fact that he wanted you. He's loved you since he can remember, of course he envisions the rest of his life by your side. This was his way of keeping you to himself until he had the balls to jeopardize your friendship for the chance at something more. But, of course…

"The one time I'm not around and everyone shoots their shot with you?" Mark groaned into your pillow.

"Put some clothes on." You threw a shirt his way, feeling uneasy that he was just laying there in his hero suit. "Anyone can walk in here."

He rolled his eyes, snatching the shirt from the air as you tossed it. He slipped it over his suit while getting off the bed. He walked closer, stubbornly hovering behind you as you flitted around the room getting ready for your big date.

"Mark!" you laughed, pushing him away with your arm. "Can you back up?"

He ignored you, playfully dropping his weight onto you despite his ominous tone. "I'm serious, Y/n. Are you seriously going out alone with him? At night? In his car? Alone?"

"The whole point of a date is that I'm not alone." You rolled your eyes, grabbing your chosen dress for the night and heading into the bathroom. Mark stood in the doorway, a retort on his tongue. You cut him off, looking at him with exasperation. "What, are you gonna follow me into the bathroom, too?"

He scowled, grabbing the door and slamming it shut himself. His annoyance only grew when he heard your amused giggle on the other side.

He knew he had responsibilities as Invincible. He loves everything about being a hero.... except the fact that he's spending so much time away from his loved ones. It was worse that you were a pretty girl in university—there were all sorts of bad characters that would try their luck with you. He wouldn't even be there to protect you.

He clasped his hands behind his neck, pacing in circles as if this was a life or death matter (he's dramatic).

He peeked over his elbow when he heard the bathroom door crack open.

"Okay, option one." You stepped out in a cute little black dress. Too little for his liking, but whatever. "What d'you think?"

"It's alright." He wanted to fall to his knees in front of you and worship you, peel that stupid dress off slow enough to get at you for putting it on in the first place for someone that wasn't him.

You frowned. "Alright? I need gorgeous."

You had that down, he wanted to say, even without the dumb dress.

You retreated to the bathroom, slipping into your second option and revealing it. Mark wished he'd gone with the first one because this one was worse because it was so much better. Where the fuck were you getting these dresses?

He twisted his face in disgust as you gave a little spin. "No."

You faced him, brows creasing and lips in a pout. His heart squeezed at the sight. He didn't want to be so mean. You were so pretty; he could stare at you all day regardless of what you had on, but in this moment he couldn't help it.

"No?" You sighed, sneaking glances at yourself in the mirror.

Go back to the first one go back to the first one—

"Well, it'll have to do."

Fuck.

You had the audacity to stand in front of him with your back turned. "Zip me up?"

He inhaled, muttering under his breath as he grabbed the zipper from where it sat half-way and tugged it up... maybe rougher than warranted.

"Mark—!" you squeaked as you stumbled forward under his forceful hands.

"I'm telling you, this isn't a good idea." Mark grumbled, purposely taking a while to drag the zipper on its track just to feel your skin, dragging his fingers up the expanse of your back.

"Be gentle—"

"All guys want the same thing." He snapped, sharply zipping it the full way and immediately walking away.

"Why'd you even come over if you're just gonna bitch?" You adjusted the hem of your dress, glaring at him over your shoulder. "You're so angry for no reason."

"There is a reason!" He exclaimed, a hand on his hip as if prepping to lecture you. "You're going out with someone you met on a dating app at fuckin' 9 in the night looking really good. What if you get kidnapped? Or if he has bad intentions? What if he's driving you somewhere you don't wanna go?"

With each concern your frown deepened. He had to steel himself against your adorable sulking, turning away as he continued.

"What if he wants to kiss you, or touch you, or—or sleep with you?!" Mark's voice lowered as if the notion of anyone fucking you was unimaginable. "Have you even had sex yet?"

You looked at him weirdly and he thought he fucked up when you turned from him.

"No. But that's kind of the point for this date." You shot back, touching up your makeup in the mirror.

His jaw dropped, gaping at you. "No." The thought alone made his skin crawl.

You laughed. "You're so funny! When did you become so responsible? We always talked about having fun in university."

"Not that kind of fun."

You shrugged. "Whatever. And don't think I missed that 'I look good.'" You smiled smugly, poking his chest triumphantly and his face flushed, his train of thought stuttering.

"As far as I'm concerned, we're both trying to get some and you're upset I beat you to it." You giggled and he wanted to wipe that patronizing smile off your face.

"...You wouldn't know what to do." He muttered, going for a low blow. He was feeling petty. Nothing he said or did was discouraging you, but he knew you better than you knew yourself. A little provocation was all he needed.

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Yes, I would."

He grinned slowly. He knew you like the back of his hand. "No, you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would."

"Mmm. Don't think so." He mirrored your stance, stepping closer and looking down at you from the slope his nose.

"Cuz you're so experienced?"

"Right."

"Experienced with who, exactly?"

His smirk faltered for a split second, covering it up by running his hand over his face and turning it back on you. “Jealous?"

"You’re the one acting jealous." You rolled your eyes. "Why don't you tell me all your secrets? Since you know so much. I'll use them with my date."

Mark's smile was devoid of emotion. He just stared. He stared for a long, long time. He squinted at you like you just said something unthinkable—in a way, you did.

If he wasn't pissed before, he was now.

"How about I show you?"

[]

Mark was a nice guy. Nice enough to remember that you were a hands-on learner. That's why he had your legs spread, dress bunched up at your hips, taking his sweet sweet time pumping his fingers in and out of you. His eyes flickered to your face when he intentionally curled them.

His pupils blew wide when he watched your head drop back against the bed, his breath hitching when a feathery whine joining the soft squelch of his fingers buried in your soaked heat.

"Yeah," he laughed lowly, his face hot. "who's bitching now?"

"Shut up," you hissed from beneath him, but it was hard to take anything serious when you were putty in his hands.

"I'm never shutting up about this." He promised, all else fading into the background when he glanced down and saw your slick coating his hand, staining the sleeves of his suit. "Wow."

"Shut up." you gasped, heat snaking up you neck. Wow?

"Fine." Mark mumbled, blush burning at his cheeks. He pulled his fingers from you, pushing your knees apart when you tried to close them. He was impatient, but his chest shook with each heartbeat; his nervous energy was overwhelming his senses, second only to the primal desire to please you.

You squeaked when he yanked you higher up the bed, propping you up against the pillows before lying on his stomach. You snapped your legs shut, much to Mark's disappointment.

"What?" he breathed, eyebrows furrowed. "Did I—"

"No, it's just... this is so embarrassing." You mumbled, curling into yourself. Mark ran his calloused hands up and down your skin.

"What is?" Mark used his strength to pry your legs open again, giving you puppy eyes from his spot between your thighs. "You're so beautiful."

"Mark..." Where was this coming from? You had so many questions, but your mushy brain translated them to, "...we're friends."

"Not anymore," He pouted, ducking to nuzzle into the fat of your inner thigh. "I don't want to be friends anymore."

You blinked down at him, chest rising and falling with each breath as your brain tried to catch up with your body. The Mark you’d known was long gone. In his place was someone who looked at you like you hung the stars, and suddenly everything between you felt terrifyingly real.

"I wanna be the one to take you out instead," he continued, rubbing slow circles into your thighs. "I want to be the one to pick you up from class and walk you to lectures. Go on dates, sleep over, you know. Everything. I want all of it."

You stared, wide-eyed. He smiled, but it was lopsided and vulnerable.

"I’ve loved you forever," he admitted, brushing his nose against your leg. "I didn’t know how to say it without ruining what we had. I wasn't bitching for no reason."

"I know that now." You smiled.

"Ditch your date."

"Oh, I already planned on it."

Mark didn't want to be friends anymore. You didn't either. The rest of the night was spent making up for lost time.

something lazy. sorry for my absence guys :)

[junojoel]

Everytime

QZ!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Joel needs to use you sometimes. Sometimes.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, unprotected piv, creampie, anal, and a bad understanding of anal prep, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), spanking, choking, fucking everything, loving sex is a warning in this too, mean joel but reader can handle it, he doesnt mean it guys hes a loverboy :(

i'm suffering horrifically from writers block so this is my way of writing like 4 smut oneshots in one lol. end of the semester is kicking my ass

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

He only brings you here when it gets bad.

Not bad like blood-in-the-streets bad, not even when deals go sideways or when FEDRA gets too close. Not because it’s safe, though it is. No—Joel brings you here when he’s bad. When he’s seconds from cracking. When the city feels too tight, and he needs something real to hold on to. Something that reminds him he’s still alive.

And more and more lately, that something has been you.

Inside the city, he keeps his voice low and his hands to himself. Tess gives him side-eyes when you’re around, and everyone else knows better than to ask what you are to each other, knows better than to give you any trouble. But out here? Past the fences, past the dead brush and the broken steps?

Out here, he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t want you.

The safehouse is a crumbling old farmhouse outside the QZ perimeter, long abandoned and half-swallowed by the forest. It looks like nothing. That’s the point.

Clean sheets. Wood stove. Whiskey. A real bed. You and Joel.

He slams the door shut behind you with one hand and has the other already on your waistband, fingers digging into the worn fabric of your jeans.

“Clothes. Off. Now.”

You don’t ask, you never do. You know this version of him. Wild-eyed and breath hot against your neck as he crowds you backwards, the floorboards creaking under his weight.

“You gonna say hello first?” you tease, already peeling off your jacket. The fabric rasps against your skin as you shrug it off, the chill of the room prickling your arms.

He grabs your chin, tilts your face up, calloused fingers pressing just shy of bruising. His eyes burn into yours, dark and hungry, pupils swallowing the hazel.

“Keep talkin’ and I’ll give you something to say.”

You grin, even as your heart thuds heavy in your chest, pulse jumping under his grip. “Promise?”

And just like that—he’s on you.

His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and desperation, lips rough from the cold, tongue sliding against yours with a possessive growl. His hands are everywhere—yanking your shirt over your head, the drag of fabric sending sparks across your skin, then palming your waist, your ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. The scrape of his stubble burns your chin, the bite of it sharp and sweet.

The back of your knees hit the bed, and you drop with a gasp, legs falling open, welcoming him in. The mattress groans beneath you, the sheets cool against your now feverish skin.

“Fuck.” Joel mutters to himself as he slides a hand down, pressing between your thighs, fingers slicking through your arousal with a satisfied hum. “Already so fuckin’ wet.”

His touch is electric, rough pads of his fingers circling your clit just once, just enough to make your hips jerk.

“You miss me, Miller?” you breathe, grinding into his palm, the friction sending sparks up your spine.

He doesn’t answer. Just presses his forehead to yours, jaw clenched, breath ragged. His fingers slide lower, dipping inside you with a slow, deliberate curl that punches a moan from your throat.

“You gonna keep talkin’,” he murmurs, voice thick, “or you gonna let me shut you up?”

“I like it when you try,” you whisper, biting back another moan as his thumb finds your clit again, pressing just hard enough to make your vision blur.

He slips two fingers in, thick and unrelenting, the stretch burning and spreading fire through your limbs. Your head falls back, a broken sound ripping from your throat as he crooks them just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

“Jesus—”

“Say my name.”

“Joel.”

He growls low in his throat and kisses you hard, swallowing your gasp and working you open with brutal efficiency. His free hand fists in your hair, tugging just enough to sting, his mouth moving to your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse point.

When you finally reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, his breath hitches. The leather slides free with a sharp hiss, the clink of metal loud in the quiet room. You yank his jeans down, freeing him, his cock heavy and hot in your hand.

He groans against your skin, hips jerking into your grip.

“You think you can handle me like this?” he mutters, voice wrecked.

You wrap a leg around his waist, heel digging into the small of his back.

“Prove I can’t.”

He pushes in with a groan, one slow, steady thrust, stretching you full until you gasp. His hands are planted on either side of your head, muscles trembling with restraint as he holds himself still—just long enough for you to feel every inch of him, the heat of you wrapped around him, the way your body clenches instinctively.

“Goddamn, baby,” he rasps. “Always so tight for me.”

Then he moves, slow and deep. Every drag of his cock inside you is maddening, the fullness unbearable. His hips roll against yours, grinding just right, drawing out your pleasure until you’re writhing beneath him, nails biting into his shoulders.

He watches your face, drinks in every twitch, every bitten-off moan.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “Actin’ like you don’t beg for this every time I call you out here.”

You claw at him, pulling him down to kiss you, your teeth dragging over his bottom lip.

“Only ‘cause I know you can take it.”

He growls, hips snapping harder now, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs. The bedframe rattles against the wall, the headboard thudding in time with his pace.

“Fuckin’ right I can.”

His hand finds your throat; possessive, anchoring. Yours goes to his jaw, thumb brushing the scar that cuts through his temple, feeling the flex of his teeth as he grits them.

There’s nothing but heat between you. The wet sound of skin on skin, his ragged breaths mingling with yours, the creak of the bed beneath you. Your voice breaks around his name, whispering it like a prayer, like a curse, like the only word left in the world.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

You can feel it before he even speaks.

Joel’s pissed. Not the quiet, simmering kind from before, but something sharper. Bleeding off him in waves as he yanks the safehouse door shut behind him, the wood groaning under the force.

You barely get a word out before he’s on you.

His hands slam against the wall on either side of your head, the impact vibrating through the plaster. His breath is ragged, uneven—hot against your cheek. Clothes still soaked from the storm outside, the fabric cold where it brushes your skin. Blood streaks his sleeve. Not his.

“Joel—”

“Don’t.”

His voice is low, dangerous. Not like before. This isn’t foreplay.

You press your back to the wall, chin lifted, eyes locked on his. The flicker of the oil lamp paints shadows across his face, deepening the lines of tension in his jaw.

“What the fuck happened out there?”

He doesn’t answer. His teeth grind, the muscle in his cheek jumping. Eyes won’t meet yours.

“Was it Tess?” You reach out, fingers skimming the soaked leather of his jacket. Cold. Stiff with rainwater.

“No.”

“Then what?”

His eyes finally snap to yours. And it hits you—whatever it was, it rattled him.

“Almost didn’t make it back.”

You inhale slowly, the air thick with the smell of him—sweat, whiskey, the iron tang of blood. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

For a second, the tension is quiet.

Then suddenly, Joel grabs your waist, yanks you toward him, and slams his mouth against yours like it’s the only way to make the world shut up. His tongue is rough, tasting of salt and smoke, and you whimper when his teeth catch your lip.

You break it, panting.

“What the fuck is this, huh? You almost die and now I’m just—what? Your therapy?”

“No.” He pulls you closer, “You’re mine.”

You barely make it to the bed.

He tears your shirt over your head, the fabric ripping at the seams. Pushes your pants down with one hand, growling when they catch around your knees. His fingers dig into your thighs, callouses scraping skin as he spreads you open. You’re wet already—because of course you are—and he knows it. Smirks when he drags his fingers through your slick, then brings them to his mouth.

“Always ready for me, aren’t you?”

You moan, grinding back against him.

“Maybe I like it when you lose your shit.”

He drags his mouth down your neck, biting at your shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Yeah? You like makin’ me crazy?”

You arch into him, gasping.

“Love it.”

That’s all he needs.

He flips you onto your stomach, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels behind you. His cock drags between your thighs, hot and heavy, smearing your wetness against your skin.

Then his fingers press against your ass, testing, circling.

“This what you want?” he rasps, voice wrecked.

You push back into his touch with a grin. “Fucking try.”

He spits, the sound obscene in the quiet room, then works a thick finger into you, slow and deliberate. Your breath hitches, muscles fluttering around the intrusion.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, curling his finger just right. “Take it.”

A second joins the first. You bury your face in the pillow, muffling a whimper as he scissors you open.

Then his fingers are gone, replaced by the blunt press of his cock.

“Breathe,” he orders, and pushes in.

The stretch is brutal, exquisite. You gasp, fingers twisting in the sheets as he sinks deeper, inch by relentless inch. His grip on your hips is iron, holding you still as he works himself inside, groaning through clenched teeth.

“Fuck—Joel—”

“Shhh,” he soothes, though there’s nothing gentle about it. His palm rubs slow circles over your lower back. “Just relax, baby. Let me in.”

When he’s fully seated, he stills, letting you adjust. Sweat drips from his brow onto your spine, his breath hot against your shoulder.

Then he pulls out almost all the way—and slams back in.

You cry out, the sound punched out of you as he sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving the air from your lungs. The bed creaks under the force, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.

“That’s it,” he growls, fingers digging into your flesh. “Take it. Take all of me.”

Every stroke is a claim. You’re here. You’re both alive. You’re his.

His hand slides around your front, fingers finding your clit. Rubbing hard. Fast.

“Come on, baby. Gimme one.”

Your mouth falls open. Eyes squeeze shut. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you fuckin’ can.” His voice is rough, possessive. “This body’s mine. You come when I say.”

You shatter with a broken scream, clenching around him so hard he curses, hips stuttering.

He groans and comes inside you with a final, deep thrust, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You collapse. Boneless. Breathing like you’ve run ten miles.

Joel stays on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, one arm curled under your body like he can’t let you go just yet. His lips brush your shoulder, the touch almost tender.

“Mine,” he murmurs again.

And god help you—you are.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

You should’ve kept your head down.

You know that. Joel told you—explicitly—to let him do the talking. Just like he always does when you’re dealing with FEDRA.

But the guy was being a prick. All attitude and a swinging rifle. And maybe it was stupid, maybe it was reckless, but you couldn’t help it.

Joel didn’t say a word at the time. Didn’t look at you. Didn’t flinch.

Just handed over the rations, gripped your arm a little too tight—his fingers digging in like a warning—and steered you out of there before the guard could decide to make an example out of you.

The walk back is silent.

He doesn’t say a damn thing until the safehouse door slams shut behind you—and even then, it’s not words. Not really.

It’s the click of the lock sliding home. The thud of his bag hitting the floor. The way his boots scrape against wood as he turns, slow and deliberate.

His eyes track you—dark and furious, jaw tight enough to crack.

You feel it before he touches you. The heat. The pressure. The way the room seems to shrink until it’s just the two of you, the tension coiling tighter with every second.

Joel stalks forward, slow and deliberate, until your back hits the wall. He braces one hand beside your head, leaning in close. His breath is warm against your lips and his eyes search yours like they’re trying to burn the lesson into your brain.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” he says, low and dark.

You swallow hard. Try to keep your voice steady. “He was a dick.”

Joel’s nostrils flare. His jaw ticks.

“You think that matters? You think they need a reason to put a bullet in your head?”

“He wasn’t gonna shoot me—”

“You don’t know that!” His voice rises, sharp and ragged, cutting through the quiet like a whip. “You don’t know what they’ll do, you don’t know what line you’re walkin’, and you sure as fuck don’t get to decide when to run your mouth.”

His hands are trembling. Just barely. But they are.

You stare up at him, chest heaving, mouth dry.

“You gonna hit me?” you ask, soft but sharp.

His eyes narrow. “Don’t,” he growls.

“Then what?” you whisper, stepping in close, chest brushing his.

His expression flickers—something feral and frustrated flashing through before it all slams back into place. That mask he wears so well.

He grabs your chin, thumb pressing against your lower lip, eyes locked to yours like he’s daring you to speak again.

“You think this is a game?”

You smirk, licking the pad of his thumb, slow and deliberate.

“I think you like it when I piss you off.”

There’s a second, only one, then he snaps. Grabs your waist, spins you around, and pulls you over his knee before you can even blink. The sudden shift knocks the breath from your lungs, the rough fabric of his jeans scraping against your thighs as he pins you in place.

“Since words don’t seem to sink in,” he mutters, voice rough, “maybe this will.”

The first slap lands hard, his palm connecting with a sting that makes you gasp. The heat blooms instantly, sharp and bright, and you squirm, but his arm locks around your waist, holding you still.

“You don’t get to gamble with your life,” he growls, delivering another sharp smack, then another, each one landing with punishing precision. “Not in there. Not ever.”

You bite your lip, trying not to whimper, but the sting is relentless, the ache spreading with every strike. Your skin flushes hot under his hand, the sound of each slap echoing in the quiet room.

Finally, he stops, his palm resting possessively on your reddened flesh.

“Still think it’s funny?” he asks, voice dangerously soft.

You swallow, thighs pressing together, the throbbing heat between them impossible to ignore.

“No,” you admit, breathless.

He hums, fingers tracing the curve of your ass, then sliding lower, teasing.

“Good.”

Then he flips you onto your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he unbuckles his belt. The leather slides free with a whisper, the metal clinking as he tosses it aside. His fingers grip your hair, tilting your head back.

“Open.”

You do, and he guides himself between your lips, the thick heat of him heavy on your tongue. The taste of him fills your mouth as he pushes in, groaning when your lips stretch around him.

“That’s it,” he growls, fingers tightening in your hair. “Take it. Every inch.”

You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard, your tongue working the underside as he thrusts deeper. His breath comes rougher, his hips jerking when you hum around him.

“Fuck—” His voice is ragged. “You’re gonna learn your lesson one way or another.”

He fucks your mouth with slow, punishing strokes, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat until tears prick your eyes. You gag, but he doesn’t let up, his grip unrelenting as he watches you struggle to take him.

“Should’ve thought about this before you ran your mouth,” he mutters, dragging himself out just enough to let you gasp for air before shoving back in.

When he finally pulls free, your lips are swollen, your chin wet. He drags his thumb over your mouth, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Now,” he says, flipping you onto your hands and knees, “let’s make sure you remember.”

His hand grips your hip, and then he’s pushing inside you in one brutal thrust. You cry out, fingers clawing at the sheets as he sets a relentless pace, each snap of his hips driving the point home.

“This is what happens,” he growls, teeth scraping your shoulder. “You don’t listen? You get punished.”

You whimper, the pleasure and pain blurring together as he fucks you raw, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

You shatter with a sob, your body clamping around him as the orgasm rips through you. He follows with a groan, spilling deep, his hips grinding into you as he rides it out.

“Next time,” he murmurs, voice rough, “you keep your damn mouth shut.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

You were only supposed to stay the night. Just one.

Tess had taken a bullet on a bad run, nothing fatal, but she needed time to recover. Joel didn’t want you on the street alone. Didn’t trust anyone else to watch your back. So he’d handed you a key without looking at you and muttered something like, “Just until she’s back on her feet.”

You thought maybe he meant to sleep on the couch.

The room’s dim. Just a sliver of golden light leaking through the curtain from the streetlamp outside. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of his shirts. It’s soft and faded, hangs loose over your thighs. Joel’s across the room, stripping down in silence. His movements are slower than usual. No tension. No frenzy.

You watch him undo each button, eyes trailing over the strong lines of his body—broad shoulders, the cut of muscle under worn skin, the trail of hair down his stomach that disappears beneath his waistband.

He doesn’t look at you right away. Just folds his shirt and sets it on the chair like he’s buying himself time.

When he finally turns, the look in his eyes steals your breath.

It’s not lust, not really. Not only. It’s want, yes—but it’s wrapped in something deeper. Something unspoken. Something aching.

You slide back beneath the blankets and hold them open for him.

“Joel,” you say, soft.

He gets in beside you without a word. The bed dips with his weight, and his arm immediately comes around you, pulling you in like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You settle into his chest, fingers tracing slow circles across his skin.

“You ever done this before?” you murmur.

He huffs a soft laugh. “Had sex?”

You glance up at him with a crooked smile. “No. Had someone in your bed. Like this.”

His face shifts. “No,” he says quietly. “Not in a long time.”

You nod. You knew the answer before he said it.

Joel’s hand finds your jaw, tilting your face to his. His thumb strokes your cheek, slow and reverent, like he’s still not sure you’re real.

“I want this to be different,” he murmurs.

You lean into his touch.

“It already is.”

And then he kisses you.

Soft. Careful. Like he’s trying not to break you. His lips linger, his breath warm against your skin. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world.

Your hands drift to his body—familiar and unfamiliar at once. You’ve touched him before, felt him everywhere, but not like this. Not when there’s no fire to put out. No edge to ride.

Just him. Just you.

He slides the shirt off your shoulders, slow as molasses, like he’s unwrapping something delicate. Like the heat between you needs to simmer tonight.

“Want you,” you whisper, tugging him closer. “All of you.”

“You got me,” he says, voice hoarse.

Joel kisses you like it’s the first time all over again. Slow, aching, unhurried. His hands explore every inch of you like a man trying to memorize something fleeting.

And then he starts trailing down—kisses ghosting over your jaw, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. He pauses to mouth at one, sucking softly, tongue flicking over your nipple until your back arches. His hand massages the other, fingers pinching just enough to draw a whimper from you.

“Joel,” you breathe, your voice already wrecked.

“I got you,” he murmurs against your skin.

You feel him shift lower. His kisses follow a path down your ribs, over your stomach, reverent and slow. He’s in no rush—he’s savoring. And when he settles between your legs, spreading you open with calloused hands, it’s with a look that’s nothing short of worship.

You’re already dripping for him, aching, and he just stares for a second—eyes dark, mouth parted slightly.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

You reach for him, fingers threading into his hair, but he gently presses your hips down, keeping you still.

“Let me.”

He lowers his head, and the first drag of his tongue over you nearly breaks you.

Soft. Wet. Slow.

He hums against you like he’s tasting honey, and you can feel the sound in your spine.

He flattens his tongue and licks a long, slow stripe up your center, then does it again, lips wrapping around your clit with practiced care. He sucks gently—just enough to make you gasp—then releases with a soft pop before diving back in, tongue circling and teasing, building you slow.

“Jesus, Joel—”

Your hips buck, but his grip tightens, holding you steady.

“Stay still, baby,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Lemme take care of you.”

And he does.

He devours you like it’s the only thing he wants in the world. Like your pleasure is something sacred. His tongue moves in perfect rhythm—languid, focused—while one of his hands slides up your thigh, then down, two thick fingers easing into you as he keeps his mouth on your clit.

You keen at the stretch, hips grinding against his face now, too far gone to care.

Your hands fist the sheets. Your thighs tremble.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he murmurs into your skin. “Come on, sweetheart. I know you can. Just let go.”

You fall apart with his name on your lips, coming hard against his mouth, thighs clenching around his head as he groans like he’s the one being wrecked.

He doesn’t stop right away. Keeps licking you through it, tongue gentle now, coaxing you down from the edge like he doesn’t want the moment to end.

When he finally comes up, his mouth is glistening, beard wet with you, and his eyes are dark—wrecked—like the sight of you falling apart has undone him completely.

You tug him up by the shoulders, breathless and shaking, pulling him into a messy, deep kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue and moan into his mouth, hips already rolling against him again.

Joel grins into the kiss, rough thumb brushing your cheek.

“Didn’t know you could sound like that,” he murmurs.

“Neither did I,” you say, still dazed, still breathless.

He presses his forehead to yours, chest heaving.

“Wanna hear it again.”

When he finally sinks into you, it’s like exhaling after holding your breath too long. No rush. Just the warmth of him, stretching you full, grounding you to the mattress like he’s pressing you into something sacred.

His forehead rests against yours, and he groans—quiet, almost pained.

“Jesus, baby…”

You wrap your legs around his waist, hands tangled in his hair, holding him impossibly close.

He starts to move, slow and steady, each thrust purposeful and deep.

Your fingers drift over his back, nails tracing lazy lines into his skin. His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper—no begging this time, no teasing.

“Look at me,” he says, voice low. “Wanna see those eyes.”

You do. And what he sees there makes his rhythm stutter. He’s not used to softness like this. Not used to being allowed to want without fear.

You touch his face, thumb tracing the crease of that familiar scar.

“I’m here,” you whisper.

“I know.”

Joel’s hand finds yours and threads your fingers together, pressing them into the pillow beside your head. You don’t say anything else. The way he moves inside you—slow, aching and reverent—says everything.

He kisses you through it. Again and again. Mouth gentle, tongue soft. When you finally come, it’s quiet and full-body, radiating out until your fingers curl tight around his.

He follows close behind, hips grinding deep as he buries himself with a low groan, your name on his tongue like it’s holy.

After, he doesn’t let go.

Just holds you to him like something he’s afraid to lose.

You curl into his side, lips brushing his chest.

“Feels real,” you whisper, afraid to break it.

Joel kisses the top of your head, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders.

“That’s ‘cause it is.”

[sugurugetofavoritemonkey]

Needy Rafayel succumbs to his pent up desires after you trigger his mermaid heat with Your Fragrance.

You were trying your hardest to remove the perfume that ignited all of this. Your wet hand was rubbing on your wrist and neck as you didn’t hear the bathroom door open behind your back. Was it really this fragrance that made Rafayel all dizzy with need for you ? How could you know that such a peculiar scent would make him look at you like you were some kind of goddess that held all the keys to his pleasure ? You blush as you remember how Rafayel couldn’t even let go of your wrist, how he bit the inside of your palm or how he was about to let his mouth wander along your throat barely seconds ago. You apply some water to your reddening cheeks, vainly trying to cool down your face. As you lift your head up to gaze into the mirror, your eyes widen at the sight reflecting in it and your pulse quicken at the feeling of his warm body tightly caging you against the sink. Rafayel was behind you with his hand pressing against the mirror, effortlessly enveloping you with his presence that begged for your attention.

« Gotcha princess. Trying to run away from me, huh ? »

You avert your eyes from the mirror, Rafayel’s gaze was so intense and almost primal that it was hard for you to hold it.

But your lack of response didn’t alter the way his soul and body was aching for you. You as a whole. At this right moment, Rafayel could kill just to have a taste of your lips, to let his fingers dance across your heated skin or to simply hear how your desperate moans would echo his own and reverberate in his fancy bathroom.

To say that Rafayel was needy right now was an understatement to say the least. His cheeks were adorning a pretty shade of pink and his breathing seemed labored as his face started to nuzzle in the crook of your neck. His lips couldn’t contain the little whines, moans and sometimes grunts as he lost himself in the warm embrace of your neck. The sinful sounds he was making just below your ear unconsciously made you tilt your head to the other side to give him a better access to the spot he was now starting to nip at. Nips turn to bites on the right side of your throat, a spot where your perfume still lingers even after you tried to wash it off.

Rafayel didn’t need much time to paint such pretty marks on your neck, as he thought. The feeling of his lips and teeth running on your sensitive skin to occasionally nibble at your neck was driving you insane as you close your eyes at the delicious feeling.

But Rafayel couldn’t control his desire any longer, he was even barely able to control himself at the moment. His hands grabbed hold of your white shirt, amplifying your cleavage even more as his fingers ripped open your blouse, popping all the buttons that fell to the floor in silence. Your eyes barely had time to widen at his actions that Rafayel already started to hold your hips in a tight grip, increasing the volume of your whines as you could perfectly feel how hard he was getting behind you, his cock starting to fervently rub on your clothed ass up and down.

It wasn’t long before you could happily feel his nimble fingers reach for your panties below your dress to slowly pull them down, pressing kisses on the back of your legs while he gets on the floor on one knee behind you to remove your panties from your ankles, one of his hands helping you balance yourself to prevent you from falling.

When Rafayel is back up behind you, you can feel his hard-on pressing against your wet folds, sliding between them at a leisurely pace, teasing you as Rafayel makes sure to press his lips against your ear without even trying to contain his moans of pure pleasure.

When he finally decides to slowly enter you, with his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your hips, and start thrusting into your warm cunt, Rafayel’s mouth whispers everything that comes to his mind, too drunk on the feeling of the tight grip you have on his moving dick. To accentuate the impact of his words, Rafayel makes sure to take your chin between his fingers, pressing your cheeks slightly together in the process, to make you look at him through the mirror. Your mouth now opens with how overwhelmed you feel because of your boyfriend, while you also struggle to keep your eyes open at the sight of Rafayel moaning against your cheek, looking directly at you with eyes that seem to directly see through your soul.

« You’re such a pretty little thing, darling. Oh g-god and the way you’re squeezing me so tight I can barely move inside this sweet pussy. My angel is such a work of art that I should engrave this image into my mind and paint it later… », Rafayel pauses to chuckle softly against your cheek at the depraved thought in his mind and at how you clenched at the idea as well.

« Oh, you would like that, right my love ? Didn’t thought that my miss bodyguard had such a dirty mind… »

Rafayel’s moans and grunts turn to needy whines as his hips thrust into you at a much faster pace, his balls slapping against your intimate parts as his grip on your hips is sure to leave marks later.

Rafayel starts to nibble your ear when he feels close to release deep inside of you.

« Please…can I cum inside ? Please baby say yes…I’m so close…n-need you to cum with me. »

You nod fervently at the mirror while biting your lips. Even without him asking, you were already okay with this…you needed to feel him release in you just as much as him. With a grunt of your name, Rafayel paints your warm pussy with his white cum, taking your chin in his hand to turn your face to him as he kisses you when you reach your climax with him. The kiss is messy as you both moan in the mouth of your beloved…the hungry kiss turning into soft pecks pressed against your panting lips as Rafayel calmly eases you down from your trembling state.

After a few seconds of trying to catch your breath, you could already sense his cum slowly running out of you and along your thighs, while your boyfriend was still pressing kisses on your face in the most intimate and caring way possible.

When Rafayel gets himself back together, he absentmindedly reach to try buttoning up your shirt, making you giggle as he realizes a bit too late that he previously ripped the buttons opened. Rafayel’s face turn red at how rough he remember being a few moments ago. Rafayel silently whispers with a pout an adorable « ‘m sorry » as he exits the bathroom for a few seconds to come back with one of his shirts, much bigger than the one you were wearing. He gently removes your ruined top from your shoulders and then button his own around your body, carefully taking his time between each button as his loving gaze lingers on every patch of your skin he’s covering.

When he’s done dressing you up with one of his shirt, Rafayel puts back your panties, preventing his seed from completely leaving your sweet pussy. Even if Rafayel calmed himself down compared to earlier, he can’t help but let his fingers massage between your now covered pussy folds, relishing in the feeling of the mess he made, that you were his muse and only his. His fingers toy with the mess he made inside of you, making you whine at the never ending teasing and the lewd noises that his fingers make while rubbing you, making you grab his wrist that was starting to overstimulate you.

Rafayel answers with a chuckle and a quick peck on your right cheek.

« You’re gonna keep my cum inside of you for the rest of the evening, right sweetheart ? »

[hanniebaeee]

Clueless: Baby Bang

Bang Chan x fem!reader

Warnings: Reader is pregnant (just that, nothing deep)

Genre: established relationship, flufffff

Summary: You've been distant lately, and Chan can't understand why. Because this is very unusual for the two of you as you two are on each other all the time. And Chan panics as you guys are getting married in a few months, and this sudden change is unraveling him.

Clueless Masterlist

Chan paced the living room, a deep frown etched into his forehead. You hadn’t touched him in days. Weeks, actually. That alone was already a catastrophe, considering the fact that you two were basically like bunnies.

But now? Nothing. You were dodging his touches like he was contagious. He reached for your hand? Oh, look, you suddenly needed both hands to text someone. He tried for a kiss? Whoops, you conveniently yawned. Bedtime? You were already asleep. 

And that diamond ring glittering on your ring finger? It made him wonder if you were regretting saying yes to him already.

He’d spent way too many nights staring at the ceiling, feeling like the universe was punishing him for something he didn't even know he did.

Chan sighed and opened the group chat. This was bad. He needed to vent.

Chan: She’s avoiding me.

A rapid barrage of notifications followed, and Chan barely had time to process one before another arrived. 

Minho: Y/N? The one who’s practically glued to your lap 24/7?

Hyunjin: LMAO. Not possible. I won't believe it.

Seungmin: You obviously did something.

Chan: NO, I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!

Chan: She’s been acting weird for WEEKS. 2 weeks to be exact. No kisses. No hugs. No… anything.

Jisung: No sex? BRO. Are you okay?

Felix: What if she’s planning something? Like a surprise? Maybe a wedding thing?

---

Chan paused. That was… not unreasonable. But no. You’d never kept secrets from him before. Like you've given him enough surprises before so he knew this was different.

---

Minho: OR. She’s finally come to her senses about you seducing her into saying yes? 

Chan: Minho. I will come to your house and end you.

Jeongin: But seriously, hyung. Did you say something? Do something? Forget an important date? You’re kind of a workaholic.

---

That hit a little too close to home. Chan frowned, scrolling back through his mental timeline of your relationship.

---

Chan: I didn’t forget anything. I swear. We were fine until a couple weeks ago, and now she’s avoiding me like the plague.

Changbin: Well. There’s only one logical explanation.

Changbin: She’s been abducted by aliens and replaced with a clone.

Jisung: YES. I second this. The real Y/N would NEVER do this. 

Felix: Omg guys! 

Chan: GUYS.

Hyunjin: Okay. What if she’s mad because you’re not initiating? She’s waiting for you to grovel.

Seungmin: That makes no sense. If she’s mad, why not just say so?

Hyunjin: IDK, some people like drama.

Jeongin: That’s your toxic trait, Hyung.

Hyunjin: IS NOT!

---

Chan groaned, dropping his phone onto the couch. He missed you. Like, really missed you. Sure, he wanted to rip your clothes off 90% of the time, but he also missed the simple things - your cuddles, your soft laugh, the way you’d always need him by your side when you're stressed. 

The cold shoulders and polite smiles were killing him.

---

Minho: Just confront her, idiot. Corner her in the kitchen and ask her what’s wrong.

Chan: You think I haven’t tried that?! Every time I ask, she changes the subject.

Jisung: Okay, hear me out. Seduction.

Chan: What?

Jisung: Set the mood. Candles. Sexy music. Flex those ridiculous arms. She won’t stand a chance.

Felix: Worth a try. 

---

That night, Chan put the "seduction plan" into action. He dimmed the lights, skipped the candles, and put on a romantic playlist. He even went full drama, lounging on the couch with his shirt conveniently unbuttoned.

When you walked in, your eyebrows shot up as you asked, “What's up?”

Chan said nothing, just held held his hand out.  You froze, guilt flashing across your face, and Chan knew he had you. You placed your hand on his and let him pull you close.

“Baby, what’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me, and it’s driving me crazy. Did I do something wrong?” His voice cracked, and that set you off.

Your eyes filled with tears, and in an instant you were in his lap, clinging to him like your life depended on it.

“I’m sorry, Channie! I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Then why -”

“Shhh,” Chan fell silent as you pressed a finger to his lips. “Just know that I love you, Channie.”

Chan was suspicious. Because, well, you’d shut him up in the best way possible, last night - all he remembered was his shirt coming off and yeah.

You’d seduced him. Thoroughly. And while his brain had short-circuited at that time, he was now absolutely certain that you’d dodged his questions on purpose.

At least he can't complain about you not touching him anymore, right?

---

Chan: It didn't work.

Minho: WHAT didn't?

Chan: She kinda caught me off guard. And avoided my questions.

Jisung: I thought we agreed on YOU seducing her and you got seduced??

Felix: Soooo… you still don’t know what’s going on?

Chan: NO. She’s hiding something, I know it.

Hyunjin: Maybe you’re overthinking. Or, maybe she’s secretly a spy.

Changbin: She’s NOT a spy, Hyunjin. That’s ridiculous.

Hyunjin: And alien clones aren’t?

Minho: Why are we even helping you? You let her seduce you and then just… forgot your goal.

---

Chan groaned, flopping onto his back. It wasn’t his fault! He was weak when it came to you. All it took was a look, or a whisper of his name and his brain turned to mush.

Still, Minho had a point.

---

Chan: Okay, fine. What do I do now?

Felix: She’s probably just stressed? Weddings are a big deal. She might just need time to sort her thoughts.

That gave Chan pause. Weddings were stressful. Maybe that was it?

Hyunjin: My bet’s still on spy.

---

Meanwhile, you were in the bathroom, staring at the little plastic stick in your hand for the hundredth time now. You’d known for two weeks, but the reality hadn’t gotten any less terrifying.

You were pregnant. Pregnant. With Chan’s baby.

The thought sent your heart racing. You loved him more than anything, but… you’d never talked about kids. What if he wasn’t ready? What if he panics when you bring it up? 

There were only a few months until the wedding. You didn’t want to dump this on him now and risk throwing him into a spiral.

---

That night, Chan decided to take Minho’s advice (for once). No more distractions. He was getting answers tonight.

When you walked into the living room and his eyes locked onto yours - you froze. He looked so handsome, and a little…worn out? You felt so guilty for doing this. 

“Come sit,” he said, patting the couch beside him.

You hesitated, but complied, heart pounding.

“Baby, we need to talk,” Chan said, his voice soft but firm.

You swallowed hard as you murmured, “About what?”

“You’ve been acting weird for weeks. And you obviously don't trust me enough to talk it out. I’m worried. What's going on? Is it the wedding?” He was giving you that puppy eyed look, and your heart shattered.

“No, Channie, it's not like that...”

“Then what is it? Please, just tell me.”

You opened your mouth, ready to spill everything - but then you panicked. The words caught in your throat, and instead, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his.

Here he was - caught off guard (again) but quickly melting into the kiss. You climbed into his lap, your hands tangling in his hair, and within seconds, all thoughts of questioning were gone.

---

Chan: SHE DID IT AGAIN.

Minho: You’re hopeless.

Seungmin: At this rate, she could rob a bank and get away with it.

Felix: Honestly, I’m impressed.

---

Chan sighed, glaring at the group chat before throwing his phone across the bed. Whatever you were hiding, it was big. And he was determined to find out, one way or another.

Little did he know, in the bathroom, you were rehearsing how to tell him the truth: that in just a few months, he wasn’t just going to be your husband.

He was going to be a dad.

Chan was officially losing it. His imagination had gone to some very dark places (thanks to Changbin’s clone theory and Hyunjin’s spy nonsense), but now he just felt defeated. What was so big and terrifying, that you felt like you couldn’t share it with him?

Chan: I give up. She’s unbreakable.

Jisung: Hey don't lose hope.

Minho: Pathetic.

Jeongin: Just sit her down and don’t let her leave until she talks.

Chan: I’VE TRIED THAT.

Chan was ready to lock himself and you in a room till you cracked, but unfortunately he was already cracking under the stress. And then a lightbulb went off in his head. There was just one person in the world who might be able to get through to you.

Felix.

---

Felix was, to put it lightly, concerned when Chan cornered him in his kitchen.

“Lix, you have to help me,” Chan said, his eyes wild and desperate.

“Help you how?” Felix asked cautiously.

“Can you please try to talk to her?” Chan literally begs. “She loves you, Lix. Maybe she’ll tell you if you ask?”

Felix hesitated, torn between loyalty to Chan, who was literally his brother and his friendship with you. But ultimately, his desire to help won anyway.

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll talk to her.”

---

Later that afternoon, you opened the door to find Felix standing on your porch, holding a box of cookies and his sunniest smile. 

“Lixie?” you asked, surprised. “So good to see you!”

“Just wanted to check on you, love,” he said, coming forward to hug you.

You stepped aside to let him in, and the two of you settled on the couch.

“I baked these for you,” he said, watching your reaction closely as you opened the box and munched on a cookie immediately. “You’ve been looking a little stressed lately.”

You stopped mid-chew, guilt gnawing at you.

“I’m fine, Lix. Just… wedding stuff, you know?” you said, carefully avoiding his eyes.

“Is it really just the wedding?” Felix tilted his head, unconvinced.

You froze, your hands tightening around the box.

“You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever it is, I won’t judge.” Felix said, reaching out and placing a gentle hand over yours.

Your eyes welled up with tears, and as you put the box aside gently. Felix scooted closer as he saw the tears fall, and before you knew it, the truth came spilling out.

“I’m pregnant, Felix,” you whispered. “And I don’t know how to tell Chan. We’ve never talked about kids, and I don’t even know if he wants them. And now the wedding’s so close, and I’m scared I’ll ruin everything. I already got my wedding dress and I don't think I'll fit into it anymore because by that time-”

Felix’s eyes went wide, and for a moment, he looked like he might burst into tears himself. But then he let out a strangled laugh.

“You’re… you’re pregnant?”

You nodded, sniffled and managed a soft, “Yeah.”

Felix threw his arms around you, nearly knocking you over. 

“Oh my God, Y/N! I’m so happy for you! And for Chan! You’re gonna have the cutest baby in the world!” he gushed, his eyes sparkling with happy tears. 

You couldn’t help but laugh through your own tears. 

“You don't think this is a disaster?” you asked softly, wiping your tears away. 

“Disaster?” Felix pulled back, shaking his head. “Of course not. This is amazing! But you have to tell Chan. He’s going insane trying to figure out what’s wrong.”

“I know,” you said softly. “I just… I’m scared.”

Felix gave you a reassuring smile and said, “Chan loves you more than anything. Trust me, he’s gonna be over the moon. And I'll always be here for you. Seriously, sweetheart, this is the best news ever.”

---

Hyunjin: Well? Did she tell you?

Jisung: SPILL, FELIX.

Chan: Felix? Please. I’m dying here.

Felix hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He couldn’t betray your trust, but he also couldn’t leave Chan hanging.

Felix: She’s okay. She’s just… working through something.

Minho: And you’re being suspiciously vague.

Seungmin: Should've known that sending her best friend to investigate wasn't your strongest idea… obviously he's gonna take her side! 

Felix: I promised I wouldn’t say anything. But it’s nothing bad, I swear.

Chan: Seriously?? Nothing bad? Then why is she avoiding me?

Felix: Just… be patient with her, okay? She’ll tell you when she’s ready. I promise it's all ok. Trust me. 

Chan frowned at the message, his heart twisting.

You had spent the whole night rehearsing what to say to Chan, your stomach churning with nerves. Morning came far too quickly, and as you watched him shuffle into the kitchen with his hair messy and his sleepy face, you nearly chickened out.

But Felix’s words echoed in your head. He’s gonna be over the moon.

“Channie,” you said softly, placing your mug of tea aside and taking a step towards him. 

He looked up from the coffee maker, his sleepy eyes brightening instantly. You were trying to talk to him, and somehow that was enough. Anything was better than you avoiding him. 

“Morning, baby.”

You smiled nervously, gesturing to the table. “Can we talk?”

His brow furrowed, worry flashing across his face as he nodded and sat down opposite you.

“Is everything okay?”

You took a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly as you said, “You know how I’ve been… weird lately?”

Chan nodded, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Well,” you continued, “there’s a reason for that. And I’ve been scared to tell you because it’s big. Like, really big.”

“Baby, whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise, I’ll handle it.” Chan said, reaching across the table and taking your hand in his.

Your eyes filled with tears as you finally said it.

“I’m pregnant.”

Chan froze. Completely. His mouth hung open, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as his brain processed your words.

“You’re… pregnant?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, tears spilling over.

“Yeah. I found out a couple of weeks ago, and I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know if you’d be okay with it, or if it was too much with the wedding coming up -”

Chan cut you off by pulling you into his arms, burying his face in your neck. His body shook as he let out a half-laugh, half-sob, and you realized he was crying.

“Channie, are you okay?” you asked nervously, your own voice shaking as you stroked his hair.

“Okay?” he choked out, pulling back to look at you with tear-streaked cheeks and the biggest grin you’d ever seen. “Baby, I’m better than okay. I’m… I’m gonna be a dad?”

You nodded, your heart swelling at the pure joy on his face.

Chan laughed, his tears flowing freely now.

“Holy crap. I don’t know what to say?! We’re having a baby. A baby!”

Before you could say anything else, Chan was  peppering your face with kisses, squeezing you in the tightest hug ever.

“I love you so much. Baby, you’re…I can’t believe you’ve been carrying this on your own.” he said, cupping your cheeks with his hands. 

“I didn’t want to stress you out,” you admitted, clinging to him as he pulled you onto his lap. “And…I've never been more scared about anything my entire life? I mean, I adore you, and I know I want this with you, our baby already means the world to me…but not knowing if you would want that too? It's been killing me, we've never even joked about this before, Channie… “

“You could’ve told me sooner, baby,” he said softly, kissing the tip of your nose. “I thought we were clear about this, with you, I'm ready for anything! But I get it. And I love you even more for worrying about me. But baby, we’re in this together. Always.”

---

Chan: GUYS. I HAVE NEWS. HUGE NEWS 🤩

Jisung: Finally!! 

Hyunjin: I told you she's a spy!! No one ever listens to me!! 

Minho: He’s too happy for that, you idiot.

Chan: WE’RE HAVING A BABY.

Jeongin: Excuse me, WHAT?

Changbin: STOP. Really?! 

Seungmin: Wow, plot twist

Felix: Oh thank godddddd😭😭😭😭

Felix: I was dying here

Chan: SHE TOLD ME THIS MORNING. I’M GONNA BE A DAD. WE’RE GONNA BE PARENTS. OMG.

---

It felt like everytime he said it, it felt a little more real.

---

Jisung: Congratulations, bro. Wow. 

Hyunjin: I AM CRYING. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE REPRODUCING.

Chan: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Chan: MY BABYGIRL AND I ARE HAVING A BABY😭💖

Minho: Jokes aside, this is such great news!! Congrats. Now go take care of your pregnant fiancée instead of spamming us.

Chan: I think I'm gonna faint

Changbin: Congrats, bro. But also… HOW DID YOU NOT NOTICE SHE WAS GOING THROUGH SOMETHING?

Chan: I NOTICED! I just didn't think she was, you know

Jisung: Avoiding you because she was growing your spawn, apparently.

Hyunjin: “Spawn” makes it sound like a little gremlin. Oh my Gawd 🤣

Felix: STOP. My baby’s gonna be so adorable I’ll CRY 😭

Minho: Okay, Felix, you’re suspiciously calm about this. Did you already know?

Felix: 👀

Hyunjin: YOU KNEW.

Chris: WHAT?? FELIX, YOU KNEW BEFORE ME?!

Felix: SHE TOLD ME FIRST, OKAY? SHE WAS NERVOUS, AND I PROMISED I WOULDN’T SAY ANYTHING.

Jisung: Wow. Betrayal.

Chan: SO YOU JUST LET ME SUFFER FOR WEEKS??

Felix: Yes. And? I'd do it again for her.

Changbin: LMAO savage.

Jeongin: Shame on you for trusting him when everyone knows he works for her

Chan: Thanks for being on her side, Lix

Felix: Anytime 💖

Hyunjin: Omg, imagine Baby Bang. Tiny curls, tiny dimples 😍

Chan: STOP I’M ALREADY CRYING AGAIN 😭

Jeongin: I've never been this excited for a baby really. You'd let us babysit won't you? 

Changbin: Oh yeah. Group uncle duty.

Hyunjin: We're gonna be dancing before we can even walk Baby Bang 🤝

Felix: For sure!

Chan: THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEING EXCITED FOR US!

Jisung: Save your tears for the wedding, Daddy Bang.

Jeongin: When do we throw a baby shower? Felix?

Felix: Already planning it.

Hyunjin: This baby’s gonna be so loved.

Chan: THANK YOU, GUYS. I LOVE YOU ALL 😭

---

Chan added Y/N to the group chat.

Chan: SURPRISE, BABY! WELCOME TO THE CHAOS.

Jisung: AHHH THE QUEEN IS HERE!

Hyunjin: ALL HAIL THE BABY-MAKER 👑

Minho: Congrats on creating life and also tolerating Chan for this long.

Felix: YAYYYYYY YOU’RE HERE! 😭 We’ve been dying to have you here!!!

Jeongin: Thank you for gifting us Baby Bang. We promise to only slightly corrupt them.

Changbin: We’re all crying. I’m crying. Hyung is crying. Everyone’s crying.

Y/N:😂

Y/N: Oh my God, you guys.

Minho: This is us being tame.

Hyunjin: Soooo, what does it feel like, hm? Asking for research purposes, of course

Chan: Oh yeah, totally not gonna run off and impregnate someone 🙄

Hyunjin: What's it to you Christopher? You can do it, but I can't?! 

Chan: Oh please

Minho: I told her to get a collar for this damn puppy and look who's here yapping

Y/N: Leave him alone guys!

Hyunjin: I respect you, Y/N. I respect you. So I'm gonna shut up (Mr Know, let's do this face to face huh)

Minho: Gladly.

Felix: Honestly, Y/N, we’re just honored to be part of this. 

Y/N: Thanks guys, this means a lot to us. 

Changbin: And we’re going to spoil them rotten.

Jeongin: Rotten is an understatement.

Y/N: 🤭🤭🤭

Minho: You won't even know what hit you for the next 18 years. Or 30.

Chan: GUYS. Stop scaring her. Baby, they’re joking.

Felix: We’re not.

Hyunjin: Nope.

Jisung: Absolutely not.

Y/N: I'm all in for that hehe

Chan: I love you guys

Jisung: Chan’s in his feels again.

Felix: We have a wedding and baby shower to plan! 

Hyunjin: OMG. A pregnant bride. You’re gonna be so GLOWY.

Y/N: Thank you for being this excited for us. I love you guys 😭💖

Felix: We love you too!! 🥺💖

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8

[jinusajas]

01/19/25; 08:00pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ sharing intimacy without speaking ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

you wait with bated breath as sylus takes off the rest of his clothes, leaving his body only in a flimsy pair of boxers as your mouth waters at the prominent tent settled between his legs. while you lay back in bed, a sense of anticipation courses through your veins, your gaze becoming half lidded the moment your lover joins you on the bed.

your soft breathing was all that was heard when sylus lays beside you, feeling his fingertips trace at the outline of your nightgown as you tremble beneath his touch. he smiles down at you, pulling you toward his lap while tilting your head closer to him, allowing your lips to meet with his in a passionate kiss.

you moan into his lips, feeling his clothed erection brush against your center, the sensation making you shiver as you felt the heat blossoming within your veins. he smirks against your lips, sliding a large hand discretely toward your slick folds. distracted by his kiss, you jolted against his lap the moment you felt his hand dip into the waistband of your panties, purposely brushing against your swollen clit as he dipped two fingers into your heat.

with you laid bare for him on his lap, you felt the onychinus leader steadily pump his fingers in and out of your slick walls, your mewls echoing throughout the room as sylus worked on spoiling you with red hot pleasure. the sensation of his fingertips spreading you open over and over again increases the ache felt between your legs by a tenfold. the constant onslaught of pleasure caused by his thick fingers nearly has you reaching your completion-

only to have such a sensation be ripped away from you the moment sylus removes his fingers from your aching core. your breathy whine pierced through the air, earning a rich chuckle from the sneaky fiend as he adjust his hold on your body. tears of frustration cascades down your cheek when you felt sylus kiss them away, adjusting his boxers while moving your panties to the side before bringing you down on him.

the accuracy of his cock becoming completely sheathed within your walls makes your mind go numb, allowing sylus to bounce you up and down his cock as you surrendered yourself completely to him.

the morning sun had barely settled over the horizon when the sounds of lovemaking echoes throughout the room.

zayne held your legs up in an upright position as he takes you from behind, his cock angling with an expertise as he basks in your soft and sleepy moans. the doctor had woken up from a heated dream where he had taken you in this very position-

and he couldn’t stop himself from making such fantasies come true. as he lazily thrusts his cock in and out of your silken heat, he allows the tip of his nose to trace at your skin, breathing in your scent. the pleasure was overwhelming for him, nearly taking over his senses as his hand reaches towards your front, pinching at your hardened nipples from beneath your shirt.

your gasps turns into mewls at the sudden sensation, with you tilting your head slightly to meet with zayne’s fevered gaze. no words were spoken, but he could see the love and adoration brimming in your eyes, the sight of it all filling zayne with the need to capture your lips with his own.

and when zayne felt the way your walls clenched oh so sweetly around him, his pace became faster, desperate to reach his completion by having you milking him for all he was worth.

the young hunter’s half-lidded eyes met with your own, watching with an intense fascination as you rode him. xavier was at a loss for words, completely drunk off of the sensation of you bouncing up and down his cock.

with your eyes clenched shut, xavier takes this moment to admire just how beautiful you looked. your body was naked for him, with a light sheen of sweat coating your delectable skin. each time your hips met with his, xavier would notice the way you would bite down against your bottom lip, nearly drawing out blood as it causes a new surge of desire to course through him.

xavier’s hand itched with the need to grip at your waist, to help guide you up and down his dick while basking in your breathy moans-

but he manages to hold off on such desires, allowing you to use him for however long you wished to use him. broken grunts escapes from his parted lips each time your walls continue to stroke him with each passionate bounce, making xavier bury his head within his pillow as he silently thought of ways to keep from coming too soon.

xavier swore that he would do anything in his power to make you fall apart first before releasing himself deep inside of you.

rafayel shivers despite the hot water that surrounds him within the porcelain tub, watching as you spread your legs wide for him before guiding his cock within your entrance from beneath the waters. his hand grips at the edge of the tub, watching you with an intense gaze when you finally insert the tip of his cock within your heat.

the lemurian fights back a groan when you slide down on his cock, your moans quickly echoing throughout the bathroom as you began stroking his cock with your cunt. the waters from your bath began sloshing around your forms, earning a low, possessive growl from rafayel when he suddenly surges forward.

his hand was settled behind your back, lips capturing your heaving breast as he places a hardened bud into his mouth. as the young artist began suckling on your chest, you cried out to him, wrapping your legs around his waist with desperation. after littering your chest with a series of hot kisses, rafayel hides his face within the curve of your neck. deciding to meet each one of your thrusts with his own as his tongue captures the droplets of water that runs down your skin.

and as you continue to sheath his cock within your cunt over and over again, rafayel knew that he would move mountains and burn the world for you-

his obsession devotion reaching new heights as he remembered what heaven was like with his cock nestled deep within your sweetness.

caleb’s favorite position when it came to making love to you had to be missionary, since he was able to see each and every one of your cute expressions. with his lithe body hovering over you, he allows his prosthetic hand to gently frame at your face, basking in the way you shivered against the cold metal before settling himself between your legs.

you were left as bare as he was when he grips at the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to his waist as the thick, mushroom tip of his cock traces at your slick folds. your breathing hitches, earning a pleased hum from caleb as he moves his cock up and down your walls, purposely brushing against your hardened clit each time.

with a grunt, he feels the way your arousal begins sticking to him, making his cock appear shinier as a shudder courses through him. unable to wait any longer, caleb spreads your legs wide open for him before slowly leading his cock toward your heat. only when he began pushing himself into you did he look away from the spot where you were both connected, wishing to take in each and every one of your expressions.

a dreamy haze was seen settled across your eyes when his cock was slowly sheathed inside of you. when he was fully buried within your core, caleb had to fight back the triumphant smirk that threatens to spread across his lips when a thin trail of drool was seen escaping from the corner of your lips.

yet he keeps his teasing words to himself, pressing a kiss against your lips to swallow the rest of your moans as he worked on fucking you into his bed without any mercy.

end notes: don’t mind me, just another thirst post 🙂‍↕️

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!