#the sub takes it an extra mile or two

[bunnyreaper]

the price we pay

kinktober 10 - fuck machine

dom!ghost x sub!reader x sub!soap

(18+/mdni, fuck machine, cuckolding vibes, bondage, degradation, negotiated kink, anal)

Belonging to Simon Riley brought with it a litany of mysteries, both large and small—it's a privilege and a burden you and Johnny both willingly signed up for. 

Simon was always the first (and often only) one to know things in your relationships—plans, observations, feelings, they'd all sit inside his head for weeks or months, waiting for the perfect opportunity to come out. Over time, you've learned to spot the signs of a brewing plan or ruminating thought. This one you picked up on fairly quickly, having made a game of it with Simon. 

Simon sits across from you, lonely on the loveseat as you lounge on the couch, lost in his phone with a focused squint. It's nothing unusual, the two of you spending time together peacefully coexisting in silence—but you sense something amiss.

"You're planning something." You whisper, eyes glued to him as he taps at something on his screen. 

He pauses, gaze connecting with yours as he stares you down, resolute with a slight smirk on his face. "Yeah, and?" 

"How long now?" You ask.

"3 weeks." 

"I'm getting faster, Simon!" You punch the air in victory, kicking and flailing your legs in a delighted little dance that makes your lover smile. "Okay, continue, I won't ask any more questions." You giggle as you bite your lip and turn your attention back to the TV, willing yourself to not think about the surprise. 

So you weren't caught completely unaware when one day an oversized, nondescript box was delivered to the door. Johnny's away on an assignment without you both, meaning whatever it is could only belong to Simon, and likely part of whatever he's been working on over the past several weeks. 

Johnny went away aware something was coming, but not knowing what—because unlike Johnny, Simon could keep a secret from his lovers. You've been resorting to unfair tactics with Simon, waiting until he's in his blissed-out, post fuck state to probe him gently. 

You lay draped across Simon, both of you completely bare as you cuddle up—his hot cum still oozing out of you. 

Now's your chance, you think. Simon's always more relaxed post-sex, and you're not going to ask too much. 

Threading your fingers up to his hair, you stroke his scalp and smile as his eyes slip shut. "Is it a gift?" 

"I suppose." He whispers, eyes cracking open as he eyes you wearily, you can see the cogs turning as he debates giving you an inch, and worrying you'll take a mile.

You study him intently, wondering if you can chance another. "For me?" 

"For all of us." He reaches to your chin, tilting it as he leans in for a breath-stealing kiss that silences any further inquiries. "Now that's enough." 

You nod, beyond satisfied as you snuggle back into Simon's chest and try to temper your excitement.

The package arriving perfectly in time for the day Johnny gets home from his mission is very suspicious. 

You'd both spent the afternoon cuddling Johnny on the couch before Simon disappeared upstairs with his box and ordered you both to stay out of the bedroom until he allowed you in. Johnny had probed you for what you knew, as he tried to come up with ideas for what it could be. 

"Mebbes it's a puppy, I'd like tha'" Johnny comments idly as he plays with your hair, stroking through it as he snuggles up behind you.

You giggle, but shake your head, not convinced by that theory. "I'd hope he wouldn't keep a puppy in the box for that long, plus surely it would've made a noise by now." 

"Hmm." Johnny hums. "King size weighted blanket?" 

Simon's eyes had lit up when you had mentioned it in the past. "Ooh, one we can all snuggle under." You wriggle back into Johnny, imagining the comfort of being cuddled up with your boys and blessed with the extra weight. Then again, you didn't really need a weighted blanket when you had them.

You hear Simon's footsteps as he starts to come back downstairs, and you turn over to shush Johnny with a kiss. "Quiet, don't get us in trouble." 

"Aye, lass." 

After an afternoon of soft closeness and conversation, the three of you would usually take this time to head to the bedroom and fuck the missing parties' brain's out, to catch them up on everything they've missed—but the atmosphere is so different, knowing whatever Simon has been planning is just waiting for you upstairs. 

When Simon nods in the direction of the stairs, you both obediently rush to your feet, heading upstairs as he leads the way. 

"Johnny, be a good boy and go take a shower for me." Simon's voice is a stern command as he reaches the landing and stops Johnny from entering the bedroom. "I'll come and get you when I need you, yeah?" 

"Yes, sir." Johnny nods, his eyes widening as they connect with yours. 

Separating the two of you isn't a good sign for what's to come, and your stomach flips with fear as you're led into the bedroom wordlessly.

"Simon?" You ask, voice hesitant he starts to grab some of the items he's prepared. The whispered name doesn't get a response, so you try again. "...Sir?" 

Simon stops dead in his tracks, turning to you with that expression, the one that tells you his slipping into his dom mindset—head whirring with his plans, with considerations for all of your safety and welcome, and with anticipation for what's to come. "On the bed, now. Clothes off." 

You freeze for a moment, swallowing thickly before you rush to throw up every garment you're wearing—they're hastily discarded on the floor, only to be collected and folded when Simon hits you with a stern look. 

Once you're bare, you lay on the bed, uncertain of what's to come and yet trusting in the other man completely. 

Simon repositions you as he wants you, turning you over on your stomach before pulling up your ass into the air.

The large object at the foot of the bed covered by the sheet hasn't escaped your attention. "What's that?" 

Simon follows your gaze, to the covered mound. Silently, he pulls away the covering to reveal the contraption underneath. 

A fucking machine.

"Wow, fuck. What are you planning?" You gasp, already squirming in anticipation.

Simon steals your focus, turning your head back into the bed. "You'll see." 

His hands run over your naked behind, trailing down your legs before he gets to work gently attaching a spreader bar to your ankles—preparing you to be able to take the dildo attached to the machine. When he's done securing your ankles, he gets to work on securing your wrists together so you're truly helpless. 

You squirm as you feel the lube drip onto your exposed holes, his finger working the slick into your pucker and preparing you. Your head spins, as you begin to anticipate the machine fucking your ass, until you feel the cold metal of a plug and Simon's hand holding your rear. He works slowly, opening you up on a finger or two until he can get the plug inside.  With that done, he leans over, close to your head. 

"Love you." He mumbles as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Safeword?" 

"Red." You confirm, relishing in the feeling of being so safe with your boyfriend and dominant. "Love you too, Si."

"Good girl." 

He gives you a once-over, checking everything is in place, before he moves away. Next, he gets to work on moving the machine, you can just see in your peripheral as you crane your neck that he's moving things around—and then you feel the tip poke at your entrance, positioned so carefully so as to not truly enter you.

"Fuck." You shiver with anticipation, trying to wiggle back onto it only to be met with strong hands stilling your hips. 

You're already so needy, you're barely able to think of how the evening might unfold or what this will all lead to. Right now, you just want relief.  "Are you gonna turn it on?" 

"Not yet." 

You crane your neck to watch as Simon leaves the room, leaving you exposed and anticipating. 

The conversation between him and Johnny in the bathroom is muffled, barely audible over the blood pumping in your ears. 

When they make it to the room, Johnny is being led by Simon, due to the silk wrapped around his eyes. Simon lays him face down on the bed next to you, pulling off his towel and leaving him exposed alongside you. Johnny's already rock hard in anticipation, his cock rubbing against the mattress.

"Why's he blindfolded?" You ask, brain trying to piece together what is happening, what Simon has in store.

Upon hearing your voice, Johnny's hand twitches, wanting to reach out to touch you but knowing instinctively he isn't allowed. Were it not for the blindfold, the two of you would at least be able to share meaningful looks.

"For the surprise." Simon mumbles, as he starts to gather lengths of rope to tie Johnny up with—by the looks of it, your boyfriend was going to be bound head to toe beside you. 

"Oh, so I shouldn't ruin it?" You giggle, teasing Simon with the fact you could disobey and give the game away before he's ready. 

Your words are met with a scoff, and you watch Simon scowl as he pauses. "Not unless you want to trade places with him." 

As Simon gets to work tying Johnny's arms and legs, you realise very quickly that the last thing you want is to trade places with Johnny—at least you're seemingly in more of a position to get pleasure tonight, whereas it seems Johnny might get denied. You also realise that when the blindfold comes off, Johnny's going to be fucking furious. 

"Am getting tied up, ooh." Johnny coos, his tone playful as his lips curl into a smirk. 

You watch, fascinated, as Simon works deftly, securing the black rope over every inch of Johnny's gorgeous body. 

"If it helps, Johnny, I'm a little restrained too—ow!" You don't get to finish your sentence, as Simon cuts you off with a sharp spank. 

"What did I say?" He growls, attention turning to you for a moment to fix you with a steely glare. 

You pout, but bite your tongue from giving any further hints—you know what's good for you, after all. "Sorry, I won't give anything away, sir. Promise." Hopefully, the groveling will keep you in Simon's good books. 

"Yeah, could still be anything." Johnny comments, conspiring with you to keep you out of trouble—bless him. You had a feeling the two of you won't be so allied in a few minutes. 

It becomes clearer to you with each second that this setup is one of Simon's games to play you against one another, and tonight you're the lucky one, rather than the punished. Of course, it's all only temporary, and in the spirit of everyone's enjoyment—outside of the bedroom, you all try your hardest to never create imbalances between you.

"Jokes on us, he's gonna tie us both up and leave us in here, so he can get some peace, Johnny." You joke, trying to keep the mood fairly light.

"'m getting close to it." Simon is back to grumbling, as he finishes up his binds on Johnny's limbs. "Safeword?" 

"Red." Johnny confirms, his expression turning more serious. 

Simon presses a kiss to his forehead before he gets to work on undoing the blindfold."Love you." 

"Love you—" Johnny's words are cut off as his eyes flicker open, and he takes a second to crane his neck around to take in the scene beside him. "—bastard." 

"Don't like what you see, Johnny?" Simon chuckles, low and full of mischief, as he walks toward the bottom of the bed, standing near the machine that is so close to working its way inside you. 

"Fuck you." Johnny snarls, his eyes looking angered and desperate as he meets your gaze. He is, as you expected, furious.

And you hate that his reaction makes you leak—he wants you so bad, and he's being denied, completely at Simon's mercy. 

You want to get fucked so bad, whether it's by Johnny or the machine or Simon, you don't care. But tonight, you know the only thing getting stuffed in your cunt is the dildo on the fuck machine. "Please, sir, please turn it on." The words rush out of your mouth before you can stop them, need coursing through your body.

There's a low growl from both men before Simon speaks first. "Tell Johnny how much you want it." His words are accompanied by him adjusting the dildo at your entrance, getting ready to grant your wish.

Johnny's eyes soften when you look to him, but the fury within is still evident. You hope he sees the softness in your eyes too, hope he can see how helpless you are right now under Simon's spell that is making you complicit.

"Johnny, want it so bad... fuck." You wiggle once more, trying to get any kind of relief. Johnny grits his teeth through the next part. "Tell him to turn it on for me, please."

Another growl from Johnny as he thrashes against the mattress, unable to really do anything at all. "These fucking ropes, as soon as I get—" 

His sentence is interrupted by your moan, loud and uninhibited as the dildo breaches you, working itself in at a tortuously slow rhythm.

Simon is messing with the controls in your peripheral. "How's that?" 

"Slow." You whine, desperate for more already. The machine picks up its pace, fucking into you more steadily as it strokes against your insides. "T-thank you." 

Simon makes his way back to the side of the bed, standing behind Johnny as he taunts the man with his touch, stroking his face delicately as if to subdue and tame a wild animal.

"Is it better than him?" Simon asks, leaning into your field of vision.

You look up at him, mind hazy and unsure what response he wants. Does he want you to humiliate Johnny for him? Is he going to make you say you prefer the machine just to exert his power and control?

Simon senses your hesitation, your need for guidance in this moment, and his hand comes to stroke your face, much like he is already doing with Johnny. "Just looking for the truth, pet."

Your eyes flicker back to Johnny's, noticing the way they shine with something other than anger—fear and humiliation, as he waits for your response. Poor, sweet Johnny, already being broken down into submission by Simon. 

"... No." You whisper truthfully, gaze fixed on Johnny, so you can catch his relief. 

Simon tuts, walking back to the controls to turn them up as if to try and change your mind. "Shame."

The machine's pace increases, ramming the dildo into your cunt faster and faster and forcing the moans out from your pretty little mouth.

Johnny turns ferocious once again. "Yer not seriously gonna leave me here while a machine fucks ma girl instead of me?!" He pleads, desperate and mad and so confused, and yet still working his hips into the mattress for relief. 

"Your girl?" Simon snarls, returning to tug at the roots of Johnny's hair until his head is floating off the bed. 

Johnny swallows, winces at the sensation, and attempts to correct himself. "Our girl." 

Simon throws his head down with little regard, as if he's disgusted to even have touched your other boyfriend.

"My girl." His voice is all growl, threatening and territorial as he crawls onto the bed, ignoring Johnny and his need in favour of yours. "Here's how this is gonna go, Johnny. You're gonna be a good boy and stay there." 

You hear the cap of the lube open, and slick sounds as Simon lubes up his cock—both you and Johnny are breathless in anticipation. 

Simon's fingers then work the plug out of you, and you know exactly what is coming next. You're about to get double penetrated, while Johnny lays there and watches, powerless to stop it. He's wanted both men to take you at once for so long, only to be denied. 

Now it was going to happen without him. 

You feel Simon nudge his cock at your pucker, spreading around the lube there and chuckling at Johnny's livid reaction.

"You're gonna stay there, and me this machine are gonna fuck her better than you ever could."  

[thecapricunt1616]

Cinnamon - (c.b. one-shot)

Snippet (more BTC): “Can I- take your panties off…p-please?” He asked shyly “wanna make y’feel good - wanna taste your pussy I miss it s’much - tastes so good baby please lemme taste you” he said and his whiney husky voice mixed with his breathlessness from being shoved into the fabric of your dripping cunt made you clench around nothing. 

♡ One Shot Inspo: Cinnamon invokes lust and is considered an aphrodisiac. It can be used in love spells as well as for sex magic. Burn cinnamon to stimulate your spiritual powers and increase your psychic ability and awareness.

♡ Summary: Carmy hasn't had pussy in 2 weeks....he nearly died (he's a drama queen, but you love it) So, being the loving amazing GF you are you Mountain Dewed it up down left right (oh!!) switched it up like Nintendo - and did it so well you put his ass to sleep. (I listened to Espresso the whole time writing this its literally all I could think about hahahah)

♡ W/C: 4,140

♡ Posted Date: 05/12/2024

♡ A/N: HEYYYY!!! Okay okay so MORE STAGEFRIGHT because the amazing wonderful talented goddess level writer @l4long-winded sent in ♡THIS♡ big brain beautiful ask, and let me tell you I had some THOUGHTS!!! I have such a worship kink so .... yeah this was v fun to write. I hope you love reading as much as I loved writing. My dear please send in a request whenever you want!! Requests are open per usual :D

♡ Warnings for BTC: Kinda Sub!Carmy, Smut, Fem!Reader, AFAB!Reader, No use of Y/N, No use of physical descriptors, Black!Fem!Reader friendly (i'm pretty sure pls tell me if smth needs editing!), Kinda Virgin!Carmy, Not edited (we die like men)

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

It had been quite literally a fortnight since Carmy had been able to fuck you. It was all he’d thought about, well - when his brain wasn’t busy going a million miles an hour about the restaurant, which is exactly what had taken up so much of his time lately. He’d usually be grateful for this kind of work, the kind of work that he’s going in at 3:15 and not getting home until 11:30 pm or midnight when you were already fast asleep. 

He was exhausted, emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually - but sexually?! He wasn’t sure he had ever been so wound up before. His nightly sessions of jerking his cock in the shower, biting his hand to keep as quiet as he could while he thought of the view of you when he came in that night. One leg hoisted up, nightgown ridden up over your ass. The one you knew he loved, and some of his favorite panties. 

You called them your lazy girl panties because you told him you only wore them when you weren’t expecting anyone else to see them, but that very fact meant drooled over them. The slight discoloration from being so old, the little threads hanging off the leg holes and waistband. The tiny hole right in the waistband that he loved to thumb with while cuddling in bed. 

 Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty six hours. Twenty thousand, one hundred and sixty minutes. 

That had been how long he had gone without being inside of you. He didn’t know his dick could get depressed, but his dick was fucking depressed. Getting off felt like a chore. When he’d jack off, he took an extra 15 minutes yanking on the thing because he could barely cum anymore, even though his balls were aching like he needed to. 

Every time he got home, he’d stand in the doorway, just watching you. You would be peacefully asleep, chest lightly rising and falling, your beautiful body covered by some loose sleep thing. A loose sleep thing that he fantasized about ripping off into shreds. 

Tonight though - he could cry. You were up - you were fucking awake. Through his own selfish desires he didn’t even realize it was abnormal, the only thing he could think about was the blood rushing to his cock at the mere idea you could possibly potentially be in the mood. “Baby?!” He nearly tripped over his own two feet rushing to your shared bedroom. 

You were sat up on the bed, book on your thighs - a loose nightgown that accentuated your curves and hugged your peaked nipples uncovered by any bra. He could bust in his pants and all you were doing was reading. Reading what? He could care less honestly because his cock was starting to hurt. 

You sat up, putting your legs over the side of the bed to get up and greet him “Bear! How was work love? I wanted to stay up so that we could - what’re you…” you trail off confused as he slinks to his knees before you, between your thighs and lifting up your leg, putting the top of your foot to his lips. 

“In…22 minutes” he starts between kissing up your bare ankle and calf “it..will have been..15..days..” he stopped at your thighs, his cheek smushed against the flesh, he looked like he could both cry and that he was coming home. “Since I touched you. Please. Please baby - can I make you feel good? Mm?” He mumbled into your skin. “Please princess? I’m dyin’ here. I’m fuckin- I literally cut my hand t’day thinkin’ bout you. I fuckin need you” he kissed over each little tiny inch of your flesh. He was…worshiping you. 

The idea sent waves of warmth flooding your core. “Yeah baby?” You took his hand, seeing a bandage over his knuckle and kissing it gently. 

The feeling of your lips to his skin made him whimper “please- please please please” he begged, sitting back on his feet and looking up at you through his bangs, pushing his hair back quickly before his hand found your calf once again, rubbing little strokes into it “please?” He asked softly, his big blue eyes blown wide with lust. 

You gently cup his cheek “and who’s fault is it?” You were teasing now. But you knew the bastard loved a challenge, and you also had been horny and your fingers were nothing compared to Carmys. 

“Mine. It’s mine. My stupid fuckin job angel I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, how can I make it up? What can I do pretty? Mm? I’ll do whatever you want” he begged you and kissed over your knees and calves, pressing short little pecks to the skin. You grabbed his greasy curls at the root, raking through a few of the knots gently before pulling him to look at you and he moaned gently at the sudden firmness 

“Do you know I’ve been fingering myself to fall asleep. All alone - for all those days you said. My poor hand” you held it up and he brought it to his lips on instinct, kissing the pads of your fingers before opening his mouth expectantly. “Good Bear” you purr and his eyes flutter shut as you stuck in your middle and ring fingers, slipping them over his tongue. He moaned at the contact, not holding back. 

You smiled a bit, tugging his jaw open and he looks up at you, cheeks flushed and drool beginning to drip down his chin. “You’re pretty” you said softly and he swirls his tongue around your fingers before sucking on them gently, not breaking your gaze. Your stomach flips with excitement, your panties becoming uncomfortably wet but you weren’t going to let that show. He deserved to beg. 

“Do you deserve to be sucking on my fingers though?” You pull them away suddenly and he gasps a bit a the unexpected emptiness of his mouth, a pathetic little pout appearing on his lips. 

“No” he said softly and you grab his cheeks, smushing them gently “but I can make you feel soooo good - you deserve it” he told you and you pat his cheek gently with your hand, your wet fingers leaving a glistening streak on his cheek. 

“I know I do. Are you gonna eat me out? Like a good boy?” You laid back on your elbows, spreading your thigh and resting one of your feet on the edge of the bed, showing your panties that had grown a large wet spot during your conversation. He watches every move you make, his eyes focusing on the wet spot you sighed softly, deciding to take pity on him. “You can sniff my panties, you little freak” you giggle and he looked up at you like a kid on Christmas 

He wasted no time shoving his nose right in the wetness, inhaling your sweet yummy scent and groaning “thank you” he mumbled into the curve of your ass, his hot breath against the skin causing your clit to twitch and goosebumps to appear on your skin. You feel him taking another deep breath and nuzzling his nose back and forth to get deeper like a dog and you couldn’t help but giggle, raking through the knots in his curls as he stuck out his tongue and caught the fabric of your panties with his teeth, sucking the juices out of the fabric and moaning hotly. 

His hands were everywhere, rubbing over your calves, your thighs, your stomach, pushing your nightgown over your tits and rolling a peaked nipple between his fingers. You bit your lip, head falling back slightly and grinding your hips into his face, using his nose to get yourself off. “Go ahead Bear take off your jeans, you’ve been good t’night and I know you’re probably hurting” you told him 

He sighed into you gratefully “y’too nice t’me” he kissed over your clothed pussy a few times as he unbuckled his belt with shaking hands, the anticipation was killing him. 

“No me being nice would be telling you that you could touch yourself. And no dripping on my carpet” you told him as he pushed his boxers and jeans enough to let his cock free that was indeed dripping already. His boxers were creamy and wet with pre, he had been pathetically grinding against the boxspring as he sucked your panties like it was his life source. 

“Shit-“  he said, wrapping a fist around his weeping tip as he continued tonguing and nosing at the fabric between your legs. “Can I- c-can I please?” He begged pathetically, that softness to his voice you loved so much. A sweet whiney grunt leaves his lips as you pull his hair, forcing him to look at you. 

“What have we talked about? Use your words.” You said firmly. 

“Can I- take your panties off…p-please?” He asked shyly “wanna make y’feel good - wanna taste your pussy I miss it s’much - tastes so good baby please lemme taste you” he said and his whiney husky voice mixed with his breathlessness from being shoved into the fabric of your dripping cunt made you clench around nothing. 

“I wanna cum twice before you even think about touching yourself. Also take your shirt off you’re way overdressed for my taste.” You dropped his hair and he nods obediently, standing and shoving off his jeans and tugging his shirt off by the neck in that stupid jockish way that had you wanting to shove him down back first on the mattress and ride him until his balls were empty. 

Instead you kept your cool, crossing your arms over and slipping your nightgown over your head before taking off your panties, flicking them at him playfully to which he balled them up and pressed them to his nose, inhaling deeply. This caused you to laugh as you adjusted your pillow to lay back, spreading your thighs and gathering some of your wetness from your hole, dragging it up to your clit and rubbing little circles into it. 

“Mmm are you gonna keep sniffing those like a pervy-puppy or are you gonna come make good on your promise. I’m surprised this poor hand hasn’t fallen off” you teased and he dropped the panties where he was standing, coming and crawling on the bed, laying in front of you and hoisting your thighs over each of his shoulders 

“Mmm” he hummed, his eyes fluttering shut and leaning in, resting his cheek on your thigh and inhaling. “Smell so fuckin’ good” he mumbled “mouth is literally watering” he kissed your inner thighs sweetly, ravishing the skin in gentle affection. “God I missed this fuckin missed this s’much. Every morning this pretty fuckin pussy is just beggin me” he kissed your mound gently, dipping his tongue out and moaning at the taste of sweat and lotion on your skin, lapping it up like a life source. 

“Yeah? I think you’re the beggar” you mused, jaw falling slack as he licks a stripe up your heat, moaning pathetically at your taste. His eyes rolled back slightly before fluttering shut in pure bliss “mmm so pretty baby” you coo and he smiled slightly, his cheeks a blushy pink that matched the tops of his ears. He nuzzled into you, nose rubbing over your clit in the way that made you gasp, your toes curling lightly “good boy” you praised, voice breathy and light 

“Taste so good” he mumbled into your cunt, squeezing your thighs gently with his tattooed fingers. He moaned into you, watching you with wide lustful eyes. 

“Those pretty eyes” you said softly, gently brushing his warm cheekbone with your knuckle and he hums into you gently. He sucked your folds between his lips, pulling away slightly and rubbing your thighs up and down with his calloused palms, squeezing gently. You moaned hotly and couldn’t contain the cry that followed when he finally stuck his middle finger in your dripping hole, hips bucking to try and get more of him. 

“So soft, so so soft” he mumbled into your clit before kissing it gently and taking the now swollen throbbing bud in his mouth, flicking his tongue over it quickly. His fingers twist and curl as he pumps them in and out at a languid pace. You felt that familiar jolt of pleasure as the pad of his finger brushed your g spot. 

“Augh- ah- yes bear” you mewled, “right there- there” you grab his wrist and squeeze it and in response he curled his fingers the same way and you dug your feet into his shoulder blades in pure extacy, causing him to grunt into you and curl and uncurl his fingers in a rhythm that had your eyes screwing shut and loud strings of curses and moans tearing from your chest as you came undone over his fingers, dripping down his wrist already. But with how long it had been since you had him this way, that was to be expected. 

“Good - good bear good bear” you mumble praise as your orgasm washes over you he works you through it, resuming pumping his fingers - your dripping arousal being able to be put to use as lube. The schlick,schlick,schlick sound of his fingers is what you come back to, your mind fuzzy and swimming through a warm sea of pleasure, sweet jumbled moans and whimpers coming from your lips. 

“God you sound so fuckin’ pretty baby I love you so fuckin much m’so sorry m’so sorry I haven’t been around as much” he mumbled into you and you shake your head 

“S’okay shhh- shh just keep doin’ what you’re doin’” you push his head back down, watching as his eyes flutter up to look at you and he sweetly offers his other hand for you to hold, your heart melting at the gesture. “Such a sweet boy” you coo, taking his hand and lacing your fingers together. He smiled a bit in response nuzzling his nose against your clit, his lips making cute little smacking noises against your cunt. 

“You’re so messy” you giggle a bit, seeing as the tip and bridge of his nose were wet with your slick, as was his chin and entire mouth area. “Your face is so wet baby” you told him and he looked up at you 

“Mmm m’neck is wet too” he paused to say before resuming and you gently caress his cheek, the only sounds filling the room being the wet drill of his fingers and the smacking of his lips, like he was trying to devour a popsicle before it melted. 

You felt your second orgasm quickly approaching, your walls fluttering around his fingers, he curled up into that spot and that was your undoing once more, your hips pushing back into the mattress and spine arching off the bed towards the ceiling slightly as your orgasm crashed over you with no mercy to be had. 

“Jesus- fuck!” You cried out and he held your thighs open for you so you wouldn’t crush him by mistake, your hands shaking as you went to wipe the tears that had gathered in your eyes that were screwed shut from the intensity and Carmy stops you, carefully wiping your cheeks with his dry hand and removing his other carefully, wiping it dry on the sheets he always changed for you afterwards and cupping your face while you came down. 

“You did so good baby, so so good” he kissed your forehead gently, rubbing your hair and caressing your back with loving strokes. When you were finally coherent enough once again, although you were exhausted - you realized Carmy was still rock hard, pitching a full tent in his boxers that were wet with pre as he coaxed you through your orgasm. 

“That’s gotta hurt” you told pull the fabric, causing his cock to come down with it and when you release it it springs back up to full standing causing you to giggle a bit 

“Mm does but m’back. I can’t go t’night babe. I was gonna go take care of it in the shower don’worry” he yawned, rubbing over his face you furrowed your brow, slightly offended. 

“What? Is my pussy not good enough?” You teased 

He looked at you quickly “wha- no - I mean- I mean yes? No- no your pussy is good your pussy is- is perfect I fuckin’ love y’pussy but I can’t go tonight baby my back fuckin’ hurts” he explained 

“I can ride you you know” you said and his big blue eyes widened a bit. You’d been together for 6- no 7 months, and it was true you’d never ridden him, not yet anyway. 

Carmen was a missionary man, not in the boring way, in the way that he’d get home from work and fuck your brains out while going on and on about his frustrations from the day. 

People wouldn’t usually call it dirty talk, but something it turned you on more then anything that between calling you perfect and beautiful and made for him that he was just casually going on about his shitty day like his balls weren’t essentially spanking your ass with how hard he needed it. 

“Uh- oh-o-okay. Yeah. Sure- I. Mmhmm” he said and fixed his pillow, adjusting his hips for you “hop on I guess” he said shyly and you laughed at his sudden switch in attitude. 

“Have you never been ridden you poor thing?” You asked and his cheeks went cherry red as well as the tips of his ears and bridge of his nose as you straddled him easily, resting your hands on his abs for leverage. 

“No.” He muttered. “I- I just…I dunno it never..came up” he swallowed thickly, averting your gaze nervously. 

“Hey.” You said “eyes” you told him and his eyes met yours immediately, “I’m honored to be the first person, yeah? I’ve told you a billion times bear - I love you. I love being able to show you new ways to feel good, it makes me so excited” you held his hips gently and he wrapped his hands around your wrists, needing to be touching you somehow. 

“It just…it doesn’t make me seem like…like a bitch does it?” He mumbled shyly, insecurity lacing his voice. You tucked your hands under his warm back, laying yourself over him fully, embracing him and resting your forehead on his. 

“You know how I feel about that word, and no it doesn’t make you seem less manly baby. If anything, it’s super sexy and it’s so sweet that you felt brave enough to tell me. Thank you for telling me. I’ve heard for the guy it feels really good cause all you gotta do is lay there, you wanna try sweetheart?” You ask softly, kissing the bridge of his nose gently and a small smile forming on your lips when you tasted yourself on your lips upon pulling away. 

“Yes please” he said softly, eyes fluttered shut as you cover his face in little butterfly kisses. 

“That’s my brave bear” you place a kiss to the base of his throat and he smiles a bit, cheeks going redder by the second. It was adorable how shy he got when you showed him affection like this, you knew he adored it more then anything - but he’d never be brave enough to ask for it - at least not yet.  

You sit up, “can I touch you baby?” You confirm, rubbing your hands down his stomach and his abs tighten at the contact. In response he nods, swallowing thickly and goosebumps rising over his skin. His cock twitches as you grab the waistband of his boxers “so sweet and responsive” you said softly, tugging them down easily as he lifted his hips for you slightly. 

“Jesus” you mutter at the sight of it, the tip weeping and pink crying to be touched. “Poor thing, you’ve been neglected- has Carmy been abusing you in the shower huh?” You said in the direction of his cock with a playful voice of concern. 

“Jesus fuckin Christ-“ he chuckled, covering his face with his arm a big goofy smile on his face. “You are gonna kill me” 

You smiled big, leaning down and licking a stripe up his length and he whimpers softly, abs and stomach clenching at the contact, a large bead of pre gushing from his slit that you catch with your tongue. He shivers adorably, groaning at the feeling of you licking over his sensitive tip. “If y’keep fuckin doin’ that ‘m gonna cum” he breathes, the vein in his neck present seeing as he was holding himself back, his balls drawing up and releasing in a rhythm. 

“Jesus baby i dunno if you’ll last that long we’ll have to do this again so you can get the full experience mm?” You grab his shaft, lining you two up and slipping it through your soaked folds, he let out a breathy moan, back arching slightly and you let out a sweet ‘mmm’ when his tip bumps your clit. 

“Please please please can I be inside you please” he begged pathetically, voice whiny and shaking - he was going to be coming undone very soon you could tell, which is why he was desperate to be inside of you before he was too soft to do so. 

“I dunno can I see those pretty eyes?” You asked, he was still hiding behind his arm, likely still feeling embarrassed this was his first time but you weren’t going to allow that. He shyly removed his arm, looking up at you and swallowing nervously. 

“H-hey” he said softly and you smile softly 

“There’s my bear” you leaned in, kissing him lovingly as you sink down on him fully, his jaw goes slack so you settle for kissing his chin and cheeks and nose “Feel good?” You giggle into his skin and he lets out a pathetic little ‘uh-huh’ 

“H-holy oh god” he groaned when you simply roll your hips, getting yourself off with the friction of the curly patch of brunette curls at the base of his cock. You sat up, using his chest as leverage to find a good rhythm bouncing on him and he nearly growls, a sound you’d never heard him make. 

“Ooo am I releasing the bear?” You teased and he chuckled a bit 

“Shut up- fuck Jesus oh god” his head falls back on the pillow “i-i-shit” he rambled and you giggle a bit, causing him to whine at the feeling of your walls clenching around him as you continued to ride his cock with all the tricks you could remember. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever fucked you so quiet before” you tease, sure your hips and thighs were burning from how quick you’d built up to moving, but his eyes were practically rolling back and the whimpers you were drawing out of him were nothing short of heavenly. He was shaking for Christ sakes. “Are you gonna cum? Mm? Y’gonna fill me up baby?” You asked him, rubbing his chest gently 

He finally opened his eyes, looking up at you with those big blue eyes, blown out fully with lust, pants falling from his lips and his dirty blonde curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. “Mm-mmhmm” he moaned out, grabbing your hips to have something to hold and the action making him realize he could help you move. His jaw dropped slightly at the realization and he looked up at you for approval. 

You smiled and nod a bit “you can help honey- that’s really nice of you” you said and he helped push and pull you off his cock, he looked down, mesmerized by the view of his cock burying inside of you, he pushed you down with more force and you moaned, “just like that baby, you want it harder huh?” You ask and he nods quickly so you rolled your hips a bit harder. 

He bit his lip, nose scrunching up cutely. He was holding back. “Bear- I know it feels good but you can cum, you need to sleep” you cup his cheek gently and he looked up at you like a sad puppy 

“It feels s’good baby” he whined and you nod, stroking his cheek gently. 

“I know honey. We can do it again t’morrow night yeah?” You kiss his forehead and with that he releases into you with something resembling a cry covered with a grunt, of course he had to cover it. He pulled you into a deep messy kiss, wrapping his arms around your back, rubbing gently and reaching down to squeeze your ass, feeling cum dripping out of you down over his balls. He smiled a bit, pulling away to ask “Mmm can we sleep like this?”

[guiltyasdave]

takes one to know one

another extra from the dress series universe, but can be read as a stand-alone!

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

word count: ~3.3k

summary: “Not a sound,” a deep voice snarls into your ear. A familiar voice. You turn your head ever so slightly to make out his face over your shoulder, your wide gaze meeting his, the brown eyes that you know so well almost black as he drinks you in. You whimper against his palm and he smirks.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (18+ only!), consensual non-consent (it’s not explicitly mentioned but they have a safeword), Dave breaks into reader’s place and chases her, dom/sub dynamics, dom!Dave, sub!reader, degradation kink, knife play, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v (reader is on birth control), rough sex, slapping, spitting, choking, established relationship, hints of fluff because i can’t help myself, able-bodied reader, Dave pulls her hair, as always: let me know if i missed anything please <3

i want to make it very clear that cnc has been discussed between the both of them before and that reader is consenting throughout the entire scene that i’ve written here. still, check the tags and if this kind of content upsets you, please don’t read it 🤍

a/n: I’m still struggling with the plot for the main series, but I was horny aaaaand that’s really all I can say for myself. Because I know of several people who have written or want to write about some variation of the ✨knife riding✨, let’s not open up some kind of plagiarism discourse about this, please <3 I got my inspiration from this post and I know others have too, and honestly, I’d read a thousand fics about that shit because it’s fucking hot, so to anyone who wants to write it: PLEASE DO IT

dividers by @/saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here!

You’re sat on your couch, headphones over your ears, typing away on your laptop when a large hand wraps over your mouth, trapping the surprised scream that’s fighting its way up your throat. The headphones are roughly pulled away as you’re frozen in shock, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Not a sound,” a deep voice snarls into your ear. A familiar voice. You turn your head ever so slightly to make out his face over your shoulder, your wide gaze meeting his, the brown eyes that you know so well almost black as he drinks you in. You whimper against his palm and he smirks.

You hadn’t expected him for another few days and you sure as hell hadn’t expected this, but a twisted sensation of anxious excitement is thrumming through your veins.

Your eyes flit over his figure, taking in his dark clothes, more casual than you’re used to and a black cap that you’ve never seen on him before that accentuates his hard jawline and his dark eyes. A buzzing desire shoots through you before you can stop it. He quirks an eyebrow, seemingly amused by the reactions replaying on your face.

You take another breath, your brain running a mile a minute, clocking his hold on you that’s strong but not as strong as it could be and the door in your back that leads out of your apartment. Before you can overthink it, you twist out of his grasp, driving your elbow into his side sharply. His surprised and slightly pained intake of breath barely registers with you as you bolt for the door, your bare feet hitting your hardwood floor. You throw the door open and fly down the stairs as quick as your feet carry you, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

You’ve never played the scenario like this before, but the thought of him chasing after you, his dark figure hunting you down, and the things that he might do to you once he’s caught you, have you breathless with excitement.

You step out onto your street, which is thankfully almost empty in the early evening hours, and take off to one side without thinking. You don’t dare to turn around to check if you’re being followed before you dart into a small alley between two townhouses and press yourself against the wall, praying that he didn’t see and will pass you without noticing.

Your breath is coming in short pants and your gaze is glued to the street while you’re staying hidden in the shadows, determined not to miss him when he -hopefully- passes your hiding spot.

It feels like several minutes tick by, and while you can’t really be sure in your current nervous state, you start feeling anxious. You begin to creep towards the opening between the houses when a hand covers your face for the second time this night, the other hand wrapping around your wrist in an iron grip.

“Boo,” Dave whispers into your ear from behind you, making you jump, his body crowding you in as he spins you around to face him.

“Thought you could run away from me?” he smirks, his hand moving away from your mouth to possessively wrap around your neck. “Let’s get you back home, doll.”

He keeps a tight hold on your slightly trembling body, much tighter than before, and the adrenaline is slowly being replaced by more nervous excitement as he leads you back to your place, up the stairs until you’re standing in front of the door. He pulls the keys out and opens up, shoving you inside before he slams the door shut behind the both of you.

He holds your weary gaze while he locks the door, then he’s on you, pushing you against the wall, his hands clawing at your body, sliding under your shirt and tearing at the waistband of your leggings.

“P-please,” you whimper, pushing weakly at his hands.

“No,” he growls, capturing both of your wrists and holding them above your head while he glares down at you.

“You thought that was funny, huh?” He motions with his head towards the door, his voice an angry snarl. “Thought you were smart, that you could trick me?”

“N-no, please, I-” You shake your head, your voice thick with tears that are brimming in your eyes. He gathers both of your wrists in one hand, the other hand roughly slapping your cheek and causing your head to fly to the side.

“Shut up,” he spits, “I don’t want to hear another word from you, is that clear?”

Traces of real fear are coursing through your veins, but this is exactly how you wanted it to be, exactly how you had asked to be treated. Despite the fear, you feel wetness gathering between your thighs, and desire blooming in your whole body.

“Please,” you try again, not sure what you’re even begging for, just playing into the feeling of being completely at his mercy that you enjoy so much.

His hand hits your cheek again, twice in quick succession this time, and a whimpering moan escapes your mouth. “Not another word,” Dave repeats, his cold eyes boring into yours. He reaches for his belt and raises his hand a moment later, holding a knife that looks concerningly big, especially with how close it is to your face. He presses the blade against your throat and you freeze, your heartbeat loud in your ears and your eyes wide, your entire focus on him.

“Not another word, or you’ll regret it. Is that clear?” he asks again, his voice low and drenched in coldness. You manage the tiniest nod, scared to move against the blade that you can still feel on the delicate skin beneath your jaw.

“Good,” he grins, slotting his knee between your thighs and it takes everything in you not to grind down onto him. He removes the knife from your throat and presses his mouth onto your skin instead, his hands sliding under your shirt and groping at your tits while he sucks and bites on your neck with a roughness that is surely going to leave your skin sore for days. He kneads your breasts and pinches your nipples, sending jolts of equally pain and pleasure through your body. Your head is leaning back against the wall, your eyes pinched shut and high pitched whimpers falling from your lips.

He stops abruptly and gathers your face in his hand, squeezing your cheeks between his thumb and his fingers. “Stop complaining,” he snarls, “you think I can’t feel the way you’re soaking my pants right here?” His other hand cups your mound over your leggings, fingers digging into the drenched fabric and you can’t stop your moan, nor the way your hips buck to chase his touch when he pulls it away again.

“Desperate little slut, so fucking easy, just waiting around for someone to come and fuck you, weren’t you?” You try shaking your head and he tightens his hold on your face. “Don’t lie, sweetheart,” he says, his voice a cold whisper, “you love being treated like this. Love being put in your place. I think you should thank me.”

You give another small shake of your head and he lets go of your face to wrap his hand around your throat instead. His hold there tightens slowly and your eyes grow wider as he arches an eyebrow at you. You start feeling dizzy and your hand flies to his wrist, tugging desperately, but he just chuckles, squeezing your throat tighter. Desire burns between your legs as you’re gasping for breath, finally giving up on the defiance, like you both knew you would.

“Thank you,” you force out, almost choking on the words, and Dave grins triumphantly, loosening his grip on your throat.

“See,” he coos, leaning closer until you can feel his breath on your face, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He grabs your neck again and maneuvers you into your bedroom, where he orders you to strip, to show me what I came here for, doll, while he leans against your doorframe, watching your trembling form with a smirk in his face. You do as he says, pulling your shirt over your head and your leggings down your legs until you’re standing in front of him in nothing but your panties.

His eyes flit over your body, lingering on your breasts with an expression of hunger on his face, until they stop at your underwear. “Those too. Unless you’d rather have me cut them off?” The knife is back in his hand and he’s twirling it mindlessly. Your gaze follows the motion for a second, mesmerized by the casual ease with which he’s handling the weapon, until you remember his threat and hastily strip out of the panties, leaving yourself completely bare while he’s still fully dressed.

He stalks towards you, crowding you in and his fingers wander between your legs, swirling through the wetness at your entrance and making you gasp when he flicks your clit. “I knew it,” he grins smugly, “you’re so fucking wet for me. Like it or not, sweetheart, you love being treated like this. Best to just accept it.” He leans in to bite at your neck again, still playing with your clit while his other hand splays over your ass, causing you to flinch when the knife’s blade makes contact with your skin there. You’re helplessly turned on, so many sensations all over your body that you can barely process and you wrap your arms around his neck without thinking about it, just wanting him to give you more, to make you feel good the way you know he can.

“Good girl, there she is,” he whispers into your ear. Then he pulls back, stepping around you and throwing your naked body down onto the bed, looming over you, the knife still clutched in his hand. He straddles your thighs, smirks at you and pecks your lips, then he pulls back and drives the knife into the mattress beside you in one fluid motion, tearing through the material until only the handle is visible, sticking out of your bed.

A small scream had escaped your throat at the sudden motion and another slap lands on your face. “There,” he grins, the amusement clear on his face. “You so desperately want to have your cunt filled - use this.” Your stare flickers between him and the knife a couple of times, understanding slowly growing inside your mind.

“Y-you want me to ride? …T-this?”

Dave pets your cheek almost affectionately, then nods towards the handle. “Exactly. And you better get on with it, you don’t want to test my patience, do you?” You gulp and shake your head, wearily eyeing the intimidatingly large piece of black material that’s sticking out of your mattress. Dave clicks his tongue impatiently and you scramble to your knees, positioning yourself until you’re hovering over the knife.

Your insides are burning with the humiliation that he’s putting you through, but there’s also a twisted sense of excitement bubbling inside of you, knowing that no one but him would push you like this, which is why no one like him makes you feel like this. Your slick is dripping down your legs and you know that he can see it, with the way he’s watching you closely as you’re still hovering, anxiously biting your lip.

You look up at his face and despite the cold and cruel mask that he’s been wearing all evening, you can still see the fire in his eyes, making you feel warm, telling you that ultimately, despite everything, you’re safe with him and he wants you to enjoy yourself, will push you to enjoy yourself if necessary. He doesn’t say it, doesn’t take you out of the scene, but his voice is still clear in your head, speaking words that you’ve heard a hundred times. For me, sweetheart. I know you can.

You take a deep breath, your brows furrowing in concentration, and start sinking down. It’s an awkward angle at first and you need to adjust your position, but then the knife’s handle is pressing against your entrance. You gaze up at Dave again, whose eyes are trained on your pussy, watching eagerly as you sink down further. It feels strange, not unlike a toy, you think, but the shape isn’t exactly right and with a toy you wouldn’t be worried about cutting yourself with a wrong move. Your walls stretch around the foreign item and you gasp at the sensation, the feeling of finally being filled up giving you the sweet pleasure that you had been craving.

You begin moving your hips over the handle without further instruction from Dave, sliding up and down in careful motions, still aware of the sharp blade that’s currently buried in your bed, but sparks of pleasure are traveling up your spine nonetheless.

Dave reaches out to tweak your nipples again and you arch your back towards his touch, causing him to laugh. “That’s right, slut, fuck yourself on my knife. You’d do anything as long as that greedy pussy gets filled up, wouldn’t you?” You nod mindlessly, chasing your pleasure, the whole situation sending your arousal into overdrive.

Standing beside you, Dave finally pulls his dark sweater over his head, then opens his belt buckle. You eagerly drink in the sight of him, his broad chest and shoulders, his strong arms and his softer stomach, the smatter of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband.

“Please,” you whisper, once again not certain what you’re even asking for, but you want more, more of him.

“Open your mouth,” Dave demands, leaning down to your level when you obey eagerly. He spits into your mouth, his saliva pooling on your tongue, the degrading but weirdly intimate motion making you moan desperately. “Keep it open,” he mutters as he pushes down his pants and underwear in one motion, your eyes flying to his cock before you can help yourself. He glides his hand along his length slowly, watching you while you’re still riding his knife, your combined saliva pooling in your open mouth and the desperate longing clear on your face.

He steps closer and taps the head of his cock on your tongue, eliciting another moan from you when you feel the familiar weight. “Yeah, need all your holes stuffed, one just isn’t enough, huh?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and thrusts into your mouth, holding your head steady as he presses his cock into your mouth until he’s nudging at your throat. You try your hardest not to gag and shudder in his grasp, tears spilling from your eyes and mixing with the spit that’s drooling out of your mouth.

He pulls back a little, letting you suck on him instead while you try to keep up your rhythm on the knife’s handle. “So good,” he groans, his hand curled in your hair, “taking me so fucking good.” He starts fucking your mouth again in quick thrusts and tweaks your nipples until you moan around him, the vibration causing his grip in your hair to tighten. “Think you can come like this?” he pants, “does riding my fucking knife while I’m fucking your throat turn you on that much?”

You nod as best as you can, pleadingly looking up at him. “Dirty fucking slut,” he snarls, landing another slap on your cheek that has you clenching almost painfully around the knife. “Go on then, touch yourself.” Your hand flies to your clit at his words, rubbing at the tight bundle of nerves and shuddering at the pleasure that’s thrumming through your veins. You come almost embarrassingly quick, the different forms of stimulation flooding your senses until you’re writhing on your knees, moaning around the cock in your throat as waves of pleasure roll through your body.

You faintly register Dave getting on the bed behind you and his hands on your shoulders. He pulls you off of the handle roughly and you fall back against his chest, still on your knees, barely keeping yourself upright. “Good fucking girl,” he coos into your ear as he pulls you into his body, his large hands pressing into your flesh. “You’re a quick learner. No need to get hurt when you’re obedient like this, see?” Then he pushes your head back down until you’re at eye level with the handle, still drenched in the wetness that your pussy has left behind. “Open up,” his cold voice demands from above you, underlining the order with a sharp slap to your ass when you don’t react quick enough. “Clean up your mess, make it all nice and shiny while I fuck this dirty little cunt.”

You feel a new wave of wetness between your legs at his words and obediently close your lips around the tip of the handle, moaning at the taste of yourself. “Just like that,” you hear Dave from behind you before his hand is in your hair again, pushing you down further. His other hand’s fingers are digging into your hip as he’s lining himself up and thrusting into you in one rough motion. Your scream at the sudden stretch gets muffled in your mouth and you hear his faint chuckle before he starts moving, setting a brutal pace right from the beginning that has you writhing, your hips stuttering with the force of his thrusts.

“That’s it, good girl, take it just like that,” Dave pants, his voice wrecked, “good fucking girl.” Getting praised while being in this degrading situation has your head spinning. You hear the wet squelch every time his cock presses inside of you, the smack of his flesh against his, the touch of his hands feeling so rough but so right on your body.

Dave is groaning behind you, sliding into you in hard thrusts that make your eyes roll back into your head and moving against your g-spot again and again. You feel yourself tightening up around him, more wetness seeping out of you until you can’t take it anymore. You tip over the edge, your whole body tensing up, shudders running through you as stars explode across your vision and your pussy clenches around his cock rhythmically.

You hear him swear behind you, his hips stilling and his hands pulling your body back against his chest, his cock pulsing deep inside of you and painting your walls with his release.

“So fucking good,” he murmurs and presses a gentle kiss against the soft skin under your ear. You nod, your mind still dazed but a tired smile growing on your face.

He gently pulls out of you and moves your body up the bed until your head is resting on the pillows. He cleans you up, peppering your entire face with kisses, muttering praises against your skin, replacing his demanding hands with soft, featherlight touches.

You watch with wide eyes as he carefully pulls the knife back out of your now ruined mattress and puts it down on your nightstand. The handle is still glistening with the remnants of your spit. Dave catches your eye and grins in that cocky way of his that almost makes you want him between your legs again immediately.

“Don’t worry. I’ll buy you a new one.” You smirk and stretch your arms out towards him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him down into a kiss, his lips softly moving against yours, the dominating persona all but blown away.

“You better,” you murmur against his mouth and his responding chuckle makes you smile.

if you liked this fic, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment, you’d really make me suuuuper happy! 🤍

[heartf4iry]

punishment — abby anderson x reader

hi everyone :) first time writing abby + smut…. i didn’t know where i was going w this but! it’s not very long & i hope u like !! kisskiss 💋

cw: 18+ please!!!! fem!reader, lil oral & a lil nipple sucking (both r!recieving) a lil degradation, kindaaa mean abby, dom!abby, sub!reader, & petnames, like sweetheart, baby, doll (obvious idk how to tag things lol!)

<3

with dating abby, you’ve learned that she likes things to be orderly, safe, according to plan. when it came to you, she was always extra attentive, making sure that your needs were met, giving her all for your safety. she wanted her girl happy.

she was always the one to give you lectures and keep things holding together. abby was heavy on structure. though today, when things spiraled a little out of control, she realized how ungrateful you could be after everything she’s done for you.

so now, here you two were, in your shared bedroom where she was going to set things straight.

“tell me why you’re in trouble.” her voice sounds, piercing the silence in the room. you want to say the right thing, but your mind is blank. with your heart pounding wildly and threatening to jump out of your chest, it was hard to think of anything.

you stay quiet for a second longer before muttering. “i don’t know, abby.”

“you don’t know?” she chuckles, threatening eyes looking you up and down with pity.

“no, abby! you just wanted to get all mad and leave early like nothing even happened! it was a party. of course i was going to have fun.” you complain, lifting up a hand in confusion.

abby feels a switch go off in her head. she looks off to the side at the floor, nodding to herself. “alright. we’ll it do this way, then.”

“take off your clothes.” abby ordered, tone sharp. she sat on the edge of the bed with her palms flat on the sheets behind her, silvery eyes locking with yours as she waited for you to begin undressing. when you stood there, dumbly, without any movement, she rolled her eyes with a sigh, becoming impatient.

“know you heard me. i said take your clothes off. strip, now.” she was louder the second time, her orders making you fumble with the hem of your shirt before you began to pull it over your head. you knew abby wasn't fond of repeating herself, but your mind was racing a million miles per hour and all you wanted to do was please her, which only made you anxious.

you threw your shirt across the room somewhere, beginning to shimmy out of your pants. you were incredibly aroused, legs feeling like jelly as you undressed under abby’s intimidating gaze. when you stepped out of one pantsleg, you felt how much wetness already pooled into your underwear.

“bra and panties off too.” she reminded you, but you hesitated—already slipped into obedience but not quite sure what she was going to do with you yet.

“a-abby-“

“what did i just tell you?” she stood, leaning closer to you. her height made you want to shrink into a corner. “you’re gonna wanna listen, sweetheart, or you won’t like where this is going. got it?”

you nodded nonetheless, and abby sat back down with bulging arms crossing over her chest. you let your hands wander to your back, unhooking your bra. abby watched the material fall to the floor, licking her lips at the sight of your hardening nipples.

your panties came after. slowly, you pulled them down your legs, cheeks burning in embarrassment as abby tsked with the shake of her head at the line of slick that followed.

“you’re sick, y’know that?” she looks up at you with her brows raised, before she gestured for you to sit on her lap. you straddle her, carefully, feeling hot all over at the fact that you were completely bare, and abby was fully clothed. but that only made your clit throb humiliatingly between your thighs.

“you like getting off to me scolding you?” her voice was tender, soft, teasing, tickle of her breath on your lips erupting goosebumps all over your body.

“saw how wet you are,” she whispered, and you knew what she was doing. you couldn’t help but feel like melting into mush under her touch. her large hands rubbed up and down your sides, then squeezed ever so gently at the fat of your thighs, thumbs rubbing tiny circles across your skin.

a wave of warmth surged in your core at being this close to her, wanting her big arms to wrap and nuzzle you into her chest. your eyes were fluttering, trying to keep them open, eyes open—needing to kiss her, wanting to feel her tongue slide in your mouth, so badly. that is, until her fingers pinch one of your nipples, rubbing the skin harshly which snaps you out of your daydream.

“answer me, baby. don’t make me repeat myself.” you panted, heartbeat thumping in your ears. “y-yeah, i-i like it. like it a lot,”

“pathetic girl,” she chuckled, leaning forward to take your nipple into her mouth. the hotness of her tongue sent electricity through your body, the pink muscle swirling and sucking at the bud. you were squirming over her, grabbing and pulling her head impossibly closer than she already was. “a-abby, pleaseplease don’t stop—“

despite your words she detached, a trail of saliva following. silvery blue eyes darting between your glossy, hooded ones. “you want me to stop?”

“no! nono, please keep going, i’ll be good i’ll be—please abby, just—anything, please,” you pleaded, words coming out in jumbles and babbles. your clit was pulsing hotly now, slick probably drooling onto abby’s pants.

“well, since you asked so nicely,” you almost regret begging when you see a twinkle of something appear in her eye. you’re not sure what it is, but it’s not comforting.

“go. lay on the bed.” she nodded her head sideways, and you quickly follow, crawling onto the sheets and scooting up toward the headboard so your head was against the pillows.

abby comes between your legs, spreading them wide with her hands on your knees before they slide to your inner thighs. she traces circles with her thumb on the sensitive skin, every feathery touch making things all the worse. you bite your lip, hard, the familiar metallic taste of blood seeping onto your tongue.

“you’re so fucking wet, baby. s’gorgeous, my gorgeous girl…” she mumbles, almost to herself. your brows furrow when she uses her thumbs to spread your lips, watching the stickiness of your folds part.

“hope you didn’t forget you’re still on punishment, doll. not even started with you yet,” she speaks quietly, eyes trained on your drooling cunt. she leans forward as if she’s smelling you, and you can feel her warm breath against your clit—which makes you shudder, clenching around nothing.

“eager, are we?” she looks up at you, and before you can even nod she’s swiping her tongue once up your messy folds. you jolt, a strangled whine coming out from your throat.

“suggest you get comfortable, sweetheart. i’m not stopping until you’ve understood why you’re in trouble.”

[maybege]

Can I request Hotch for 45, 138, and 266 for the prompts? ❤️

Thank you!! :)

Big Dick Energy: The Sequel's Sequel

Summary: Hotch grants the team an extra night in Vegas and as luck would have it, you have to share a room.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 10.3k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: explicit sexual content, dom!Hotch, sub!Reader, unprotected sex, dirty talk, choking, spitting, oral (m receiving), fingersucking, oral fixation, verbal degradation, cream pie, then some unexpected fluff

Prompts: #45 “I've never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly.” + #138 “Were you just masturbating?” + #266 “I dare you to fuck____.”

Thank you so much for requesting these wonderful prompts! I know it has taken me way too long (1,5 years) but hey better late than never. I am so happy with how it turned out. Please do reblog and comment and let me know what you think! Shoutout goes out to @galacticgraffiti for getting me back on my Criminal Minds shit.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

Sometimes miracles happen.

Like when that last little bit of coffee beans was enough for Rossi’s espresso and subsequently saved the entire office from having to endure his grumpy demeanour for the afternoon.

Or that time Spencer managed to fly his paper plane all across the BAU’s desks, only stopped by Chief Strauss walking in the line of fire.

Or when a case took you to Las Vegas and SSA Agent Hotchner agreed for you all to just stay a night longer. Like, in Vegas. For free. For work.

You knew the suggestion had been meant as a joke by Derek but as soon as Hotch had actually agreed to it, no one protested and you made the unilateral silent decision to just run with it. Who were you to look a gifted horse in the mouth?

Still, you knew you were all thinking the same thing.

“Drugs!” Penelope exclaimed in her room, colourful bracelets dangling from her wrist, “There is no other way. He is taking drugs.”

“I doubt Hotch is taking drugs, Penelope,” JJ said calmly, though she did not look quite as certain as one would assume. The blonde woman was sitting cross-legged on the large bed, shoes thrown somewhere in the corner. “After all these hard cases, I am sure he just wants to give us a reprieve from everything.”

“Hotch never gives us a reprieve,” Garcia gasped, sounding like she had just run a marathon only to find out there we still a few miles to go, “What if this is all an elaborate plan to have me be workplace inappropriate on the record and Strauss can finally order that evaluation that she has been holding over my head since the coffee incident?”

You smiled, amused at her nervous antics, and – to be honest – to keep you from defending him. Hotch had found a very soft spot in your heart. A spot too soft for a man that was supposed to be your boss and nothing but your boss. Though it had been a long time since he had been only your boss. Ever since the plane, ever since the changing room, you could not deny that there was tension between you two. And not the kind of tension where he looked like he would fire you at any moment. No, the kind of tension where he looked like he was about to reach under your skirt and check if you wore that lingerie he had bought for you (and fucked you in).

You had had the hope that after your latest encounter, you would have more chances to … well, to have Aaron Hotchner fuck you. But there was always something and when days had turned into weeks had turned into months, doubt started to creep in whether he actually wanted anything from you. Maybe he had just been out for a quick fuck and that was it?

And all of that did not get any easier with the fact that you were working together. That he was your boss. That your colleagues were the best profilers in the country.

So, you had to take great care in remaining as neutral about him as possible and part of that involved focusing more on the sheer panic that Garcia exuded when she was outside of her office rather than your desire to protect him from any doubts just because he wanted to do something nice for the team.

A glance at the woman on your right, leaning against the doorway, showed you that Emily Prentiss was thinking the exact same thing. “Are you sure this has to do with Hotch’s unusual behaviour or the fact that you feel uneasy in the field?”

“Alright, alright, maybe I am,” she pressed a hand to her chest, “A little nervous at being here but you cannot deny that this feels like a trap! You know how I get around Morgan when I’ve had a few drinks.”

“You don’t need drinks to act that way around him,” JJ interjected, “And I think that is what you are so worried about.”

“What if I do something I can never take back?” Garcia asked, despair and

“Well that depends on if you would even want to take it back,” Emily shrugged, “Because from where I stand there is nothing Derek wouldn’t want you to do to him.”

A hot pink pillow flew in her direction. “Hey!”

A knock on the door snapped you out of your conversation and you turned around to find none other than the man that plagued your dreams day and night standing in the doorway. He looked serious, his brows furrowed – with a bright pink pillow in his hands.

“I am sorry to interrupt what I am sure is a very riveting discussion,” your boss said, looking directly at you, “But we have a problem with the rooms. Could you come down to reception with me?”

“Uh,” you said, “Sure.”

You stepped out of the room. Your heart felt like it was moving up your throat and you cursed yourself for not having changed since coming back from the station. (As if Hotch ever paid attention to your outfits.)

Walking down the corridor, neither one of you said anything but as you waited for the elevator, his hand landed on the low of your back. It was a light touch, nothing to lose your mind over. But your breath hitched anyway, thinking of all the other ways he had touched you before. You glanced up at him, noticing how the corner of his lips quirked up just the slightest bit.

He had noticed!

You were not sure what weighed more. Your exasperation or your embarrassment at having been caught. But Hotch did not leave you because his hand guided you in the elevator. For a second, you wondered if he would press the emergency button like in the shows and press you against the wall and kiss you breathless.

He did not.

“What, uh, what is the problem?” you asked, finally feeling sure enough to speak.

“Extending everyone’s rooms for another night did not go as smoothly as possible,” he explained, his voice flat, “A few of us need to room together.”

“Oh,” you said, the wheels in your head turning. Because –

“Everybody else is already rooming together,” he said what you were thinking, “They have one other room available but I need your approval,” he paused for a second, “your consent.”

The hotel you stayed in was right by the strip, the ground floor a vast labyrinth of poker tables, arcade games and anything one could ever imagine being in a Vegas casino. As you passed the crowds of run-down partygoers, the smell of marijuana in the air, you could hear the rattling of the, the cheers of the winners and the groans of the losers.

Hotch’s hand did not leave your back.

It was reassuring in a way.

“Ah there you are again,” the lady said, sounding awfully cheerful at seeing him again. You shifted, trying to ignore the unpleasant pang in your chest area. If Hotch noticed her obvious attempt at flirting, he did not show it.

“I brought the colleague I would have to share the room with,” he stated, “Could you explain again what kind of room it would be?”

Have to, he said, have to.

There was a bitter taste in your mouth and you pressed your lips together.

“Like I said before,” she explained, “We only have one free room tonight. It’s a little further than the other rooms in your booking but it is a king so it might be big enough to share.”

“It just might be,“ he replied, stoic as ever when he turned to you, his thumb brushing over the small of your back, “I doubt we will spend much time sleeping anyway. What do you think?“

You were convinced he knew what he was doing. He wouldn’t be saying these things and touching you like this if he didn’t. And yet, he looked at you so coolly, so very unbothered, that a small voice in your head wondered whether you were imagining it all.

Aaron Hotchner, divorced father of one, your boss and the last man to make you come, was driving you absolutely crazy.

“I’m game,” you said, sounding way too chipper and high-pitched for your own taste, “It won’t be too bad, I’m sure.”

You tried to ignore the way your stomach threw somersaults when he gave you that little half-smile that made his eyes crinkle. And yet when you saw that twinkle you knew that yes, he knew exactly what he was doing.

*

Act normal. Act normal. Act fucking normal.

The hotel room you landed in was indeed almost at the other end of the hotel than your previous one, and quite a few floors up and your first thought at that revelation was that it would allow you to be as loud as you want without fear of your teammate hearing you.

How appropriate.

 “Do you mind if I take the right side?”

You looked up, completely dumbfounded. Hotch stood by the bed already (and you tried your hardest not to think about what he would look like in that bed), his travel bag on the little armchair in the corner. It was kind of fitting, seeing how put together he looked even when he had the same 5 minutes to pack up his stuff as you did. But your travel bag was half-zipped closed, your clothes a wrinkled mess inside as you just threw everything inside in the hopes that it would survive the short journey until they could be unpacked again.

It was human, you knew, nothing out of the extraordinary. But next to Hotch who probably folded his underwear, you suddenly felt like you would never be able to reach him.

“Uh, no, not at all,” you murmured, walking to the side that was closer to the window. For a second you wondered if it hadn’t been about right or left but rather which side was closer to the door. But you shook that thought off as soon as it had appeared.

He didn’t say anything but started to unpack his things. Out of the corner of your eyes, you noted his neatly folded pyjamas (you could count the times you had seen him wear anything but a suit on one hand) and the little toiletry bag that was void of any water stains.

It was silent for a few moments as you sorted your own clothes, putting your crumpled-up pyjamas under your pillow, getting out your toiletries (one by one because that bag would look even more a mess next to his neatly organized one) and seeing what clothing items you had left that were not sweat- and/or blood-stained.

The selection was not the biggest.

In fact, it consisted of the clothes you were wearing now (only if you ) and a single pair of panties.

Great.

For a moment you contemplated enquiring about the hotel laundry service.

You knew the plan was to go out tonight and explore all the things the city had to offer (Reid mentioned a museum on the old gangsters of the city’s past but you had a sneaking suspicion that you would land in one bar or another). This was Vegas after all and you would be stupid not to take advantage of this unexpected vacation. But something about the thought of wearing your three-day-worn sweater in that heat made you hesitate.

Your phone dinged, finding a selfie with Garcia, JJ and Prentiss, all excitedly grinning into the camera.

Greatest Garcia: Let’s go shopping in Vegas! <3

And that is how your problem solved itself before it could really turn into a problem.

*

Dress shopping in Vegas made you feel like you were a different person altogether. Everything was full of glitter and soft fabrics and ideas of a life so different from your own. It gave you that little desire in the back of your head of wanting to play dress up, wanting to pretend to be a woman who was confident and sexy and could show up in bars and have heads turn towards her. You wanted

And so, it came that you put on the most revealing dress you had ever worn. It was incredibly short and incredibly glittery making you feel like you were “cosplaying a mirror ball” (Emily’s words, not yours). But not in a bad way.

On the contrary, when you had half of the BAU standing outside your changing room, whistling and cheering you on when you stepped outside, how could you not buy the dress that just barely covered your ass and was so very tight-fitting?

“You look stunning,” Garcia snapped her fingers, “You have to buy it! I don’t make the rules.”

Deep down you were not sure if the decision to buy the dress had been driven by your friends’ support or the few cocktails you had slurped during pre-game or perhaps the wishful thinking that a certain BAU chief would see you in this dress and decide to keep you in his bed all night long. Probably a little bit of everything.

You had been the first to find your dress which meant that you could spend the rest of the afternoon with your friends and watch them choose their outfits. JJ got a dark blue something that made her look absolutely gorgeous (Prentiss seemed to think so too if her appreciative over her (girl)friend’s figure was anything to go by) and Garcia found something that was even more colourful – something you had seriously doubted if it could be achieved.

By the end of the day, you were all sitting in the hotel lounge, shopping bags at your feet and cocktail glasses in your hands. You were the epitome of relaxation, the stress of the last few days finally wearing off you and you found yourself enjoying Garcia’s stories and Prentiss’ and JJ’s banter.

“Hey!”

You looked up, finding Reid standing at the edge of your little circle, looking as happy as ever to see you. Only he was not alone …

“Officer Greggs,” Prentiss was the first to speak, “What a surprise to you here. I thought for sure you were going to spend the day at the office today.”

Officer Greggs was on the police force you had assisted in your last case. He had led the case before your arrival and despite his age, had several people under his command. Rossi had described him as “surprisingly competent for a man his age” and Reid had bonded with him over his childhood in a city that was never really seen for its residential aspects. He was a nice man. Good-looking. Certainly your type if you had not been hopelessly in love with your boss.

“Yeah, we thought it might be a good idea to just let loose for the weekend,” the tall man explained, his hands in the pocket of his pants. He wore jeans and a green shirt, showing off the muscles in his arms. The way he said we let you know that it really hadn’t been his idea but that his colleagues had dragged him along.

Your lips quirked up. That reminded you of someone.

His dark eyes met yours in a light smile. “Who knows,” he said, smiling at you and no one else, “Maybe we see each other around.”

*

Seeing Aaron Hotchner step freshly out of the shower, wearing only his slacks and a white undershirt had your pussy clamping around nothing. You had not been prepared for this sight and it felt like an attack. It had to be.

His hair was a little damp still and you noticed he had shaved; his jaw was void of any stubble and it made you want to run your fingers along his jawline. He was looking down at something, a little furrow between his brows from concentration. You followed his gaze and regretted it instantly. His belt, you realized a little belatedly, he was fixing his belt. His veiny hands working with the buckles made you want to drop to your knees and beg him to take that belt off entirely.

He didn’t need it anyway. Not unless he wanted to tie you up.

You gulped.

When he looked up, his brows were furrowed still and you froze, afraid that if you moved it would betray how much you had been staring at him.

“What are you wearing?”

You could see his mouth move but you were not quite prepared to hear what he was actually saying. “What?”

“What are you wearing?” he asked, sounding like he was about to berate you in his office. You could not hide your frown.

You had literally just gotten ready, hurrying into your dress while he was safe inside the shower. And now he came out, looking like the half-god he was, and was criticizing your outfit?

The tinge of insecurity was overshadowed by a wave of frustration.

Was he really that displeased? Did he really have the audacity to talk to you like that? Had you been that wrong in your impression of him?

Your mouth was open, stinging words already on your tongue, but then he looked up again and you realized … you realized he was turned on. His eyes were dark and unmistakably roaming over the bare skin of your legs and cleavage and there was that tightness in his jaw that you knew showed his self-control.

Your words of protest died on your tongue and in a split second he was standing right in front of you. He smelled of hotel shower gel and his cologne. Your hand landed on his chest, feeling the heat of his body through the thin fabric. You realized you had never seen him undressed and the sudden desire to run your hands over his chest and under the hem of his shirt filled you.

“We are going out tonight,” you stated in a whisper, “And we, uh, we went out to get something fun.”

He hummed, an amused glint in his eyes you were once again struck by how much happier he looked when he smiled. “So, this is,” his hands landed on your hips, “fun?”

It would certainly be fun if he took that dress off you.

He seemed to think the same because his fingertips skimmed over the hem of your dress until they slipped under it, rough skin brushing over where your thighs met your ass. “It’s a shame I couldn’t buy you some more lingerie,” he noted, his voice deep and warm as his nose brushed against yours, “You would look stunning on this bed in nothing but the prettiest lace.”

“Or without it,” you added cheekily, rising onto your tiptoes so you could brush your lips over his.

He made a low sound in his agreement, the way his hands tightened on your ass letting you know just how much he liked that idea.

His lips touched yours, just briefly, just a peck as if to test the waters. But all it managed to do was break the dam of all the desire you had held back these past few weeks. You opened your mouth instantly and Hotch took over control, his mouth moving against yours, making you shiver.

“It’s been way too long,” you whined, tilting your head back when he kissed you. The tall man hummed, pulling you against him. Your hands wandered up to the back of his neck, feeling the softness of his hair there.

“Wanted to have you in my bed at least once between Idaho and now,” he confessed, his breath hot against your skin.

Your bodies were flush against each other. You could feel every single inch of him and it still was not enough. If you could just – and if he would just – fuck, you didn’t want to leave this room all night.

His belt buckle dug into your belly and you could feel his prominent erection through his slacks. You gasped, your fingers tightening on his hair and he growled, his hips snapping forward. The motion had you taking a step back and he followed immediately, not even the edge of the bed stopping him from urging closer to you.

And you did not want him to stop.

A knock on your door snapped you out of it. Hotch growled, his hands squeezing your ass and his teeth closing on your bottom lip. “Hotch,” you murmured, “Someone’s there.”

“If you’re quiet enough, they’ll leave,” he whispered hotly against you. His fingertips swiped over your panties and there was no mistaking how wet you already were. Hotch seemed to think so, too because when another knock came, his fingers hooked your panties to the side.

“Aaron,” you gasped, gently pulling away from him. That seemed to get to him because he took one long step away from you, your body instantly missing him. He looked just as affected as you felt. His hair was a mess, his lips looked so fucking kissable and there was the outline of his cock. The mere sight of it made you want to get on your knees.

But this was not the time and both of you knew it.

Another insistent knock at the door had you move as fast as lightning.

“Bathroom,” you brought out and Hotch nodded, looking like he was back to his no-nonsense self.

In a hurry, you pulled your dress down, rubbing your palm over your mouth and trying your best to look like you weren’t just the most turned-on you had been for weeks.

You opened the door with a flourish only to be faced with an impatient Penelope who took you in with wide eyes.

“Honey you are flowing!” she said, way too loudly, way too happy and way too –

“How many drinks have you had?” you asked, eyeing the half-empty cocktail glass in her hand. It had not one, not two but three colourful umbrellas in there.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter now when they’re so tasty,” she waved off, “What is more important is how you managed to look this good. It's unfair, really, here I am trying on dress after dress and do you know how many hairclips I went through to find the right one and then here you are, looking like,“ she gasped as if she had just had one of her genius ideas. Leaning forward conspiratorially, she stage-whispered, “Were you just masturbating?”

“Oh my god no,” you protested instantly, feeling the heat rise into your cheeks, “Why – why would you say something like that?”

“Cause you look like you just had the best time,” she wriggled her eyebrows, “And I speak from experience.”

“Garcia,” Hotch warned from somewhere behind you and you wondered how he had gotten himself in control on such short notice, “I don’t think that line of thought is appropriate.”

“Of course, sir, I apologize,” she didn’t miss a beat, her voice as happy as always. At least three drinks, you thought, this is no-inhibitions-Penelope. “Now are you two ready or not? I have got a hunk of a man waiting for me in the lobby and I won’t forgive either of you if we miss the first round.”

*

Vegas was everything everyone had always made it out to be.

Just much louder.

Much brighter.

Much more crowded.

The bright lights made the entire street seem like a theme park and you stared in wonder at all the hotels, casinos and bars and their very colourful neon advertisements. Reid was next to you, not paying attention to any of it, and you wondered how he, with all his peculiarities, experienced childhood in the city of sin.

“You would be surprised how much quieter it is if you just never go here.”

Your confusion must have translated onto your face because the young man grinned. “Everybody asks the same thing when they realize where I grew up,” he shrugged, “Figured I’d save you the trouble.”

Derek called him from up front. You noted with a smile that his arm was already around Penelope who gazed up at him with the love-dovey look she got around him. Reid followed his call, picking up his step to catch up with them and you smiled, watching as they laughed and bantered.

Hotch was next to you now, wearing slacks and a dark grey dress shirt. You didn’t even know he owned one. But now he was wearing it, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and it did things to you. Things you tried not to make too obvious because the night was young still and if you were already this wet you didn’t want to think of the state of your panties in a few hours.

“Have you ever been to Vegas?” you asked him instead, trying to sound as casual as possible.

His eyes reflected the colourful lights. “There were a few cases that took us here,” he confirmed, “Though we did not make it a habit to stay here longer.”

“Why now?” you pried.

His face turned towards you, the shining lights of the strip making his profile seem even sharper. Dark eyes met yours.

“I don’t know,” he said softly, his hand brushing against yours as you crossed the street, “It felt like we, like the team, needed some time to recharge.”

*

“Truth or dare?”

A glance around the group let you know that, much like in high school, there was really only one answer that would be accepted.  

“Dare,” you decided, your heart pounding in your chest. Emily’s broad grin did not ease your discomfort.

“I dare you to fuck Officer Greggs over there,” she revealed, nodding to the man who stood at the bar, “He has been eyeing you all night.”

“Fuck him?” Morgan echoed, his arm still thrown around a very giddy Penelope, “Now that’s a lot to ask, isn’t it?”

“What? He’s a good-looking man,” Emily defended her choice, “And it’s obviously not about actually fucking him. It’s about seeing if she could.”

“If she wanted to,” JJ added with a determined nod, her faked sobriety betrayed by the way her eyes were already half-lidded and how her hands did most of the talking for her.

Rossi looked totally unimpressed if amused, and Hotch … Hotch looked just unimpressed.

A flash of excitement coursed through you at the possibility that he was maybe jealous.

“Alright,” you heard yourself say, taking a last sip from your glass, “Wish me luck.”

“In that dress, you don’t need luck,” Morgan joked and you laughed, feeling more and more confident. You turned sideways, trying to make your way out between Hotch’s and Garcia’s chairs. It was a tight fit and, sure, you could have taken the easier route. But you were buzzed enough to want to have Hotch close. And to see how he eyed you up close.

Which he did.

He was sitting in his chair, legs spread wider than normal and your eyes fell to his hand, laying on his thigh. Your knee bumped into his thigh and you could see his fingers twitch, the Rolex on his wrist glinting in the light.

You bit the inside of your cheek trying to get yourself to move. After all, you had a dare to fulfil. Or at least attempt to fulfil.

“Have fun!” JJ sing-songed behind you and you threw her a look that had everyone laughing. Except for Hotch.

The music was loud and the place was crowded. Much like the rest of the city on a Friday night. Yet, it did not take long for you to spot Officer Greggs. Probably because he wanted to be spotted.

He was standing at the bar with a few of his colleagues you recognized from work over the last few days. It was a direct line of sight from you to him and when he raised his glass to you, you knew he had been waiting for this moment for a while. This was your chance.

Walking towards him, you made sure your dress did not ride up too much and that your hips could sway from side to side without stumbling in your heels. Despite this dress making you feel different, you were still not the self-assured, flirty woman of your wishful thinking.

But you also did not need to be.

“I was wonderin’ how long it’d take you to come and chat me up,” Greggs teased you with a grin, his colleagues subtly moving away. Interesting, you noted, that his interest really did not seem to be a secret at all in his team.

“Are you telling me I am late?” you laughed, leaning onto the bar next to him.

The tall man looked you over, his eyes lingering on the hem of your dress and your cleavage. (Much like Hotch earlier, but you tried to ignore that thought.) “I would never,” he drawled, taking a big swallow from his beer, “You are right on time, of course. Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He shifted on his feet, closer to you, and you noted how his arm fell down, his hand landing on your hip. His touch was soft and warm and not necessarily unwelcome. Here was an attractive, kind-hearted man that was clearly interested in you. And yet all you could think about was Hotch.

As if on their own accord, your eyes shifted back to the group. There wasn’t a direct line of sight, too many people waking to and from, but in the rare moments where you could, you caught glimpses of Hotch.

And he was looking directly at you.

“You okay?”

Gregg’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Yeah,” you said, forcing yourself to look at him and giving him a smile, “Sorry, just got distracted there for a second.”

Your words – as fake as they sounded to your ears – seemed to seem genuine for him. His lips pulled up in a broad smile and his hand got a little heavier on your hip. “I – I was actually hoping we would get a few moments alone today,” he said, getting even closer to you, “You’re quite intriguing if I do say so myself.”

His nose was almost touching yours which meant his mouth was almost touching yours and suddenly you had the question pop up in your head what the fuck you were doing here. You were not about to fuck Officer Greggs. Hell, you didn’t even want to. You wanted one man and one man only and if that did not work out then you at least wanted to spend the night with your colleagues having fun.

“I, uh, I’m gonna be right back,” you excused yourself, vaguely motioning to the direction of the bathroom, “Too many margaritas.”

He nodded, his eyes still fixed on your lips and you took a few steps backwards before turning around and hurrying through the crowd. Okay, here was the plan: Make your way to the bathroom, catch your breath for a few minutes, then return to the team and casually convince them to switch to another bar and enjoy the evening and not make your desire for Hotch too obvious.

You were almost by the bathroom when someone stepped right in front of you. For the first split second, you thought it was a mistake. Someone crossing your path and simply not seeing you. But when they did not move, their chest right against yours, you looked up, ready to be offended.

But the words died on your tongue because it was not just anyone. It was Hotch.

He was looming over you, brows pulled together, lips in a straight line, and he did not look happy in the slightest. His fists were clenched, the veins stood out and you shifted much like Greggs earlier. Only now you were turned on.

“You are not going to fuck Officer Greggs.”

You hadn’t planned on it.

But there was something in his eyes that was just too tempting to play with.

“I’m not?” you asked instead, playing innocent.

“No,” he took a step closer, “You’re not.”

Your chest heaved and his eyes landed on your chest. For just the briefest of seconds, you could see his tongue dart out, smoothing over his lower lip and you wished he would just kiss you. You gulped. Shit, why didn’t he just kiss you?

Instead, he leaned ever closer, his breath washing over your face just as the scent of his cologne.  

“If you land in anyone’s bed tonight, it’s mine,” he murmured, his lips brushing over your ear and goosebumps erupting all over your skin. You knew he noticed when he ran a single finger down the back of your neck, his face lowering so his nose brushed over your neck. “If any man is going to fuck you, it is going to be me. Isn’t that right?”

You gasped, your heart racing in your chest.

“I asked you something,” he reminded you, his hand brushing over your ass, “Don’t you want to answer me?”

“Yes, sir,” the words tasted on your tongue like honey, “I – you’re right.”

“What am I right about?” he asked, “Be a good girl and use your words.”

Your eyes fluttered and you found yourself reaching out, your hand landing loosely on his hip. His belt. Before you knew what you were doing, one of your fingers hooked into his belt loops, tugging him closer.

“You’re the only one who gets to fuck me,” you breathed out.

“Good girl,” he said. And hearing him say it, his voice deep and satisfied, did things to you you would never ever admit when asked about. You squeezed your legs together, shuffling closer to him so your body was flush against his.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, his mouth brushing over your jaw. The dimmed light and the massive crowd kept you relatively sheltered but you were more than aware that your teammate – or Officer Greggs – could spot you at any moment.

And so, apparently, was Hotch.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your skin, “You are going outside. I will go to the team and say I saw you leaving with Greggs,” his voice dripped with venom at the other mas name, “And then I will excuse myself for the night. We will take a car back to the hotel and then I will fuck you so good the only word you can say is my name.”

Fuck, was this really happening?

“Understood?”

You nodded, swallowing heavily as you looked at him with wide eyes. He looked at you, dark eyes on yours and then he leant forward and kissed you. Hard.

His teeth clashed against yours, his tongue licking into your mouth and you felt hot and cold at the same time. Everything was tingling from your head to your tiptoes everything was screaming for him.

“I've never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly,” you admitted, completely out of breath, “Please, Hotch –“

“It’s Sir,” he corrected you sternly, “After I saw you flirting with that boy, it’s Sir.”  

“Yes, Sir,” the words slipped off your tongue too easily, “Please, I –“

“Patience,” he warned you, dropping a small kiss to the spot under your ear. It was a gesture that filled you with affection but there was something about the way his eyes did not meet yours when he pulled away that let you know that kiss was not only for you. You turned your head, following his gaze, and found Officer Greggs staring at you. There was a shadow of disappointment on his face before he turned away, acting like he had not seen you at all.

Hotch’s hand on your neck slipped down to your back, sitting low enough that his fingers could fan out over your butt.

“Alright,” he muttered, “Let’s go.”

*

If anyone had ever told you, that you would be sitting on a bed in a hotel room in Las Vegas, wearing the shortest dress you ever owned and waiting for Hotch to join you, you would have declared them insane. But that was exactly what you were doing now. You had slipped off your heels, sitting cross-legged against the giant pillows as he had paced through the room, switching his phone off, locking the door and putting out the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the handle. It might have been mundane acts by themselves but there was something about how he did it all with such precision, like he was taking care of everything before he could take care of you and it turned you on more than it should.

Your encounters in the past had all been very spontaneous, announcing themselves minutes before something happened between you two. This was different. You had had a whole car and elevator ride before you reached the bed and even now there were things to take care of. You had been scared that maybe it would be awkward, that you did not have anything to talk about.

But you were proven wrong because while there was silence between the two of you, it was not the uncomfortable kind. He had always touched you, subtle but reassuring. Hotch had had his hand on your bare knee for the entire ride, his fingers steadily brushing circles into your skin while he made small talk with the driver like it was the most natural thing in the world. In the elevator his hand had found its place on your upper back, not as but seeing as your skin was not covered by the dress there, it felt much more intimate.

And now he had prepared everything so you would remain undisturbed for the entire night which excited you more than words could describe. But it also terrified you. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. Hotch stood at the end of the bed, his eyes mustering you up and down. You were so nervous, you did not dare to move a muscle.

This was happening, this was really happening.

“Come here,” he said softly. It was not an instruction but you followed it as one, crawling to the end of the bed until you were kneeling up. Your heart was racing in your chest, the slick between your legs too prominent to ignore. And Hotch was right in front of you, mustering you with serious eyes.

“Do you remember what I told you in the car?” he checked in, his finger holding your chin, “If you want to stop –“

“Tap your thigh three times,” you finished his sentence.

“And the safe word?”

“Iceberg.”

His lips quirked up in a pleased smile as he tilted your chin up.

“Good girl,” he leant forwards, his lips meeting yours and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to lean completely into him.

His other hand cupped your cheek, keeping you in place as his teeth tugged on your bottom lip and you hasped, feeling a shudder run through your entire body.

You could not stop the whine that escaped you when he pulled away from you but a stern look from him had you silent again. Silent and very very horny.

“There are so many things I want to do to you,” he said, almost conversationally as he unbuttoned his shirt. Your eyes fixated on his hands and how big they looked on the tiny buttons. Aaron Hotchner was not a small man. He was broad in an unexpected kind of way, solid. Not as defined muscles as Morgan was or as lithe as Reid, no. Aaron Hotchner was a category of his own.  

“Suck my cock under the desk, fuck you in that elevator, have you hump the corner of my desk till you come, the list goes on,” he continued while shrugging out of his dress shirt, leaving him only in the white undershirt, “haven’t really decided on one yet.”

You only noticed you were holding your breath when he approached you again. He tilted your head to the side, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, “Maybe we should try them all out. What do you say? Want to be a little whore for me?”

“God please yes,” you gasped, your lips brushing over the pad of his thumb. He hummed, his finger pressing further into your mouth and he did not even need to say anything for your lips to close around his digit, swirling your tongue around his thumb and sucking.

He hummed, pressing his thumb down on your tongue and you opened your mouth for him, trying to stick out your tongue so he could give you more. But he didn’t, instead pulling his thumb away, leaving a wet trail down to your chin where he gripped it.

“Not so fast,” he chuckled, his hands pulling you in again for a kiss. His mouth opened against yours and you opened yours for him, his tongue tangling with yours. He tasted of whiskey and that mint that Morgan had passed around. “We can go slow,” he said, his nose bumping against yours, “We have time.”

Something, some teeny tiny voice in your brain, piped up in doubt. You only have tonight to impress him, that voice squeaked, If you fail tonight, you will never have the chance again. Which was a ridiculous thought to have when he was towering over you, looking like he was about to devour you. And fuck, did you want to be devoured.

“First, I am going to have you suck my cock, I think,” he mused, “I feel like your mouth always needs something to suck on, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir,” you replied, shuffling off the bed. His hand left your chin slowly, his knuckles brushing down your cleavage and belly before his arm fell to his side.

You watched as he sat on the side of the bed and he did not even have to say anything for you to sink to your knees. The carpet was soft on your skin. Still, he held up his jacket in a silent offering, his eyes warm and soft. He was taking care of you.

When you shook your head, the soft look disappeared again as he nodded in understanding. The jacket landed on the end of the bed and when he looked at you again, his eyes were dark, staring directly into your soul.

Being looked at like that made your breath come quicker and your pussy wetter. Especially, when he spread his legs so all you could see, all you could focus on, was the bulge right in front of your face.  

Like you said, Hotch wasn’t a small man by any means and there was something so sexy about him acting like he knew it. He knew he was big, he knew he was in charge and he knew what it did to you when he unzipped his pants and freed his cock.

“Patient,” he noted, clearly pleased, “Good girl.”

You smiled, his praise doing something with you. Something you were not ready to admit yet, even though it was already the running joke in the BAU that you wanted to impress him. (Not as your boss though, as most people presumed, but as the man that made you cry on his cock.)

“Here you go,” he said, his hand wrapped around his shaft and pumped it a few times. Drops of precome beaded at the tip, looking ready for you to lick them right off. If you focussed enough, you could already taste him. “Open wide.”

You did, opening your mouth as wide as you could, and sticking out your tongue. Hotch hummed, a deep sound from his chest. His tip landed on your tongue and you waited, frowning when he did not move. But then he did it again. And again.

He slapped his cock on your tongue a few times and you could feel the drool collecting on the tip of your tongue, threatening to trail down your chin. But you did not lose his gaze, did not move from your spot. Which was exactly what he wanted.

“Fuck, you’re good for me,” he breathed, “So fucking good for me, aren’t you?”

You nodded eagerly, his cock landing on your cheek instead. But Hotch didn’t seem to mind. His other hand found the back of your head, pulling you closer. You leaned forward as he wanted, closing your eyes when he lifted his cock onto your face. Heat rose into your cheeks when you realized what he was doing, his shaft measuring against your face. It made you feel filthy and a little embarrassed but also so incredibly turned on.

Your mouth was still open, your tongue and he was heavy against your face. You resisted the temptation to run your tongue along the underside. You wanted to be good for him.

“Go on,” he said, “Drool for me.”

With your mouth open and tongue out, it was impossible to make a sound and yet, you managed to produce the tiniest whimper. You could feel the drop forming before it landed on your chin trailing down before you could feel it between your tits.

You froze, wondering if it was enough for him, if you should wait a little longer, if you could wait a little longer before you were getting too desperate. His cock disappeared before finally pushing on your tongue and inside your mouth.

You took a deep breath then, noting how he already pushed himself to the back of your throat. His thrusts were slow and measured but also testing clearly your limits. There was nothing careful or shallow about his movements, like he knew exactly how much you could take, how much he wanted you to take. And you knew you would take however much he wanted from you.

He was heavy on your tongue and tasted salty. You managed to swallow around him once, your throat already protesting. You gagged around him, your eyes stinging with tears as you tried to regain your composure because damn you if you weren’t going to try your best.

Hotch paused his movements, his cock halfway down your throat. His brows were pulled together and he looked at you, clearly trying to see whether you wanted to take the chance to tap his thighs.

You relaxed your throat, making it a point to meet his gaze.

 “Are those pretty tears for me?” he asked softly, his free hand brushing over your cheeks, “And I haven’t even fucked you properly yet.”

Fuck.

“You good?”

“Hngh,” you tried to nod, forcing yourself to swallow around him. He tilted his head back, a groan leaving his throat and you could see his jugular move. You swallowed around him again in a desperate attempt to see him lose composure like that again. His hips twitched, moving even farther inside you and you gagged. Hotch paused but did not pull away.

“You can take it,” he said sternly, “I know you can.”

You remained silent, trying to convey that you knew with your eyes. Your jaw was aching already and your pussy wept. His hips began to move more and more, his large hand on the back of your head pushing and pulling you this and that way. You relaxed, letting him use you like a toy (and why did that turn you on as much as it did?), occasionally running your tongue over the underside of his cock.

He was silent, not saying much but you could feel his eyes on you. You glanced upwards, finding him looking down at you, almost as if he was assessing you. Like he was determining whether you did a good job or not and that, embarrassing as it was, made you even wetter.

There was that furrow between his brows again and his lips were pressed tightly together. If you did not know any better, you would have suspected him to be displeased, but you did know better. Because his cock was twitching on your tongue and his chest rumbled.

You leant forward again, your nose almost touching his belly. Almost.

Frustration grew in you and you pulled away.

But before you could pull off completely, his hand on your head stopped you. “You can take me deeper,” he stated. It wasn’t a question but you knew he gave the pause to give the option to say no.

You did not say anything.

His hand pushed you down on his crotch, his cock reaching impossibly deep and you gagged. You did not pull away this time and he did not let you. Rather, you made an effort to breathe through your nose, to focus on the weight of him on your tongue.

Your hands twitched with the knowledge that you could tap his thigh anytime. Yet you chose not to. Your nose touched his belly, his cock too large to let you smile in triumph.

Then, his other hand reached around your front and he leant forward. At first, you thought he was cupping your jaw or something to try and get you to open wider. But his hand went lower. To your throat.

Your eyes widened in shock when his big hand closed around your throat, not cutting off any air but still tight enough to feel his pressure. And enough to feel the bulge he formed in your throat.

He groaned.

“I could jerk myself off just like that,” he commented, sounding way too unaffected for your liking, “And you would let me, wouldn’t you?”

You made a sound at the back of your throat, feeling the movement protest against the grip his hand had on you.

The power he held over you had you squeezing your thighs.

“I am not coming down your throat,” he said, his thumb rubbing over the tip of him, “Not this time.”

With that, he pulled away from you, his hand on the back of your head gently pulling you back. Immediately, you gasped for breath, trying to even your breathing while not taking your eyes off him.

Hotch stood up, a twinkle in his eyes when he undid the first few buttons of his shirt. “Get up on the bed,” he instructed, “Lose the clothes.”

At record speed, you slipped out of the dress and out of your underwear. Catching a glimpse of the wet patch on your panties, you forced yourself not to be ashamed of it. By now, it was a safe bet to assume that he knew the kind of effect he had on you.

The sheets felt cool and soft under your skin and you sat down and scooted back. Hotch eyed you like prey, your heart skipping a beat when you watched as he wrapped his hand around himself again, pumping while you got comfortable.

When your back settled against the pillows, he moved too.

“Good girl,” he murmured before leaning forward and climbing onto the bed.

You laid back, allowing him to come to rest above you. His breath fanned over your crotch and your belly, his lips ghosting over the valley between your breasts and up your throat until they met yours.

You hummed, trying to get up on your elbows to get closer to him. His lips were soft but dominant, his hand brushing over your cheek before settling right under your jaw.

The man above you sat up, straddling your hips. His hand was around your throat, loosely wrapped around and you smiled, already knowing what. You opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue and being rewarded by the dark smile on his lips.

“Such a good little whore,” he groaned before he spit right into your mouth, “Such a good little cocksleeve.”

Swallowing greedily, you opened your mouth again, showing him that nothing was left.

The feeling of his cock against your folds was what made your composure break. Pleasure was flowing through your every vein and you could feel your pussy pulse, feeling way too empty with him rubbing his tip over your clit.

“Sir, please,” you whined, trying to thrust your hips up, wanting to get just that little bit of friction more, “I – I need it.”

“Oh, I know exactly what it is that you need,” he stated when he slowly pushed forward, his cock splitting your walls, “You need me to work my cock in that tight pussy of yours and then fill you up until you are nothing but dripping in my come.”

You took a deep breath, relishing in the stretch he caused and the feelings of your walls opening up for him. And his words did the rest. You were so wet,

Angling up your knees, you wrapped your legs around his broad hips. It allowed him to push even deeper and you both moaned. Your thighs were already aching but your pussy fluttered around how full you were.

He began to move, slow at first before he found his bearings. His forearms caged in your head and he was right above you, surrounding you so completely while his cock pushed deeper and deeper. All you could see, all you could smell, all you could feel, was him.

“Yes, Sir,” you breathed, your fingertips running over his jaw, “Please come in me.”

“Good girl,” he chuckled, a little out of breath, his lips pressing against your temple, “Making such smart choices today.”

Not having the time to think about what he could possibly mean, you tilted your head back, allowing him to press a slow kiss to your neck. It was warm and wet and made your entire body shiver.

“Anytime you make a smart choice, I reward you, how does that sound?”

You could not answer, his cock hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars.

“Already too cockdumb for me, I see,” he murmured, his teeth scratching over your skin, “But that’s okay because this? This is a reward. You were such a smart girl today, not letting Greggs fuck you. Because you know only I can fuck you right, right?”

You whimpered, your hardened nipples brushing against the fabric of his shirt and you arched your back, trying to get him to be closer, deeper, faster.

His hips snapped against you, pinning yours to the mattress and you gasped at how deep he went. The weight of his body on yours meant you could not move, entirely at his mercy. Your walls clamped around him, the knot in your abdomen getting tighter and tighter with the feeling of his cock moving and his quiet groans in your ear.

“Next time you’re being a good girl for me, I will fill you up on the jet,” he hissed, “I will have you sit on my cock before we’re even in the air and you only get to come once we’re back on land. I don’t care what the others will think,” his fingers snuck to your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves just how you needed it, “Let’s hope it won’t be Alaska or I will have an overstimulated mess sobbing on my cock.”

You gasped, hands flexing on his shoulders. Images filled your head. Of you, wearing one of your cutest office dresses that had the perfect length to conceal how he was buried inside you. Or how he would just so casually reach over to your seat, between your thighs, working your clit until you left a wet mess on the leather seat. The thought turned you on more than it should, the urge to keep quiet so you would not get caught being fucked by your boss.

And Hotch could sense what you were thinking. “Looks like someone likes that idea,” he mocked you, “Your pussy practically choked me. Are you that desperate for the cock of an old man? Of your boss? You really just want to be filled up every chance you have, hm?”

You nodded, eyes tearing up at the sheer pleasure of it all.

“Yes, Sir,” you gasped out, trying to move your hips against him, though you knew it was an impossible feat, “Wanna – wanna be your whore so bad.”

“You already are,” he cooed, kissing you swiftly while his hips moved against yours again and again, “And you can be my good girl too if you come on my cock right now.”

Aaron Hotchner had to be a magician because there was no other explanation for how your body just listened to him. Every single muscle you were aware of tensed as the knot in your abdomen grew tighter and tighter before it felt like it was pulled apart, pleasure erupting everywhere. You buried your face in his neck, muffling your moan and breathing in his familiar scent.

Hotch did not slow his pace. His cock kept working in and out of you, driving you to the edge of madness. With you coming around him, you became even more aware of how big he was inside you. It was like he was pushing the air out of your lungs and you gasped, trying to gather your bearings when all you could feel was

He panted, his movements picking up in speed and you wrapped your legs tighter around him, pulling him inside you until he stilled. The deep groan he let out rumbled in his chest and you could feel it, feel it in the way he was pressed right up against you, feel it in the way his head sunk into the crook of your neck, feel it in the way, his entire body rested on yours.

There was something about feeling his come pump inside of you, feeling his cock twitch and feeling so full of him, that struck you with the sudden realization that you would really let this man do anything to you. The trust you had in him, in the way he would take care of you, would not be so easily broken.

Which meant your heart was that much more breakable.

Your body calmed down, feeling completely weightless even with him on top of you. Your eyes fluttered closed when you felt him shift, rolling you both around until you were on top of him. His cock was still inside you plugging you up and you smiled when you felt him draw lined over your back.

“That okay?” he asked, his voice deep and rumbly, “Do you need anything?”

You shook your head before resting your cheek on his chest. “Just this,” you murmured, “Just this please.”

“Good girl,” he praised you with a gentle smile, kissing the top of your head, “Rest, sweetheart. You deserve it.”

*

“What is it?” you shot up in bed, panic and adrenaline pumping through your blood. It took you a moment to remember that you were not supposed to be alone in this room and that the figure moving next to you was none other than Aaron. He was safe. He was supposed to be here.

Ears ringing, you threw a look on your side of the bed, trying to find if your phone was lit up because there was another case.

Please not, ran through our brain, Please let me have him this close just for a little longer.

But it was not your phone that was ringing.

“Shit, sorry,” you could hear Hotch rise in the dark, his body twisting the blanket this and that way as he leaned over to his night table. Something clattered and you could see a brightly lit display before it disappeared behind Hotch’s profile.

“Hey, buddy!”

You blinked.

“Yeah, we got the bad guy,” his voice was oddly soft, “Did Aunt Jess take to the – she did? That is awesome, you will have to tell me all about it.”

When you realized he was talking to his son (you tried to blame the very late/early time for this), your heart melted. The way his voice was deep and groggy but you could hear the love in it, the affection. There were only a handful of times you had heard him talk like that and they had all been when he was talking to or about Jack.

Before you knew it, he had hung up, his phone screen going dark and your body instantly yearning back for that deep slumber you had just been in.

“Sorry, I usually have it on loud to make sure I wake up. “ To make sure I don’t miss his calls.

“No worries, it’s … it's actually quite sweet,” you mumbled, glad for the darkness so he could not see just how affected you were.

“Sweet?” he echoed and you didn’t need to see him to know he was grinning, “I was expecting a lot of adjectives but not sweet.”

“It’s the dichotomy of man,” you replied groggily, very aware of the heat of his body right next to you, “Stern Hotch and Sweet Hotch.”

His hand found yours in the dark and your heart skipped a beat when he pulled it up to his lips. It felt way too intimate but it felt right. Maybe because it was dark it felt like you could allow yourself to enjoy the closeness. Like you could pretend you were living in some alternate universe where he was

“You’ve only seen stern Hotch, then, I presume,” he joked.

“Sexy Hotchner and stern Hotchner,” you added, pulling your hand back to your chest and thus his arm around you as you settled on your side, “Work Hotchner and Bed Hotchner.”

“Then maybe it is time you get to see Sweet Hotchner,” he murmured in your ear, his lips brushing over your shoulder. Your hand tightened around his and you snuggled back into him, thinking that any embarrassment that might ensue from this intimate embrace could be a problem for future you.

“How do I get to meet Sweet Hotchner?” you yawned, barely awake, “Do I have to ask Jack for some tips?”

“That or you could go on a date with me,” he said, his voice just as groggy, “I heard I am supposed to be my most charming self when on a date.”

Yup, definitely a problem for future you.

[hopelesslys-world]

50 SHADES OF FUCKED UP | CH. 1

Pairing: Christian Grey x innocent!reader

TRIGGER WARNINGS!: TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, reader is kind of a bimbo, heavily detailed smut, basically porn, loss of virginity, harsh language, anger issues, stalking, obsession, jealousy, controlling behaviour, DOM-SUB themes, BDSM Expand considered to be portrayed with incorrect/poor etiquette, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse/assault, statutory rape.

Tell me if I missed anything...( As you can see most of the warnings will appear in future chapters. )

I apologize for any grammar mistakes...

Y/M/N: Your Middle Name

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

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*𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙋𝙊𝙑*

┅┅

𝐈 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐈𝐍 the reflection of the mirror. Damn my hair—it just won’t behave! And also damn Isabella Clark for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission.

I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at my reflection in the mirror, you blow dry your hair into oblivion and with the help of some hairspray you managed to put your soft curls into place.

Now you finally look somewhat presentable.

Bella is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she’d arranged to do, with some mega-industrialist tycoon I’ve never heard of, for the student newspaper. So I have been volunteered.

I have final exams to cram for, one essay to finish, and I’m supposed to be working this afternoon, but no–today I have to drive a hundred and sixty-five miles to downtown Seattle in order to meet the enigmatic CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

As an exceptional entrepreneur and major benefactor of our University, his time is extraordinarily precious—much more precious than mine–but he has granted Bella an interview. A real coup, she tells me.

Damn her extra-curricular activities.

Bella is huddled on the couch in the living room. “Y/N, I’m sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take another six to reschedule, and we’ll both have graduated by then. As the editor, I can’t blow this off. Please,” Bella begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice.

How does she do it? Even ill she looks gamine and gorgeous, strawberry blonde hair in place and green eyes bright, although now red-rimmed and runny. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy.

“Of course I’ll go Bella. You should get back to bed. Would you like some Nyquil or Tylenol?”

“Nyquil, please. Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I’ll transcribe it all.”

“I know nothing about him,” I murmur, trying and failing to suppress my rising panic.

“The questions will see you through. Go. It’s a long drive. I don’t want you to be late.”

“Okay, I’m going. Get back to bed. I made you some soup to heat up later.” I stare at her fondly. Only for you, Bella, would I do this.

“I will. Good luck. And thanks Y/N/N – as usual, you’re my lifesaver.”

Gathering my things, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door to the car. I cannot believe I have let Bella talk me into this. But then Bella can talk anyone into anything.

She’ll make an exceptional journalist. She’s articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful – and she’s my dearest, dearest friend.

The roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver, WA toward Portland and the I-5. It’s early, and I don’t have to be in Seattle until two this afternoon. Fortunately, Bella’s lent me her sporty Mercedes CLK.

I’m not sure Wanda, my old VW Beetle, would make the journey in time. Oh, the Mercedes is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal.

My destination is the headquarters of Mr. Grey’s global enterprise. It’s a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect’s utilitarian fantasy, with Grey House written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors.

It’s a quarter to two when I arrive, greatly relieved that I’m not late as I walk into the enormous – and frankly intimidating – glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby.

Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, blonde young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She’s wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks immaculate.

“I’m here to see Mr. Grey. Y/N Y/L/N for Isabella Clark.”

“Excuse me one moment, Miss Y/L/N.” She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand self-consciously before her. I am beginning to wish I’d borrowed one of Bella’s formal blazers.

My outfit definitely didn't suit for something like this, but at the same time I've neve done anything like this.

I love my skirts, basically all of my closet is filled with skirts, dresses, sweaters and the occasional jeans and formal pants.

For me, this is smart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I pretend she doesn’t intimidate me.

“Miss Clark is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Y/L/N. You’ll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor.” She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, as I sign in.

She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can’t help my smirk. Surely it’s obvious that I’m just visiting. I don’t fit in here at all. Nothing changes, I inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators pastthe two security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits.

The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open, and I’m in another large lobby – again all glass, steel, and white sandstone. I’m confronted by another desk of sandstone and another young blonde woman dressed impeccably in black and white who rises to greet me.

“Miss Y/L/N, could you wait here, please?” She points to a seated area of white leather chairs.

Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Seattle skyline that looks out through the city toward the Sound. It’s a stunning vista, and I’m momentarily paralyzed by the view. Wow.

I sit down, fish the questions from my bag, and go through them, inwardly cursing Bella for not providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this man I’m about to interview. He could be ninety or he could be thirty.

The uncertainty is galling, and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I’ve never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of a group discussion where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of the room. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone edifice.

I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, Y/N. Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Grey is in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel.

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It’s like Stepford here.

Taking a deep breath, I stand up.

“Miss Y/L/N?” the latest blonde asks.

“Yes,” I croak, and clear my throat. “Yes.” There, that sounded more confident.

“Mr. Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your coat?”

“Oh please.” I struggle out of the long black coat.

“Have you been offered any refreshment?”

“Um – no.”

Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?

Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk.

“Would you like tea, coffee, water?” she asks, turning her attention back to me.

“A glass of water. Thank you,” I murmur.

“Olivia, please fetch Miss Y/L/N a glass of water.” Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.

“My apologies, Miss Y/L/N, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr. Grey will be another five minutes.”

Olivia returns with a glass of iced water.

“Here you go, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thank you.”

Blonde Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work.

Perhaps Mr. Grey insists on all his employees being blonde. I’m wondering idly if that’s legal, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive man with short dreads exits. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes.

He turns and says through the door. “Golf, this week, Grey.”

I don’t hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. She’s more nervous than me!

“Good afternoon ladies,” he says as he departs through the sliding door.

“Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Y/L/N. Do go through,” Blonde Number Two says.

I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my bag, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door.

“You don’t need to knock – just go in.” She smiles kindly.

I push open the door and stumble through the impressively giant office. I notice a man his face hidden behind the computer. But in a moment he raises his head and approaches me.

That's when I see his face.

Holy Cow, his young nothing like I'd imagined him.

“Miss Clark” He extends a long-fingered hand to me. “I’m Christian Grey.”

So young – and attractive, very attractive. He’s tall, dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and black tie with unruly dark copper colored hair and intense, bright gray eyes that regard me shrewdly. It takes a moment for me to find my voice.

“Um. Actually–” I mutter. If this guy is over thirty then I’m a monkey’s uncle. In a daze, I place my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be static.

I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. “Miss Clark is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Grey.”

“And you are?” His voice is warm, possibly amused, but it’s difficult to tell from his impassive expression. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.

“Y/N Y/L/N. I’m studying English Literature with Bella, um… Isabella… um… Miss Clark at Washington State.”

“I see,” he says simply. I think I see the ghost of a smile in his expression, but I’m not sure.

“Would you like to sit?” He waves me toward a white leather buttoned L-shaped couch.

His office is way too big for just one man. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there’s a huge modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white – ceiling, floors, and walls except, on the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite – a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.

“A local artist. Trouton,” says Grey when he catches my gaze.

“They’re lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary,” I murmur, distracted both by him and the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.

“I couldn’t agree more, Miss Y/L/N,” he replies, his voice soft and for some inexplicable reason I find myself blushing.

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the person who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Bella’s questions from my bag.

Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Mr. Grey says nothing, waiting patiently – I hope – as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at him, he’s watching me, one hand relaxed in his lap and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he’s trying to suppress a smile.

“Sorry,” I stutter. “I’m not used to this.”

“Take all the time you need, Miss Y/L/N,” he says.

“Do you mind if I record your answers?”

“After you’ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder – you ask me now?”

I flush. He’s teasing me? I hope. I smile shyly, unsure what to say, and I think he takes pity on me because he relents. “No, I don’t mind.”

“Did Bella, I mean, Miss Clark, explain what the interview was for?”

“Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year’s graduation ceremony.”

Oh! This is news to me, and I’m temporarily pre-occupied by the thought that someone not much older than me – okay, maybe six years or so, and okay, mega successful, but still – is going to present me with my degree.

I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand.

“Good,” I swallow nervously. “I have some questions, Mr. Grey.” I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

“I thought you might,” he says, deadpan. He’s laughing at me. My cheeks heat at the realization, and I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.

“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?” I glance up at him. His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed.

“Business is all about people, Miss Y/L/N, and I’m very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn’t, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well.” He pauses and fixes me with his gray stare.

“My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it’s always down to good people.”

“Maybe you’re just lucky.” This isn’t on Bella’s list – but he’s so arrogant. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

“I don’t subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Y/L/N. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing theirenergies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said ‘the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.’ ”

“You sound like a control freak.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Y/L/N,” he says without a trace of humor in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again.

Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His overwhelming good-looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he’d stop doing that.

“Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things,” he continues, his voice soft.

“Do you feel that you have immense power?” Control Freak.

“I employ over forty thousand people Miss Y/L/N. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility – power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so.”

My mouth drops open. I am staggered by his lack of humility. “Don’t you have a board to answer to?” I ask, disgusted.

“I own my company. I don’t have to answer to a board.” He raises an eyebrow at me.

I flush. Of course, I would know this if I had done some research. But holy crap, he’s so arrogant. I change tack.

“And do you have any interests outside your work?”

“I have varied interests, Miss Y/L/N.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Very varied.”

And for some reason, I’m confounded and heated by his steady gaze. His eyes are alight with some wicked thought.

“But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?”

“Chill out?” He smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I stop breathing. He really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking.

“Well, to ‘chill out’ as you put it – I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits.”

He shifts in his chair. “I’m a very wealthy man, Miss Y/L/N, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies.”

I glance quickly at Bella’s questions, wanting to get off this subject.

“You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?” I ask. Why does he make me so uncomfortable?

“I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?”

“That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts.”

His mouth quirks up, and he stares appraisingly at me. “Possibly. Though there are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.”

“Why would they say that?” I ask, intrigued by that information.

“Because they know me well.” His lip curls in a wry smile.

“Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?” And I regret the question as soon as I say it. It’s not on Bella’s list.

“I’m a very private person, Miss Y/L/N. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don’t often give interviews,” he trails off.

“Why did you agree to do this one?”

“Because I’m a benefactor of the University, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn’t get Miss Clark off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity.”

I know how tenacious Bella can be. That’s why I’m sitting here squirming uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze, when I should be studying for my exams.

“You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?”

“We can’t eat money, Miss Y/L/N, and there are too many people on this planet who don’t have enough to eat.”

“That sounds very philanthropic. Is it something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world’s poor?”

He shrugs, very non-committal. “It’s shrewd business,” he shrugs, though I think he’s being disingenuous. It doesn’t make sense – feeding the world’s poor? I can’t see the financial benefits of this, only the virtue of the ideal. I glance at the next question, confused by his attitude.

“Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?”

“I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle. I’m very singular, driven. I like control – of myself and those around me.”

“So you want to possess things?” You are a control freak.

“I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.”

“You sound like the ultimate consumer.”

“I am.” He smiles, but the smile doesn’t touch his eyes. Again this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can’t help thinking that we’re talking about something else, but I’m absolutely mystified as to what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising or maybe it’s just me. I just want this interview to be over.

Surely Bella has enough material now? I glance at the next question.“You were adopted. How far do you think that’s shaped the way you are?”

Oh, this is personal. I stare at him, hoping he’s not offended. His brow furrows. “I have no way of knowing.”

My interest is piqued.

“How old were you when you were adopted?”

“That’s a matter of public record, Miss Y/L/N.” His tone is stern. I flush, again. Crap.

Yes of course – if I’d known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research. I move on quickly.

“You’ve had to sacrifice a family life for your work.”

“That’s not a question.” He’s terse.

“Sorry.” I squirm, and he’s made me feel like an errant child. I try again. “Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?”

“I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.”

“Are you gay, Mr. Grey?”

He inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. Shoot. Why didn’t I employ some kind of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell him I’m just reading the questions?

Damn Bella and her curiosity!

“No Y/N, I’m not.” He raises his eyebrows, a cool gleam in his eyes. He does

not look pleased.

“I apologize. It’s um… written here.” It’s the first time he’s said my name. My heartbeat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear.

He cocks his head to one side.

“These aren’t your own questions?”

The blood drains from my head. Oh no.

“Err… no. Bella – Miss Clark – she compiled the questions.”

“Are you colleagues on the student paper?”

I have nothing to do with the student paper. It’s her extra-curricular activity, not mine. My face is aflame. “No. She’s my roommate.”

He rubs his chin in quiet deliberation, his gray eyes appraising me. “Did you volunteer to do this interview?” he asks, his voice deadly quiet.

Hang on, who’s supposed to be interviewing whom? His eyes burn into me, and I’m compelled to answer with the truth.

“I was drafted. She’s not well.” My voice is weak and apologetic.

“That explains a great deal.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Blonde Number Two enters. “Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

“We’re not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting.”

Andrea hesitates, gaping at him. She’s appears lost. He turns his head slowly to face her and raises his eyebrows. She flushes bright pink. Oh good. It’s not just me.

“Very well, Mr. Grey,” she mutters, then exits. He frowns, and turns his attention back to me.

“Where were we, Miss Y/L/N?”

Oh, we’re back to ‘Miss Y/L/N’ now.

“Please don’t let me keep you from anything.”

“I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” His gray eyes are alight with curiosity.

Where’s he going with this? He places his elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. His mouth is very… distracting. I swallow.

“There’s not much to know,” I say, flushing again.

“What are your plans after you graduate?”

I shrug, thrown by his interest. Come to Seattle with Bella, find a place, find a job. I haven’t really thought beyond my finals.

“I haven’t made any plans, Mr. Grey. I just need to get through my final exams.”

Which I should be studying for now rather than sitting in your palatial, swanky, sterile office, feeling uncomfortable under your penetrating gaze. “We run an excellent internship program here,” he says quietly.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Is he offering me a job? “Oh. I’ll bear that in mind,” I answer, completely confounded. “Though I’m not sure I’d fit in here.”

Oh no. I’m musing out loud again.

“Why do you say that?” He cocks his head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I’m uncoordinated, scruffy, and I’m not blonde.

“Not to me,” he murmurs. His gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly. I tear my eyes away from his scrutiny and stare blindly down at my knotted fingers.

What’s going on? I have to go – now. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.

“Would you like me to show you around?” he asks.

“I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive.”

“You’re driving back to WSU in Vancouver?” He sounds surprised, anxious even. He glances out of the window. It’s begun to rain. “Well, you’d better drive carefully.” His tone is stern, authoritative.

Why should he care? “Did you get everything you need?” he adds.

“Yes sir,” I reply, packing the recorder into my bag. His eyes narrow, speculatively.

“Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey.”

“The pleasure’s been all mine,” he says, polite as ever.

As I rise, he stands and holds out his hand.

“Until we meet again, Miss Y/L/N.” And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I’m not sure which. I frown.

When will we ever meet again? I shake his hand once more, astounded that that odd current between us is still there. It must be my nerves.

“Mr. Grey.” I nod at him. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide.

“Allow me to escort you outside.” He gives me a small smile.

He's so polite now.

“Sure, Mr. Grey,” I smile, and his smile widens. Together, we walk into the foyer. Andrea and Olivia both look up, equally surprised.

“Did you have a coat?” Grey asks.

“Yes.” Olivia leaps up and retrieves my black, which Grey takes from her before she can hand it to me. He holds it up and, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I shrug it on.

Grey places his hands for a moment on my shoulders. I gasp at the contact. If he notices my reaction, he gives nothing away. His long index finger presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on his.

The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. I really need to get out of here. When I turn to look at him, he’s leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand on the wall. He really is very, very good-looking. It’s distracting. His burning gray eyes gaze at me.

“Y/N,” he says as a farewell.

“Christian,” I reply. And mercifully, the doors close.

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[ series masterlist ]

DON'T BE AFRAID TO SPAM WITH LIKES AND COMMENTS. I WOULD ALSO APPRECIATE IT IF YOU COULD REBLOG THIS POST <3

[milequaritchsslut]

Overly obsessive partners | Avatar

Pairings: Neytiri x reader, Ronal x reader, Z-dog x reader, Tonowari x Reader, Miles x Reader,

Warnings: yandere, sub-dom relationships, sub reader, p in v, fingering, keeping tabs on you, overly possessive partners, hissing, daddy kink, mommy kink, mentions of killing, ownership kink, collar kink, poisoning, lying

Miles

- He’s definitely an angry yandere, getting overly irritated over the smallest of things. The way people look at you, for even a brief second. He’s convinced himself that everyone is trying to take you away from him, literally everyone. Even his own teammates, Lyle, Z-dog, and Ja.

- He gets irritated when he has to be gone on a mission for more then two days, he can’t see his little princess :(. And he’ll be in a bad mood for the rest of the mission because of it.

- He walks around, his tail tightly wrapped around your small thigh, sometimes even your arm. It’s a way he protects what’s his, so you’ll never be too far from him. It might leave a mark once in awhile, if your being a brat, or someone comes up to talk to you while he’s next to you. He’s the only one who gets your attention, he’s the only one worthy of it.

- There’s no question about it, he’d kill for you easily. Whether you ask for it or not, he kills people all the time, this would be no different.

- He makes sure that he knows everything that’s going on with you. Every single little detail, and he’ll even remind you of interactions you literally forgot about. He keeps tabs on everywhere you go, making sure your clocking in with the lab coats. What time you get back to your room, how many meals you ate. Who you talked to and why, and he’ll overly question you when you tell him it was a male coworker. He makes mental notes of who you do and don’t like, he’ll make sure to be extra rude to them when he passes by.

- He uses his high position to get you special things around the base. Maybe a steak dinner, new clothes you’ll like. He showers you in gifts whenever you ask, but most of the time he surprises you. Somehow your room will be under repair, and you’d have nowhere to go. But of course he’ll be there with open arms, waiting for you to ask. “Of course sweetheart!” “Your always welcome here princess”.

- He makes you scream that he owns you, that you only belong to him. And him alone. He’s rutting into you ruthlessly, your heavy pants and moans being heard from outside the door. His hands gripping onto your waist, definitely leaving marks for tomorrow. He watches you with a sly smile, his canines showing through to you. He looks almost evil, his mind relishing in the way he can control you. “C’mon say it baby” he’d coo mockingly, his hips hitting your thighs at an obnoxious pace. But all you could do was mumble out random words, trying your best not to cry. “I said say it” he’d hiss out, your cunt clenching around him deliciously. “Y-you own me daddy!” You’d whine out, head thrown back as tears prickle at the sides of your eyes.

Ronal

- We all know she’s a dom, even more now that she’s met you. She’s obsessed, all she thinks about is how your doing while your away. Counting down the minutes until she can see you again. She worries so much for her precious girl, her sweet little thing. So small and pretty, for only her to have. She wants you, hungry for your pretty little hands in hers. Your breathe heaving on her neck as her fingers plunge deeper and deeper into you.

- She thinks of you all day, wondering how her darling is doing. The second she gets home, she’s dashing to you. Asking you how you’ve been, what you did today. And especially who you talked to, and if they treated you good or not.

- Her eyes widen in shock as she sees that you had been hurt during a hunt. “Oh my precious girl!” “Do not be so reckless” “Come over here” looking up at you, as your tiny frame stands before her. Her hands holding yours, an angry expression on her face as she begins her lecture. “You cannot be so stupid y/n” she’d hiss out, her angry radiating off her body. After she’s done scolding and patching you up she’ll sit you on her lap, kissing your neck softly. Happy that your home safe with her, her arms wrapping around your waist as she tells you about how much she loves you. “That was scary ma y/n” she’d hum into your ear, a warm smile on her face. The heat of your body colliding together to form a higher temperature. “I love you so much”

- She doesn’t let you outside, unless it’s completely necessary. And that’s once in a blue moon, maybe, just maybe once a week. She’s very strict with you, scared she’ll lose you. She can’t have her precious baby getting hurt can she? So she doesn’t let you see the outside world, keeping you hidden from the cruel world that lurks outside.

Z-dog

- This woman is batshit crazy, nothing you’ve ever seen before.

- She’s obsessed with your body, touching every part of you. Fantasying about the feeling of your bodies colliding. Your hot breath on her as she kisses down your neck sensually. She’s all over you when you two are alone. Placing you on her lap, telling you about what a good girl you are for mommy. “Such a good girl for me” “My little slut” she’d hum into your ear, nibbling on your neck, her hands wandering lower and lower by the second.

- She puts a collar around you when your alone. She owns you so what better way to show you. A light pink collar, sliver spikes coming out of it. Similar colored leash tied to it, pulling it and yanking on it while she’s rutting into you from behind. Your gasps and mewls pushing her along more and more.

- She marks you when you go out to work, bite marks trailing down your thighs. Her smell lingering on your body no matter how much perfume you put on.

- She death glares everyone who looks at you, talks to you, or even mentions your name. It doesn’t matter if their being nice or not, they don’t have any right to talk about her beautiful girl without her permission.

Tonowari

- Such a sweetie pie, making sure your fed and full every hour. Cooing into your ear about how much he loves you, and how he’ll never leave you. Loves the way your skin feels on his, he likes your thighs. He watches you walk sometimes, mesmerized by your body. So soft and plush for him, he loves holding you close. Sitting you on his lap as he nuzzles into your neck.

- He always wants to hear about how your day went. But the second you mention another man he goes dead silent, staring you down while he anger rises. He shuts you up right away, hissing at the thought of you in the same proximity of another male other then him. The thought haunts him, he can’t have it that way. He despises it when you talk to other men without his permission. He hates it

- He might even make you sick himself, scared you’ll leave him. Maybe he puts some of that fruit in your meal that your obviously allergic to and watches you cough and feel confused. But of course he’s at your beck and call! “My precious girl!” He shouts as he picks you up in his arms as he kisses and cuddles you. Making you feel all better, reminding you about how much he actually takes care of you. He then blames it on someone else, saying it was probably that boy you were talking to who gave you that fruit. And of course you believe him! Why ever would he lie to you?

Neytiri

- She’s probably the most possessive out of everyone, maybe not the most obsessed but overly possessive. Her mind has warped her perspective of the world, your the only thing that matters now. The only one who she needs to care about, and care for. Your her number one priority now, even over herself.

- She always makes sure your doing your best, pushing you to do better at anything. Always helping you with training, joining you during hunts. She just wants what’s best for you, even if that means pushing you to do your best.

- She’s always watching, making sure you don’t go to far from her. Mesmerizing your whole schedule, every little step you make she knows about. She’s always ‘accidentally’ bumping into you while your doing your chores.

[jadewolf22]

Hiiiii!! Could I request a Lady Jane and Wife Reader, with some domestic fluff (at least, as domestic as Lady Jane can get if you know what I mean). Maybe something like they've been apart for a really long time hunting bounties and manage to meet up for their anniversary or sm?

Happy Anniversary

Sub!Lady Jane x Dom!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Guns, mentions of extreme violence, mentions of scars, mentions of kidnapping/hunting children, smut, oral (J recieving), thigh riding (r recieving), fingering (J receiving), strap-on (J receiving), orgasm denial, ect… 

Summary: You give your lady a special gift for your first wedding anniversary.

A/n: Hi anon!! Thank you so much for the request! This is my first time ever writing for Lady Jane, so I hope I did her justice. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to include smut, but a married couple who hasn’t seen each other in a while probably wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off of each other…Word Count: 3,012

You couldn’t stop the sign that escaped your lips as you entered the threshold of your home, dropping your duffle bag and the bag of groceries you’d bought on the floor as you removed your jacket. The quaint little farmhouse that had been your childhood home was quiet, secluded by miles of dead fields and thick woodlands. You ran your fingertips over the bench along the wall, pleased to see that not too much dust had collected since your last stay. Work kept you away for weeks, sometimes months at a time and there was no one to stay and clean the place while you were gone. 

Moving away from the threshold and into the living room you smiled softly, taking a moment to walk around and glance at the multitude of pictures decorating the space. Most of the ones on the walls and bookcases were from your younger years; birthdays, vacations with your parents, school activities and accomplishments, holidays and such. But it was the ones above the hearth that you loved the most. Jane, your lady and beloved partner, wasn’t one for taking many photos so there were only a few on the mantle, and you cherished each one like they were diamonds; Your first date at the shooting range, one of her birthdays at the bar, your first Valentine's Day hunting in the woods, a few engagement photos taken while you were working a job together, and one of your wedding here one the farm placed at the centre of them all. It was your first anniversary today, exactly one year of pure happiness for the two of you despite the gruesome reality of your jobs as bounty hunters. 

The sound of tires against gravel drew you from your thoughts. You were sure you knew who it was but, just in case, you gripped the glock tusked into the waistband of your jeans as you moved to the window, peering out through the curtains. The sight of a gold car parking beside yours allowed you to relax, letting go of the weapon as you rushed back outside. You’d barely given Jane time to close her door before you were on her, strong, toned arms grabbing her by the waist and lifting her off the ground as you embraced the love of your life. A light chuckle left her lips, demanding that you set her down before she hugged you in return. 

“I missed you, my love.” you said breathily—lifting Jane off the ground was no easy feat, despite how strong you were—kissing her gently.

“And I, you.” she returned, cracking the smallest smile.

You couldn’t have stopped the large grin that spread across your face even if you wanted to, insisting that you take her things before escorting her into the house. Jane found it quite adorable how you insisted on pampering her with even the smallest tasks, such as carrying her luggage—granted, it was only two duffle bags, one filled with her guns and extra magazines. Once inside you added your own bag to the load and headed upstairs, setting the bags down on your bed before you pulled her to you and kissed her again, this one a little deeper than the last. 

“Happy anniversary, Jane.” you breathed.

“Is it our anniversary already?” she teased lightly, kissing your cheek, “My, does the time fly.”

“Indeed it does.” you agreed, moving away and beginning to unpack your bag. 

Jane did the same, the two of you unpacking in a comfortable silence. You’d missed her terribly, her presence alone helping to soothe the ache that had built up after a month apart. When you were both unpacked and her guns properly cleaned and stored away the two of you headed back downstairs, putting away the groceries and preparing dinner as you talked about your most recent jobs. Yours had been easy; a couple of greens that had escaped the compound two months back, but Jane’s had been far more difficult. She’d gotten stuck with a group of yellows who’d disappeared nearly a year ago and, apparently, they had put up quite a fight. You hated it when she took the more dangerous jobs, always afraid that one day, one of them might kill her. But you knew that Jane could hold her own and, the more dangerous the job, the better the pay. A part of you felt sorry for the kids the two of you hunted, but you knew the world was safer without them. Children with supernatural powers were a recipe for disaster.

When the food was ready the two of you sat down to eat, easily falling back into the domestic pattern you’d adopted. It was easy to push the exhaustion and anxiety of your jobs when you were like this, content and at peace in your little corner of the world. 

The meal was delicious, Jane's cooking far better than your own, and much more satisfying than the protein bars and canned food you lived off of while working. When you’d both finished, you took care of the dishes while Jane showered—despite how much you’d begged her to wait so you could join her. Once the dishes were done it was your turn to head upstairs, showering quickly and trading your dirty jeans and t-shirt for leggings and a tank top. Stepping out of the bathroom you found Jane stretched out on her side of the bed, damp brown hair cascading over her shoulders and a book in hand. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of big-bad Lady Jane looking so utterly adorable and domestic in grey sweats and a baggy red t-shirt. 

She looked up from the book before you could hide your smile, muttering, “What?” as she set it aside.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, moving towards your side of the bed, “I’m just glad you’re home. You know how worried I get when you take jobs involving yellows.” 

Jane rolled her eyes at your protectiveness, mumbling, “At least they’re not reds or oranges.” sitting up as you fished through the drawer of your nightstand, producing a black box and smiling as you sat down, presenting it to her.

“Happy anniversary, my lady.”

She rolled her eyes again at the nickname, taking the box from you and opening it with a small gasp. Nestled inside was a golden glock, the handle engraved with little vines that made both of your initials. 

“It’s beautiful, y/n.” she whispered, looking up at you, “Where did you even—?”

“I have a friend who specialises in engraving guns.” you explained, trying to suppress just how happy her reaction made you, “I  swung by his place on my way back home… Is it safe to assume you like it?”

“I love it.” you knew she did, but hearing Jane say it aloud made you ten times happier, “My turn.”

She reached over to her nightstand, plucking a little red box off of it that you had, somehow, failed to notice earlier. A cheshire-like grin adorned her face as she handed the box to you, making you that much more excited to see what was inside. Nearly tearing off the lid, your eyes fell on the silver bracelet lying against the black velvet lining of the box. At first glance, it looked like a simple band but, upon picking it up, you noticed her name engraved on the inside. Smirking, you had her help you but the bracelet on, noticing just how snuggly it fit your wrist. You laughed, realising that her name would be temporarily branded onto your skin if you wore it for long enough—and you had no intention of ever taking it off. 

“It’s perfect.” you said softly, “Thank you.”

You leaned forward and kissed her again, smiling against her lips when her hand crept up your neck to thread itself in your hair. A groan escaped you when you felt her tug at your hair, making you kiss her that much harder as you grabbed her hips and pulled her across the bed to you, manoeuvring the both of you until you were straddling her waist in the middle of the bed without breaking the kiss. Jane whimpered a little as you manhandled her, her hands moving to the hem of your tank top and pulling it up your torso. You broke the kiss just long enough for her to pull the item over your head before your lips were attacking hers again, your leggings quickly following your shirt. Sliding your hands under her shirt, you gripped the waistband of her sweatpants, removing them and her underwear in one fluid motion. Her t-shirt was torn down the middle and haphazardly tossed somewhere in the room. 

You paused for a moment and sat up, marvelling at the beauty beneath you. God, she was a masterpiece. Ivory skin that seemed to glow in the dim evening light, pale freckles splattered across her chest and shoulders, icy blue eyes dark with want, thick, deep brown hair that seemed nearly black against the white sheets underneath her, and a perfectly toned body with small, perky breasts that were practically begging for attention. You growled, your lips and teeth abusing her neck and shoulders, leaving bite-marks and bruises for her to find for days after you were done with her while your hands palmed her breasts. Jane panted and squirmed beneath you, nails tearing down your back as he hand nestled itself in your hair again, tugging harshly and scratching at your scalp. 

“Please, y/n—God! I need you!” she whined, bucking her hips up towards you in search of some kind of friction.

“Miss me so much you’re needy already, hmm?” you teased, your mouth replacing one of your hands as you nipped harshly at her breast, causing Jane to release a low, near pornographic moan.

She opened her mouth to argue but, at that moment you plunged two fingers deep into her cunt and whatever she was about to say was replaced with a loud, broken moan. A steady string of “Ah, ah, ah”s fell from her lips as your digits pounded into her, your mouth moving to her other breast as your hand settled on her throat, squeezing gently. 

“Mh—feel so good, baby.” you muttered against her skin, slipping in a third finger when the first two began to move within her too easily. 

“Mph, please y/n, harder!” she cried as she felt her cunt streatch deliciously around your fingers, her nails digging painfully into your back and scalp as your digits slammed into her walls, “Yes! God, yes— Just like that—Ah!”

You tightened your grip on her throat a bit as you sat up, groaning at the sight of her cunt taking your fingers so deep that your wedding ring disappeared when you were fully inside of her, the titanium band coming out glistening with her arousal. Her cunt clenched around her fingers, her thighs tightening around your hand as she neared her climax but, just before she could fall over the edge, you pulled away. Jane went to complain, but the way your hand squeezed her throat in warning made her go silent. You licked your fingers clean, groaning at the taste of her on your skin. 

“Relax, baby. You’ll get what you want.” you assured, reaching into the drawer of your nightstand and retrieving your harness and favourite strap, “You’ve just gotta be patient.”

Jane bit her lip as she watched you attach the strap to your body. The black, 8-inch was not the largest she’d taken from you, but it was most certainly the thickest. She released a sound between a whine and a groan as you teased her with the tip, nearly screaming when you began to force it into her, your hand coming back to her throat. The silicone cock stretched her cunt to the point where Jane felt as if she was being split in two and she loved it, her body tightening as a searing heat spread through her as you buried the strap up to the hilt inside her, beads of sweat making Jane’s skin glisten. Once she gave you the go-ahead you set a harsh, ruthless pace, hard, deep strokes filling her cunt so well it was a wonder she didn’t cum right then. Your grunts and Jane’s screams filled the room and it was moments like this that you were especially grateful your house was in the middle of nowhere. No one but yourselves and the animals could hear you.

“Miss you so much, my lady,” you grunted as you thrust into her, one hand still on her throat, the other harshly gripping her hip, “Missed having your pretty little cunt stretched out around my cock—Fuck, baby, I missed you—!”

“M-missed you, t-too!” Jane stampered, her hands moving to your hips to help guide your thrusts, “Missed your touch—! M-missed you in me—Shit, y/n, please make me cum!! Wanna cum so bad—!”

“I know, baby. Just hold on a bit longer. You’re doing so well for me—” you praised as her hands moved from her hips, one grasping at the bedsheet, the other wrapping around your wrist. The black diamond on her wedding ring glinted in the light as her body jolted with each of your thrusts.

“Mmmh—Fuck, y/n! Please—please, keep going! ‘M so close—Shit, y/n! I-I’m—I’m gonna cum— pleasepleaseplease!”

“Just hold on a bit longer, baby.” you said, slowing down your movements just a bit and making Jane practically cry, “Just a bit more, my lady. You’re almost there.”

You removed your hand from her hip, sliding it down between her legs to rub gentle circles over her clit. Her whole body contracted with the added pleasure, shaking in desperate need of release.

“Y/N—!!”

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

“F-f-f-FUCK—!” Jane finished with a loud scream, legs tightening around your hips, back arching off the bed. Stars exploded behind her eyes and, for a moment, she couldn’t see. Her body felt as if she were floating as she relaxed back into the mattress, brain fuzzy and her mouth numb, her throat already burning from screaming so much. You slowed down as she rode out her high, stopping completely and taking a moment to admire just how ethereal she looked like this, skin flushed and slick with sweat, her head thrown back in euphoria, eyes scrunched tight and jaw slack. Slowly so as not to jostle or startle her, you reached out and cupped her face, gently stroking your thumb against her cheek.

“You did such a good job, baby.” you praised, releasing her throat as her eyes opened, unfocused and her pupils blown out, “Come on back to me, my lady. That’s it. I’m gonna pull out now, okay?”

Jane mumbled out a hoarse, “okay” and you slowly pulled out of her, the strap coated in her release. You removed the toy from your body and threw it on top of your clothes to be cleaned later, bending over and placing gentle licks and kisses over her bruising neck as you moved to position yourself on her thigh. 

“My turn.” you husked, lowering yourself onto her thigh, “You just lay back and relax, baby.”

Jane sighed when she felt your slick core against her skin, whimpering a little as you began to rock yourself against her. Watching her unravel beneath you had made you so pent up that it didn’t take you long until you were nearing an orgasm, your breath laboured and thighs shaking.

“Mm, you feel so good against me,” you groaned in her ear, leaning forward and changing her head with your arm, practically laying on top of her as you rutted against her thigh, “So perfect. And all mine.” 

Jane whined, nodding frantically, heavy arms reaching up to wrap around your shoulders. WIth a final snap of your hips, you came, smearing your slick across her skin and you moaned against her shoulder. Sighing, you sat up and kissed her, your fingers dancing over her stomach. 

“Think you can take one more, my lady?” you asked gently, your tone making it clear that she had the choice of saying no, “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Jane nodded and you smiled, kissing her again as you slid down her body, levelling your face with her soaked cunt. You licked a broad stripe up her slit, placing a gentle kiss to her clit, making Jane shudder. Smiling, you licked at her folds, slowly forcing your tongue deeper inside of her, your nose brushing against her bundle of nerves. Jane whimpered above you, hands threading into your hair to keep you in place. Still recovering from her past orgasm, it didn’t take you long to bring her to the edge again.

“P-please, y/n—” Jane muttered, tears slipping down her cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure, “uh-ah! I’m-I’m gonna—!”

“Go ahead, baby.” you whispered, plunging your tongue deep inside her. 

Jane came again with a shuddering moan, her release flooding your mouth and spilling down your chin. You lapped away at her release, cleaning her cunt with your tongue before moving up to kiss her again, sliding your tongue into her mouth so that she could taste herself on you. 

Pulling away, you climbed off of her, grabbed the strap, and padded off to the bathroom, cleaning yourself and the toy before returning with a warm washcloth, gently cleaning her thighs and burning folds. Taking the cloth and both of your clothes you set them in the hamper, handing her the water bottle on your nightstand as you set off all the lights except for your lamp. Once she’d drunk enough you helped her beneath the covers and crawled into bed beside her, covering her body with your own.

“Happy anniversary, Jane.” you muttered, kissing the back of her head. 

Jane hummed, releasing a large sigh before exhaustion overtook her and fell asleep. You smiled down at your wife, reaching behind you to shut off the lamp, welcoming the darkness as your eyes fluttered closed.

[axigailxo]

Pretty Like You | PJM (1)

part one: mini-skirts and big problems

— in which park jimin desires nothing more than to be pretty like you.

series summary. where jimin is jealous of the beauty that is you, writes about it, and falls apart when you accidentally read it.

pairing. feminine!jimin x reader

rating. M | 18+ |

genre. enemies to lovers, feminine!jimin, self hatred au, slight identity crisis, self love journey, eventual smut, sub!jimin, angst, fluff, heartfelt

w.c. 4.2k

warnings. heavy descriptions of self hate and self abuse later into the story, please be advised

ch summary. an introduction into the crumbling life of park jimin and his cat, daisy.

**this is part 1 of my new series pretty like you, not a stand-alone

series masterlist | next->

It’s horrendous.

Implausible, even.

No human being should’ve looked that good on a Monday. But of course, like always, you did. You always do.

Jimin has drawn the conclusion that there’s no way you’re naturally that stunning and you go the extra mile to get ready every morning. And he thinks it’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous that you’d get up an extra hour or two earlier just to show up to a class that only lasts a little over an hour where you’re just sat behind a desk the whole time.

But then again, Jimin appreciates your attire. So much so that he was able to memorize it from this morning’s lecture.

A dainty black miniskirt with a cami and cardigan that Jimin may or may not have a replica of, and the sheerest shade of pantyhose to really capture that sex appeal you love. Jimin has noticed, by now, that you try to add at least one sexy article to every single outfit you wear. Jimin notices, and Jimin hates it.

He hates that you can dress sexily without the fear of being judged, whereas for Jimin, it’s not so easy.

Tossing another cropped tee into the mountain of clothes piling on the floor, Jimin’s huff is quick to turn into something of a strangled cry as he collapses to the ground, back against the side of his bed.

As if on cue, a furry figure of a cat peaks into the doorframe, walking in proudly like it owns the place. At this rate, it does considering it’s always there to ease Jimin during these troubling times.

Daisy takes care of Jimin, and on occasion, it’s the other way around.

Daisy, Jimin’s calico cat, nudges her soft head against his arm that’s lazily slumped down, encouraging him to pet her. When he does, her purrs rev up like an engine and the small gesture is enough to steal a slight twitch of a smile from the man.

However, it doesn’t stop the oncoming sob.

Tears fresh and emotion at its highest, Jimin stays sat on the ground wearing nothing but the repulsive baggy sweatpants that he forced himself to wear only because it’s better to pretend he likes dressing that way than wearing what he actually likes and getting judged.

Jimin, believe it or not, is a coward. His words. He hates that he can’t just put the damn skirt on. He hates how he can’t bring himself to leave his apartment in that cute cropped tee that he bought ages ago and still has never worn.

He hates how he’s such a pussy when it comes to this.

But it’s not just skepticism. Jimin knows there’s not a lot of nice people out there, especially not at his college campus. Don’t get Jimin started on all the homophobic and pitiful words that frat boys have thrown at him so far in the span of his first year. And that was when he was wearing his clothes that he believed were seven sizes too big and awfully plain.

His “boy” clothes.

Jimin knows that in today’s society, you’re labeled. Weather you want to be or not, every passing stranger is going to label you as what they see. And with said frat boys, the ones with a single brain cell, if they ever saw Jimin wearing the clothes that he has piled in front of him— he’d fit their accusations.

Jimin was raised by only his mother, who was raised by only her mother and a sister. Jimin has had absolutely no male figure in his life so it’s not bizarre that his demeanor is more feminine than most men.

But people at school aren’t so smart, or nice. Therefore, Jimin isn’t just a boy who was raised by a woman, to them— he was just gay. Jimin hates how his demeanor is what chooses his sexuality. Because, contrary to those frat boys’ belief, Jimin is straight.

He may not know a lot about himself at the ripe age of 21, but he knows for sure that he’s not into men. Being a teen and liking things that the world tells you is for girls definitely made Jimin question his own sexuality time to time, but after a couple nights out at a gay bar and a two extremely awkward hookups, Jimin knew men weren’t up his alley. Especially not when the thought of women is what gets him off every single time.

He just wants to wear a damn skirt and have a girlfriend, is that really so much to ask for?

Daisy was able to sneak her way onto Jimin’s lap, already half asleep despite Jimin’s occasional jolts when he sniffles for air.

“Thank you Daisy,” he whispers, his fading cry turning into a soft giggle when the feline looks up at him, eyes glinting with a look that Jimin knows by now.

“Or are you just being nice to me because you’re hungry?”

Daisy continues to nudge her head against his chest, confirming his accusation and enticing Jimin’s first real giggle.

“Okay,” Jimin says in an exhale, more in an attempt to get ahold of himself. “Fine, let’s get you some food.”

The cat happily jumps off Jimin’s lap at the invitation, hurriedly exiting the bedroom and scurrying off to the kitchen before Jimin can even make it off the ground. When he does, he nearly trips on the mound of hopeless clothes, eyeing it over before trailing his vision to the standing mirror.

His eyes scan over his chest, down to his waist, and to his hips. He loves his shape, loves the way women’s clothing looks on him. It’s too bad no one will be able to appreciate it the way he does, though. It’s too bad he can’t show it off like he so badly wishes to.

Like how you do.

You get to dress in fitted clothing and show off your shape without an intense fear of getting judged or labeled. Jimin despises how blind you are to that advantage. He despises how badly he wishes he could be you for even a day.

Because for Jimin, he has to hide. Whereas for you, you’re allowed to be beautiful whenever you want.

Even on Mondays.

“What do you think, Daisy? Be honest.”

Peeling his eyes away from his reflection, he twists to show Daisy, who’s freshly awake from a nap, his outfit that he’s in love with.

A grumpy meow is all he gets before her eyes slowly shut again and Jimin scoffs in offense.

“Whatever, you just don’t have taste.”

Turning to face himself again, he bites back a smile as he snaps yet another mirror pic of himself, halting midway as he adjusts himself to sit on his knees. And it’s when the miniskirt rises up his thigh that he gets an idea.

Thigh highs.

A subtle gasp of excitement escapes the boy as he recklessly tosses his phone onto the bed— completely missing which makes him flinch in startle in response to the thud that followed. Navigating to his dresser, he ignores Daisy who clearly did not appreciate the sudden noise, and begins to dig in his scandalous drawer for the thigh high socks.

And yes, Jimin has something he calls his scandalous drawer. It’s for moments like these where he wants to add sex appeal to his outfit.

Kind of like how you do.

“There you are,” he murmurs under his breath as he takes hold of the long white fabrics. He doesn’t wait until he’s back in front of the mirror to put them on, sitting on the edge of his bed and hurriedly slipping the thigh high socks on.

Jimin just knows he looks good. He can feel it. He feels sexy, and he hasn’t even looked in the mirror yet. A miniskirt paired with thigh high socks and an open cardigan— no shirt.

And fuck does he feel good in it.

Not able to wait any longer he tiptoes to the mirror until he’s met with the figure he wishes the world could see.

Jimin loves his appearance, a lot. It’s just that the version he loves is only seen on rare occasions like this where he spontaneously decides to try his risky outfits on. No one else can or will see this version, and for that, Jimin’s self love is private. Almost invisible given how little he lets himself see it.

“Good call on the thigh highs,” he mumbles to himself, staring a little longer until he starts to notice all the imperfections. When he does, he’s quick to step away, landing himself back first onto his unmade bed that Daisy was way too content in.

“Move it, there’s room for both of us,” he tells her as she mopes over to the opposite side.

One hand behind his head, other on his stomach— toying with the ruffled hem of the skirt, Jimin stares at the ceiling as his nightly dose of thoughts kick in. And tonight, all he can really think about is how badly he wishes someone could see him. And if he’s lucky enough, earn a compliment or two. Maybe, if his luck was good, he’d be called pretty if someone saw him dressed like this.

But his luck has never been good.

It was his poor luck that made him be born into a rude and strict society. And he hates that. But what can he do? He’s just a person in this big world. He doesn’t believe his voice is loud enough for change. And even if it were, he’d still be too much of a coward to try.

It’s all one big tangled problem that he’s trapped in.

He’s only a freshman in college and he feels like the world is ending.

But does yours? Jimin wonders. For a long moment or two he ponders if you sometimes feel that way too. Of course it wouldn’t be for the same reason as him, but could there be something that weighs you down?

And if so, how the fuck do you mask it so easily with that bright smile of yours?

Maybe because you’re perfect, Jimin thinks.

So perfect that Jimin is laying on his bed wearing an outfit almost identical to the one you wore today all only because he thought it looked great on you. He wanted to feel great too.

He wanted to feel the way you probably do in such fragile clothing. Leaving absolutely nothing to imagination because that’s how brave you are. Jimin envies that. He wants that.

Bravery, of course— not you.

He wants to be brave enough to show some skin and go the whole day feeling good. Feeling confident and relieved. But that day won’t come, unfortunately. All he has is the privacy of his apartment to feel brave in these clothes.

But even when Jimin is hard on himself, that doesn’t stop him from wanting to just feel good sometimes.

And there’s no better way than this.

Somehow in the mix of his thought spiral his small fingers managed to drag his skirt up the length of his thigh, cold air traveling straight to his exposed tip.

He knew he wasn’t wearing underwear. He did that on purpose. Again, he wanted to feel good.

He wanted to feel sexy.

His fingers slide their way across his left thigh, getting higher and higher until his breathing is hitched and his bottom lip is raw.

But then he stops himself.

Quickly adjusting the skirt, he sits up with a sharp breath.

What was that?

It’s one thing to touch himself, he always does— everyone does. But he will not do such a thing with you fresh in mind. You already have some power over him. He won’t give you this as well. And It doesn’t matter if you know about it or not because he always will.

He already hates that he envies you so much, he will not envy you like this too.

You’re just an annoying, perfect, confident girl who has no idea how lucky she is. Jimin doesn’t envy that part. He just envies your fashion sense. That’s it.

All he needs is some sleep.

Hopefully when he wakes up, not only will his hard on be gone but so will you. Not a single thought of you will be in his mind from this point forward, Jimin declares to himself.

Let’s just hope you don’t find your way into his dreams.

Like always.

“Nice jacket.”

“You’re not funny.”

A subtle laugh escapes the man, playfully nudging Jimin which causes him to almost fall off the bench.

“Taehyung!” Jimin whines as he regains his balance on the tiny seat, crashing his hips into his friend’s on a mission to knock him down too.

He fails, earning another mischievous laugh from the man.

“Sorry. Now what were you saying you had to tell me?”

Sat in a corner table with Jimin’s one and only friend in their favorite campus cafe, Jimin sets his bag on the table and turns to face him.

“Hello to you too,” he scolds.

A boxy smile is given and before he can greet the fed up boy back he’s already talking.

“Last night,” Jimin begins, brows furrowed in half embarrassment half concentration. “Something weird happened.”

“Did Daisy catch you jerki—“

“Tae!” Jimin cuts him off in a whisper-shout, hoping no bystanders hear his unfiltered words.

“Joking. What happened last night?”

Jimin sighs as he tries to find his thoughts again. He had it all organized in his mind but his friend’s reckless banter has made it all the more scrambled and confusing.

To put it simply, Jimin doesn’t know how to tell his best friend that he thinks his crush made him hard last night.

Ah, yes. Kim Taehyung. His and Jimin’s friendship goes all the way back to freshman year of high school, also known as Jimin’s worse year ever. Endless bullying and his identity crisis at its peak, Jimin was so done with everyone and everything. That’s until one of the most popular boys in school took him under his wing.

Taehyung has been Jimin’s shield for almost five years now, defending him from every derogatory slur and glare from arrogant frat boys. And being a frat boy himself, Taehyung had most, if not all of those arrogant asshole’s respect. And with that being the case, they’d never disrespect Jimin in front of Taehyung.

And it’s nice having at least one friend to help him out, Jimin thinks.

The only underside is that his one friend has no clue about his secret and God only knows if he’d still accept Jimin if he did. And that he’s in the fraternity for fucks sake.

Also that he has a massive crush on you.

That may or may not be another reason Jimin doesn’t like you so much. You have the whole school wrapped around your finger, and unfortunately for Jimin, that includes his best friend.

“Hello? Earth to Jimin,” Taehyung tries to get the older boy’s attention.

Blinking himself back to space, he shakes his head as he discards where he was going with the conversation.

“I forgot.”

“Bullshit.”

“I did,” Jimin rolls his eye, snatching Taehyung’s coffee and taking an obnoxiously big sip to shift the attention away from what he originally had to say.

Taehyung doesn’t believe him, but he respects Jimin enough to not pry.

“Whatever. Just know you can tell me anything.”

“Yeah yeah,” Jimin shakes off.

And he knows that. Taehyung may be friends with all of those terrible guys who’ve made Jimin’s life hell, but he’s still good to him. Believe it or not Jimin has had many other issues that weren’t about his secret, and with each one Taehyung was the one who provided him a shoulder to cry on.

They’re close enough to joke about all the things Jimin gets bullied for. Like his jacket for example, it’s the same one he wears probably three days out of the week. It’s big and ugly but Jimin thinks it’s boyish so he wears it. Anything to hide. The frat boys still give him shit for it, though. But Taehyung loves it, and he thinks the hate it gets is so ridiculous that he himself teases Jimin about it occasionally. And Jimin finds it funny when it’s Taehyung who teases him, because he knows it’s coming from a place of close friendship. Unlike those other frat boys.

But despite how close they are, he knows he can’t talk about his secret, or you with Taehyung. That’s the one part of him he’d like to keep tucked away for as long as he can endure.

“Alright, well I’m gonna get going. I told Johnny I’d meet him at the dorms so we can get a session in before class.”

“Smoking is bad for you,” says Jimin as he rolls his eyes.

“So is sulking, lift your head up Minnie,” Taehyung massages at Jimin’s shoulder for a second or two before he gets up and grabs his stuff.

“I’m not sulking.”

“You’re always sulking,” The younger man teases as Jimin swats his hand off of his shoulder. “We’ll talk later?”

Jimin hums in what Taehyung assumes is agreement, ruffling his hair before making his way over to the door of the cafe. A grumpy Jimin is left behind fixing his hair, gathering his stuff too so he can head to class early.

Nothing beats the stares he gets as many students still, to this day, wonder how on Earth Taehyung is friends with him. It’s fucked up, really, but Jimin is used to it.

He’s used to favoritism in the school, and Jimin groans as he realizes he’ll be seeing more of it for the next hour or so that he’ll be seeing you in class.

But he can’t seem to figure out if he’s more excited to see you than he is annoyed.

Jimin is furious.

Nothing new, except that this feeling of anger isn’t rooted from jealousy or insecurity— It’s because you rejected his kindness.

Jimin, like many, were eyeing your outfit. It’s dainty and may even be the prettiest shade of baby blue Jimin has ever seen. So when he forced himself to smile your way when you caught him staring, he did not expect an eye roll from you. But nonetheless, it happened, and Jimin hates you a little bit more now.

Jaw clenched and eyes piercing lasers into the big clock on the far wall of the lecture hall, Jimin counts down the seconds until he’s able to free himself from this torturous environment. Until he frees himself from you.

When the clock does hit the desired time, he’s the only student to stand up— earning him several stares which only makes him angrier, and with little to no more patience left he’s walking out the doors on a mission to channel this frustration.

Past the corridor and straight to the art room— also known as the room that’s almost always empty because why is there an art class in a writing school in the first place— Jimin slams his bag down on the first desk he sees and sits himself down.

Why couldn’t you prove him wrong?

Why couldn’t you just have smiled back?

You just had to roll your eyes when Jimin didn’t even like you in the first place. If he had it his way he would’ve snapped profanities the moment your eyes met. But he’s not a monster. He’s polite.

So polite that he smiled your way and now regrets it miserably.

Jimin can’t stand you now.

Grabbing a random notebook from his bag, he does what any angry writing major would do and begins to jot down all the many reasons he hates you, all in the form of scattered thoughts.

Conceited.

Privileged.

Spoiled.

All words that are used quite frequently in his paragraph of scribbled rage.

Beautiful.

Unique.

Mesmerizing.

All words that he hates to admit but must include because they’re the reason he hates you like he does.

Jimin goes on and on for a while writing nothing but blunt absurdities that are simple and cuts straight to the point, majority of them being repetitive I hate you’s. It’s not until he finds himself at the peak of frustration that it all boils down to an ache within him.

Jimin thinks about why you anger him so much. He thinks about that outfit he could’ve worn today if only he wasn’t so scared. Then, Jimin writes down every raw, painful feeling he has.

Why do you have to be so beautiful? Why can’t I be like you? I often wonder if you think about my predicament. I wonder if it ever crosses your mind that I’m even one percent envious of you. When I think about that, it hurts even more.

I wish you knew I was hurting because of you.

You don’t know me well. I hardly know you. But what I’m certain of is that you’re the most beautifully ignorant person I’ve ever come across and I do hope one day you’ll realize how blind you are.

You’re blind to your reality of easiness. It’s not easy for me. I can’t wear that shade that you do. Can’t wear a shirt so low cut like that either. Because for me, I’m expected to dress like someone I’m not.

This isn’t me.

And I think I may hate you most because I see the real me in you. That courageous being who doesn’t even think twice about breaking the rules of my gender; that’s the real me. Although I hate both versions of me because neither of them have helped me out of this suffocating barrier.

I want to be me.

I wish you weren’t you.

I want to be you.

A slam of a period is what concludes the built up momentum, pencil flying across the desk as he slouches back in his chair with an exhale. He skims over the words that are quite dark since he was applying significant pressure. He vaguely reads some words until he’s not in the mood to think about any of it anymore and closes the journal shut.

And although he didn’t reread that essay of his, the last sentence still can’t seem to leave his mind.

Even if it’s just for a moment, he wants to be you.

Racing down the long hall of the unnecessarily large school, his strides echo off the walls as his heartbeat is ten steps ahead of him.

He should’ve never written that journal, he thinks.

He should’ve never left it in class either.

The passing of two more doors is all it took until he was standing out of breath in the threshold of what he hoped would be an empty classroom, the journal that he was going to grab and go no longer being in the spot he had left it.

His heartbeat almost fails him, legs buckling as his thoughts falter.

He knows it’s you. He knows your figure. He also knows that you’re standing there, reading his journal full of absurd remarks about how he wishes he were you.

Jimin wants to die. He wants it all to just dissipate. But before the boy can erase what he just walked in on, you turn around.

Journal open in your hand, your eyebrows are furrowed and Jimin doesn’t know if he can withstand that look of genuine concern on your face.

He also doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad look.

“I’m not gay,” he helplessly throws his panicked words up.

Slightly less confident, having used up all his energy on those three words, he manages to follow up, “…if that’s what you’re thinking.”

And the giggle that escapes you despite what you just read, the cruel things he wrote about you even though you did absolutely nothing but be beautiful, Jimin notes how badly he’s fucked up.

“It’s not,” you respond, slowly closing the journal, eyes following.

It’s while you’re still looking down that you decide to ask your first question.

“Listen, Jimin,” you bring your eyes up, tone a little too concerned for his liking. “Do you want to talk?”

Talk.

“Those things you wrote, it’s just—“ you stop yourself. “I know you didn’t mean for anyone to read it but from what I saw I think you need someone to help you learn to be kinder to yourself.”

Jimin opens his mouth to talk only to close it when he realizes he doesn’t know how to respond.

“I know it’s none of my business and I’m sorry for reading, but I don’t want you to feel like that. Let me help you.”

Jimin feels like a villain in a movie. He feels like the worst possible character there could ever be. He feels like a bad person. Because there he was all this time, writing about how much he hates you for being you, and here you are now, asking him to accept your help seconds after you just read everything.

The world does not deserve someone like you, he thinks. He does not deserve someone like you.

But as much as he feels unworthy, he’s never been more excited at the opportunity to get to know you. To have you there beside him on this new journey of self love.

“Okay,” he accepts, voice quiet and still embarrassed.

“Okay,” you repeat, smile big and hope at its highest.

Okay.

~~~

a/n: part one of a new seriesss les mf goooo (i missed writing so much omg, hope y’all like this one im vry excited abt it 🥹) ALSO part 2 isn’t as confusing lmao, it’s always difficult to clearly start out a series :/ pero i promise it’ll make more sense along the road :)

🏷️: @exactlygreatcoffee @sweetieguk @ctrlsht @blessrious @someusername133 @dreamer-pjm @zadkielr @dearsullix @lailaaxd @osakis-gf @jnghs @seltansworld @bxnqtxnie @moon-kid39

taglist = open, let me know if you’d like to be added <3

[aconflagrationofmyown]

K-Rations: make me know it, go ahead and show it

a Sarge and lil Mama fic, the long anticipated sequel to D-Rations

The sequel to D-Rations: or the one where Elaine realizes she’s in love with her husband and takes measures to make certain no such silliness as the miscommunication in the last chapter will ever come between them again

Warnings: 18+ smut, free use, adoring objectification of a husband??, overstimulation, lactation kink, slight sub space (male), angry makeup sex, cum feeding, communication issues and LOVE

Coauthored with the inimitable @prompted-wordsmith who’s initial prompt for this months ago launched a thousand ships 💋

Elvis had a very clear memory of being fifteen years old and dragging his heels every inch of the mile and a quarter from school to home one overcast day. Scuffing and meandering his way back to his family’s apartment in the Courts and dawdling on the steps outside, flirtin’ with the girls and begging his cousin Gene to get him a glass of water from inside.

“Get it yourself.” Gene had grumbled, till he caught sight of the shiner underscoring the swelling below one of Elvis’ blazing azure eyes.

Gene was a good fella and got that glass of water for him and brought it to him from the Smithe’s upstairs apartment and thusly Elvis had bought about forty five minutes of extra time before Gladys came out and caught sight of the damage done to her son’s face.

It was hard, Elvis thought then, balancing his understanding of his mama’s dread of any harm coming to him with the very dire need to exert himself or else get run over entirely in the harsh crucible of high school.

He’d been punched, and so he punched right back. And tomorrow would be better for it, ugly bruise marring his face, nonetheless. It was the sort of taking care of business womenfolk just couldn’t quite grasp, and he had felt some fiery exasperation that any reasoning was owed them at all for how a man conducted himself outside the female domain. It wasn’t them getting punched, was it? So why should they object if he punched and got punched? Just a fella taking care of business, best he knew how.

Elvis chafed under the nagging familiarity that trudging home to Elaine this fine European evening brought to mind. He thought of trudging home to mama. No shiner this time, just an arm still warm from being hung on by other women and half-baked good intentions he had no idea how to make her understand.

The cobblestone blocks home from the corner diner had never seemed so short and the crowd of fans to impede him so thin. He oughta be rushing home and assuring Elaine that he missed her and that he was just bein’ gentlemanly and givin’ her a lil breather after all the use he put her to since she got over here. But none of that explained the reason she fled as soon as she caught sight of him—or so Rex had told him. Told him she bolted right away. Elvis had never seen Elaine bolt, and just last week he’d seen her hold her ground like never before with those two harlots, Susan and Doris.

It gave Elvis a horrid, queer sorta feeling it had to do with the waitresses that he’d gotten a lil friendly with. Elaine had never minded before but now felt different and like he was in the wrong somehow. He just didn’t know how and before long he’d be at the front gates and he oughta be delighted he was almost home after such a long day. It’s all he wanted, to go home and be with his little family.

Really, he swore it was, so much so he was heartsick with it. And yet he dawdled like a naughty child outside the perimeter of his own fence, half expecting Elaine to embody Mama, to come out from their Bavarian style home wielding a broom handle and switch his backside for bad behavior, crowd of fans be damned.

He really got a little sick at the way his pulse thumped at that thought and his blood ran south in hardening interest. Wasn’t that the reason for this whole little snafu? The fact he couldn’t think of Elaine in any capacity without wanting her and taking her and wanting and taking and over and over again it went.

Bruised petals and dusty window sills.

What if she’s done with me?—he thought suddenly in a panic—what if she’s done and I blew my last chance to make her love me? They’d gotten into such a nice little patch of domesticity since she’d been here, withdrawals and torrid sex and diaper laden trash cans not withstanding… or maybe that was all crucial to it. He’d felt at home and he felt like she had begun to really feel that way with him and just last week he’d finally heard her lay claim to him. It made him want to dance around like a child and wring his cock out like a teenager. He’d done the latter, then fled from her for days, afraid of how much he was feeling, afraid to ask if she was finally feeling it too.

He’d started leaving a bit early, mumbled excuses of “Don’wanna be late, Laney baby, y’know how rowdy them German girls can get outside,'' hopping into the car quickly so she might not notice how he’d gotten a little wide-eyed and weepy down below at watching her in her apron and heels swish around the kitchen. Elvis had taken up invitations to dinner he’d normally scoff at with the boys, he’d started doing more PT to “get back in shape, gotta make sure I’m right fit to run after the new babes, reckon they’re gonna be trouble wit’ a capital T, Tink,” to explain away the bags under his eyes. Didn’t matter that none of their babies were running much of anywhere. Elvis was certain she didn’t deserve the truth, the truth that he was wringing himself dry in the empty showers on base after sweating and huffing out all the energy he couldn’t put to use on her. That was just it, wasn’t it: he had used her, for his own selfish problems he’d gotten into himself, and now he had to rectify that.

Only now, now he was sure that had been the worst thing he could’ve done. That there was yet another mistake somewhere in there he needed to fix. He imagined her coming and and whooping him, but as the door remained shut and the fans dispersed his stomach felt like lead as he imagined her giving him a haughty silent treatment, one he’d never experienced from her but imagined she’d be damned good at from the way she handled their daddies’ bickering. He wouldn’t be able to handle her mask of politeness towards him, all the while she was probably packing a bag and deciding she was finished with him. And oh, God above!

The very notion of that scenario set him ablaze with ferocity and actually quickened his steps as if he was jogging headlong into the house to dissuade his wife from up and leaving him after their first arguem—no. They hadn’t even had an argument or anything, he realized numbly. They actually hadn’t been talking much. Not this last week. Not with all his early mornings and extra time on base and piddling around town—

He wrenched his key into the lock, already angry at her for something she hadn’t done (it was easier than being angry at himself and more commanding than turning into a blubbering idiot begging her to stay) and threw open the door of his house, ready to have it out. Put her over his knee, remind her she could never take his babies away from him, threaten her with the law. Maybe manage to say he was sorry somewhere in there, too.

Fried chicken. That’s what struck him first, the smell of genuine lard baptized breading wrapped around tender white meat. His knees knocked together at the sentimental potency of it. Every surface in sight was damn near sparkling, and he almost felt guilty for putting his shoes on the doormat.

Silence. That hit next. No babble of babies or the radio, no laughter from Dodger and Elaine gossiping to the staccato chop chop chop of something fresh they were gonna force him to eat. Quiet, except for the click of the stove element coming on and off. It was a clear shot from the front door through to the sitting area and onto the long kitchen and dining room that ran along the back of the house, he could see the whole empty space of it and yet through that panic inducing emptiness he noticed the steam rising from one of the pans. She’d never be so foolish as to leave the stove on while leaving the house. Not unless she was madder than he anticipated and wanted to burn their home down.

He shook his shoulders out at the admiring terror that zapped through him with that thought and gingerly undid his uniform coat. Pegs, his little wife had pegs by the door and there, hung in a row, was the mink coat he’d bought her from a magazine while separated, then there was Jesse’s little coat and Ella’s white one with the pink trim. He turned towards them and hung up his military jacket beside her mink. Mommy and daddy and baby and baby number two’s, all in a row.

There’d be two more before next Christmas, god help them.

Elaine’s voice ringing bright and clear right behind him and just at his ear level, spooked him terribly bad outta his domestic reverie,

“Oh excellent,” she drawled as she observed with cool detachment as he clutched the back of his head that had knocked against a peg in his flail, “Perfect timing, dinner’ll be ready in about an hour or so,”

She informed him of this cheerily. As if he hadn’t been coming home too late for dinner or ought else this past week and hope flared in his heart till she reached out and gripped his army green tie, untucking it from between the buttons, and Elvis would deny the little shudder that went through him at the way the fabric slid past his chest. He didn’t have much time to think on it, anyway, as Elaine started to haul him bodily forward towards the sitting area, using all the strength she had amassed by carrying their children and their carriers and their luggage and their hampers about, using it all against him. “In the meantime,” she went on and he found himself tripping over his boots to keep up and watching the curls at the back of her head bounce, “I find myself in need of my husband’s services.”

Services? His brain doesn't reckon much more than the wonderful happening of being hauled around by his tie like a hound on a leash and the smell of that southern cookin’ in the kitchen. There’s a chaise lounge under the front window in the sitting area to the right of the door and it looks like she’s towing him there and while his brain tries to reconcile her kind tone with her rough hands, his cock certainly picks up on the subtext undergirding the notion of services. He’s afraid he hears himself whine at the tug on his neck and when she throttles him and spins him and drags him to sit down on the chaise his mind has gone fuzzy, he’s so utterly knocked off his moorings. Knocked off his feet, too, in a turn of events—only it’s not a turn, is it, really? When he’d first begged to make her his wife he’d gotten on his knees then, too, and suddenly that whole scene is put into a more lecherous context that only makes his head spin more, makes him slump, limp-limbed, onto the cushions. Services.

“Dinner smells great, Laney,” he began to defend himself, pacify her or just blurt out any ole thing that’ll get him off the hook, out of the cloud in his head. But she gripped his face instead, fingers digging into his cheeks and with a rush of relief he understood that this face looking down on him wasn’t the face of a woman done with him—she was furious, rather.

Furious meant she cared. Furious resembled mama. Mama had cared so damn much, no one had come close until this blazing eyed goddess slapped his face and shook him by his jaw while seething,

“You’re my goddamn husband, Elvis!” shake shake shake, his head knocked back with the vehemence of her passion, cover falling to the cushions and then the floor as he was forced to lay back into his seat with her vehemence, cheek smarting. His heart was soothed by it even as his hair fell into his eyes and his jaw ached, “You aren’t some hunk of meat that other gals get to paw at and lay claim to while you leave me without so much as a word in the mornings or a prayer at night! You hear me?”

She still hadn’t let go of his tie with her other hand. It was strangling him most pleasantly, starched collar chafing, and his voice was wrecked when he tried to agree, “Yes, yes’m I-I-I know…” through the squish of his forcefully pouted lips. He knew and he was aware now where he had gone wrong, though he wondered at her missing him at all, wasn’t everyone eager to get a breather from his presence?

“Haven't I been accommodatin’?” she begged instead and sounded so very hurt even as she drew him out of his pressed slacks with a stern hand, slacks she’d ironed patiently the night before—hard as rock and gushing appreciatively already. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, fumbling for some sort of grip on the edge of the chaise. It seemed almost blasphemous to touch her right now. She’s all a mix of vulnerable and ruthless this evening and his heart pounds in his ears at the sight of this side of her again, a righteous goddess. Unleashed on him, this time. Just as he’d fantasized about a week ago while helping himself with his own fist.

“Yes yes always, baby, always so damn selfless, I had to get away. Had to pace myself.” he swore in a rush, suddenly needing her to understand the devotion welling up in his chest as she paused for the briefest moment in shuffling her crinoline aside.

He watched as Elaine’s eyebrow quirked in comprehension, the angry set of her mouth gentling before her body sprang back into action and she dropped down on him with groan-inducing entitlement. He wheezed, realizing there was no cotton chafing at little Elvis—Elaine wasn’t wearing panties.

“That’s why you're bein’ so cold?” she beat on his chest as she began to rock on him and all too late he really believed that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. “You got time for buddies and waitresses but you won’t so much as touch me these last few days. Why? Why?” Her pretty face was twisted into a snarl.

The grip on his tie got mortally tight with each demand as did her pussy around him and he found he was going very fuzzy and he’d like to explain, tried to through a series of whimpers comprising her name and apologies of various coherence. She began to ride him with all the ferocity of a woman, a wife scorned, her own eyes boring into his. It’s all too much, too quick, the furniture creaking below them as he thrusts his hips up into her, meeting her every swivel and grind. Home, he’s home, and his body melts at that comfort, he was already leaking, can hear the squelching as he’s fucked on this proper chaise, her skirts still pressed and curls perfectly pinned, her chest constrained in her bodice. There’s nothing visual for him to latch onto, aside from that fiery stare. It’s as if he’s just there for her, and a whine escapes him as he realizes he’s being used. A whimpering apology of, “‘M sorry baby, ‘m sorry Laney!” falling from his lips, still held captive in her hands.

“Sorry?” Elaine hisses, all flashing teeth and taunting sneer, “I don’t want you just sorry, I want what’s mine, I want you to want me again! I don’t reckon you’re sorry enough, not with the way you seem too distracted by passing floozies in waitress uniforms to come home to us.”

“I am home!” And his own verbal dam breaks since that first time he saw that side of her, right on this very chaise, “Jesus, lil mama, only you get me, only you—’m yours, darlin’, I love you, love ya, won’t let them get handsy no more—Satnin’, my Satnin!”

And that last endearment is what gives Elaine pause, makes her realize that Elvis… her husband…really does love her. This is the first time he’s used that sacred name for anyone else since Lovie—Miss Gladys—died, God rest her soul. She’s in a league of her own in his mind, up there with the angels and the heavenly host. Now Elaine’s numbered among them. She can’t help the clench of her little house, the gasp she lets out, squeezing at Elvis’, her husband’s, her husband who loves her’s, key. She attacks him with little kisses, all over his dreamy, pretty, infuriating face. She leaves little smudges of her lipstick that make something in her chest, that had been wound tight over this whole neglectful business, unwind ever so slightly.

Elvis gasps out as she flutters over his face, dotting him with her adoration and he—he jus’—he can’t hold it in no more. His relief started in the eyes and sizzled down his spine, he started to cum, head tilting back, tears languishing his lash line as he was wrung dry by her yittle cunt.

“No more, no more, I swear!” he promised good behavior and begged for a reprieve from the bouncing clench of her all at once. He reached out with grabby hands, trying to maybe pull her off, pull her up his chest so he might use his mouth—but he was unceremoniously slapped away. She didn’t stop her bouncing, caring not a whit as he whimpered and gasped and twisted his hands into the poor chaise cushions, the same cushions he’d seen her be just as mean to those nasty women on.

“No,” Elaine said, staring down at him with stern good humor as if he was a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “No, Naughty, you’re gonna sit there all nice and pretty, my own pretty soldier boy, for me, baby. And you’re gonna let me use you, this time.”

Oh, oh Lordy she was a vision as she clenched around his soft cock, lil hole hungry as she worked those thighs he knew were under her dress. Only he couldn’t see, and that extra layer of, of decency when he was being so thoroughly disregarded as anything other than a part of the furniture made something in him drift away. He felt hazy all over, breaths shallow little pants through his mouth, tiny whimpers the only thing he could manage through the tie, the hand on his face, and the feeling of—

“‘M sorry, s’sor-ry, ah! ‘M yours, ‘m yours!” As he felt himself starting to chub up within her. It was agonizing, made him writhe, turn his head away and sob because she wasn’t stopping.

“We share everythin’, Elvis!” she insisted, some portion of this hurt forming in her conciseness, punctuated by her loneliness and isolation, the amount of friendship and companionship she had given up for him.

A faint sheen of sweat painted Elaine’s temples as she did all the work, using the hand on his face to plant on his shoulder for leverage, just as he taught her that first night. Just thinking about it, thinking of how she’d babbled praises at him then—he became fully hard again soon enough, body betraying him, responding to the wet softness surrounding his cock. Even that least clever part of him knew when he was home. He was jerked like a stallion by his reins to look at her again, look at how she’d used the other hand, now, to bury under her dress and play with her lil button. She clenched like a fury around him, staring right into Elvis’ eyes as she ground down, hard, and came herself all over his dress pants and cock, squeezing him raw.

He couldn’t help the extra babble of, “p’ease, mama, p’ease, n’more!”

“You sit there like a good boy, E, you sit there and be good,” Elaine was panting to him, only he was sure that he couldn’t, he wasn’t good, was he? Not after the way she’d slapped him, didn’t deserve her soft praise, he had been bad, so bad—

“‘M not good! S’s-sorry, ‘m not…!” He bucked his hips up into her, wiggling, trying to get her off of him, only Elaine was an experienced rider and remained unphased by his squirming. She was used to wiggly little boys, Jesse being much the same as his father.

“You can be a good boy, baby, you can,” and she was being so mean, so mean, even as she pet at his cheek and neck, smearing slick onto his pulse, using one curled finger to tip his head back and admire the long line of his shining throat and cooed at him. “You jus’ gotta take it, baby.”

“No! No-no-n-no!” Elvis whined, trying again to arrest her movement, stop her working thighs as he felt himself teeter close to that edge again, the sloppy slick-slap as she resumed her pace and slammed down onto his hips, circling her own, driving him into full on crying. His Adam’s apple bobbed with the repetitive swallows as he tried to stop himself from drooling. Tears glittered on his cheeks but all Elaine did was kiss them away, kiss at his slack mouth as he wailed.

“You can yowl like a feral tomcat all ya want, Naughty, you’re not goin’ nowhere,” Elaine panted, picking up her pace again, using one hand to wrench into his hair, sweat-damp and mussed. Elvis came again just as she ground against him harshly, the pain in his scalp triggering his pleasure.

He lost a little time, coming to only to sniffle as he was fed her fingers, sticky with her cum, with his cum that had leaked out around where they were joined, the sharp-salty tang, still trapped under her in the best and worst way.

“You’re mine, Elvis,” Elaine stated then, sitting primly still on his lap, “Before God almighty above, you’re mine first and foremost.”

He nodded, cried out, “Yes, yes’m, yes m-mama, thank you,” like he was taught, the polite little gentleman, grateful for the respite even if she was still keeping him inside her. He could feel the wet stickiness on his trousers, getting a little uncomfortable but not daring to squirm, lest her mercy not last. “I don’t want any more of this abstinence nonsense. I don’t want you running off with some German trollops while you neglect your wife, ya hearin’ me, husband?” Elaine decreed.

“‘M sorry,” Elvis breathed out, reaching for her waist again cautiously. She allowed his hands to settle on her tummy, to palm the growing bump there. She pulled him up by the tie, cradling his head to her bosom, and he nosed at her pretty tits within her dress subconsciously. He—he didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted, not when he felt so small. Was it allowed? Did he do good enough?

“You want somethin’, daddy?” Elaine hummed, and he shuddered at the gentle tone and the scritch of her perfectly manicured nails through his hair and down the back of his neck. They dipped beneath his shirt collar, teased at the knob of his spine.

“I don’—don’ deserve it,” he confessed, coming out of his hiding spot under her chin to look up at her through his lashes, tear-spiked and trembling. “I’ve—been bad.”

“Shh,” Elaine simpered, unbuttoning her house dress and letting the front placard fall, her breasts already leaking from her exertions as she then drew him in, one hand on the back of his head and the other still ever-present on his tie. “You’ve been good to me now, haven’t you, Elvie-baby? We understandin’ each other thorough, now?” She tilted his chin up, tone becoming uncompromising at the last question. He was quick to nod, panting again, sticky trousers forgotten in the face of lip-licking longing.

“I need your words, honey,” Elaine called, drawing his attention back to her pretty face.

“Yes’m, mama, been good, I’ll—I’ll be s’good, for you,” Elvis said, chin quivering, looking bout ready to burst back into tears, face smeared with Elaine’s lipstick and the subtle shine of salt—the evidence of this long-winded kiss and make up.

“Perfect, perfect man.” Elaine murmured, pulling him back, and Elvis immediately latched on, moaning into her nipple as milk gushed into his mouth, dribbled down his chin, getting caught on his tight shirt collar. His lashes tickled her, a little “Hoo—ah!” from the voracious suction of his mouth, so much stronger than her babies’.

“There you go, there’s my pretty husband. My husband, my messy boy,” she crooned into his hair, biting her lip as she clenched around his still-soft member within her. She was sore, hadn’t taken her husband in days because of his own self-sacrificing tendencies, as she understood it, and was revelling now in the openness, the squelch of his seed spilling out of her. She pulled at Elvis’ hair, guiding him to the other nipple, him seemingly not noticing her start to rock gently on him yet again, feeling the slow-building heat come back to her belly. It was nice, this soft, squishy thing inside her—a chastened lil Elvis that soothed the ache while bringing her closer to the edge.

“Shh, baby,” she panted, starting to rock in earnest as she felt him come to life under her, jerking up, wringing at the pooling fabric of her skirt around her hips. He mewled against her breast, no longer really suckling, just open-mouthed smears of what might be kisses as he was so cruelly put to service yet again. Only this time it was better, because the milk smearing his face was hers, the shade of red she wore smudged down his cheekbones, paving the way for the two new twin tracks of tears as she started bouncing in earnest. He made only small little sounds, nuzzling into her like a kitten, bucking up as if he couldn’t help the movement despite the way it made his pretty face twist into pleasure-pain agony.

“One more,” Elaine decided, allowing herself to be greedy as she looked at the clock on the mantlepiece, “You give me one more now, my good boy, my husband, you give me one more spurt from that pretty cock and then I’ll feed ya, feed you up with a good m-meal, hmm? How does that s—ah!—sound?”

“Ma…ma,” was the only response she got, slurred from plump, shiny red lips, like the sweet cherries she might find in the summertime back in Memphis. His head lolled back, the only thing keeping him semi-upright the ironclad grip she had on his tie still. Couldn’t stop herself from kissing him, then, licking into his mouth and tasting her own milk. It was a heady feeling, made her thrust down harder, wanting to leave bruises on his pelvis like he did with her hips. It made all her worries disappear, seeing Elvis like this, so relaxed and accommodating, letting her use him up until he was dry and weeping, looking for all the world like a little boy—her little boy.

“Downright angelic,” Elaine gasped, admiring the cut of his cheekbones, the deepening of his flush, if that was possible, as he arched his back and met her downward bounce with a buck up. Wiggly as always. She unbuttoned the bottom of his own shirt, rucking up his undershirt, too, until she could see his own nipples—and she pinched them like he did hers, which made him let loose a whimpering cry and finally jerk hard enough to get her to release his tie for fear of truly choking him. He pulsed within her, hands clenching in a grip round her swollen waist as he gracelessly shoved up into her, once, twice, and she tipped over the edge from his vigor and the picture he made—

His jaw sharp as glass, smeared with her own slick and the white of his cum from when she’d fed him their combined releases, along with the milky cream of her breastmilk. Her lipstick prints nigh on disappeared into the decadently red blush that painted him all the way down to his heaving belly, interrupted by the scrunch of his undershirt at his collarbones and the still-buttoned dress shirt collar, the tie that was so useful flipped up and over his shoulder. His chest, his pecs so nicely defined, topped by frankly temptingly perked nipples. Those pretty blue eyes were neon-bright against the contrast of his flushed face, slack lipped and drooling. He stared at her as if she was something to be worshiped. This—this was hers, her Elvis. Only she would ever get to see this pretty picture, Elaine swore to herself, petting at his chest, flicking at one berry-bright areola. He barely twitched under her, gone quiet and pliant in a way that would worry her if he didn’t look so utterly blissed out. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was on some of them pharmaceuticals, by the glaze in his blown-pupiled eyes.

“Elvis, you with me, baby?” Elaine called, taking his chin in hand. His neck was limp, and all she got at first was an utterly drunken smile up at her, open-mouthed and guileless. It made her want to cradle him back to her chest, protect the utter innocence he exuded as he asked,

“Y’s’m?”

“Hey there, pretty boy.” She wasn’t quite sure where this all had come from, maybe some part of her recognizing the way he’d shuddered on their wedding night at her gentle attentions. Watching him fight and fight and fight his impulse to let himself be taken care of -the forcefully surrendering way he took care of her- took care of her babies, their friends, his fans, the whole goddamn world seemingly needing a piece or a part of him.

Well, he was wrung dry here and now on her chaise lounge, nothing more to give and she petted the tear wet cheek she had so vehemently slapped. This is what she could give him, she could give him a moment of weakness, everyone needs it from time to time. But, still—this had been a lot, and while she was doing mighty fine herself, Elvis was barely coherent and it worried her.

“You ready for some chicken, baby? I made some good, country fried chicken, jus’ for you, been so good for me,” Elaine let herself babble a soft stream of praises and thoughts, gently prying Elvis’ hands off her hips, holding them in one hand to kiss them before she used the other to leverage herself up and off of his soft cock, a wet gush of their combined fluids absolutely soaking him as she did. Another set of words welled up in her throat, three words that she wanted to say to him. But not right now. Not now, but soon.

“Yes’m,” he said, demurely staring up at her as she stood on wobbly feet, crinoline crinkling as she smoothed it out. Elaine was careful to keep one of her hands in his, because she had the feeling that this was not the time to deprive him of contact. Not the time to do anything but be gentle, to assure and coddle.

“You and I are gonna go clean up,” she said, taking another glance at the clock to make sure that yes, she could leave the chicken on its lonesome for a good thirty minutes so she and him could wash up. “C’mon, we made ya so messy, you’re real messy right now, honey.”

“‘M a messy boy,” Elvis giggled, beaming up at her, following her tug like a fawn—all too-long, elegant limbs, and big, shiny eyes. She led him up the stairs, his trousers undone and smeared all down the crotch to his knees with their mess, their hands clutched together as if they’d get lost without some sort of tether. And, as she guided him into the bathroom, gently tugging off his boots and then his pants, his dress shirt and then his undershirt, she had the sneaking suspicion he might just manage to wander somewhere if she wasn’t careful.

She briefly thought of the bath, but no, a washcloth would have to do—the chicken wouldn’t last much longer without her attentions, and she wanted her hard work to go into her man’s belly rather than to the stray dogs outside.

So she ran warm water and wiped him down, leaving his rumpled, stained clothes in the bathroom in favor of guiding him into their bedroom and to the clothes she habitually laid out on the counterpane. Elvis still wore a childish, empty-headed expression, all pretty face and guileless baby blues that made her heart flip. But the chicken—so she asked, carefully, “Baby, can you dress yourself? I gotta check on dinner.”

That was a mistake, a misstep, judging by the way his glistening chest started to heave in a panic and his eyes started to water afresh. “Y’yer leavin’ me?” he slurred out of puffy, shiny lips.

“No, no!” she rushed to get it out, holding onto him again and gently guiding him to sit down on the bed -the bed she’d watched him wring himself out on a week ago- “I’ll stay, I’ll stay.” she repeated, at a loss as to how to comfort him beyond touch and all her ire gone out of her at the sight of his limb shaking terror. She was still new to this, they both were. New and a little lost and they had to keep ahold of each other or they’d float away. Damn the chicken.

That was the problem wasn’t it? They needed to share everything. Solitary children, the both of them, and now they had each other. It made each separation or fissure in their shared experience a doubly worse betrayal because of it. That was Elaine’s chief complaint against him this week, it never was about other women, it was about the separation, the estrangement, the uncoupling.

Helpless, she acted on impulse and sat herself down in his naked lap, curling around him and feeling with heart melting relief his arms encircle her, squeezing her to his chest fiercely.

“T-t-the house was empty.” he stuttered out his explanation, trying to get her to understand what that was like for him -rushing home to make her stay, flinging open the door and not a bit of life to be found in his home.

His version of hell.

“You thought,” she soothed, kissing at his cheek, “but I’ve got chicken on the stove and our babies are with Betsy. I’m here. I’m right here. All that was missin’ was you. And now you’re here, too.”

His shakes subsided a little and he nods, rearing his head back to really look at her and on seeing her clearly, Elvis beams at her, wide and carefree, and it made her heart clench with… with love, to see him like this. To see the sheer trust behind this mindset he’d slipped into, it made her feel like the most special girl in the world. It made her forget any and all Susans and waitresses and other such floozies. They could have the tiny crumbs they snatched from the floor like rats—Elaine was the one with his ring on her finger, who got this. Her husband buries his face in her neck and flutters kisses over her wildly thumping pulse.

She feels like she’s keeping a secret, all of the sudden.

This, this has been coming for a long time. Building slow and steady in Elaine’s heart like the consciousness of a babe growing, first just a suspicion, and then excitement, then visible proof, and then the testing pain of it.

Till at last, a babe she loved ferociously without having ever even met it. This, somewhere along the way, this affection for him had become love, her head left behind and her heart in a full gallop, unrestrained, unreasoned with, undendiable.

“You could crush me with the tiniest word, ya know that?” she realizes it as she says it.

Realizes that’s what love is, giving power over yourself to someone else. It’s why she was so angry, so suddenly lonely, so fiercely protective of her portion of him.

It’s love.

He must’ve felt so lonely, so scared, loving her without a promise of return, there’s no way she could have managed that. He’s brave, her boy, he’s so brave. “I didn’t, I didn’t realize how strong a feelin’ it is.” she whispers, her own voice choked up with tears and Elvis raises his face from her neck abruptly, surfacing quite suddenly from his submissive stupor and looking almost wary in his hopefulness.

“What feelin’?” His voice dipps impossibly lower and it contrasts thrillingly with that boyish face.

“Ya shoulda warned me, you fool.” she blushes and smacks at his neck in embarrassed dallying, “How was I to know? Never been…never been before…”

“What feelin’!” he demands, grabbing her chin and his hand spanned the width of her jaw, one side to the other, paying her back in her own vehement coin.

Her smile grows even under the vice grip of his fingers and red lips part to flash gleaming white teeth and with a little sniffle and a roll of her chocolate drop eyes she huffs, “Love, Elvis, I’ve loved badly ya for a long time now, just didn’t realize it.”

He coulda told her that, coulda told her every little thing she did for him was loving, but she had to know it herself, so he’d let her be. The hand on her jaw spasms as he sucks in a little sob, his lip wobbling before his breath heaves back out in a:

“Oh thank god, oh baby, fuck, I don’t mean tthat I-I-I oh thank Jesus-“ his head thuds back onto her chest and she realizes he’s weeping then, tears and whatnot adding to their previous mess on her undone placard.

“Oh, shh, shh, it’s ok.” she mutters helplessly, holding onto his shoulders and trying to hug the truth deeper into him,

“Say it again.” he near wails into her breasts.

“I. Love. You.” she thumps his back with each statement like she’s burping a baby.

He pulls his head back and looks at her again, double takes, like he’s gonna glare the veracity of her truth outta her. “You’re jus’ sayin’ that casue you’re mad I ain’t no goody two shoes husband. ” he tests, moody and sullen.

Elaine knows this game, she smirks at his transparency, “These ain’t the first girls I’ve caught hangin’ on ya, E,” she reminds him, recalling as she does that Betsy, who she found him sharing an actual bed with while away from her, will be bringing the kids back any minute now, and here they are undressed, “and like I said, I’ve been obligin’ haven’t I?”

“Yeah. Don’t mean ya love me.” he points out.

“I thought we got this point into that fool head of yours while downstairs but I guess you weren’t paying attention.” she tsks, rising from his lap and stripping out of her soaked house dress -much to his confusion and distraction- while going on merrily, “I’m angry this time cause you left me out!” she dictates her point with an elegant finger to his sternum and his eyebrows raise in semi-enlightenment, “I don’t wanna be left out! I’m jealous of you, cause I love you and I’m damn proud that your mine, and you make me happier than I thought I could ever be and ya make me angrier than I-I thought either. Lord I’d do obscene things to keep you lovin me, E, I would. And I’d kill ya ‘fore I let you tire of me. If you’ve got lady friends,” she continues in the face of his growing smile, the death threat really warming his southern heart, as she pulls on another dress, “you’ll tell me about them. I’m your wife, you owe me your time and you owe me your vigor and if you’ve got scraps left to give elsewhere, well,” she flips her hair out of the collar and presses her hands primly to her sides, “then I’ll be kept informed of them. They’ll be our little secret, not yours. There ain’t a you and a me, there’s just us. You swore it, Naughty, ya swore it before God.”

“I ‘member.” he nods solemnly from his place on the side of the bed, “But there ain’t anyone else, lil Mama,” his tone is unbearably earnest, “there’s jus’ you.”

Elaine’s heart twinges at that. It’s a truth, she knows, but for how long? She’s been so scared to care about him too much, so sure he’s gonna hurt her eventually. He’d managed to wiggle his way into her heart anyway, and she’s tired of being unconscious of it, this fierce devotion dying to be let out at last.

She lets the statement be, takes it for the promise it is. She’s his wife. “I know.” She assured him.

“If ya love me,” he challenges once more, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little tired from the emotion and the exertion and the contention, “-get over her and show it.” he taunts as he leans back on the bed, his arms wide open and his body inviting and she knows he knows, knows he gets it.

She tackles him anyway. Knocking the air out of him and tossing him back into the counterpane, letting him roll her under him and thrash atop the outfit she laid out for him. Let’s him kiss her greedily and wantingly and sure, thinks she can feel the difference in him.

This is Elvis knowing he’s loved. He’s magical and sure of himself and confident in a way that boosts her own surety, like they’re feeding each other in a never ending replenishing cycle.

“My yittle baby, my perfect baby, my wifey, silly widdle thang don’t know her own mind.” he mumbles into her hairline as he peppers her face with smooches and she allows it; soaks up the dynamic change as suddenly he’s patronizing and sure of himself even as he’s talking all little and vulnerable.

He’s Elvis.

And he’s kissing her ravenously as if he can persuade her to love him more with each press of his plush lips and each nip of his teeth and lick of his tongue.

“You’ve been cryin’.” he comments as he licks at her cheeks, tasting tears, and his voice sounds surprised as if he himself wasn’t weeping a few minutes ago.

“So were you.” she laughs.

“Nuh uh.” he denies with a shake of his head and she rolls her eyes while his tongue plunges into her mouth once more. Foolish man, stubborn, bashful man that she loves, God help her-

“Yooo hooo!” comes from right outside their door, right in the upstairs hallway and Elvis dives off her onto the other side of their bed before she can even think to suggest it. His naked form lying full prone to the ground, tactically perfect -turns out the army taught him a thing or two, though that butt of his is still sticking up higher than would be preferred in a tactical setting. Elaine stifles the sound of her snicker but he sees her nose wrinkle from it and swears softly at her.

“Betsy, darlin’ just a minute.” Elaine hollers, while patting herself down to make sure she’s not misplaced some important part of herself during all this wrassling. She grabs his clothes from the bed and tosses them down at him, watching bemused as he tries to get them on in his prone position before stepping over to him to bend down and kiss him once more. “I love you.” she reminds.

He turns scarlet under the plunging neckline of his white sweater, “thank ya.” he preens sweetly and she takes a second to admire that, her hand still stroking his soft cheek, before straightening up and going to the door.

Cracking open the door the rest of the way reveals Betsy in her pretty gingham, arms straining to hold up one baby while the other strains her arm to be released for a crawl. “How do ya do it?” she gasps, talking about the children who immediately break lose of her nannying arms, Ella diving straight for her mother’s embraces while Jesse books it on the floor between Elaine’s legs, headed towards Elvis hiding place like he can sniff him out.

Elvis pops up just in time, a little rumpled and askew but thoroughly covered, though his attempt to pick up his son is aborted by the way his legs are still shaking and he wobbles onto the bed with a noisy flail. He feels Jesse pawing at his shin as Elizabeth’s eyes rake over him and he wonders if this is how Elaine felt sitting at lunch with Daddy and Dodger after their wedding night, or at each train stop on the way down fo Fort Hood when he paraded her in front of his adoring fans in between feverish bouts of love making that left her near catatonically used.

He recalls how she looked very well. He remembers his savage smugness at touching up her smudged makeup and displaying her again and again all primped after he wrecked her, wondering if the world could see how claimed she was by the wobble of her painted lip and the wide shock of her perfectly lined eyes.

Look, he’d been saying at each station stop, look at the perfect little thing that lets me love her.

He sees that smugness on Elaine’s face as she waits for Elizabeth to get her breath back as she just stares and stares at Elvis spread out in the bed like he’s grown another head. Betsy looks so shocked by the sight of him he actually looks down to make sure he’s put on pants but all's in order, he must just have “Elaine’s stud” written on his forehead and he blushes at that. He wouldn’t allow it if she didn’t love him. He’s afraid he’s gonna be allowing a lotta shit for the reason. Looking down for his pants reminds him of his baby boy, still clutching his pant leg and he grunts with the effort of heaving himself upright and pulling his little buddy into his lap.

“Hey bubs, how ya been?” he babbles as he tips backwards again, his spin worn out and he realizes he’s terribly weak and very, very hungry. He thinks he can smell buttery soft breading burning downstairs and it makes his mouth water.

“I manage it with help like yours.” Elaine replies, honest and bemused a few seconds late and she almost snaps her fingers in front of Elizabeth’s glazed eyes before the girl finally drags them back from the sight of her languid husband to her own face.

“Oh, n-no problem. Anytime.” Betsy assures again, sweet gal that she is. “Do I need to stay and work on the letters?” she asks it a little hopefully, wringing her now empty hands, and Elaine knows that she’s missed being in this house and around him, around them even, what with Elaine kicking her out for privacy during his withdrawals.

Not many families have a pretty, live-in secretary that the wife tolerates but the Presley’s aren’t most families, and Elaine is accommodating as they’ve just established, and she likes collecting people around her man that she’s certain love him the right sort of way. And if he loves them back, well, it’s a curious thing to her that she doesn’t for once doubt he’s got enough to go around. Her love cup will be overflowing from now on, she has no need to begrudge the droplets that others quench themselves with. She realizes what was missing was her own contribution.

It all settles into place, belonging and longing and having. She loves him.

“No, no need for the letters tonight.” She replies and watches Betsy’s pretty face fall for a brief moment before the girl catches herself, then Elaine adds what she always intended to add- “But stay for dinner, Betsy, so long as it hasn’t burned.”

We hope y’all enjoyed and can’t wait to hear your thoughts, screams and prompts 🌹💋

Taglist (comment if you’d like to be added, dears)

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottodowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

[angel-of-the-moons]

Fun Before (Diaper) Duty

Peter B Parker x Wife!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, Sex, grinding, dry humping, pegging, sex toys, PiV sex, unprotected sex, creampie, talks of pregnancy, trying for a baby, cumming inside with the intent to make said baby, Peter being a whining mess , Dom(?)!Reader, Sub!Peter, (sort of?) no refractory period, drain this mans dryyyy

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This is an AU of sorts where MJ doesn't exist and the Reader is Peter's Wife. Takes places after the first movie (Obvi). It's just a thing that's been bouncing around in my head and I need to get the brainworm out!!!

(And as usual header does not indicate reader's race)

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It had been some time since you guys ran into your... "problems."

It had been some time since he came home after apparently interacting with someone who changed his mind on what you talked about.

Kids.

Babies.

Having them.

He explained in great detail what happened, how Miles in particular had just... changed him. Woke him up inside, made his inner Papa Bear come out.

It made him realize he did want kids.

And if realizing he actually did want kids was something, Peter B Parker really enjoyed the task of making said kids.

The two of you indulged in it as often as possible, twining together in bed, or on the couch, in the shower, in the kitchen... Once when you met him on a rooftop to bring him some dinner when you were in the area.

Yeah, Peter wasn't much of the "public sex" type, the poor guy. The moment he came inside you he was a blubbering--still hard--mess and he web-slung you two home to make love to you properly. I.e he basically let you pin him to the couch and ride him until he couldn't feel his legs.

Even that Spider-Man stamina had its limits.

More often than not he was out most nights doing his Spider-Man routine, fighting crime, saving people... Even picking up an extra part-time job for some extra cash.

"Y'know, babies are expensive!" Peter had laughed with you over some crappy Chinese takeout.

"I know, but honey..." You sighed, finishing off your noodles nd dropping the chopsticks in the paper container.

"My job pays well, and I even negotiated with my boss so I can work from home from now on. I'll only need to go into the office for meetings or something important, so taking care of a baby is no problem. Our bills are covered, and... You got your hero gig. I don't want you to overwork yourself, Peter."

"Babe." Peter smiled at you sweetly. That same, charmingly goofy smile as he turned to face you on the couch.

"I just wanna make sure we have all our bases covered. I love you, and I wanna make sure our baby has everything they're gonna need."

"C'mon, Tiger." You smiled sweetly at him. "You already work your ass off being a superhero. And we're trying to have a baby, and once that baby is here we're both going to have our hands full."

He brought your knuckles to his lips to give them a kiss. "Which is exactly why I want the extra cash. I want to make sure you two have everything you deserve."

You smile and lean in, brushing your nose against his affectionately.

"I already got you, dummy."

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Two more months passed.

Two more months.

Months of you not getting pregnant yet. Neither of you knew what the problem was, you planned meticulously, tracked your ovulation and menstrual cycles... Hell, you even drank some kind of herbal tea that was supposed to boost fertility. But... No dice.

Your doctor told you it wasn't uncommon, that some people just don't get pregnant on the first few tries.

The difference was that you and Peter tried more than "the first few tries".

It was frustrating, but you held out hope.

You two would be parents. You would.

Peter had even told you he was hoping for a little girl.

He was going to name her Mayday.

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Tonight, you had just gotten out of the shower after getting back from the gym. You were sweaty and gross and ugh, you really needed it after staring at spreadsheets all day.

Your hair was a dripping mess, but you decided to let it air dry.

You put on one of Peter's button up shirts and at the last second, decided to wear the laciest panties you owned and couldn't help but grin.

It would be a nice surprise for Peter when he got home.

After all, what husband wouldn't wanna come home to their wife wearing nothing but one of their shirts and a pair of lacy panties?

And bingo! You were right.

You had your back to him as you downed your glass of juice when he came through the door.

"Hey, Babycakes!" Peter whistled as he locked the door behind him again. "I brought some--"

You heard whatever bags he had in his hands drop, along with his keys.

"....Well." He said, clearing his throat as you turned around, smiling at him slyly.

"Well?" You purr, leaning on the wall.

"I feel a tad overdressed." He mumbled, a blush on his cheeks as he looked down at himself.

"Peter B Parker, is that a blush I see in your cheeks?" You giggle.

"I, uh, uhm--" Peter coughed awkwardly; you could see his Adams apple bob in effort as he swallowed an imaginary lump. Then, he held the bag up.

"Got dinner from the Greek restaurant down the street?"

You smile and shake your head, taking the bag from him as you walk to the couch, opening the plastic containers to see what dinner your wonderful husband brought home for the two of you.

You decide to give Peter mercy, for now, as his shoulders sag and he pulls off his trenchcoat, hanging it on the peg, revealing the Spider-Man suit along with the sweatpants he was wearing.

His choice in hero outfits lately had you endeared to him even more, with his quirky nature.

"Uh, I'm... I'm gonna change, m'kay?" He says, a lopsided smirk on his face, cheeks still just a bit pink.

"Mhmmm." You wink at him as he walks by.

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You finished chowing down on your gyro with a happy hum, wiggling in place as the two of you watch whatever dumb cop show happened to be on.

You snuggled under Peter's arm as he licked his fingers clean of the remnants of his food and rubbed his cheek on the top of your head.

"How was patrol tonight?" You asked him softly.

"Oh, boring, actually. Like, a few purse snatchers but thankfully nothing where anyone got hurt." Peter told you.

"Well that's good, maybe supervillains are deciding to take a vacation for a bit?" You muse playfully.

"Oh, god, that would be amazing." Peter groaned, dropping his head back on the cushions of the couch.

"They go to the annual Villains' Club and are like "You know what? Let's all take a trip to Fiji! Give Spider-Man a break!"

You giggle and kiss his jaw, the stubble of his shadow tickling your lips.

"Yes, I concur." You sigh. "That would be amazing."

There's a pregnant pause in the air before you broke it.

"Though, given that we're trying to have a baby... Id prefer it if all your patrols ended this way. With you safe."

"I know, babe." Peter replies quietly.

"I promise I'll be careful."

You smiles and turned your head into his neck, breathing in every scent that is Peter.

You could feel his body tense when you did that,, see that Adams apple bobbing again as he kept his eyes focused directly on the tv, trying to ignore how your fingers slowly crept up under his tank top slowly; nails tickling the soft skin of his abdomen.

You slipped your fingers down, just barely past the waistband of his pj's and his breath stutters.

He wasn't wearing boxers. Perfect. Makes it that much easier.

"Babe--" Peter said, his voice coming out shaky.

"Hmm?" You asked innocently, ever so slowly slipping your hands down further, gliding through the well-trimmed hairs and stopping just above his rapidly hardening dick.

"You--" He groaned, dropping his head back and closing his eyes.

"Me.... What?" You sigh, wrapping your fingers around his cock, feeling the half-hard mass of silky flesh twitch and come to life in your hand

You gave a languid stroke upwards, and back down.

Up, and down.

Up, and down... Working him up to full mast as his breathing increased and a small whimper came from his lips.

"Hey, Pete." You grinned, licking over the thumping pulse in his neck.

"Y-yeah?" He whined.

"Wanna see something you're gonna like?" You asked him, your tone breathy.

"Yes. God, yes--" He gasped, as your thumb swirled over the weeping tip of his dick.

You squeeze his cock again as he says that, just barely above painful.

"Peter..." You scold. "What do you say?"

"Yes, ma'am." He whimpered out quickly, his hands gripping the cushions, knuckles turning white as he grits his teeth.

"That's a good Tiger." You purr, pulling your hand from his pants and swinging yourself over so you were straddling his thighs.

"Eyes open, baby." You cooed, urging him to tip his head so he could stare at you, a little slack-jawed as you slowly undo the buttons of the shirt you wore.

God, that pitiful look he'd get on his face when he was horny always got you going.

When you slipped the last buttons out, you pulled the edges of the shirt open, showing your tits off to him with a smirk.

His gorgeous eyes of course locked in on your breasts first, your pebbling nipples eagerly awaiting touch; but his gaze slipped lower, raking all the way down your body until he saw the underwear you were wearing.

It left very, very little to the imagination. And it did a very, very poor job of concealing how wet you were getting; your slick already seeping through and leaving a dark spot on the dark gray pj's he wore.

You watched his hands twitch and arms move; and instantly you frowned.

"Peter." You say, reaching out and gripping his face with your hand, squishing his cheeks.

"Did I say you could touch me?"

He made a soft noise and dropped his arms.

"No. Keep em up." You order, dragging the tank top he wore slowly up his torso.

He obediently lifted his arms up so you could pull the offending piece of clothing off; and you smiled with satisfaction.

"Good boy." You told him, leaning forward to kiss his lips.

The touch was soft, feather light with the ghost of a promise, one that his mouth chased as you pulled away from him.

He made a weak groan, and you giggle.

"Keep your hands on the back of the couch, you're not allowed to move em until I say so. Got it, baby?"

Peter nodded, doing as he was told and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and nodding.

"Peter..."

"Yes ma'am." He whispered out.

You smile at him again as your hands greedily paw at him, sliding down his chest and to his belly, softening and round.

"Babe..." Peter groaned, looking off to the side in embarrassment.

It was no secret between you two that he was self conscious of the pooch in his belly, about the softness there. It was why he decided to wear pants over his suit; he didn't like it being on display for everyone.

"Hush," You said to him, gripping softly at his belly, kneading the skin underneath your soft fingers.

"You're adorable. I love your belly. And think of it this way, you've already got a dad bod." You leaned in just a bit, enough to take one of his nipples into your mouth and tugging on it with your teeth.

The sound he made went into your ears and straight to your cunt.

"..And you look good with a dad bod." You assured him with every ounce of love and acceptance you could vocalize.

He shuddered and let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed as he let you toy with him.

"Now, let's have a bit of fun, okay?" You sighed, positioning yourself so that the bulge in his pants could press tightly against the sopping fabric of your panties, your throbbing clit pressing hard into it.

You were polite and gave Peter a second to breathe, checking to see if his hands were still where you told him to keep them.

They were, and Peter had his head leaned back so you could see the jumping vein in his neck.

You bit your lip and slowly started to grind on him, letting out a soft groan at the friction, each drag of your hips against his throbbing cock smearing your juices along his clothes length, a dark patch starting to form.

God, he looked so utterly fucked already that your mind felt dizzy with how delicious he was sounding.

Soft whimpers and gasps came from Peter as he lifted his hips to meet yours.

You were tempted to scold him, but then again, he was being a good boy.

You plant your hands on his chest, keeping him pressed into the cushions as you continued to hump against his twitching cock, the signs of his precum already soaking through the fabric to join the wet spot of your own slick.

The way he was being so fucking good for you, the sounds he was making, and the little licks of flames that jolted up with each stroke already had you close to wanting to cum. But you held off, instead doubling down, sliding your hips on his even faster than before, mewling softly as he desperately ruts up into you, his jaw clenched so tight you were worried he would crack the bone.

"You're being so good, Tiger." You purr, licking up from his collarbone, to the soft spot on his neck.

You bit down and sucked hard, scratching your nails down his chest as you kept grinding your soaking pussy against him.

You did that four more times, leaving beautiful red-purple marks on his neck.

You feel his hips start to stutter against yours, a deep, heavy groan tearing through his throat.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" You moan softly.

"Y-yeah." He whined.

"Mmm~" You pull away from him, and he makes a frustrated cry, before going silent as he watched you pull his pants down just enough to free his cock.

His jaw slacks as he watched you pull your panties to the side, and slowly spear yourself on him.

You were so wet and fucking tight, he almost came right there.

You press a finger to his lips as he moaned your name.

"You can cum, but only after me. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am..." He whines.

"Good. Good." You smiled, tapping his lips with your fingers.

"Open."

Peter stares at you, his eyes glazed and pupils dilated as his lips parted, letting you slip your digits in so he could lick around them, sucking them softly and wetting them with his saliva.

You pull them free with a wet pop and bring them down to your clit, using the mix of his spit and your slick to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The way his cock twitched inside of you, the way he struggled so hard to keep still while you used your hand to pleasure yourself while his cock was seated fully into you... God, it was bliss.

"Ah... O-Okay, Tiger." You panted. "Y-you can move. Fuck..."

Peter didn't need another word from you; he began snapping his hips up into yours with a whimper, chasing the orgasm that was a hairs breadth away.

And all at once it was like the world came crashing down. Your orgasm ripped through you and you gushed on Peter's cock, your fingers still working at your clit while he fucked into you, a shaky moan coming from him as he emptied himself into you, snapping his hips up into yours almost mindlessly as the both of you rode out your release.

When the two of you stopped moving, you slowly leaned forward, resting your head on his shoulder, breathing heavily as you tried to control your leaping heart rate.

You felt Peter slip his arms around you and tug you close, and a smirk played on your lips.

"Did I say you could touch me?" You tease.

"No ma'am." Peter grinned.

"Eh, I'll let it slide. This time." You giggle, leaning back to look at him.

God that smile on his face always made your heart flop.

And of course... Another idea came into your mind, biting your lip as you felt his dick twitching inside you.

"Hey, Pete..." You hummed, tracing invisible lines on his chest.

"Yeah?" He asked you.

"Wanna take this to the bedroom? I wanna play a bit more."

Peter looked like he swallowed his tongue right there on the couch.

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼

Fuck, you loved it when you did this.

You loved the sounds he made, how he'd grip at the sheets and how he'd rock his hips back to meet the thrusts of yours, spearing himself open on the ridged silicone cock you were fucking him with.

"Good boy." You murmured, gripping his ass tight and spreading his cheeks as you glide the toy in and out, in and out.

He wasn't allowed to jerk himself off as you fucked him; that was always the rule.

"You're being quiet again, baby." You cooed, kneading his cheeks with your fingers.

He let out a groan, but it wasn't enough for you.

You wanted more.

And you were going to take more.

You pulled out, almost entirely, watching the rim of muscles clench and try to drag your strap back in.

You hold like that for a minute before Peter makes a needy whine; and the moment he does you slam your hips as hard as you can into him, rocking him forward and making him moan like a whore.

You decided to keep that pace, arching your hips up to reach every spot you memorized inside of him, leaning forward and pressing your palm into the curve of his spine, forcing him down into the bed.

"Thaaaaat's it... that's it." You hissed, biting your lip.

"Gonna cum already?" You teased playfully.

"Y-yes--" He breathed.

You pulled away a bit and bring your hand down on him, slapping his ass, the sound of skin resounding through your bedroom.

"Ah-ah. What do you say?" You say, your tone full of disappointment.

"Yes, ma'am!" He whined loudly, arching back into you as you roughly fucked into him.

"Good boy..." You repeated.

You slid your hand up his spine slowly, earning a pathetic gasp and whimper from him, watching as he ripped at the sheets so hard that the edges came off the corners of your bed; hot ropes of white cum shooting out and staining the silky black sheets as you fucked him.

You pulled out, and unbuckled the harness from around your hips and thighs, tossing the strap-on onto the floor.

Eh, you'd deal with it when you were done.

You laid on your side next to him, smiling sweetly.

"You good, baby?" You asked him softly.

"Agh... Yeah. Shit." Peter mumbled into the pillow.

You grinned and kissed his knuckles as he released his grip on your sheets.

He lifted his gaze and kissed you before you had a chance to react, his tongue pressing into your mouth and tugging at yours, hungry and needy.

He pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths and a glint in his eye.

"Babe, can I..."

"Of course, Tiger." You grinned as he climbed on top of you, gliding his cock through your slick folds.

"We are trying to make a baby, remember? And besides... My legs are tired. You take the lead."

Peter grinned down at you.

"Yes ma'am."

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Do you have any AUs you'd like to rant about? I'm currently stuck at work in the middle of an 11 hour shift and in desperate need of some type fuel to keep me going. There's no food around, Shigadabi seems like an equivalent substance

RIP, that sucks, I'm getting ready for a short 4-hour shift soon, but here you go, may some sex demon Dabi/ assigned feeder Shigaraki AU soothe your pain:

There's a species of sex demons that are an offshoot of succubi/incubi, these demons still feed on sex, but they exclusively sleep with men and people who produce semen as their demonic limitation (whereas succubi/incubi are down for whatever). They have two pairs of wings that more often resemble insects than the bird or bat wings of their cousins. They also produce venom to get their targets in the mood, but they keep producing a slightly different venom from their saliva glands and genitals after they've been fed. This venom, when raw, creates a prolonged euphoria that encourages their victims to come back for more and helps to rejuvenate them more quickly. In fact, consuming that venom can actually help to treat malnutrition, dehydration, and a variety of other health issues. It also, when refined, can make fantastic skin/hair treatments, so it is highly sought after from the medical industry to the cosmetic industry, and many of these demons have gotten themselves very cushy jobs at special facilities made to harvest these fluids.

Shigaraki has gotten a job to be a 'pollinator' since the colloquial term for these demons is "honeybee". He got this job mostly because the pay is insane, but also because Spinner asked him if he would just take it on for a trial period to help with one of their problem demons. (He and Shig tried to date once in college and it did not work out, but they're good friends now, and Spinner needed someone on short notice he knew has a big dick). He's given some basic training which mainly boils down to, fuck the demon until they're incoherent, you know you've done a good job when they start to drool/leak a clear pinkish fluid that smells like sugar. Then put the collection bit in their mouths for them to chew on, and the other container on their genitals, and just stay until they stop purring or tell you to leave. 

He is shown to the room of the bee who he's supposed to be working with, and he's a pretty demon with bright blue eyes, the wings of a firefly, and irregular patches across his skin that glow when his emotions go high. Dabi has been thoroughly unimpressed with the pollinators he's been given so far, and because he hasn't been satisfied, he hasn't given much venom in turn, which is bad because his contract was extremely expensive for this company because he's from a family of exceptional producers. Shigaraki enters the room and they chit-chat for a little while, though Dabi is pretty standoffish, until he finally just says he's hungry and starts pulling at Shigaraki's clothes. 

Not one to let his sub take the lead, Tomura puts Dabi in his place, and dicks him down to the best of his abilities, which is miles above how ever other pollinator treated him (like he was a glass they had to handle with extreme care out of fear of pissing him off or breaking him and making him want to end his contract before the probationary period.) Dabi adores being absolutely dominated and getting fucked that hard and he's gushing by the time Shig is finished with him, purring incoherently and clinging to him and hissing and growling at anyone who comes to try and take him away after Dabi keeps him there for five hours after they've finished. 

He demands that Shig be his only pollinator from now on, and fuck is this little honeybee cute, so Shig accepts. They end up being the best pair at the facility, and that earns Dabi extra perks that he eventually negotiates into a private apartment for the two of them for the remainder of his contract so long as he's producing the best and most venom of any of the other bees. It's not a hard quota to fill when Dabi has more than enough to also give Tomura a taste to keep him fresh and able to go as often as Dabi needs while they're paired together. It's a pretty perfect arrangement as far as either of them are concerned. 

[waddlewaddlewaddlewaddle]

Over my head (Miguel ‘o’ Hara x Reader)

Chapter 5

Pairing: Miguel x reader

Summary: y/n is a kind hearted nurse who’s life gets turned upside down as she get fired from one the most prestigious hospitals in NYC , desperate , she start filing job applications wherever. Coincidentally a stressed Miguel is looking for a nurse due to a big amount of spider people getting injured due to the surprisingly large amount of anomalies happening in the spider verse. What could go wrong is these two meet?

Themes: ✎slow burn ( I think)

Mutual pining

✎office romance (¿)

Hidden romance

✎Smut available as story progresses.

Dom Miguel x sub/bratty reader

✎Stubborn, Ill tempered Miguel.

✎ Angelic reader .

It girl reader.

✎I try to be as accurate as possible.

English is not my first language so bare with me.

✎badass stoic x sweet empath.

Og spanish speaker so be prepared for steamy dialogue :3

Content :Fluff

See master list for previous or future chapters

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In a blink of an eye Miguel throws you into the air and with the help of a few faux webs your quickly taped down to the ceiling ,your hair falls straight down blurring your vision as you feel your back ache after suddenly being slammed into the roof.

-“¡Mierda Peter!”- Exclaimed Miguel as he watched Peter Parker walking in drunkenly still with his baby’s kangaroo on.

-“Where’s y/n?”- asked the joyful man with a can of Heineken in his hand.

-“she…”- Miguel lengths his sentence trying to compose a valid excuse but the worry that he didn’t stick you properly to the ceiling resulting in you falling down and possibly hurting yourself was all that could occupy his mind.-“Just left actually.”-He says with a fake smile.

Miguel was too busy trying to not break a sweat from his sudden acting role to notice that even though Peter was drunk his spider senses still worked perfectly and that he could sense your exhilarating heart beat from miles.

-“Well I just wanted to tell you that y/n told me about your injury so I could help out with the spiders , and as a friend I want you to take care of yourself, Mayday and I care deeply about you , we don’t want you to martyrize yourself for the sake of the association. For you information we perfectly run smoothly without your help for a few days. So as long as I find a babysitter for may I’ll replace you on your missions ,how does that sound ?”- Even though Peter was inebriated he pulled together the last night of eloquence he had so he could show his dear friend he cares about him.

The corner of Miguel’s lip raised for a millisecond before returning to his normal serious facade.

-“Thank you Peter but I won’t let you take over my responsibilities over a little injury. Plus with the recent raise of anomalies i don’t want to take extra risks. Do you want me to ask spider noir to take you home , you seem wasted.”- He ends the conversation with a small chuckle.

-“He’s even more wasted than I am! I’m too drunk to discuss this with you right now but just know the conversation is not over.”- Peter hasn’t gone out in a while since having mayday so he enjoys all the fun he could get.

And with some heavy unbalanced steps he quickly left the room leaving you too alone.

-“Miguel, I feel all the blood in my body in the front of my face. Please get my down.”- You groaned as you stayed still.

-“Coming.”- He said as he jumped about 13 feet in the air, With one hand he grabbed you by the waist and with the other he used his claws to rip the webs , he swiftly landed on the ground while you sorta struggled to climb off him to place yourself on the floor.

After letting you down you noticed that Miguel winced and started to rub the area that you just injected.

-“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You should take peters offer , it’ll be for his own good too. He needs those missions to get in shape so he’ll be able to keep up with mayday.”- You giggled as you started to put away the supplies.

-“Too dangerous.”

-“Oh Please Miguel, I know you think you’re the shit but i know they’ll get by perfectly without you.”- You sometime liked to provoke men by hurting their ego this way it’ll leave them flustered or confused, this lets you convince them easier it may seem Machiavellian but it’s for his own good.

Miguel’s brows tightened into a knot while he glared at you.

-“It’s not that, I’m just Really good at my job I guess.”- He murmured trying not to flatter himself too much when in reality he likes to think that the success of the spider society is due to his strict , hard handed leadership.

-“Whatever you say, i hope you’ll be able to climb walls as your ribs start pinching your lungs.”- you struggled to avoid letting out a laugh while watching the terror mirror in his face.

You quickly put away everything in their respective rooms and commanded the bots to sanitize the room before your arrival.

You grabbed your purse and walked back to the main room thinking migue would have left already but to your surprise his big figured continued to loom over the poor stool.

-“Goodnight Miguel.”- You smiled as you grabbed the door handle , before you knew it you felt a calloused warm hand grab your wrist.

-“Let me take you home.”

-“What for?”-You questioned.

-“To thank you for your services ,even though they were forced on to me.”-Miguel insisted as his hand refused to leave your small wrist

-“Be my guest.”

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

Miguel drove a Ford raptor 150, A real vintage model but you could say it went well with his personality. The car smelled of smoker rosewood and was surprisingly spotless.

As you were driven to your home you couldn’t help but notice Miguel’s fixed gaze on the road or the way his rough hands grabbed the staring wheel firmly, you tried to not let your eyes wonder but they automatically traveled up to his arms that were decorated with bulging veins and a beautiful tan, your glare finally ended up on his face, his cheekbones and jawline were as sharp as his attitude , but what really caught your attention was his eyes ; they were cold and opaque like they were dull buttons glued on to his face. You concluded that he was strangely too handsome to be Spider-Man , he should be an old spice model or something.

-“Got something on my face?”- He murmured looking at you through the corner of his vision.

-“Yeah you got a little bit of blood; you better clean that up before they think you’ve killed someone.”- You responded as fast as lightning refusing to let him catch you off guard.

-“You always got a comeback huh?”- He sighed as he looked through your side mirror so he could take a turn.

-“Actually it comes out pretty naturally. It’s a gift you could say.”- You started to enjoy the conversations you two have while alone, this moment is not the exception. He was actually a pretty nice guy when he’s not throwing tables at unsuspecting people.

-“You live in a nice area of the city, I’ve never been here;must be a pretty safe spot.”

Miguel changed the subject while looking at the surroundings of your street , you choose this area because there were a lot of parks , trees and most importantly beautiful flowers to gaze at while taking a run.

-“want to know an unconventional reason why I choose this street.”

-“Enlighten me.”-He said as he swiftly parked in front of your building while turning his body to you so he could pay attention to you fully.

-“My parents immigrated from another country and where I’m from we lived in small town surrounded by a lot of nature, so you can imagine the shock when we moved here with concrete everywhere and all the pollution. So I picked this street cause the smell and ambiance sort of reminds me of home you know?”

-“It’s funny how everyone tries to make their reality one where they were most happy, even if it doesn’t exist anymore.”- He noted with a somber look in his eyes.

As you noticed the tensed up environment you decided to call it a night.

-“Thanks for the ride Miguel.”

-“Wait let me walk you to your door.”- He said grabbing the handle of his door.

-“There’s no need.”- You said with an earnest smile. -“Don’t want the door man to get the wrong idea.”

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

Miguel locked the door to his penthouse and took his shoes of at the entrance , the Interior of his home was inspired by rustic minimalism.

The low glow of the lights made the house seem lonelier that it already was.

The bronzed man made his way to the shower turning on the cold water before taking off his clothes. He looked into the mirror to stare at the injuries staining his body, he was used to looking at open wounds and sometimes cuts that never healed properly due to his negligence, but then he stared at the little dots pertaining from your syringe, it’s the first time someone cared enough to tend to his injuries. He knows it’s your job and that he shouldn’t feel giddy over this, but after today he couldn’t help but feel a little appreciation towards you.

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

The next day In the spider society hungover Peter Parker had a very important mission, he wanted to convince Lyla to suspend Miguel’s watch for at least a day so he could heal properly; he already informed the closest spider people so they could all be on their A game on todays mission for the sake of Miguel’s health.

-“Lyla I know it’s too much to ask but please keep it a secret from him!”- Pleaded out Peter almost on his knees.

-“There’s 5 anomalies roaming around the multiverse, how do you expect me to stay quiet”.- Groaned the ai.-“It’s Miguel’s choice if he decided to go out and bust his back, plus if I do decide to follow up on your plan he’ll be forced to stay here in HQ and bitch at me.”

-“Just trust me I have a plan.”

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

After a rainy morning you arrived at HQ , after some greeting you noticed two spiders who were particularly hung over so you decided to prepare some iv bags and fluffen some pillows in case they wanted to come by and take a nap.

But as soon as you unlocked the door you noticed a sandwich from an artisan deli from the nice part of the city along with a warm latte.

You tilted your head in confusion wondering who could have left it here, on closer inspection you noticed a mint green note the top of the sandwich that read.

(Here’s last nights over time fee.

-M)

[a/n: sorry for the long wait but I enjoyed writing the

chapter and that’s all that matters to me🫶🏻 I’ll update from now on once a week :3]

[switchbladedreamz]

Sharing is Caring, Harrington

Pairing: Steddie x reader smut

Summary: Steve is jealous you're tutoring Eddie for summer college courses, deep down does he feel more for the metalhead?

Requested? Nah I'm on a writing high from TTP

Warnings: 🔞light smut, established relationship with Steve and Reader, college au, slapping (once), mommy and daddy kink, blowjob, gay, straight, use of pet names and dom/sub themes.

I don't remember when I started this but heyy I just finished finals so I'll have some time to crank out some fic this summer🥳

Minors dni

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I just don't get why you have to tutor him is all I'm sayin, babe" "and I don't get why you have a problem with it, didn't you save his life last summer or something? Look it's the summer before his freshman year of college and he needs help what's the big deal?" I had signed on to be a tutor at the local community college's summer classes. Lo and behold Eddie Munson. Munson was among a crowd of mixed in students from other towns and sometimes a state over, taking summer classes Hawkins Community College; go Tigers!

"Babe if you're afraid of the sexual tension between Eddie and I and us being the only hot goth and only hot metalhead in a 50 mile radius then I guess you better come with and make sure we don't fuck on a pile of Iron Maiden cassettes." I bite back, the snark leaving my voice when Steve's pupils went black. I smirked. "You little horndog! You're just upset because you want to watch us fuck, don't you!?" I accuse. The silence pregnant with tension between us. "Get in the fucking car, Harrington". I sigh exasperated, if only he came to me with this instead of bitching about it for a week then finally letting the truth out. "are you mad at me?" Steve asked, his lanky posture suddenly small in the passenger seat. Taken aback by Steve's more submissive side showing, I'm sure to be extra soft. "No baby, not at all. Look at me." I smile as his eyes reach mine. "I just wish that you would've come to me with your thoughts in lieu of complaining for a week straight. But no need to dwell on it now, it's fixed and over with and we're headed to the Munson's". A goofy smile overtook the sad smile that was on his face.

Tears for Fears played softly as we pulled into the gravel driveway connected to all the other driveways. I parked my hearse next to Munson's van, the neighbors that were outside on the nice sunny day were glaring daggers. Conformists, what're you gonna do. Walking up the steps, Metallica could be heard and it was drownibg out the knocks. Or so I thought, a minute later and smoke is spilling through the door as it's ripped open. A shirtless, dripping Eddie ushers us inside. It's then we see only a towel is around his waist "Welcome, kind of caught me at an awkeard moment here. I don't usually let people see me without my hair done" he jokes. He clears his throat as i alone laugh. Eddie turns to leave- "wait!" Steve interrupts. His face is beet red, he's been thinking about it. "We-uhm. Well. Oh. Huh. We, (Y/n/n) and I, we were. We- ya see we had-" "Good God spit it out Harrington it's freezing in here" Eddie complains, his nipples hard. I lick my lips. His eyes flit between us, wordlessly he spins around and motions with two fingers in a "come hither" fashion to beckon us after him. Steve gulps then looks to me for permission, poor thing is nervous. I lace our fingers together and take the lead as usual.

"sit at the top of the bed Harrington." Eddie offers to him, gesturing. Resecuring his towel, his leans over his music collection and picks an album. Then his rolling tray, his grinder, lunchbox he keeps his weed in, and finally his papers. Sitting on his bed, Steve watched his skilled fingers as he rolls two joints. "How'd you learn to do that anyway?" Steve asked. "My friend Rick, Refer Rick. Taught me everything I know, of course I have picked stuff up from JV before too." "Junior Varsity?" Steve asks, eyebrows knotted in confusion. "juvie" I whisper to him. Eddie just chuckles, "damn all the blood rush from your head to your dick Harrington? I didn't take you for an airhead" the metalhead teases. "Edds play nice or we'll leave." I warn, no serious inflection in my tone. The boys know by now when to listen.

"lick it for me" Eddie's outstretched arm in front of me, offering the soon-to-be joint to Steve's lips sideways. "w-what? Yeah sure". Unsure of his actions, he grabs the two ends, pink tongue coming between his soft lips to activate the glue. "Good boy" Eddie whispers.

Steve watched intently when Eddie smokes. You'd think he'd never been high before. But I know. He's watching his lips, his fingers, when his tongue comes to lick his lips before taking a hit. Steve's watching Eddie's hand on my thigh too. Halfway through the joint, "so like...can I ask?" Eddie speaks, intentionally vague. "Hehehe ask what?" Steve giggles. "What's the deal between you two?". Shock settled over Steve's features, as if he never expected the question to be asked. "Well she's my girlfriend, I love her". "okay, hey that's great. No offense meant, really. I'm just...confused".

"Well what Steve and I have is special, what we do somehow brings us closer together. We don't have an open relationship, we just sleep with mutually agreed upon people.".

Eddie takes in the information, let's it swirl ariund then settle. "Can I ask who else you've slept with together?" He voice strained as he holds smoke in, passing the joint to me. "Billy Hargrove, Chief Hopper, Robyn, well that was just me but Steve watched, you last summer at camp Steve watched from the treeline.". Steve shifts on the bed at the mention of past lovers, he's been oddly silent. "I knew I heard something. Why me again?" "Truth be told, I think Steve might have a crush on you Edds" I giggle like a school girl. "all week he's been complaining about me tutoring you for the summer but the truth is he wanted to have some fun.". Silence still from the third party, he's clutching to one of Eddie's pillows for dear life.

"Steve?" My hand rubs his arm, he lurches forward and I couldn't have been paid a million dollars to try to predict what happens next.

Steve kisses Eddie. I sit still. Shock, weed, and adrenaline running through me. The kiss is erotic in a way. Eddie pulls away, the pair panting for breath, "wow. okay..that just happened.". "I'm sorry" Steve rushes out to apologize. Before more anxiety can spill from him Eddie kisses him again, softer and less rushed this time. "What's your mommy dom think about all this?" Eddie whispers in Steve's ear. The latter whimpers and looks to me. I nod, giving him my permission. Eddie's hand on my thigh moves up and past the hem of my shorts, directly toward the button and zipper he undoes hastily. I get off the bed and strip completely, the pair of men following suite.

Eddie and Steve are inseparable, tongue and teeth clashing, hands a flying mess to grab onto the other. As if they're the only ones left on this planet and if they don't hold on they'll never find each other again. "Ed's please" Steve whimpers quietly as the boy's tongue is licking up his neck. Biting. Sucking. A sharp slap sounds through the small room and Eddie's head falls back, his bottom lip caught between his pearly whites. "You are so gonna pay for that Harrington. Get on your knees". Steve's eyes are wide, excitement and a tinge of fear for the unknown outcome. Steve slides off the bed, I throw a pillow to him for his knees.

Eddie pushes his hands through Steve's hair and guides him down. "You ever sucked cock before baby boy?" Ed chides condescendingly. I smirk, knowing. It's almost as if all the color drains from Eddie's face as Steve takes him all the way down his throat, nostrils being tickled by short brown curls. "Fuuuuuck". Steve swirls his tongue around Eddie's head, sucking as he pulls off with a pop and goes back down. "Oooh, oh fuck! Yes, baby" Eddie encourages Steve as one of his hands starts to massage Eddie's sack. Eddie pulls Steve's head off, panting. "Don't-" a strangled sigh leaves him "I don't want to finish just yet" Steve smiles proudly.

I lay at the head of the bed on my side, a watching position. Steve now lays beside me, an everbright wet smile gleaming on his wet face. The smile gets impossibly brighter and wider as Eddie straddles Steve's thighs. Eddie wraps his fingers around the other boy's wrists and pins them beside his head, his face mere inches from the other's. "You're going to listen to what mommy and daddy tell you to do aren't you baby boy?" Steve nods. "Good. You're given permission to speak freely. Now be a good boy and ask mommy to sit on your face." Steve's head lolls to the side, our eyes locking. "Actually, for right now I want to watch the two of you".

Eddie shrugs and rolls with it. I watch as their lips meet again. I trail my fingertips over my submissive's thigh lightly, the tickling sensation causing goosebumps to rise on the hairy flesh. Up, up, up, they wander. A small shudder escapes Stevie's lips as my fingertips graze along the biggest vein on his cock.

A devilish grin on Eddie's face as he walks to me on his knees. A choked moan comes from Steve as my hand gently strokes him. Within the moment Eddie's tongue is inside my throat with his left hand on the outside of my throat, applying small pressure. "Where's that naughty little bitch I remember?" Eddie's tone is full of arrogance and challenge. I smirk and slap him. His hand at my throat pushes my head down to the pillows while the other smooths the burning red handprint. Pulling me up halfway by my throat he kisses. "There she is.."

[boffeeceans]

Dom Billy/Sub Eddie - Pretty much just an exploration of my preferred Billy/Eddie dynamic.

Explicit smut + aftercare under the cut

Ao3 link

Billy doesn't get a lot of control in his life, who he's with, what he does, where he is, it all seems to be monitored constantly. So when Billy is with Eddie, loud, obnoxious, larger than life, doesn't take shit from nobody Eddie, Billy likes to just take it. Take control, grab him by the jaw and force him on his knees, see him looking up at Billy with those big, pleading eyes, begging like a dog.

Billy can give him what he wants, unbluckle his belt, unbutton his pants, let him feel Billy's cock at the back of his throat, taste his cum, watch as it comes out of his nose, hold him in place as Eddie claws at his hips and thighs, needing to come up for air.

Or he can shove Eddie back on his ass, make him wait for it while Billy flops down on his bed and lights a cigarette. There's nothing Eddie can do about it, it's Billy's choice.

He can jerk him off in front of the mirror, have him come all over Billy's hand. Eddie gets a second to catch his breath before Billy will start fingering him open, abuse his prostate, open him wide until Eddie starts shaking, a second orgasm rolling through his body, gasping Billys name. His hole will be slick and open enough for Billy to slide his cock in with little to no resistance.

By then, Billy will have to keep him upright, an arm wrapped around Eddie's waist, free hand on his throat. He makes Eddie look at himself, see how pathetic he looks, how needy, skin all red and tears in his eyes. "Just one more, Bambi, you got this."

Eddie's third orgasm is dry and silent, his throat moaned and groaned raw. Billy bites down on his neck or shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to make it hurt. He bends Eddie over the desk, let's him go limp as Billy chases his own orgasm.

Billy loves cuffing Eddie to the headboard and riding him painstakingly slow. Eddie will pull at cuffs, wanting to touch, begging for him to go faster. Maybe Billy will deprive him of what Eddie wants, keep rolling his hips at a leisurely pace, have Eddie come from minimal friction. Or maybe he'll obey, ride him fast, come first and deprive Eddie of an orgasm all together. Leave him panting and cuffed while Billy cleans himself up and goes to do something else.

When he comes back, he wraps his hand around Eddie's cock, strokes him until he's hard again, still slow. Eddie's back arches, words spilling from his mouth. "Please please please-" If Billy's feeling extra mean he'll leave again, smiling as Eddie curses at his back. Eddie will go soft again and Billy will come back and he'll leave until he's satisfied, only then will he let Eddie come all over himself.

Sometimes Billy will do what Eddie wants without compliant, hand over control. He'll get on all fours, back arched with Eddie behind him, fucking him fast and hard. Eddie burries is face in Billy's neck or between his shoulder blades, moth shooting off a mile a minute. Eddie knows what he's doing, he always leaves Billy shaking and sore in all the right places, needing a minute to get to himself. He loves it, but he won't let Eddie know that – Eddie probably already knows anyway.

Billy loves it, but it has consequences for Eddie. Billy deprives him of any touch below the waist for however long he sees fit, knowing Eddie won't touch himself, not if Billy won't let him. Eddie bothers Billy constantly, pushing his buttons, asking to be fucked. Billy will relent after a week, maybe two, maybe longer.

He gives no warning, strips Eddie in the middle of his bedroom and bends him over the edge of his bed. He gets on his knees behind Eddie, licks a wet stipe over his hole, spit in it, and plunge in a finger. He'll use nothing but spit as lube, prep Eddie just enough to not do any damage. His hand makes contact with Eddie's ass, making him yelp and leaving an angry red mark.

His cock slides in with a little resistance, slow at first, taking his time to go as far as he can, but the second thrust has Eddie crying out and gripping the sheets.

"Please, Billy, it hurts," he says through sobs, but Billy ignores him, there's only one word that will make him stop and Eddie hasn't said it. He likes this, he wants this, and Billy will fucking give it to him.

Billy's relentless, the sound of skin slapping against skin almost drowning out Eddie's cries. He takes a handful of Eddie's hair, calls him a slut, a whore, "Why are you crying, mh? You asked for this."

Eddie comes pathetically fast, tears streaming down his face, Billy makes sure to call him out for it as his thrusts slow.

Billy loves it all, having Eddie surrender in any way possible.

Most of all, Billy loves lying Eddie on his back, legs wrapped around Billy's waist. He'll gently nip at Eddie's neck, swallow his moans, let's the words of endearment into his lungs, his bloodstream, under his skin.

Eddie blindly grabs at nothing, eyes squeezed shut, back arching. "Gonna come," he says, voice thick.

Billy takes one of Eddie's hands in his, interlacing their fingers, coaxes Eddie to open his eyes, wanting to look at him when he comes, to hold him, to be held.

Thick fingers grip at Billy's hair, Eddie's eyes open, glassy, looking right at Billy, his mouth opens and he lets out a string of curse words before they dissipate into a moan. Eddie clenches around Billy and Billy's done for.

Without fail, no matter if Eddie is a drooling mess on the floor or is lying on the sheets, comfortable and blissed out, Billy leaves him, just for a bit, to go the bathroom and wets a towel with warm water or runs them a bath.

He wipes the towel over Eddie's stomach, between his legs, fights Eddie grabbing at his wrists, a weak attempt at pulling Billy closer. Only when he's done does Billy give in, lies next to Eddie and let's him return the favor, his shaking hands sliding the warm towl over Billy's sticky skin.

Or he scoops Eddie up, lifting him up off of whatever surface he's lying on, whether he can walk on his own or not, Eddie won't get on his feet either way. He puts him down in front of the tub and helps him, sitting behind him once Eddie's settled. Eddie rests his head on Billy's shoulders, wraps Billy's arms around his waist.

They stay until the water runs cold, taking their sweet time to wash the cum and sweat of their skin. After letting the water drain from the tub and take a quick shower to get the soap off of them.

Eddie doesn't let go of Billy, not while they dry and not when crawl under the covers.

Eddie looks at him, really looks, tired, half lidded eyes, a small smile gracing his lips. "I love you," he says in the quiet space between them.

He cups Eddie's cheek and kisses with a softness he thought he lost long ago, one that suddenly returned when meeting Eddie and subsequently falling in love with him. "I love you too."

He loves all him, every inch of his skin, his tears, his smiles, his moans. He loves his rambling, his arguing, his off key singing. All of it.

The second Eddie graduates they're out of here, just a few more months before Billy can take Eddie and the few of his belongings to California. He'll make him laugh, fuck him in every motel they stop at, or at side of road, down him in love until he fucking chokes on it.

Billy can choose to whisk Eddie away from this place that doesn't appreciate him enough, he can choose to love him and Billy will be damned before anyone stops him.

[doevademe]

simple prompt: Nico gets angel wings (very fitting) they're very real but can t fly tho, Percy sees him and forgets how to talk haha. Yes this is one of the many instances where the simple view of his boyfriend renders him speechless....for a time, but we all know Percy got a silver tongue and has mastered the ways of making Nico blush with just a few heartfelt words. All in all, it's just two dorks being in love 🤗 and exchange smooches 😘

"Hey," Percy heard his boyfriend say from the front door.

"Hi, Ni, how was the mission?" he greeted without turning back. He was midway into showing GreatLoon36 how to actually play a heavyweight character and he was not going to lose it.

"It was fine," Nico said. "You know helping Thanatos collect souls is like, the easiest of my missions."

"I still worry," he mentioned as GreatLoon36 used his special and dropped him off the stage, resulting in his win. "Oh, that is so cheap!"

He sighed and turned off the console, turning to look at the son of Hades.

He felt as if all breath had been punched out of him. Before him was an angel.

And not in the, 'oh, my boyfriend is so pretty, he must be an angel' way. Nico literally had wings that seemed to glimmer with their apartment's lighting between pure black, purple, and dark blue.

He stared for so long Nico started fidgeting.

"Thanatos went the extra mile for this one," Nico admitted sheepishly. "Since he's the original 'Angel of Death' and all, he said I needed to have these since I would be taking over for a few hours while he rested."

Percy just nodded. Never had his brain been so slow and dumb.

"They aren't even functional," Nico continued rambling. "I lack the magic to use them, so they are just decorations."

Percy had a million thoughts going through his head, all fighting to come out of his mouth, and all about Nico.

"They'll be gone by nighttime, or at least that's what Thanatos said," he kept on going. "So you know... you can stop staring."

Percy finally blinked and looked away.

"Shame," he managed to say.

"Huh?" Nico said, confused.

"They... they look really good on you," he complimented. "Goes with your name."

Nico reddened a bit a he looked away.

"Don't tease me, Percy," he mumbled.

"But I'm not," he said earnestly. "You look like a literal angel."

"Well, I was subbing in for the original Angel of Death, so..."

"They highlight your eyes," Percy kept praising him. "They make it seem like your skin is shimmering, too. The color—"

"Okay, stop!" Nico pleaded, completely flustered. "Has anyone told you you're too much sometimes?"

"Once or twice." he shrugged, letting his controller fall to the floor as he patted the spot next to him. "But my boyfriend loves it."

Nico rolled his eyes, but sat down besides the son of Poseidon, nonetheless.

He turned so his back was to him.

"Nico?"

"S-since you're so fixated and all, I guess you can touch them," he said, hiding his blush. "I pinched them before, it's like touching my arm except— weird!"

Percy started to run his fingers through the feathers, fascinated with how soft they felt.

"My boyfriend is so pretty," he praised. "I'm so lucky I have him all to myself."

"Because of the wings?" He managed to ask.

Percy chuckled and turned him around. He had that stupid, lovesick face that Nico loved.

"The wings are a nice extra," he admitted. "But you're beautiful regardless."

"So cheesy," he said back, but smiled as Percy leaned in for a kiss.

He felt his feathers ruffling up as Percy caressed them again while they kissed, and he decided that maybe Thanatos was on to something when he asked him to go the whole way with this job.